In Love and War

Chapter 5 - The Phoenix

Arya slipped into The Swan's Feather just before closing time. She must have had an air of precarious danger around her, because not a single drunkard approached as she stalked through the tavern, cloak swirling behind her.

A serving girl hurried past with a platter of beer, and Arya snatched a mug before the girl could move, leaving a shining silver coin in its wake. She slipped into the crowd before the girl began to protest.

She'd downed the mug before she reached the Arena. She slammed the mug onto the bar, wiping her lips with her arm, and stalked into an alcove to shuck her cloak and rip it into four pieces, wrapping two around her knuckles and another around the lower half of her face, then slipped the last scrap of fabric between her breasts. When she emerged, she wasn't Arya anymore, she wasn't a queen, or a wife. She was ice and death and rage. Jacan hated when she lost herself to this battle-fury, and she smiled a grim shadow of a smile even as the thought of his name sent raw pain echoing through her. She hated him, and he couldn't stop her.

Beautiful black leather with highlights of blood-red stretched across her body, encasing her in a beautiful, deadly glove. Her red-gold hair was covered by a thin hood, and all that showed of her face was a pair of high cheekbones and two ice-cold, wrathful gray eyes. People drew back as she stalked past. A word, a name, swept through the spectators, spreading like wildfire.

The Phoenix... the Phoenix was back.

~*~

Nightshade watched from the shadows as the High Queen of Altrys fought the foolish, cocky nobleman who'd risen to her challenge in the Arena. Watched as Arya let herself get hit, again and again, the thud of fist on flesh pounding a sick rhythm. Watched as the Phoenix decided she'd had enough, and unleashed herself upon the untrained man until he lay unmoving, still breathing, on the mat. And then the next man, and then the next.

Nightshade didn't need to ask the shadows why Arya was here. She could see it in the way the girl curved into the punches, the way her fists clenched and unclenched, the way her body was lined with rage and grief. The last time Arya had been to see her the shadows had whispered to Nightshade what Jacan had been doing, their tiny voices like ashes on the wind from a terrible fire. She just hadn't known how long it would take the girl to find out. Or how much the girl would find out... or how much it would hurt to see Arya's pain.

She flicked a bead from her face, the magic tingling against her fingers. She remembered the first time that girl had stepped into her tavern. She'd barely asked the shadows who this girl with the eyes of ice and mist, and the hair of sun-glazed blood was before they curled and writhed against her skin, purring, War-lover. Fated-queen. The Mothers have plans for this one. The shadows were always cryptic, to Nightshade's constant frustration, but with this girl more than the rest. But she'd watched the strange young girl, had seen her keen eyes drink in the Arena fighters' moves, had seen her sneak in late at night to watch and learn from Nightshade's elite fighters, had seen the way her eyes nervously followed the stumbling men who'd had too much to drink, shrinking into herself. And Nightshade had felt a twist of sorrow and pain in her ancient heart from a forgotten time ago, and had then and there appointed herself protector of the young girl, the future queen of somewhere.

But not even Nightshade could protect Arya now from what was in her future. The Mothers didn't like meddlers in their plans... although Nightshade hadn't let that stop her before. But the best she could do now was secure a favor. It would have to do.

The fight stopped as Arya's opponent slumped to the ground, and she loosed her grip on the black fabric wrapped around his neck. Arya stood panting over her opponent, blood dripping from her fists to the floor. Then she looked up and her eyes met Nightshade's, half hidden by shadow. And her eyes were hard and sharp as chips of ice, so cold that they burned. She was close to breaking, Nightshade knew.