Page 80 of Bloodguard

Still, the weight of her is nice, and the scent of her skin. I tug her closer, hoping she understands.

She pats my hand again.

“Killing ‘the bird,’” she says, using the same wry tone I did, “is what elevated Arrow to greatness.” She leans forward for a better view. “Ah, that’s Kopper.”

“What?”

“Not a ‘what’—well, I suppose it is. Though more of a ‘who.’” She points at the parade. They carry lanterns and blow whistles that make a sharp call. “The noble houses have begun their procession. Kopper is the first.”

The first fifteen black-robed people form a triangle, and then every member behind them—all garbed in red—fans out. Their long red robes have wide, thick sleeves, and as they lift and lower their arms in waves, the fabric ripples. From our height, the full effect is clearly visible.

“It’s a beak,” she says.

I huff, wondering how I didn’t realize as much. “The beak of the phoenix,” I say. The red-robed members of the house walk in formation to create the shape of a head and neck.

Maeve makes a face when they blow their whistles again. “Andthatis its supposed call.”

“They should have opted for the talons,” I mumble, wincing when they let that caw rip once more. “They’re quieter.”

Maeve surprises me by laughing, though it lacks genuine humor. “The honor of talons belongs to Olgden, but Damella is next. Their symbol is the wings of the phoenix, purple with ribbons of red spiraling from the feathers.” She sighs, mumbling as an afterthought, “This is Aisling’s house.”

Sure enough, here comes Damella. All women. All in purple. All pirouetting in tiny dresses of, you guessed it,purple. Their sole accompaniment is a male soprano on horseback, his eyes rimmed in black.

Fifty or so feet below us, on the other side of the street, I spot Neh-Neh, then Uni beside her, their little one strapped against his chest.

Damella is a house of mages, it seems. Arcs of their magic light the sky above the beak formation, and streams of red fall from the sky. The women of Damella cascade red ribbons over the crowd with their magic.

“The phoenix…” I know the answer, but I feel compelled to ask anyway. “Queen Avianna of House Iamond killed it?”

“Yes.” Maeve slides her hand along mine so that when our fingers meet, they intertwine. “That’s what the realms decided—that the phoenix must die. From what Uncle— I mean, from what Vitor and my grandmother shared with me, the phoenix circled the sky at every battle during the great wars, her flames raining down on all those engaged in combat.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” she says, shuddering against me. “Good stars, can you imagine fighting your mortal enemy, unsure if you’d ever see your home or your family again, only for some giant fiery bird to burn you alive?”

“The former, yes. The latter, no thanks.”

She groans. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive.”

No. She didn’t. Which is why I squeeze her hand in comfort and support.

We’re quiet as we watch the mages continue to draw on their elemental magic. Their wind scatters red ribbons and purple flower petals through the sky like ash. The mages at the fore of those assembled—Aisling and her family members, Maeve points out—conjure a giant bird of pure fire that soars overhead.

The display is impressive, and the crowd claps and cheers.

Maeve and I stay silent.

I wonder why her house isn’t represented, why she isn’t down there with Jakeb and Giselle. I want to ask, but she looks sad again.

“Which house is this one?” I ask to distract her.

“This is Olgden. Ugh.”

“Olgdenuh?”

“What? No. I was just grumbling.” She chuckles and points to a short, heavy-set human leading the procession. “That’s Ugeen.”

I’ve heard his name mentioned around the manor.

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