Page 30 of The Phoenix Inheritance

Dane

My heart beats a mile a minute as I head from the fort to the arena the following morning, and it’s not only because of the epic battle that awaits me there.

Gargoyles. The gnarly statues perched on Østrom’s ramparts, frozen for eternity until one word from the King sets them free. I walk by them so often I rarely even glance at the dormant statues. Yet as I look at them today, their bared fangs and sharp claws fill me with fear – surely a mere drop of the terror Isobel must’ve felt.

I only saw them come to life once. Rumors of Honora’s whereabouts somewhere by the southern shores had reached my mother’s ears. Gronlund is festering with that human vermin, I hear her bellow to my father five years ago, but what do you do about it? Nothing!

It turned out the whispers were but an attempt from within Østrom’s walls to destabilize the Queen, but we only knew that when my father had already purged Gronlund of all its inhabitants.

At the time I was too engrossed by the earthshaking fights between my parents, too obsessed with becoming a phoenix to care. To even have a passing thought for the lives my dad’s Gargoyles were taking. Probably because they were just human lives.

But now I know they were the lives of Isobel’s father and mother. Very nearly her life as well, if she weren’t so extraordinarily resilient.

I’ll never deserve her. While I spent years griping about whether or not I would become a phoenix, Isobel was busy figuring out how to make the most of the smidgen of life my parents’ actions left her with.

Yet now that I’ve revealed my mythical nature, a budding suspicion wipes away all my fears about whether or not I can be worthy of her.

What if Isobel is my mate?

That would certainly make things easier. No doubts, no hesitations, no remorse – if she’s fated for me, then I can have no qualms over making her mine. Nothing can separate two mates, not even the fact that my family is the very cause of her tragedy.

Because there’s no denying it. Isobel makes me smile like no other, laugh like no other, suffer her every doubt and fear like no other. Imagining an existence by her side is no hardship at all. I’d be proud to have someone as kind and brave as Isobel by my side.

Of course, there’s the small hiccup that she’s mortal, while I’m destined to cease aging within a decade and stay the same for all times. But if Isobel is my mate like I suspect she is, I have faith that fate couldn’t possibly come up with such a cruel twist.

I’ve heard tales of mythical beings who took humans as their mates – a Mermaid who grew legs to join her beloved on land, a Gorgon who turned his mate with a serpent bite so they could finally look each other in the eyes, a Banshee who only ever spoke in a whisper when she finally met her other half.

When two souls are destined for one another, nothing can keep them apart. Such are the rules of matehood.

It’s with that kind of faith in the future that I walk into the antechamber of the arena. My mind has been on Isobel so much these days that I’ve barely had time to anticipate the battle to come. It wasn’t exactly a lie when I told her I’d been “sick” – the transformation of my body from mortal to immortal, the growth of my wings took a toll on me.

But during those long hours of agony, it wasn’t the prospect of the tournament that kept me going. It was the thought of when I may hold Isobel in my arms again.

I shake my head as servants divest me of my cape, the same I wore last night to hide my wings. I need to concentrate. It was always my dream to be King, and now it’s within my reach. Maybe I can get the throne and Isobel.

I just have to fight for it.

I spent most of the past week in my bedroom with a fierce fever, so I haven’t seen Warwick since the day I revealed myself as a phoenix. I don’t know whether he’s excited about this confrontation or if he dreads it.

A horn resonates from outside, and the staff ushers me forward.

For a moment the sun blinds me as I push through the drapery to enter the battlegrounds. I hear the crowd before I see it. From the whistles and cries that accompany my appearance, it sounds like hundreds, perhaps a thousand creatures have gathered to watch today’s match.

They’ve come to see their future King, but also for the drama of two brothers ripping each other apart one shred short of death. In ancient times, the tournament ended when one phoenix slashed the other with his talon, the only injury that’s fatal to our kind. Today Sowilo’s practices are more enlightened, but the primordial appeal of the spectacle still remains. Whoever scores at least two of three rounds wins the throne.

Soon my eyes adjust, just in time to see Warwick glide into the field. I immediately realize I was way off the mark – our audience is at least five times larger than I thought. It looks like the whole of Sowilo’s mythical community is squeezed into the rows of the stadium, some as minuscule as a sprite and others nearly as tall as Østrom’s towers.

If my entry garnered some noise, Warwick’s arrival provokes a veritable tide. The earth shakes from the enthusiasm my brother rallies. There’s no doubt who’s the favorite contestant today.

I’ll prove them wrong.

“Citizens of Sowilo, we thank you for coming in such staggering numbers today!” Father’s voice booms throughout the stadium.

The beasts stomp and yell in fervor. Across the field, Warwick grimaces and makes a show of covering his ears with his hands. When our gazes cross, he winks.

I stare at him in astoundment. He still acts friendly though one of us will crush the other, snatching the crown away at the expense of the other’s pride? Warwick even pumps his fist at me in encouragement.

I don’t know how to respond. Is he just being brotherly, or does he underestimate me?

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