Page 33 of Phoenix Falling
And that knowledge was suddenly, unexpectedly terrifying.
“Breathe, Sun.”
Grim’s words filtered through the fog of emotion clouding my mind. I hadn’t realized I wasn’t, actually, but he was right. I sucked in a lungful of air and tried to blow away my panic as I released it back into the world.
“I’m not ready,” I admitted quietly. To no one else would I ever have uttered those words, but these were the males who would carry me forward, provide the support I needed to rule. These three males, above all others, I knew I could trust with the truth.
It was James, the oldest of us all, who responded.
“You are, my king.”
The title nearly sent me over the edge. I looked up, feeling wild all of a sudden, but James caught my eye, his firm gaze centering me.
“You are ready,” he said again. “You’ve been leading us for months now. The only thing that has changed is the title.”
“But—”
“You are not alone,” James said, his assurance gathering the scattered pieces of my psyche and pulling them back together. “No matter how much it might feel like you are. Solomon was not alone either, though he accepted no one’s assistance or input. You will be a different type of king, and for our time, I dare say a better one.”
I took the words into my soul, turning them over, considering their rightness. Though the male in me still wondered, my animal rose beneath my skin, his confidence agreeing with Grim and James both. I closed my eyes and reached for him, a silent communion that I shared with no one but my phoenix, and let his certainty calm me.
My warriors waited until I opened my eyes to speak again.
“We must prepare,” Basile said.
“Yes.” I stood. “Just…give me a few minutes.” My mind spun with all that must be done. “I’ll address the clan first, then begin the pyre.”
“My king—”
I turned my shining eyes on my second in command. “I appreciate the respect, but as you said, I will be a different king than my father. Please just…don’t call me that, okay? I can handle it from my people, but I need you to be my friend and advisor still, Basile. Not my subject. All right?”
His faint smile approved. “All right, Sun.”
I nodded. “I will complete the pyre myself. I owe him that much.” I would not allow anyone else to construct my father’s memorial, no matter what tradition declared. “In just a moment.”
Nods followed me as I returned to my bedroom, moving automatically, trying not to think. I gathered fresh clothes, more formal clothes than the fatigues I now wore, moved into the bathroom again, and shut myself in. After a shower, I dressed. With a damp towel I wiped the steam from the mirror, then spent a long moment staring into my reflection. My eyes swirled with color, and as I watched them, I replayed moments from my childhood, the few I could remember of my father. Memories from my training years when he’d finally taken an interest in my status. In fact, as I sifted through the years, all I found were times my father took me in hand—no personal interactions, no caring moments. The thought doubled my grief. No one’s life should be bereft of love and intimacy, and yet as I looked to the past, I couldn’t detect a single moment of true connection between my own father and myself.
Would my life be the same? Would I allow it to be?
It was that thought I held in my mind, the grief of wasted time that ached inside me as I took a dagger in hand and brought it to my face. With a firm pressure I pushed the knife into my cheek and dragged it down and across, carving a mourning cut into my skin. A second and a third followed on that cheek before I moved to the other side and repeated the action, engraving the pain of what could have been with blood and steel across my face.
After I cleaned up, I donned my royal robes and exited the bathroom. In the living area, I faced my males no longer as their prince, but as their king. “I want to see his room first.”
Grim led the way. What I hoped to see, I did not know, but the sight of royal purple blankets scattered with gray ash did not bring me any closure, nor did the royal sword in their midst, blood staining the edges where my father’s hands had last grasped. It only amplified my emptiness. Looking to Julius, my father’s personal manservant for as long as I could remember, I bowed my head in respect. “Julius, please collect his ashes personally and bring them to the King’s Garden for me.”
“Yes, sire.”
I forced myself not to wince at the attribution. It had always struck me as medieval, even worse than the respectfulmy king.The latter I could tolerate, but I would see to it that the former died a quick and silent death as soon as possible. All I said now was a simple, “Thank you.”
As we re-entered the hallway and began the long walk toward the Arena, I turned to James. “What preparations need to be made?”
He understood that I referred to the transfer of power, not the memorial. We’d had plenty of funerals, as the humans called them, through the centuries, but no rising kings since Solomon had become our leader.
“Very few right now,” James replied. “A processional in the Arena will suffice, with an announcement of the king’s loss and your rise. You will have a coronation, of course, but that will be a much bigger event and planned for a later time. That is all.”
“It won’t be all,” I countered. “If my kingship is to be any different than Solomon’s, it must begin from the get-go. We will hold court after the coronation. I want the people to have direct access to me on a monthly basis, to bring their concerns and opinions.”
I could feel the warriors’ agreement and pleasure surround me as we approached the Arena. In front of us, I saw crowds entering the room, many of the people looking my way as they became aware of my presence.
