Page 96 of The Belle and the Blackbird

A chill carried down from the mountain. Springtide was an illusion, an unmet promise. Anything that had thawed was already re-freezing. In the dark sky, a tempest swirled ominously around the crags of Icebolt, waiting for the right moment to upend the entire village.

Tyr held tight to Ana’s hand. Her pulse pounded through her flesh, magnifying the helpless dread clawing through his limbs.

Badly he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and run. She’d be furious, but she’d be alive, and they could figure things out once they were safe somewhere. But those were lies born of cowardice and the bone-shattering fear he was losing her, bit by bit, as they moved up the mountain path. Therewasnowhere safe, not from a sorcerer who seemingly had no spectral limitations.

Everyone has a weakness,he heard in Rhiain’s voice. And though she’d been speaking of mortal men when she’d said the words, she’d gone up against those far more powerful than her, exploited their weakness, and bested them. Could Mortain have a weakness, powerful as he was? If so, was it possible to find it before Ana...

Tyr decided he’d risk her leaving him and loathing him forever to keep her from that fate.

Near the top of the path, Ana suddenly broke away and ran. It was another few paces before he saw what had startled her.

The scene blocking the path was both a relief and a portent of doom.

Magda lay on the ice, broken and contorted, her lifeless expression frozen in permanent horror. Her final moments had not been pleasant, that much was clear, but what she’d seen and felt as her life had been ripped away would forever remain a mystery.

Ana screamed. He looked down and saw why.

In Magda’s hand was a freshly extracted heart. Blood pooled under where her hand had fallen and had frozen with the ground.

Ana’s head shook as tears flooded her eyes. “We were too late,” she croaked. Her chin trembled. “Tyreste. We were...” She clambered back and away from the corpse, her limbs and arms flailing for balance. She made it to her feet and ran off again.

“Ana,wait! We don’t know anything yet. Let’s get there and then we can decide—” He broke off when she burst into feathers. “Dammit.” He grunted and shoved himself into momentum, huffing to catch up.

By the time he reached the observatory, there was nothing he could do. Ana lay over Varradyn’s corpse, prostrate, howling and rocking his limp body in her arms. The image of Varradyn’s arms flopping against the rug would stay with Tyr forever.

He took his time approaching her. “Ana. Love,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “He’s gone.”

“I did this. I did this. Idid this!” she screamed. The sound left her in a passionate wave, bouncing off the glass. “Weeks. Weeks. Weeks. Weeks. He’s been here weeks. Weeks. I did nothing.Nothing!”

“Anastazja,” he said again, taking another cautious step. He purposely avoided looking at Varradyn because he couldn’t afford to lose it, not when she was so close to the edge herself, dissolving piece by piece. “You didn’t do this.”

“Don’t tell me what I didn’t do! He’s not dead because of you! I can’t even... He can’t even go home in one piece, to be mourned by his people. They’ll never know how their son died, howalltheir sons and daughters died!”

“The magic holding him should be released now, with Magda gone. Let’s...” Tyreste scrambled for the right words. “We’ll take him down the mountain and then we can decide what to do. How to honor him.”

Ana rolled back on her heels and sprung up. She paced away, coated in blood from chin to boots, her arms twitching at her sides, and her gown a tableau of remorse. But it was the dead calm in her eyes and the astonishingly abrupt shift from frenzied rambling to whatever was happening to her now that made his head spin with bewildered fear. “There is no honor for Varradyn Ravenwood. No justice. His murderer is dead, and there will benoretribution for him or his family. Not the one they deserve.” She wiped the blood from her chin onto her sleeve and laughed. “But I will offer myself to the Ravenwoods just the same, and they can do with me as they will.”

Tyr’s jaw dropped. “Offer yourself... Ana,no.No. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s a terrible idea, and it will solve nothing. If you fly up there—”

“It was I who lured him,” she said, stone cold, “and so it is only fair they decide what happens next.”

“No,” Tyr stated. He reared back and said it again, louder. “No,Ana. We’re in this together. You’re not going where I can’t follow.”

Her cheek twitched in the start of a grin. “You’re the one who thought he could follow. I always knew that where I was going, there was no room for another.” She swayed on her feet and he rushed forward, but she put both hands out. Her eyes rolled like she was being called to slumber.

“Ana?” He lunged forward as she teetered sideways, and he caught her before she hit the ground. She went limp in his arms. “Ana, wake up.” He shook her against him, to no avail. “Ana!”

She bent upward and shot out of his arms with a deep, croaky breath, sending him back a step. Her head shook in wild, concentric jerks, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides so rapidly, her fingers twitched out of pace. All he could do was stare in horror as she fixed her feral stare on him, clicked her jaw, and launched into a grueling sprint, her arms pumping and her feet climbing the air in anticipation of the next lift, the one that turned her into a phoenix and carried her into the darkening skies.

Tyr, thunderstruck, watched Anastazja fly off into the storm and disappear.

When Ana came to, she was flying. The experience had all the qualities of a dream. The sense of detachment, covered in the soft haze of surrealness... Even the air felt different, as though she were floating adrift rather than commanding the skies.

The cumulative sensations came to a crashing halt, ripping her off course and sending her spiraling downward through the cloud, hurtling toward the mountainside. She flapped her wings in furious demand, straining to rise above the clouds, but it took twice the effort to go half as far.

Only when she was safe did the questions form.

Ah, but I have answers, little phoenix. Or what does your father call you? Your word for it? Pjika?

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