Of course, if phoenixes were ever to disappear from the empire, magic would soon follow.
—“Origins of Magic,” from Solstice Day Sermons by Friya, High Priestess of Azurec, published 111 AE
There was rot inside the empire, taking root in secret, unchecked places. I knew I could not unplant the seeds, but I could raze the crop to the ground.
- CHAPTER 7 -
SEV
SEV RETURNED TO THE campsite in a stupor.
He kept seeing the girl and her phoenix, kept feeling the phantom press of cold steel against his throat. Sev rubbed the wound, the cut a superficial, stinging reminder of how close he’d been to death.
But it wasn’t the brush with death that had him rattled—he’d been there many times before.
No, it was that gods-cursed phoenix.
What was he supposed to do now? Sev had known he wasn’t cut out for life as a soldier, but now he knew it beyond any shadow of a doubt. He couldn’t stomach the thought that they might run into more like her and that things might turn out very differently. He had been lucky today—both he and the girl had—but next time he might not be.
Next time Sev might find himself with an innocent animage’s blood on his hands.
He had to find a way out of this mess.
When he rejoined Jotham and Ott, he kept his distance, not wanting to draw notice to himself or the fresh cut on his throat. It was growing dark by the time they passed the perimeter guard, and soon a low rumble of conversation, followed by shadowy figures moving through the trees, told him they’d arrived at camp. They’d set up in a thick copse of trees, and though the darkness was growing deeper with every step, there wasn’t a single torch or fire to light the way. Secrecy was paramount, and any fires after nightfall were prohibited.
The soldiers tended to their weapons and set up their tents and bedrolls, while the bondservants fed the newly arrived pack animals and cared for the messenger pigeons. The cooks and attendants were already preparing the evening meal, slicing up cured meats and slathering honey on cold barley cakes. Just the sight of the hard, round disks made Sev want to gag. He’d been starving most of his life, but even he struggled with the bland, starchy food, a staple in the empire’s military diet.
Better barley than black stew, he thought. It was a common saying among the soldiers he’d met who had, like him, gotten their start in the poorest parts of the empire, lining up for hours in the Narrows or the Forgotten District for a ladleful of the dark sludge-like gruel served by the acolytes of Miseriya—goddess of the poor and hopeless.
Up ahead Ott’s angry voice floated above the sounds of the camp. “What d’you mean the captain’s gone?” he demanded. “What’d we rush back for, then?”
“You rushed back because your captain ordered you to,” came the curt reply.
It was Officer Yara, Captain Belden’s second-in-command. She was a veteran of the Blood War, her face and hands pocked with scars and burn marks. She was one of the few women in their party, a relic from the time before the war, when female enrollment in the military was encouraged. It was Phoenix Rider tradition for both men and women to fight, but after the Riders defected and betrayed the empire, the governors did everything they could to erase their influence—from destroying statues and banning songs to changing laws and customs. As far as Sev knew, women were still allowed to join the army, but it wasn’t common practice.
Officer Yara was also Pyraean, but she was no animage, and so had remained loyal to the empire. She had earned her position during the war and fought hard for the respect of her peers. She was strict and no-nonsense, overseeing the daily operations of their company with a firm hand.
“He has gone on an urgent errand,” she continued, “and you will report to me in his stead.”
After some dark muttering, Ott proceeded to recount the day’s events, conveniently leaving out their stop at the cabin.
Sev barely listened, his mind racing with what Officer Yara had said. The captain had gone on an urgent errand. That meant a change in routine. That meant possibility.
Sev closed his eyes and flashed back to the duty roster he’d seen just that morning. He had a gift for memory, and he usually put his overactive brain to use, studying people and things and ordering them in