with Orin—sweet, handsome Prince Orin—and they would walk through caves, whispering, holding hands, stealing kisses. If I must die today, let these caves be my place of eternal rest.
"Come on, you bastards!" she shouted over her shoulder. She blew a jet of fire back toward the three chasing phoenixes. "You killed him. You killed my love. Now come face me."
She swooped, claws extended. She knew these mountains better than anyone in Requiem. Wind whistled around her, and the phoenixes cried so loudly, snow cascaded and melted below. She saw the cave there, her cave, hers and Orin's, its mouth round and five feet tall, short enough that she'd always had to stoop to enter.
She landed outside the cave. As soon as her claws hit the ground, she shifted into human form. Her wings pulled into her back. Her fangs and claws retracted. Instead of scales, steel armor covered her body. Her sword—as much a part of her as her arm—still hung on her belt. She ran into the cave, hand on its hilt.
She spun around, the cave walls close around her, and saw an inferno.
Damn them. This delay shot fear through her. She needed to reach Nova Vita quickly. Mori had fainted after only a vague warning and might still be sleeping. Did the city know of this phoenix fire? Did they know they could not fight, only hide? Lyana had to warn them. She had to fly now. She had to kill these beasts quickly, or it would be too late.
The phoenixes landed outside the cave. Snow melted and fell like rain around them. Wings thrashing, they reached into the tunnel with claws of fire. The flames blazed. Lyana leaped back; the heat blasted her armor, and she felt like her eyeballs could melt. She retreated into the darkness.
The first time we made love was here, sweet Orin, she thought, eyes stinging and throat burning. The image kept playing before her eyes—his head rolling from the sack, burnt and grimacing—even now as these beasts of sunfire clawed outside.
"Come in and face me!" she cried. "You are like us children of Requiem. You have human forms; I have seen it. Come face me, or are you such cowards that you dare not face one woman?"
They howled and flared. Their heat drenched Lyana with sweat; locks of her damp, red hair stuck to her face. She snarled, holding her sword before her. With her left hand, she drew her dagger, its blade shaped as a dragonclaw. The heat of battle raged over her loss of Orin, simmering over her grief.
"Be with me, stars of Requiem," she prayed. "May your light shine upon my blades."
With cries of fury, the phoenixes outside shifted.
Their fire pulled into them, twisting and coiling into human shapes. The flames darkened and hardened, like lava cooling into stone, until they became flesh. They stared at her, eyes still burning like coals. They wore breastplates of steel emblazoned with the golden Sun of Tiranor, and swords hung at their sides. Their hair was a blond so pale, it was almost white. Their skin was golden, their eyes blue and cold. Each wore a chain holding a crystal glimmering with fire. Two were men, their faces bearded and cruel. The third was a woman holding a sabre and a spear. The sides of her head were shaven, revealing sun tattoos, and her lips were pierced with rings.
"See how she cowers in darkness," said the woman to her companions. Her voice was cold, her eyes ruthless. "When the dragons burned our homeland, they howled with their pride, their bloodlust, their cruelty. See what pathetic creatures they've become." She snarled and her voice rose to a shout. "Hail the Sun God, destroyer of Requiem!"
"Tirans," Lyana said, eyes narrowing. "Return to your homeland that we burned. Leave Requiem, or we will kill you on our mountains, like we killed you in your deserts."
The female Tiran smirked. Her armor was bright, and her blades glimmered like shards of light, flames racing across them.
"You
"Come on, you bastards!" she shouted over her shoulder. She blew a jet of fire back toward the three chasing phoenixes. "You killed him. You killed my love. Now come face me."
She swooped, claws extended. She knew these mountains better than anyone in Requiem. Wind whistled around her, and the phoenixes cried so loudly, snow cascaded and melted below. She saw the cave there, her cave, hers and Orin's, its mouth round and five feet tall, short enough that she'd always had to stoop to enter.
She landed outside the cave. As soon as her claws hit the ground, she shifted into human form. Her wings pulled into her back. Her fangs and claws retracted. Instead of scales, steel armor covered her body. Her sword—as much a part of her as her arm—still hung on her belt. She ran into the cave, hand on its hilt.
She spun around, the cave walls close around her, and saw an inferno.
Damn them. This delay shot fear through her. She needed to reach Nova Vita quickly. Mori had fainted after only a vague warning and might still be sleeping. Did the city know of this phoenix fire? Did they know they could not fight, only hide? Lyana had to warn them. She had to fly now. She had to kill these beasts quickly, or it would be too late.
The phoenixes landed outside the cave. Snow melted and fell like rain around them. Wings thrashing, they reached into the tunnel with claws of fire. The flames blazed. Lyana leaped back; the heat blasted her armor, and she felt like her eyeballs could melt. She retreated into the darkness.
The first time we made love was here, sweet Orin, she thought, eyes stinging and throat burning. The image kept playing before her eyes—his head rolling from the sack, burnt and grimacing—even now as these beasts of sunfire clawed outside.
"Come in and face me!" she cried. "You are like us children of Requiem. You have human forms; I have seen it. Come face me, or are you such cowards that you dare not face one woman?"
They howled and flared. Their heat drenched Lyana with sweat; locks of her damp, red hair stuck to her face. She snarled, holding her sword before her. With her left hand, she drew her dagger, its blade shaped as a dragonclaw. The heat of battle raged over her loss of Orin, simmering over her grief.
"Be with me, stars of Requiem," she prayed. "May your light shine upon my blades."
With cries of fury, the phoenixes outside shifted.
Their fire pulled into them, twisting and coiling into human shapes. The flames darkened and hardened, like lava cooling into stone, until they became flesh. They stared at her, eyes still burning like coals. They wore breastplates of steel emblazoned with the golden Sun of Tiranor, and swords hung at their sides. Their hair was a blond so pale, it was almost white. Their skin was golden, their eyes blue and cold. Each wore a chain holding a crystal glimmering with fire. Two were men, their faces bearded and cruel. The third was a woman holding a sabre and a spear. The sides of her head were shaven, revealing sun tattoos, and her lips were pierced with rings.
"See how she cowers in darkness," said the woman to her companions. Her voice was cold, her eyes ruthless. "When the dragons burned our homeland, they howled with their pride, their bloodlust, their cruelty. See what pathetic creatures they've become." She snarled and her voice rose to a shout. "Hail the Sun God, destroyer of Requiem!"
"Tirans," Lyana said, eyes narrowing. "Return to your homeland that we burned. Leave Requiem, or we will kill you on our mountains, like we killed you in your deserts."
The female Tiran smirked. Her armor was bright, and her blades glimmered like shards of light, flames racing across them.
"You
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