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lilyharvord · 4 years

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Song of the Phoenix Part 7

WHoa, it��s been a haut minute since I updated this fic. But now it’s gonna be fun. We meet some new characters and they are very important.

Find Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6

tag list: @evangelineartemiasamos @mareshmallow @redqueenetwork @farleydiana @whatsup-gorls @scxrletguardsdawn @freaky-freiday

(/Coriane/) I don’t remember falling asleep, nor do I remember them stopping and switching out the person guarding us. My head bumps the back of the truck as we stop though and I snap awake, thinking everything must have been a dream that I’m going to wake up from and laugh at how silly the whole thing was.

My heart beats erratically as I take in the darkness in the back of the truck. Mare is unnaturally still next to me. Braving the silent stone, I reach through the net to touch her shoulder. “Mare?” I whisper to her, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes are open though, and I can see the whites of them in the darkness. Whatever has happened to her though, she is not recovering from it.

“Mare?” I whisper her name again, panic rising into my tone. Outside of the truck I can hear people approaching the back. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to breathe. The man in the back of the truck with us watches carefully. He scans the way Mare lies still as death, and how I frantically try to wake her. She’s the physical weak link, but I’m something far worse.

“Please,” I choke to her when that thought passes through my head. I don’t know how much good it will do though. If she didn’t respond to me before, pleading with her won’t change anything.

Four people with lanterns appear. In the weak light cast by one of them, I can see that two of them are huge men, and two of them are women. They look us over for a few minutes, and the silence stretches until I wasn’t to scream. One of the women huffs though and says, “I thought you said they were important?”

“The one in the net is, you idiot. That one’s Mare Barrow.”

“I don’t recall her being important.”

“You know! Mare Barrow, The Little Lightning Girl, the girl that brought down the King of Norta.” He says it and spits to the side, as if the words are poison in his mouth.

My stomach flips in surprise, and I tense before slowly drawing my hand away from Mare. The woman who had asked the initial question looks me over before stepping into the truck and holding the lantern up to my face. She has a thick scar that drags from her temple down to the middle of her cheek. I dont want to know how or where she got it.

I shy away from her as she edges closer and sneers. “This one looks pathetic.”

Something in me shrieks in protest, but I do the thing I’ve always been good at, and drop my eyes in shame. She snickers at my reaction and says, “Bring them out then. He’ll take a look at them and tell us what to do.”

Scar face grabs my arm and drags me toward the end of the truck bed. I tug against her hold, and try to fumble over the right words to say to her. She laughs at my attempts and tosses me out on to the ground. I catch myself on my hands and knees, and scratch up my palms on dry grasses. She drops with catlike grace to land behind me, her hand latching onto the collar of my shirt. I glare at her over my shoulder and say, “You won’t get—”

“Don’t try to tell me that, we’ve got you hundreds of miles away from Ascendant. Your best bet sweet thing, is to keep your mouth shut.” She says with a rapier sharp grin before grabbing my arm as well and dragging me to my feet. I feel like a small animal being manhandled.

A thud behind me make me turn around though. The two men sneer down at Mare in the net before smirking at each other and dragging her like a fresh catch behind them.

“Don’t let them hurt her, she’s injured already, please.” I plead, but the woman simply huffs at my words and tugs me back around to get me moving again. I try to protest her hold but she grips my arm so tight it feels like the bone is going to break. Strongarm, I realize, when I see the veins sticking out in her forearm. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows in the heat, but she walks like it doesn’t bother her. My mouth feels like its had cotton shoved in it, and already i beads of sweat run down my back.

In the darkness in front of me, I see a set of fires. As we approach them, the tops of massive tents come into focus. The shadows dance on the edge of them, and my stomach rebels as I remember the stories Jessabel used to tell us about slavers who took women that wandered the streets at night and turned them into meat or something worse. I bucked immediately at the thought. Scar sneers and spits, “Come on, you’re worse than a spooked deer.”

She drags me into the middle of the encampment, and people peel out of their tents, looking at us in surprise. I spot dirty children clutching their mother’s legs, and young men trying to stand to the front and look tough. A village, this was a village of sorts. That eases my panic a bit. At least I’m not about to be pit on a spit and roasted for tomorrow’s lunch.

My attention is immediately grabbed by what is in front of me. In the center of the camp is a massive gold and red tent. There are two guards stationed outside of the entrance and they immediately dive inside as we approach.

Scar face pauses in front of it before kicking the back of my knees to bring me to a kneel. She grabs my wrists and binds them with a worn piece of leather before pulling the knot so tight my skin barks in protest. Pinching my face against the pain, I watch her disappear into the tent as well.

Mare is dropped next to me and the men continue to stand behind her like she might try to get up. Her eyes are open though, and they finally seem to be in the present because she looks around sluggishly.

“Mare,” I hiss her name, testing my bonds weakly. One of the men kicks my side, hissing, “Quiet!” 

“Forin, let’s not kick our guests.”

I turn my eyes in the direction of the new speaker. He steps out from inside the tent with Scar Face. He’s young, goodness he can’t be older than Cal. In the firelight, his copper hair and grey eyes cut an imposing figure. He’s dressed like the rest of the soldiers in what could be a ragged uniform. Even in that uniform though, I can tell he is some form of nobility. The way he stands, the way his eyes slowly drag over me scream court trained. Perhaps I can get through to him, make him understand that everything is a mistake and he should release us.

He steps toward me, the fire light bringing his handsome features into focus. His eyes never leave mine as he asks, “Reece tells me that you’re a whisperer, is this true?”

I purse my lips, and swallow my answers, deciding that I want to be stubborn. Forin, one of the men that dragged Mare, hisses and grabs me by my hair so tightly it makes me shriek in pain. “He asked you a question!”

The new comer does not step to my defense again, instead he watches me with narrowed eyes. My own water as Forin digs his fingers deeper into my scalp until I whimper. “No! I’m a singer!”

“A singer?” He asks in disbelief, and I nod weakly, even though that causes more pain to explode across my scalp. I crane my neck to try and relieve some of the pressure on my head before choking, “Yes, I can… I can only make you do what I want if I sing and make eye contact.”

“There aren’t many singers in the country Sire, the only one that I know of is the one in Ascendant. The one Kels told us about.” Scar face speaks from behind him, her massive arms crossing across her chest. He nods in response and that spark of familiar information makes me cry, “My brother! That’s my brother!”

Scar face laughs at my outburst, her eyes glinting wickedly in the dim light. “Please, your lies are pathetic.”

“His name is Julian, he’s my brother!” I argue, only for my words to be cut off as Forin squeezes my hair again.

“Enough of your lies, you little snake.” His grip tightens to the point that I release a strangled cry of pain. Next to me, Mare groans and the other guard launches himself on top of her, pressing her face into the ground. She can barely move, and they think she can fight them all off? How powerful do they think she is?

The man holds his hand up in a silent order. Forin grumbles, his grip loosening until he drops my head. I let myself fall forward until my forehead is resting in the dirt, while I sob softly. I was as useless as a rock. Actually, I was more useless than that, you could at least throw a rock and hurt someone. I was more like a petal. Maybe not ever that, because petals could be poisonous. Elara had always been right about me. I was weak, pathetic, and useless.

The dirt near me crunches and slowly someone crouches down. I shy away from their touch, wanting to just curl up in a ball and disappear into the darkness again.

“Get her inside, take the other one to the shed and lock her in there. Keep the net on her. We can’t have any accidents.”

“Sire!” Forin cries, but the silence that follows his exclamation tells me that there will be no argument. Strong hands grab my arms and yank me to my feet before dragging me forward toward the tent. I flip my head around and watch as two new soldiers grab Mare and drag her in the opposite direction. “Wait,” I choke, as I try to pull away and go after her. Where are they taking her? Where is the Shed? Are they going to torture her?

I’m forced forward and through my tears, I can see the young man pulling the tent flap of the massive tend aside and disappearing inside ahead of us. I takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brighter interior, and I squint as I look over my surroundings. The interior seems to so out of place with where we are. Beautiful mahogany furniture decotates the space, with books and maps stacked on every available space. In the face corner, almost hidden behind everything is a small cot with a gas lamp on a crate.

The guards leave me standing and take hesitant steps back on a silent order I assume comes from the young man standing before us. A second later though, he whispers, “leave us.”

There is a soft hiss from Scar Face, but she follows the order nonetheless. I quiver as she passes by me, her grumbles clearly audible under her breath. The tent flap slides into place and we’re left in silence. The only thing I can hear is the soft drumming of fingers on a desk. I keep my eyes on my bound hands though, terrified of looking up.

“What is your name?”

I tense and shake my head in response to the question. The drumming stops, and I hold my breath until it continues again. We remain in silence, until his voice fills it. He’s still carefully guarded, but softer when he speaks. “I will give you mine then. We’re cut from the same cloth and you deserve my name at least.”

I bring my eyes up, just enough to look at him through my lashes. He’s standing behind a massive mahogany desk, littered with papers, books, and a few almost nonexistent candles that are lit. Julian would be disgusted at the candle wax that has leaked onto the covers of the faded volumes.

He comes from behind the desk slowly, and I take a step back in fear, but he pauses at the front of the desk and leans against it. With a slight dip of his head, he says, “My name is Proteus Valazt, and I am the king of the Raiders.”

That draws my eyes and a slight incline of my head. He nods with me and then says, “Yours now, it’s only fitting. I’m sure you’re not versed in the court etiquette—“

“My name is Coriane Jacos, and I …” I trail off, hesitant to say my title, wondering if it would make things worse for me if I told him. He raises a brow expectantly, and I drop my eyes and head again. “It doesn’t matter what I was.”

He shrugs, as if the information truly doesn’t matter. He turns to one of the candles behind him and says, “Do you understand that you are our hostage?” 

“I understand that in war there are certain rules to hostages. You are not harm them for one.”

He chuckles darkly and raises his eyes to me with a smile that the shadows play in. “We’re not at war with Montfort. They are at war with us.”

Narrowing my eyes in confusion, I watch the rapid, mercurial change to his features. I’ve told lies, I know what they look like on people’s faces. I’d schooled my face to hide the unhappiness underneath my skin for years. I know all the tells.   If he realized that he’s given me knowledge about himself, he doesn’t show it, instead he gracefully makes his way back behind the desk and sinks into the chair. He watches me carefully until I say softly, “You don’t believe that.”

His expression changes immediately from confident, to surprised, to composed. He’s young and hasn’t completely learned how to control those changes in his expression. I blink at him and he leans back in his chair, and brings his fist up to support his chin. It takes a moment for him to realized that I am more than just another silver, I have been in a court somewhere, and I know the games, at least some of them.

“Who are you?” He asks carefully again. I shake my head and drop my eyes.

“Forgive me, I’ve overstepped,” I try to back pedal, my fear that he’ll figure out the truth coming through. He narrows his eyes and says, “You’ve served in a court, I want to know which one.”

There was no harm in leaving him with a little information, not enough to gain the truth though. “I lived in the Nortian court for a while.” I give the piece willingly, and his eyes narrow even further.

“My father helped a princess from the Lakelander court a few years ago. She came bringing words of peace, and a promise that the King of Norta was going to help us conquer Montfort. Here we are years later though, missing a king, and lacking support.”

“I’m not that support.” I murmur, and he laughs with a shake of his head at my response.

“I don’t need to see to know that.”

He rises from his chair, settling into his new position in the conversation. I move away from him as he walks passed me and digs through the drawers for something behind me. When he returns, it’s with a knife. I pull back in horror, but he grabs my wrists and holds me in place. He’s considerably taller than me, and has no problem manhandling me.

“No, wait, please—“ I cry, closing my eyes and tensing until I feel the metal between my wrists and hear the near silent snip of the knife cutting through leather. I crack open my eyes and watch him slowly saw at the bonds on my wrists. He works in silence, the callouses on his fingers rubbing against my skin as he does so.

The leather falls away and I pull my wrists to my chest, rubbing at them softly, trying to sooth the skin. He slips the knife into the holster on his belt, and watches me carefully back away into a corner of the tent, trying to put distance between us. He sits on the edge of the desk again in response, staring at me before saying, “If we succeeded in our effort to over throw Montfort, I would need to know how to function on the political stage. So, my father made me memorize all the kings and queens growing up. There was a singer queen in Norta.”

My stomach plummets to my knees and I swallow past the sandpaper feeling in my throat. I can’t speak though. Not as he crosses his arms comfortably and says, “Coriane Jacos, the Singer Queen, that’s what they called her. The rumor was that she whispered honey in the prince’s ear and he married her within the week.”

I want to argue in my defense, but I simply press deeper into the shadows, trying to hide. He won’t let me though, his words light fireworks, igniting my past and showing exactly who I am.

“She gave birth to a son, Tiberias Calore the Seventh. She died a year later, and a Whisper Queen took the throne in her place.”

“Please—“

“So who are you Coriane Jacos? A queen, a singer, or a corpse?”

My skin crawls at the last word and I whisper, “Nothing, I am nothing.”

“No one is nothing,” he reasons, and looks down at his boots, his lip curling for a moment in distaste. I wish more than anything that I were a Haven, so that I could blend into the shadows and disappear forever.

“You’re one of the Living Dead, aren’t you?” He asks the next part softly. My reaction brings a smile to his features, and he says, “Yes, we have them too. They’re growing in number, rising as fast as they die. In fact… my scouts were reporting a change in the weather as you were being brought here. The men I lost in the battle might just walk into this camp tomorrow morning.”

I wheeze for breath, remembering Mare’s words from earlier. They shouldn’t have this many men, their numbers were too great.

“Do you know why it’s happening?” I whisper breathlessly, and his eyes widen in surprise, before he shakes his head infinitesimally.

“Do you?”

I shake my head in reply, stepping out of the corner just slightly. His lips draw into a tight line, as he replies, “It’s not stopping anytime soon though.”

I hesitant to take another step forward, drawn in by the conversation, and say, “Montfort might know something. The Premier… she might know something.”

He sneers at the mention of Rori, but his next comment is cut off by Scar face returning, almost out of breath. She looks between the two of us, and then spots the leather strap on the floor. Her eyes narrow a fraction of an inch before she looks up and says, “It’s Harv, he’s almost left us.”

Proteus is up in seconds and starts for the exit to the tent. He freezes before turning to look at me, as if he just remembered I was there. I try to press myself back into the shadows, but I have a feeling I will never be able to hide from him. “Grab her, Doria. She cant stay here.”

Doria crosses the space to me, and I try to put up a fight, but she wrestles me into movement. I don’t dare drag my feet, not now that Proteus has cut my bonds. That was a quiet blessing, and I want to think that it’s a promise of some sort. I’m not sure of what yet though.

I’m dragged through the camp, which seems to have resumed some resemblance of nighttime activity. The children run around the camp fires, shouting and making up games as they go. Elders hush them, and other younger members chatter. But they all bow their heads when Proteus walks by. A hush seems to follow him too. I remember that hush, it makes my skin crawl now, just like it used to when I walked next to Tibe through the crowds.

He pushes a tent flap aside, which has a massive swath of red paint across the front of it. Doria pushes me inside, and I struggle against her grip, and then against the bile that rises in my throat at the stench. I gag, and choke for a second, while my eyes adjust to the limited light. Next to my feet a woman groans, her body covered in white boils that ooze. I back up into Doria’s chest, trying to put distance between myself and the woman on the ground. Another one to my right groans though, a child from the looks of it, who face is covered in so many of the boils that it doesn’t even look human anymore.

Doria pushes me to the back, and the further we go, the worse it gets. There are no sounds back here, the people here are the ones closest to death. Here are the people praying for it to end.

Proteus pauses above a young man and slowly drops to his knees, his facade cracking as he does so. I can barely hear the wheeze of the man’s breaths. His eyelids are swollen shut with the boils, and his body shakes with every exhale. Proteus reaches a hand out only for a nurse to hurry over and whisper, “Your Majesty, I’m sorry, but you can’t--”

His hand hovers over the man’s skin for a moment and he whispers, “Harv, can you hear me?”

The man doesn’t move, and the nurse bends down to whisper something in Proteus’s ear, her voice gentle. She’s not a healer though, or else the people in here would not be this sick. Surely they have a healer though?

One of the boils pops when Harv opens his mouth and a yellow pus oozes out. I gag and turn to rush from the tent. Doria lets me go, her fingers trailing on my arm. I barely make it out of the tent before I’m sick. A few people look up from nearby, and pull their children away. I lean against one of the poles, trying to catch my breath. I’d never seen anything like that. Not even in the worst of the red villages. Then again, I’d never gone that deep into them. Mare might know more, she said she grew up in the Stilts. It was the poorest, I knew that much.

A while after I finish vomiting, Doria and Proteus emerge from the tent. I look up, and Proteus glances down at me in surprise, as if he was shocked I was even still standing there. Then his eyes harden and he orders, “Take her to one of the tents, have them burn her clothes, and wash her. I won’t let one of my hostages die.” 

Doria nods and grabs my arm before dragging me away and toward another one of the tents at the edge of the encampment. A few women sitting outside of it stroking a small fire look up when she approaches with me. They rise as one, and look me over before pulling the tent flap aside. I can’t even bring myself to protest as they drag me inside. (////)

Hours later, after I’ve been scrubbed raw and doused in oils and soaps until I smell like a perfume parlor, the tent flap shifts. The ladies brushing my hair pull back in surprise and bow their heads deeply. I glance up in the shockingly clean mirror to see Proteus standing behind me.

“Out, all of you.” He orders, but he almost doesn’t need to. The minute the first word leaves his mouth, they are rushing to leave, whispering like birds as they flee. I straighten my shoulders as he approaches me from behind, internally I tremble. I have no idea what his ability is. He’s too lean to be a strong am, but that wouldn’t stop him from being anything else. Tightening my hands into fists on the thin fabric of the robe they gave me, I demand, “What was that?”

He sinks into one of the chairs in this tent, his eyes closing almost instantly. “We don’t have a name for it.”

Information, no bonds, and he sits in my presence like this? I truly am next to nothing in where threats are concerned. I didn’t feel like a hostage though. What was his end game?

“Where are your healers?”

“Died first.” He exhales before tilting his head down and opening his eyes again. My mouth goes dry at the words. I must pale considerably, because when he continues, it’s softly, “It’s not airborne, that’s all we know. It’s spread through contact. But we can never be too careful.” That explains the loss of the healers. They would have had to touch the people they were healing.

He looks bone tired in that position, and so very young. I remember Cal telling me that he was king for a day, and that it had been miserable. I wonder if this is what he had looked like during that day.

“What are you going to do with me and Mare?”

His lips twist in distaste. “I don’t know.”

“What would you trade us for?” I ask softly as I turn on the stool to face him. His eyes glint before he smiles ruefully and says, “An end to Montfort. They forced my people out, sent us into these hideous plains to try and eke out a living. All because we refused to bow to their will.”

“Their will is good. The people are free, there is no hatred and…”

“You didn’t look hard enough. There is hatred. It’s there, but it’s rooted deeply and hidden carefully.”

My lips draw into a tight line. It’s a poor excuse, and a poor argument. He probably has never even seen Montfort. If his father, and his father before him had been forced out. His hatred is breed in him. He probably doesn’t even truly believe in fighting this little campaign. “They could help you,” I whisper, “they could send healers… people to help.”

“Their healers would die just like ours did.”

“Not the ones like Mare… the Ardents. They’re stronger than silvers.”

He raises a brow at my words as I stand slowly and take a hesitant step toward him. “Trade us for healers, for medicine, and food, and water. Trade us to save your people, not chasing an ideal.” I have no idea if this will work, if he will listen to me. I’ve seen a glimmer of the truth beneath his façade though. He does not want this lofty goal that he claims to serve. He wants something else. I don’t need to be a whisper to see that.

He raises a brow at me, his expression searching for ground before he says softly, “I can see why your people loved you Coriane Jacos.”

I reel in surprise. My people had never loved me. They had feared me, and they had feared my ability. Even then, they never saw me. I had been Queen, but I had been a shadow. I barely made appearances. I wish I had though. I wish I had been stronger. That I could have found it in myself to be happy. Maybe I could have been there for Cal, maybe Elara would have never dug her claws into Tibe. I could have had strength and power. I just wasn’t strong enough to pretend.

I crouch down slowly and reach for his hand. He starts when I take it gently and whisper, “You have the chance to save your people. Trade us for what you need to save them.”

For a moment, I think he actually contemplates my words. His lips draw into a tight line a heartbeat later though, while his brows draw together. Yanking his hand from mine and rising from the chair, he growls, “You couldn’t possibly understand what has happened. My father lost his life fighting for our people to live once more. I will not be the one to let him die in vain.”

He storms out of the tent, leaving me dumbfound. Rising quickly from the dirt though, I rush for the entrance after him. When I reach it, Doria steps inside. She catches me, and pushing me backwards so that I have to catch myself on the vanity.

“Running away little song bird?”

I have no response. She chuckles at my silence, and takes Proteus’ place in the chair. Pulling out a knife to pick at her nails and cuticles, she says, “Proteus is too kind to you just because you’re silver. He should lock you up in that shed with the Red devil.”

The mention of Mare brings my head around so I can glare at her. “Where is she? What have you done to her?”

Smirking at my words, Doria looks up from her nails to say, “Nothing she didn’t deserve.”

My blood runs cold as I try to advance on her, stuttering over my threats. Before I can truly reach her though, she leaps to her feet and grabs my wrists. I yelp as she squeezes tight enough that my bones feel like they will shatter. She practically presses her nose to mine as she hisses, “Try to bewitch my king with your little songs, and I will find a hole in these plains and bury you so deep you won’t be able to dig yourself out when you return.”

She throws me backwards onto the mess of blankets that make up the bed. I scramble to right myself, and watch as she sinks back into the chair. She goes back to picking at her nails, and even though her eyes aren’t on me, I know that she is aware of my every move. If she stays here tonight, I doubt I’ll get any sleep, which leaves me with plenty of time to start planning an escape.

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