The Third Sun (Daughter of the Phoenix Book One)

  For John and Brenda Gray

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty–One

  Chapter Twenty–Two

  Chapter Twenty–Three

  Chapter Twenty–Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty–Six

  Chapter Twenty–Seven

  Chapter Twenty–Eight

  Chapter Twenty–Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty–One

  Chapter Thirty–Two

  If you enjoyed the third sun…

  Find out what happens next in Fia and Alexander’s story…

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  Prologue

  The Lady Noor had made her way south to join a group of witches gathered around a fire in the depths of night. She rested her weapons against a splintered tree stump and took a seat beside the fire. The scent of moss and charred wood filled her nostrils, and a soft orange glow lit up seven faces in the shadows.

  “Kharsee.” Noor bowed to the leader of her coven, if she could still call them her coven.

  “You are all here because you have felt it,” the old witch began, her violet eyes glistening like polished amethysts. She reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a leaf, lustrous and onyx black in the firelight.

  “Darkness is creeping into Ohinyan,” she announced. “A seam is slowly tearing apart—one that holds the very essence of our world together.” Kharsee held the gaze of the other witches as she spoke.

  Noor listened whilst the others muttered amongst themselves. Kharsee turned the leaf in her hands, ignoring the murmurs from the group until silence fell over them. Nothing but the crackling of flames broke the stillness of the dark forest beyond.

  “Above the seam hangs a small village, suspended from great trees and endless, twisting vines. The broad leaves that cradle the morning dew are wilting, the vines crumbling and decaying. Like most of the people of Ohinyan, the villagers do not yet know of the tear in the ground below, or that from it escapes a darkness that has been hiding, deep and low beneath the earth like a foul breath. After lifetimes of waiting, the darkness has begun to seep into our world, rotting and ruining everything it touches,” Kharsee added.

  The flames turned black, and one of the younger witches shot to her feet.

  “Perhaps you ignored it for a while, cast aside your worries, and blamed it on the coming of the third sun. But I think you have all heard its whispers.” Kharsee ushered the young witch to sit down. Fine lines framed her eyes and mouth, but Kharsee was not frail, far from it. “The darkness tried to take hold of our world when the first sun died. We do not know why it failed. Now, the second sun is dying, and the darkness is trying to break free.”

  She turned to each of the faces in the firelight, her expression calm. “What do the angels know of this, Noor? You have Alexander’s ear.”

  “Some have heard the whispers.” Noor sharpened her blade on a stone, flicking her braid over her shoulder as the wind picked up.

  “But what do they intend to do? What is Alexander’s plan?” a young witch asked.

  Noor considered her response, inspecting her blade in the firelight. Alexander was exactly where he’d agreed to be, where she’d asked him to be, searching for the girl on Earth. She caught the gaze of each of the coven members around the fire, their expectant stares waiting for answers. The girl.

  “The leader of angels is carrying out his duties on Earth,” she replied, her eyes fixed back on her blade. “Alexander heeded our request. We must trust him.”

  “Duties?” The witch beside Kharsee leapt to his feet, hands clenched in tight fists, and his voice trembling. “What of his duty to Ohinyan? We are under attack, and yet where are the protectors of this world? Spending all of their time on Earth.”

  “Enough child.” Kharsee placed a gentle hand on the young witch’s shoulder. “The angels are doing the best they can, given the situation.”

  “But Countess, there is so much we do not know—"

  “So then assist the angels,” Noor demanded. “Do not sit idly by, just because the witches that came before us would not get involved with the matters of Ohinyan.”

  The group murmured, but Kharsee was silent, her lips a firm line. Wisps of silver hair brushed lightly against her cheek. She locked eyes with Noor before casting her attention back to the group.

  “Come now,” Kharsee said. “We are running out of time. Every witch must make their own decision: stand alone, unite with your fellow witches, or side with the darkness. In the coming months, every one of us must make a choice.”

  The witches stood, inclining their heads in a respectful bow before dispersing into the forest. Noor remained beside Kharsee until the coven members were nothing but shadows amongst the trees.

  “Tell me all you’ve learned, Noor.”

  “I bring no good news. Attacks across the continent, mercenaries from the north venturing far away from their usual hunting grounds. Is it all connected to the darkness, to our dying sun?”

  Kharsee’s expression was unreadable, but Noor bit back at her questions. So many questions. But she could not overstep. It had taken too long to claw her way back to this point, for the privilege to sit around this fire beside Kharsee and to have any part in what was to come.

  “Everything is connected in some way or another.” Kharsee threw the blackened leaf into the fire, and it hissed and crackled as it burnt. “You must speak with Alexander, the moment he returns to Ohinyan.”

  “You really think this girl can help?” Noor asked. How could one girl unite the creatures of this world, unite its people? The continents were divided; people ceased talking with creatures long ago. Most of the people had ceased talking with each other, too.

  “I do.”

  Noor let out a breath. “If Alexander returns, Kharsee.” She threw a stick into the fire and followed a trail of sparks, carried upwards into the canopy. “This darkness, some say it’s like a nothingness—an emptiness calling out in the night. What is it?”

  “Not what, but who,” the old witch said. “You have witnessed the changes in Ohinyan.” She gestured towards the leaf, bubbling and burning still. “He is responsible. Whispering from his prison to anything and anyone who will listen. Erebus.”

  “But he must have failed before, or we would not be here now, would we?”

  “There are many gaps in my knowledge, Noor, and this I cannot answer. He must have failed, yes, but at what cost? Who can say whether he will fail again? He has had many years to think of his mistakes, to spread his whispers into Ohinyan. Whilst most of our world has forgotten him, he has been waiting.” She placed a gentle hand on Noor’s cheek, her eyes flickering with fear. “Our sun is dying, and the darkness is coming. We need this girl, Noor. We will need all the help we can get. All of Ohinyan must unite, or what lies ahead will divide us all.”

  Chapter One

  Fia

  Endings were hard. Surely, everybody knew that. The end of your favourite
book. A breakup. Saying goodbye. A death.

  Fia stood at the edge of a grave, watching a groundskeeper as he laid fresh soil.

  “We’re keeping it level as the coffin sssettles,” he’d explained when she first saw him do it a while back. He was missing a front tooth and the S sounds whistled gently as he spoke. But he spoke very little and Fia appreciated that.

  The cemetery was quiet. A squirrel gave her the side-eye as it held an acorn tightly to its chest. Magpies pecked at the dirt nearby. Crumbling graves stood tall amongst dense bushes, and an angel headstone reached higher than its neighbours.

  She hadn’t really been seeing an angel, had she? Not a real one…angels weren’t real. She had to be imagining it.

  “Worms.”

  “Excuse me?” Fia asked, as the groundskeeper continued his shovelling.

  “Ssssorry love?” He placed his tools in his wheelbarrow and dusted off his hands, even though they weren’t dirty.

  “I thought you said…um, never mind.” Her words came out in a rush. “Thank you,” she murmured as he walked away. His Highgate Cemetery badge reflected the morning light, and he hummed to himself.

  Fia arranged yellow roses in a neat pattern around the grave marker and brushed leaves off a small, laminated picture of her sister. It was still too soon for a headstone; the earth would need topping up for months.

  “Hey Soph,” she whispered. “I’ve got something for you.” She placed a little carved angel in the soil, as thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. The wind carried the smell of damp earth as a few spatters of rain hit her coat.

  The most annoying thing about endings was that everyone expected you to start over. But where did you begin? What if you didn’t want to begin?

  She cast her gaze along the path, scanning for movement, but only wet leaves waved back at her.

  “I think I saw the angel again.” Fia added some of the roses to the grave beside her sister’s. This one had a headstone with her parents’ names engraved into it in lead-filled letters. “And I swear, I didn’t dream it, but on my way here just now a fox said good evening to me. Maybe he knew it was my birthday.” She huffed a laugh. “And that magpie definitely just shouted ‘worms’ a minute ago.”

  She let out a soft whistle through pursed lips. Did grief make you crazy? She’d planned on telling Henry about the angel and the voices…until that girl had turned up.

  Something heavy fell into the groundskeeper’s wheelbarrow nearby, but he was nowhere to be seen. Fia checked between the gravestones for any sight of the angel. She saw no white wings, only overgrown greenery and the grey of ageing headstones.

  Could watching too much TV really damage brain cells? Or maybe it was just the trauma, and her brain was doing that protection thing she’d read about. That was it, right?

  “I know you’re there,” she called out to the still graveyard. She didn’t know, but it was worth a try. Nothing but birds chirped in response, so she said a silent goodbye to her family, wherever they were, before making her way to the exit. Just once, she wished she could hear them. Hear their voices, hear how their day was, what it was like, where they’d gone next. She didn’t want to think about how lonely it was without them, not today.

  As she stepped out onto the pavement, the first real drops of rain fell. Fia pulled her hood snug around her face, tucking in stray wisps of auburn hair. Thunder rumbled again as she made her way down the hill to the bus stop.

  Henry.

  She’d been so preoccupied with figuring out how to tell him about all the weird stuff that had been happening, she hadn’t even seen what was going on right under her nose. Henry was all she’d had left. Well, other than Jo. Was it weird if your gym instructor was your only friend? Probably.

  The worst part was that Henry’s new girlfriend had been hanging around at the coffee shop, and Fia hadn’t even put two and two together. She’d ordered an iced mocha a week or so ago and had been oddly stand-offish, but then most customers were. Fia muttered expletives under her breath as she approached the bus stop. “A bloody iced mocha!”

  How long had it been going on? Was it weeks? Months? She bit back obscenities, willing herself to stay calm. Don’t you dare cry.

  The street was quiet. Parked cars lined the pavement that had buckled and cracked from tree roots breaking the surface. The bus pulled up moments later, splashing through overflowing potholes. As the smell of wet tarmac filled her nostrils, Fia pushed away the memory of her sister lying motionless in a puddle on an empty road, and instead stepped onto the bus, tapping her card as she passed the driver. If only Sophie had worn her helmet, instead of insisting Fia take it instead.

  She reached into her pocket and her fingers wrapped around Henry’s key. The spare key to her flat. What an idiot Henry was. What an absolute idiot she was. If Fia focused on Henry, she could keep the thoughts of her sister at bay. Sophie was the only family she’d had left. And Sophie was right. Henry had played her, just like she’d said he would.

  Fia pulled the cord tighter on her hood, as her gaze fixed on the droplets of rain forming on the window. It wasn’t really that surprising Henry had cheated on her. She hadn’t exactly been herself lately. Do not cry. All the words she should have said to Henry echoed over and over on repeat. That lying, cheating…how did you not see this coming?

  The bus reached Fia’s stop and she stepped off, hesitating outside the entrance to the gym. She could just go home. She blinked up into the rain, pushing back at the panic creeping up her arms, her chest, her neck.

  The red-bricked gym was set amongst shiny new office buildings, with an old wooden plaque that still sat above the entrance: a shield of purple and red feathers with “Resurgam” engraved elaborately beneath it. I shall rise again.

  Birds chirped nearby, and Fia paused to listen. There were no words, only the trickle of rain, squeaking bus brakes, and car horns. She let out a quiet whistle, embarrassed to have expected to hear anything else. No voices or angels had followed her here, and the anxiety eased as quickly as it had come.

  Training always calmed her, for a few moments at least. There was something about beating a punch bag that made the hollow feeling at the pit of her stomach a little bit easier to bear. Jabbing, hooking, kicking, elbow striking, Fia found the rhythm relaxing.

  Kick after kick, left leg, right leg, knee, knee, elbow, elbow, her anger towards Henry melted away in the mangle of blows and sweat. Imagining he was the punch bag helped, too.

  Where was Jo? It was late, but she was usually here until closing.

  “That’s some serious rage for a Monday night,” a voice called out from the depths of the studio. Fia wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm and then gave a quick, strong punch for good measure. Screw you, Henry.

  The gym was quiet at this hour, a couple of guys lifting weights, a woman running on a treadmill. The sparring mats were always empty, much to Fia’s relief. She’d struggled with small talk since Sophie’s death.

  “Evening, Jo.”

  Jo smiled, deep laughter lines around her eyes creasing at the corners. “Pad work or sparring?”

  “Spar.” Fia adjusted her gloves as Jo strapped on a pair.

  It could have been going on for months, this thing with Henry and his not-so-new girlfriend. He’d been distant for a while now, but Fia had been too afraid to ask, to push it, to push him away.

  Jo flicked a long, black braid over her shoulder. “Happy Birthday,” she blurted, dodging a knee kick.

  Fia shook her head. Of course she knew. Jo always knew things. Don’t push her away, too. She’s all you’ve got left.

  “Aldridge. You’re top of my membership list. I couldn’t miss it.” Jo threw a right hook, too slow for Fia. “Come over to my place for a celebratory drink,” she said, dodging again, this time to avoid an elbow strike. “Your eighteenth is a special occasion.”

  Fia concentrated on her attack, pushing aside the flutter of anxiety in her chest at the thought of having to go to a s
ocial event. She still wasn’t ready for that. Jab, jab, hook. She willed her anger to disperse. At Henry. At the irrational spark for Jo knowing about her birthday. At the world.

  “Jess will be coming. I told her to invite a few people. Bring Henry, too,” Jo finished, successfully knocking Fia off her feet with a sweep kick.

  “Henry’s been cheating on me,” Fia said, lying still for a moment, before brushing a strand of hair away from her face, as she stared up at the ceiling. She pictured Jo’s cramped flat full of people, demanding answers about her breakup. A sea of faces staring back at her, waiting for answers. No way. The anxiety balled in her throat.

  Jo reached out her hand. “Fia I’m so–” Before she could finish, Fia jumped up and countered with a sweep kick of her own.

  “It’s over. I kicked him out. So I’ll give that invite a pass, I think,” she said with a weak smile and held her hand out to Jo. Sparring was over. She gave Jo a quick, tight hug. “Thank you, I do appreciate the offer.” She really did.

  Jo shook her head. “Henry…that…argh! If I see him around here…”

  The two guys at the weights made a terrible show of pretending they hadn’t been watching, but Fia didn’t care. She waved goodbye to Jo as she caught her breath. What was there to say? Other than Henry was a lying, cheating…

  “Ring me if you change your mind,” Jo called as Fia walked away to the locker room.

  The last thing she wanted was a birthday party, even though she knew Jo was only trying to help. The thought of having to talk about Sophie, her break up with Henry, of working at the coffee shop—quite possibly the dullest job she had ever had—of tedious University applications. That was not her idea of a celebration.

  She grabbed her things from her locker, tapped out of the gym with her card, and ran the long route back to her flat. Turning down streets she knew were in completely the wrong direction and circling back through the park, her route guided by wherever streetlamps illuminated the path. She ran until her legs could take no more, and as soon as she was back inside, she kicked off her trainers and threw herself onto the bed. Her nose crinkled as her face touched the duvet. Henry. The bed reeked of his aftershave, and she pushed herself up with a groan, pulling off the sheets. Her foot kicked against the little ball of hair ties he’d given her before she’d left for work. “Eighteen of them for your eighteenth,” he’d said, and then that girl had turned up, waiting for him in the rain. Asshole.