The First Dawn (Daughter of the Phoenix Book Three) Read online

  Contents

  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

  Chapter Thirty–Three

  Chapter Thirty–Four

  Chapter Thirty–Five

  Chapter Thirty–Six

  Chapter Thirty–Seven

  Chapter Thirty–Eight

  If you enjoyed The First Dawn…

  Read the whole series

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  For Ali, for everything

  Chapter One

  Fia

  A story played over and over in Fia’s head. One a friend had told her, not long ago. Just get through today. She let Altair’s words be a comfort—his story of how he had survived the darkest moments of his life by taking it one day at a time—as her back pressed against cold, hard rock.

  The darkness surrounding her was all consuming since the light in the adjacent cell had died out days ago. Fia couldn’t bring herself to care if the woman within it was dead.

  Her panic no longer seized her as it had in those first few days. Fia had stopped counting her anxious breaths when Lorn’s light had, at last, blinked out in the gap between their two cells. Only a quiet rage filled Fia now as she waited for Dante to return. Not Dante, Erebus. The ancient darkness had been resurrected in his angel form, and Fia shuddered at the thought of his arms wrapped around her waist, of his eyes lowering to her mouth.

  “Lorn,” Fia called out to the emptiness of her cell. The Makya was the last person she wanted to be stuck with. “Lorn. Wake up. We need to get out of here before he comes back.” Besides, she wasn’t going to sit and do nothing whilst they waited.

  She instinctively reached for the golden cuff Alexander had given her, but it was gone. Erebus had torn it from her. Tricked her, lied to her, brought her to this place, his prison. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her thighs at the thought. Ohinyan’s sun was dying, and instead of helping, she was stuck in a cell beside a woman who, the last time Fia checked, wanted her dead.

  And Lorn was just as bad as Erebus. For murdering Alexander’s father. Murdering their friend, Enne. Raining destruction on Ohinyan. For what? Fia didn’t know what the woman had hoped to achieve—didn’t think Lorn knew herself, either. Until arriving in the prison, Fia had thought Lorn was working with Erebus, not against him.

  A wave of panic washed over her, but she fought it down. Do you know who you are? A scientist, Okwata, had asked her, only a few weeks ago. She wondered if the messages she’d recorded for the people of Ohinyan had been delivered. If they’d all been warned about the dying sun and told herself if—no, when, she got out of this place, she’d continue her work with Okwata.

  Fia pulled herself to her feet, running her hands along the cold grooves of the rock in the darkness. Day, or night? She had no idea, they all blurred into one in the darkness of the cell. The air was cool and stale, but at least the cell was dry. If she had flames to warm herself… She’d practised summoning her power for hours on end but could never muster more than a kernel of blue flame in her palms, no matter how hard she tried.

  On the second day, a woman had just appeared inside the cell, holding a bucket in one hand and a tray of food in the other. A soft blue orb hovered above her head as if it were her personal head torch, and Fia had felt blinded by the sudden onslaught of light. The woman had said nothing as she’d placed the tray on the bed, and the bucket beside it. She’d disappeared as quickly as she’d come, into nothing, leaving only her little orb of light behind, floating beside the tray of food.

  The light hadn’t lasted long—long enough for Fia to eat the bread and cheese and swig back the water. It had taken all her restraint not to just down the whole cup in one go; she’d had no idea when she’d get water again. But the woman had returned the next day with a new bucket and a new tray of food. Again, she’d said nothing, and moments later disappeared. Fia had lost count of how many days it had been. Weeks, perhaps.

  “Lorn,” Fia called out again. “Answer me. You need to wake up. She’ll be coming back soon; I know you can sense her arrival.” And Fia was going to be ready for her. She felt across the wall and made her way to her bed, leaning up to the sliver of nothing in between the two cells.

  A groan came from the adjoining cell, barely a sound, but there. “I’m awake, you cretinous human.”

  “There she is. Have you eaten?” Fia wondered if Lorn could hear the insincerity in her voice. She pulled herself higher, feeling for the gap between the cells, her little pouch of witch stones pressing against her chest beneath her jumper.

  “What do you care?” Lorn’s voice was quiet, her breathing laboured.

  “When I left Earth for Ohinyan, being trapped in a prison wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” No light. Fia could see no light from the neighbouring cell. That wasn’t a good sign. Lorn was a Makya. Not only could she wield fire, she could become it. If her light had died out, she must have been badly injured, perhaps even by Erebus.

  A cough. “Prison realm,” Lorn corrected her.

  Fia slid down to the bed. Another world. It was the only logical explanation. “But how did he get us here?” she muttered under her breath. From what Fia had learnt since returning from Earth to the parallel world of Ohinyan, there were many more worlds out there, which meant there had to be a way out of this one. Erebus had escaped it, after all. It only took him what, a few thousand years, give or take. She twisted her fingers into the thin scrap of fabric on her bed to stop that familiar tightness in her chest going any further. Just get through today. And she wasn’t prepared to waste any more days, or nights, or whatever they were, rotting away in this place. “How old are you, Lorn?”

  “That is not relevant.”

  Fia rolled her eyes in the darkness. “It is relevant. Because I’m eighteen and I have no intentions of dying before I’ve even lived. There are other worlds out there, waiting for us to get our shit together and get out of here. But they won’t be waiting forever.” Ohinyan wouldn’t be there forever, either. Not if the sun died before they had a chance to return. The whole world would die, and everyone in it. Fia shoved a hand into her pocket and reached for a little copper ball, her fingers snagging across the places it was broken.

  “I’m wounded. I need healing,” Lorn finally said. There was no emotion in her voice. No pleading or remorse.

  Fia couldn’t bring herself to care. She ran her fingers over the copper sphere—the broken device that might allow her to communicate with her friends. “Who wounded you? Was it Erebus?”

  “Erebus, your witch friend, the leader of angels.” Lorn recited each individual on her list with more contempt than the last, and Fia’s
breath snagged in her throat.

  She held the device still in her fingers. “Alexander? How did he injure you?” One of the last times they’d been together, Lorn had badly injured Alexander—angels had no defence against the Makya’s fire. Lorn was a renegade, an exception to her kind. The rest of them wanted to help Ohinyan as the sun died. That was a small comfort to Fia, at least—that thousands would not be plunged into darkness as the sun died out. Or worse, starve.

  “With his magic.”

  Fia’s mouth went dry. Magic. Angels had no magic that she knew of, but then, All angels have magic, but they’ve forgotten how to use it, apart from with the spirits on Earth. Erebus’s words echoed in her head. That’s what he’d told her when he’d rescued her, pretended to be someone else, called himself Dante. She tightened her grip on the copper ball. But her anger dispersed into that sinking feeling deep in her gut again. Erebus didn’t know whether Alexander had survived his encounter with Lorn, he’d told her. She swallowed. “Is he… Is Alexander alive?”

  A snort from Lorn’s cell. “How should I know? He left me for dead in a pile of rubble back in London. I haven’t seen him since.”

  It was no less than she deserved. But how had Alexander taken on Lorn’s fire? What magic did he possess? Fia bit back her questions, too proud to ask the woman who had murdered so many.

  She fumbled with the copper ball in her hands, feeling for the buttons in the darkness. She’d tried sending messages every day, just as Okwata had shown her. She doubted whether he received them on his matching device; whatever element of it was broken, she was certain no part of it worked. They weren’t for him anyway. All the messages were for Alexander, and she whispered another into it as she held down a metal button.

  “Hey. It’s me. I’ve lost track of how long it’s been. There’s no real way of knowing here. But I’ve got a plan, and we’re going to get out. We’re going to find a way back.” Fia paused for a moment, waiting for Lorn to chime in with some sarcastic comment. She didn’t. “I wish we’d had more time. Before.” Her voice thickened, and she wrestled with her emotions. If she let herself break, even once… She just had to focus on getting out. “I should’ve told you I could hear him—Erebus, I mean. I just wanted to protect all of you and going back to Earth was the only way I knew how.” She laughed quietly in the dark. “I can see you rolling your eyes at the absurdity of someone else trying to protect an angel. But it was everyone, you know? He threatened all of you. It was all of you, or me. It wasn’t even a choice. Even if what we had, have…” He’s alive. He has to be. She blinked back tears, cleared her throat. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Tell Runa to save a space at the table for me.”

  Lorn groaned from somewhere in the next cell. “You humans. I’d heard you liked to pray. I never really believed it.”

  “You think that… yeah. Praying, I was praying.” Fia tucked the copper device back into her trouser pocket. Best to let Lorn think whatever she wanted about Fia whispering into the dark. Fia wasn’t about to offer up the story of how she came to be in possession of such a device—created by Okwata in another world alongside Ohinyan. She needed Lorn, but that didn’t mean they had to be friends for whatever came next. Injured or not, Fia had no doubts that Lorn wouldn’t hesitate to burn anyone in her proximity to cinders without so much as a raised eyebrow.

  “No one will hear your prayers but me. And…” Lorn groaned again. “Powerful as I am, there is little I can do when I am so badly wounded.”

  Fia was only half listening. She was on her feet, shuffling herself into position. When the woman arrived with food, she was going to be ready for her. Even if it meant standing in the dark all day. Or night. “You know,” she said, counting her steps to arm’s reach away from where the woman always appeared, “I almost felt sorry for you for a moment there. You can still make yourself useful. Give me a heads up when she’s coming.”

  Lorn laughed. It was a dry, raspy sound.

  She’d make it, she had to. Lorn always seemed to bounce back from whatever shit she’d thrown herself into. Fia reached an arm behind her to check her distance from the wall. Her fingers brushed the cool rock. Perfect. Now all she had to do was wait. “Where’s all that sass I’ve grown accustomed to?” Fia called out to Lorn. Don’t die on me just yet. A Makya might come in useful for what was ahead.

  “Sass?”

  “Oh right, Earth word. Um… insolence?” Fia bit back a laugh. Lorn coughed, and the dryness had turned wet and raspy. Not good. “No grand ideas about what he’s got planned for us?” If she could just keep her talking, keep her awake.

  “I told you.” Lorn made a spitting sound. “He doesn’t know which one of us is the fire mother. You’re from his precious prophecy, and I’m an anomaly. So he’ll no doubt be keeping us here for some tests, whenever he feels like returning.”

  Since when was it his prophecy? It was the reason Fia had ended up in Ohinyan in the first place—some ancient prophecy that said she could unite the creatures and people of Ohinyan. And she’d done that, to a point. Over time she’d been able to speak with a few who eventually came together. But only the fire mother could rekindle Ohinyan’s sun, and Fia couldn’t even manage a spark of flame. It couldn’t be her, could it? Okwata seemed to believe it, but she still hadn’t figured out how she felt about any of it just yet. “So why does he think you might be the fire mother?”

  “Does it irk you that you’re not the only special one?” Lorn’s voice was flat, empty.

  Fia rolled her eyes. She readjusted her stance, unwilling to be caught off guard for when the woman inevitably appeared in her cell. She still had her dagger tucked in her boot, a last resort if it came to it, not that it would do any good against Erebus. “Just answer the question.”

  Lorn didn’t answer right away. “I injured him.” Clothing rustled, followed by a rip of fabric.

  Good. I wish I’d seen it. Not that Fia would admit that to Lorn. “And? I’ve seen you toast more people and creatures than I care to count.”

  “No ordinary flame can harm him, but you are the girl from his prophecy. You have proved it with that ridiculous talent of yours for talking to… things.” Lorn made a pained sound to accompany her final word, and Fia wondered if she was redressing a wound.

  She sighed. “Wow, word really travels in Ohinyan, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d say seeing you astride the winged horse gave you away,” Lorn huffed, and Fia imagined her tying a makeshift bandage blindly in the dark.

  Fia’s breath caught. Arion. The last winged horse in all Ohinyan. And now he was dead, because of her. Just like Enne was dead because of her. Sophie too—if only she’d—she didn’t let herself finish the thought. Regardless of where the blame lay, she missed them. All of them.

  She had to believe what Alexander’s sister had told her was true—that a thread connected us all to the ones we love, and that she would know if Alexander was gone. She would feel it. It was all she had left to cling to as she felt the familiar urge to count her breaths.

  Instead, she focused on Lorn’s words. No ordinary flame can harm him. She looked to her hands in the dark. She’d managed to create nothing bigger than a seed of flame in the time she’d been stuck in this cell but it was a blue flame, nonetheless, nothing ordinary about it. And yet, Lorn had injured him.

  “Now!” Lorn hissed from her cell.

  A blinding light appeared in front of Fia. She didn’t hesitate, she lunged forwards and pulled at the woman’s arms, pushing a knee into her back. The tray of food and the bucket crashed to the floor, but the woman made no sound. Fia wondered if she could. Don’t feel guilty. You’re a prisoner here, and she’s helping Erebus. Fia’s next thought was whether the woman could simply vanish from the cell whilst she was pinned to the floor, but that blue orb was bouncing around them erratically, fading and dimming into nothing, leaving Fia with no time to worry.

  The door to the cell slammed open, and blinding light filled the room. Fia tightened her grip on the woman, sq
uinting against the brightness. An icy chill travelled down her spine. She was too late.

  “What’s this, trying to assault my staff?” A click of a tongue, and Fia’s eyes adjusted to the lights that were now hanging around her cell.

  Standing in the doorway, his expression colder than she’d ever seen it, grey wings folded neatly behind him, stood Erebus.

  Chapter Two

  Alexander

  P lumes of smoke streaked across the horizon. Erebus had been pillaging for days though reports had come slowly at first; a cloud of darkness descending upon villages, crushing victims and setting fire to anything in its path. Hundreds were dead, maybe more. It was impossible to count. Some villages were nothing but ash. And yet, Alexander couldn’t push aside the selfish thought that if Erebus was here, in Ohinyan, Fia was somewhere else, alone. Safe.

  A shadow cast overhead and a light breeze rustled Alexander’s feathers as the Lady Noor touched down beside him, folding her glider shut and sheathing it in a practised movement. “No word from the covens, leader of angels.” She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder before walking away, no doubt to seek out Osara’s tent.

  Osara was part of the Nords’ party—she could shift into an Igran—a spindly white bird with an elongated neck and a wide wingspan. They were usually found in warmer climates, and it seemed unusual to Alexander that a Nord could become such a creature. Northern birds, bears, wild cats—those all made sense to him—snow foxes and hares, even, but a bird from the south? It was unusual, to say the least.

  Alexander glanced back at the witch as she left. He could see no fresh wounds beside the ones only recently healed, no sign that her weapons had been used. Not that Noor would let on, anyway. She only imparted information when it was absolutely necessary. It was one of the qualities he appreciated about her, even though it had taken some getting used to. She’d played an essential part in everything that had unfurled, and he was proud to call her his friend. Proud of all of them.

  It had felt like a lifetime since the Eternal Dusk had fallen and he’d returned to Ohinyan, but it had only been a matter of weeks since he’d seen Erebus steal Fia away from the wall above Djira.