Kindling of Frost and Ashes (Phoenix Chronicles Book 3)

Chapter 4: The Mission at Hand

Phoenix stared down at her hands, waiting for something to happen. Altair let out a sigh of frustration.

"You can't just sit there. You have to make it happen." 

"Make fire shoot out of my hands." Phoenix's dry tone was nothing compared to the skepticism she felt inside. "That's ridiculous."

"You can take heat from anything--even me--but making fire out of that heat is ridiculous?" Altair asked, folding his arms. "Your lack of imagination is disappointing."

Phoenix shot him a quick glare before wiggling her fingers and focusing. She could feel the heat in the room - from the lit fire in the grate, the steaming kettle on the table, and even from Altair and herself. Pulling at the strands of it, she held it all together until she felt a spark. A ball of fire appeared in the palm of her hand and she let out a yelp of triumph.

"It's about time," Altair said, though he grinned down at her like a proud parent. "Now extinguish it and do it again." 

Phoenix closed her hand, killing the fire, and her heart dropped a bit at the disappearance. The next time, it came easier and without much thought. The fire appeared in her hand as if it had always been there, and she let out another gleeful squeal. 

"Good, now that you've mastered walking, talking, and most of your gifts, it's time to plan your next move." 

"I take this fire and I go kill the traitor," Phoenix said, matter-of-fact though the words were not ones she'd spoken. 

Altair's brows arched in surprise. "You remember the traitor?"

"Yes. Yes! I remember something!" Phoenix let the fire die and grabbed Altair by his broad shoulders. "I remember there's a traitor. He or she...they?...are the reason..." she paused, trying to grasp whatever was on the edge of her thoughts. "They're the reason I died." 

"Are you saying the traitor is who killed you?"

Phoenix closed her eyes, trying to remember her death. She could remember the pain - horrible, intense - but somehow that wasn't linked to her death. If anything, dying freed her from the agony she had suffered. It had saved her.

"No. I don't think so. Do you know who killed me?"

Altair hesitated. "I've heard it was a woman named Canya. Someone you barely knew and had little interaction with. She stabbed you with a dagger."

Phoenix shook her head. "She's not the traitor. I don't think she was trying to hurt me."

"She stabbed you."

"Not nice, I agree, but...something feels...wrong." 

"Death and resurrection aren't generally right."

"No, I mean--" Phoenix searched the room as if the right word would pop out at her. "I think I had to die. I wish I hadn't forgotten almost everything. Even the little bits that are coming back don't feel like the most important parts. And everything you tell me about Ares feels foreign and wrong."

"But..." Altair said, peering at her with an intense gleam in his eyes.

"But I think that woman helped me by killing me. I'm stronger now. That's what you said last week - my strength is improved. I can sense things around me, like heat. Maybe I did that before, but I don't remember it. I remember the fire, now that I have it." 

"So your plan is to take this fire and go kill a traitor you have no idea the identity of."

"Basically, yes." Phoenix lost steam, dropping down into a chair. "How do I find someone I don't know? There are others like me, aren't there? Maybe they can help."