The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Demise of the Phoenix

Storm stiffened. “What?”

Kitara crossed her legs, clasping her hands in her lap. “Was that your only question, or did you have follow-ups?”

Obviously he had follow-ups, but for the life of him, he couldn’t replace the words.

Kitara spared him the trouble. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll expound if I can.”

“You and Phoenix had a disagreement,” Storm managed, reeling. “And you tried to kill him. My dad said you were…traumatized by your family dying—”

Kitara snorted. “That’s the narrative he’s spinning? That’s desperate, even for him—”

“Phoenix was the first silverblood, Kit. He’s probably the most well-known immortal in the realms—”

“Nobody knows Phoenix.” Her chilling tone gave him pause. “No one.”

Storm raised his hands. “That’s why I’m asking…instead of taking what my dad said at face value. Tell me.”

Kitara’s stomach churned, but she maintained a steady tone. “Phoenix came to Spokane once. Some kind of cross-continental tour.” She sighed. “We were all so excited: Devika more than most. She’s a romantic at heart, and she idolized him.”

“A lot of people do,” Storm said quietly.

Kitara nodded. “At first, he seemed how you’d expect: charismatic, a little roguish, alluring and forbidden at the same time. But after about a week, he took a shine to Devika. He invited her to accompany him to his various obligations. Speeches, events, meals, whatever. They were inseparable. More than her and me, and she’s like my sister.” She crossed her middle and index fingers for emphasis, then dropped her hands back into her lap. “Until one night…she mindspoke with me, panicked, bordering on hysterical; I couldn’t have refused the connection if I tried. I didn’t realize I moved. One minute I was getting ready for bed, the next, I was sprinting for her room.”

The color drained from Storm’s face.

“I kept the connection going, and I saw everything. His silver eyes in her face, telling her he was Phoenix Dyaphine, and no one turns down Phoenix Dyaphine.” Something feral crossed her expression. “He didn’t think anyone would give a shit about a quiet, bookish Historian. He was very, very wrong.”

Storm leaned forward, wide-eyed.

“He wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” she snarled. “But I didn’t give him much choice. I burst in and dragged him off her. Suddenly, we needed to disappear. And he tried to make that happen. He doesn’t have electricity, not like you do: more like…violent light. And oh, he tried to use it against me.”

Too much, I nearly said too much.

Kitara switched gears. “I don’t remember much of the fight. But once the officials arrived, the damage was done. What I did to him…it should have killed him,” she bit out. “He should have died. And god knows I wish he had.”

“Blessed stars,” Storm whispered.

“I tried to explain. But I wasn’t the one grievously injured, and Devika was hysterical. She wasn’t in any condition to talk about it.”

“But…they—they must have punished him—”

“No, Storm,” Kitara replied. “They called your father, who quietly removed him from the facility and let him go.”

“But he could have killed you!” Storm spluttered. “After he tried to rape Devika!”

“And didn’t succeed on either front,” Kitara reminded him. “Who were they going to believe? Devika? Me? Or the revered silverblood who, as far as I know, hadn’t touched another woman before?”

“That’s…no, he wouldn’t—”

“Your father let him go,” Kitara repeated darkly. “He had his own silverblooded son to protect. He didn’t want to sully Phoenix’s reputation, or his, or yours. After, Phoebe brought Saoirse to see me. She told me she wanted me in the Sleeper program. Phoebe said…she wanted to keep me safe. That the skill set would make me too valuable to lose, to disregard. It would allow me to protect those I loved. To protect everyone, even.”

“That’s why you became a Sleeper?” he asked.

“Yes. Your father objected. Vehemently. He called me a security risk, unhinged, unskilled…anything he could think of. But each High Councilor manages their own profession. You think he was happy about me transferring to HQ?” She snorted. “You weren’t the only one he tried to manipulate with this arrangement. I’ve been relegated to assignments just barely short of exile for most of my career, and he arranged that.”

“And…Devika?”

Kitara waved one hand. “You’ve met her. She’s sunshine wrapped in rainbows. But that night…something darkened in her. She’s more subdued than she used to be.”

Storm rubbed his eyes hard with one hand, then met her gaze with an expression of mingled exasperation and regret. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

Storm flushed, but they both knew the answer.

“If you want confirmation…ask Phoebe. She won’t like it, but I don’t think she’d lie to you.”

“You’re that close with her?” Storm asked.

“She…was the closest thing I had to a parent for a while,” Kitara admitted. “Saoirse called, but of course, as a Sleeper, she couldn’t be here all the time. Phoebe kinda took over mothering me.”

He chuckled drily. “That sounds like her. She’s like that with me, too. What about Zayne?”

“We’ve met, but I don’t think he knows the extenuating circumstances.”

Storm ducked his head. “I’m so sorry. For everything my dad’s done. I thought I was the only one he kept on such a short leash. Stars and hellfire, if my mom were awake, she’d string him up herself.”

Kitara forced a laugh. “She’s probably the only one who could get away with it without being arrested.”

Storm braced his clasped hands against his jaw. “I think she would really like you.”

“I wish I could have met her.” She smiled softly.

Storm smiled back, but his eyes clouded with sorrow. “Hopefully someday.”

She watched him for a moment, hesitating. “You want to talk about it?”

He sighed. “I would, but it’s been talked about. It’s been talked about to death. Except not quite, because if she were dead, at least we’d have some closure. Sometimes I don’t know what to hope for: that the coma will finally consume her, or someone will replace answers and restore her. Hell, that she’ll wake up without any intervention at all.”

“I don’t know how long-term care works…but how long will they wait before they’ll…let her go?”

“They won’t. Not her.” Storm grimaced. “My father would never allow it. Her condition…it ripped my family apart. Not just taking her from us but dividing me and my dad too. We’ve never seen eye to eye since she…” He trailed off, his gaze far away.

Though it made unease crawl down her spine, Kitara forced herself to ask. “Devika thinks she might be one of the only immortals alive old enough to remember the Ninthëvels’ rebellion. Did she ever mention them to you?”

“The Ninthëvels,” he spat with enough vitriol to make her sit back a little. “The best thing Valëtyria ever did was execute them for their treachery.” At the surprised look on her face, he sighed heavily. “She didn’t like to talk about them if she could help it. They represented the antithesis of everything the Myragnar valued. Peace, honor, loyalty…all destroyed in their pursuit of power.”

Kitara studied her hands in her lap. The threads of their past wove too tightly together, an intricate tapestry dyed in the bitter hues of guilt and anger, grief and regret. “She bore a deep grudge, then?”

“Something happened to the Myragnar after the Ninthëvels’ uprising,” Storm said quietly. “I think it was too painful for my mom to talk about. But whatever it was, it sent them to Myragos. Though I can’t understand how they’ve lived there so long without losing their minds. The physics, the tower…”

Kitara tilted her head. “The…tower?”

He nodded. “Everyone thinks Myragos is a city or a fortress. But it’s not. It’s technically its own miniature realm; you have to go through Valëtyria to get there. I lived there for a year to learn how to control this.” He demonstrated with a thin thread of electricity dancing around his fingers. “By the end, I was desperate to return to Valëtyria. There’s only one building: a single tower, and everything the Myragnar need is inside. They all live, sleep, eat, and work in it. The inside is bigger than the outside.”

“That sounds…disconcerting,” Kitara hazarded.

“It’s kinda hard to explain without seeing it,” Storm admitted.

“I guess they made an exception for you to study there for so long?”

He cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

“Well, just that the Myragnar are so particular about who comes and goes.”

Storm’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m allowed to travel freely to Myragos at any time.”

Kitara blinked. “You are?”

“I’m a silverblood, Kit. If they had their way, I’d live there permanently.”

“…You really think there might be answers in Myragos?”

“That’s the only theory I have that doesn’t lead to a complete dead end…”

Kitara stilled, falling silent so long, Storm eventually prompted, “Kit? You okay?”

“Yes,” Kitara breathed, her mind buzzing. She met his eyes. “You can travel freely to Myragos.”

“Yes…? Why?”

Kitara braced her elbows on her knees. “Devika found something weird about the available Fallen information in the library. She got an error message, something about needing ’Myragos credentials’ to access certain reports. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”

Storm nodded slowly. “They’ve got different technology there, intentionally separate from Valëtyria’s. If the AIDO stores any documents there, we wouldn’t be able to access it via Valëtyrian tech.”

“Devika thinks they have information about the Fallen there. Do you think…you could go? Ask the Myragnar whatever it is about the Fallen that’s so confidential?”

Storm rubbed the back of his head. “I would have to travel through Valëtyria, which someone has to approve. It would likely end up in my dad’s inbox. Even then, there’s no guarantee they’d share. They still have security protocols…”

“Would you think about it?”

Storm didn’t reply immediately. The silence weighed heavy between them.

“You don’t have to,” Kitara finally said when he didn’t respond. “It must be hard for you. I only thought—”

“I’ll think about it,” he interrupted.

A frown tugged at her mouth. “Maybe I could infiltrate Ostragarn instead. Baylen even said as a Dor, I might be able to get more answers—”

“Absolutely not,” Storm growled, his jaw ticking. “I agreed to you remaining in the field. But infiltrating Ostragarn? Not a chance.”

His sudden vehemence startled her, and Kitara found herself instinctively wanting to argue. But his voice—decisive, protective even—lit something within her. It should have irritated her. And yet, all she felt was…warmth.

An amused smile curved her lips despite herself. “You do remember that’s literally my job, right?”

“Your job is to replace the Maker,” he reminded her. “Not heading into unnecessary danger in an enemy realm.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been there before, you know.”

He frowned. “I thought you said you were limited to ‘exile’ posts?”

“Just once, briefly. It was to keep one of my very few undercover missions viable, and I got back out quickly. It’s cold. And beautiful.” She pulled her jacket closer.

Storm noted the movement, then frowned. “Beautiful?”

“Radioactive blue ice and deadly black snow. It’s like…a magical fantasy wasteland. I’ve heard horror stories of even immortals getting frostbite there.”

“Yeah, it sounds like somewhere I’d rather you avoid in the future.”

She snorted. “I think you’re in the wrong profession.”

“How so?”

Her eyes filled with amusement. “Guardians are much better suited to being overprotective than Warriors.”

He harumphed a little. “I’m not being overprotective, I’m merely exhibiting a healthy level of concern for my agent.”

He stated the words with such earnest conviction, Kitara couldn’t help but laugh. “All right. We’ll table the discussion about Ostragarn then. For now.”

He appeared mollified by this. “Glad that’s settled then. Especially when a Netherling out there knows who you are…who knows who else might.”

“Which reminds me, I met Baylen tonight.”

Storm leaned forward, intrigued. “And?”

Kitara kept the details simple: The Maker led Ostragarn’s assassins to her parents, and Baylen once had a contact inside Valëtyria. She omitted all references to the Ninthëvels and her father’s relation to the former Ostragonian ruler.

Her uncle.

Some things could never be shared, not even with her handler.