Coup shook his head. “Of course I did. But I’m not the one branding myself as some sanctimonious phoenix rights advocate until a better offer comes along.”
Shock thickened Kel’s throat. Coup was silent as he perched on a bench stool opposite Dira, a lazy smile plastered across his face, with no hint of frustration. Dira grumbled as Coup plucked half a sandwich from her plate, then turned to Kel.
“What did that guy want?” Dira mumbled around a mouthful of bread.
Kel’s mind rattled for the right words. When she explained what the recruiter had offered—what she’d rejected—Dira’s expression hardened.
“He just wanted you two?” Dira asked, voice sharp.
“Only because of yesterday’s attention,” Kel said. Dira was thebest winger Kel knew—that was clear by the number of recruitment offers she’d batted away from other teams.
“You want to say yes,” Dira said softly, lowering her sandwich to the plate.
Kel shook her head. “No. Yes? I don’t know, Dira. He’s not offering half-assed sponsorship—it’s a job. Maybe we could convince him to take the entire team, and—”
“And if you couldn’t? Would you go?” Dira snapped, hard lines around her eyes.
Kel perched at Dira’s side. “Of course not.”
Dira didn’t reply, her focus returning to the plate of food before her. Coup remained silent, and for the first time she wished he wouldn’t. Though the three of them filled the cottage with chewing and hungry groans, Kel’s mind filled with a different kind of noise. Not the reporters’ questions or the recruiter’s silky offer. Just three words that chafed against her skin like sandpaper.
We’re no different.
NINE
That night, Kel couldn’t sleep.
She picked at the mattress’s tattered sheets and stared at the office’s ceiling, fantasizing about convincing Dira to abandon the Coupers brothers. She tried to conjure impossible ways to pay the money she owed. She imagined what her father would have said to Cristo’s recruiter.
She thought of those damn words.
We’re no different.
She knew that couldn’t be true. She didn’t participate in CAPR for the thrill of racing or for the isle’s attention. Even though she knew there were plenty of CAPR practices that, though technically legal, did nothing for the phoenixes’ well-being, she and Dira had no choice.
Crumbling dreams and fragmented memories rattled through Kel’s skull; Oska’s screams and Rube’s farewell. Those three words echoed in her ears the entire time.
Her whirling thoughts kept her from noticing the different timbre of Savita’s squawks until it was too late. Until she felt the heatcreeping under the office’s door, and finally recognized the dark tint to the air.
Smoke.
Kel bolted upright and threw the blanket to the floor. The office was bathed in orange, and heat, and Savita’s screams. Kel had never heard this kind of noise before.
Savita was afraid.
She couldn’t see her phoenix through the window. There were only growing flames, shrouding every tree in the aviary.
Her home was burning. Not from phoenix fire or even a rebirth.
This fire was entirely mundane, and far more monstrous.
TEN
Kel stumbled out of the aviary’s entrance. Smoke filled her lungs and her throat ached as she coughed. Savita swooped low over Kel’s head, out the doors and into a nearby paddock. Safe. Kel didn’t feel her hair singeing or the heat at her back or the glowing holes in her clothes. She only felt the fear that must have coursed through Savita when her phoenix realized she was trapped in her own home.
Phoenixes were immortal. Old age would never harm them. But in every other way that mortal creatures could be killed, they were vulnerable. Though Savita was a creature of fire and magic, impervious to phoenix fires, a mundane fire would hurt her just as it’d hurt Kel.
Savita is fine, Kel told herself, hacking up more smoke and trying to slow her pulse.She’s safe.
