Page 28 of Hero of Havoc

“Pardon?”

I shrug, trying to downplay my question, but I can tell I’m already under her skin.

“I’m assuming he knows you are a phoenix. Why fixate on me?”

“He's not fixated on you,” she snarls back, her entire face scrunching in disgust, and I huff.

“Of course,” I mutter, shaking my head.

I’m not wrong, though. Why did I have to die for Leonardo to have a phoenix when there is already one right here in the form of my mother?

“Why would you say that?” she presses, taking a step toward me.

“Why would I say what?”

“Don't play games with me,” she snarls, baring her teeth as her eyes widen. She looks maniacal.

“You're talking in riddles,” I state calmly, my gaze fixed on my sprite in her hand, but my mother talks with her hands, waving Ember around and rattling her in her grasp.

“Did he show you a relic?”

“A what?” I clarify, earning a huff.

“Don't lie; I know his games. Did he show you one?” Her eyebrows rise as she takes another step toward me.

“Yes.”

I thought the truth might ease the tension in the air, but it only seems to make it worse.

“What was it?” Her tone is thick with rage, and I gulp.

What was it? Is there more than one?

My stomach twists with worry.

I can’t bring myself to answer, so I push for control.

“Where are the other phoenixes?” I push back, but she doesn't take my redirection.

“What did he show you?”

“Where are the others?” I repeat, and she holds her hand up higher, flames dancing across her skin, curling around her fingertips, scalding Ember in a flash of purple.

My sprite whimpers in pain, and I relinquish all my fight for control.

“He showed me the first phoenix,” I blurt, heat flooding through me as panic takes root, and my mother purses her lips. Thankfully, the purple flames extinguish, but her grasp on Ember remains. “Why does it matter?”

“Shut up!” she hisses, dragging her free hand down her face.

I take a step toward her, certain I can catch her off guard and retrieve my sprite, but the second I do, her eyes latch onto mine. My nerves simmer, pleading for more. Of what, I’m not entirely sure.

“I deserve an answer,” I breathe. To which specific question? I don’t really care; there are plenty that have gone unanswered.

“You deserve nothing,” she retorts, and I rear back, her words like a slap across the face.

“Were you always this delightful?” I croak, emotion getting the better of me, and I can’t seem to control it.

My mother cackles, the sound menacing as her knuckles whiten around Ember, who writhes in pain.