Kindling of Frost and Ashes (Phoenix Chronicles Book 3)

Chapter 7: Audra

Canya allowed Trey to lead her all the way to a dark establishment, a clanking rumble emanating from within. She didn't need to ask to know what it was. The sign with an anvil on it spoke loud and clear.

Run. Run fast. Leave. The winter approaches. Danger. Danger.

"Trey..."

"Excuse me, sir?" Trey let go of her hand and pulled up on the counter to peer back into the blacksmith's workshop. "Can you help me?"

"We ain't open yet," a gruff voice called from just out of sight. "Come back when-" he stopped as he stepped into view, staring at Trey and Canya.

"We need help," Trey said, his eyes wide and pleading. "Please."

The blacksmith eyed Canya suspiciously but addressed Trey. "What seems to be your problem, young man?"

"This is Canya." Trey patted her on the arm, staring up at the blacksmith. "She's helping me, but mean people locked her in a cage. Can you help her with her shackles?"

The blacksmith, a man three times Canya's size with a rotund belly, rounded on Canya. His ferociously red mustache - the only hair on his head save his eyebrows - twitched and fluttered. "Someone locked you in a cage?"

"A dungeon." Canya placed a hand on Trey's shoulder. "This boy and I have only just escaped them."

"Why do you have this boy?"

"Maybe he's my son," Canya suggested, shrugging.

"He doesn't look much like you, your son. You look a bit old and pale."

"Time locked in a cell will do that to you. I'm not myself." Canya tugged at a piece of her dry, brittle frizz of a hairstyle.

"Will you help us?" Trey asked again, holding tight to Canya in a very convincing display of familial concern. It took everything in Canya not to grab hold of him and spirit him out of the place in that instant.

The power of this small child never ceased to amaze. The blacksmith softened, nodded, and led them back into his shop.

"Ankles or wrists?" he asked Canya, inspecting his instruments.

Instead of answering, Canya pulled down the neck of the blouse she'd been wearing since Helena had captured her. It had a high neck to keep her collar hidden, and when the blacksmith looked up, his eyes went wide.

He dropped his hammer with a clattering bang and took a step back. "I don't think I can help ya."

"Why not?" Trey asked, brows furrowing, giving his little face a cross expression.

"I won't help your kind. Either way." The blacksmith shook his head. "Leave. Leave now."

Canya backed away, ready for violence and unable to do anything to stop it, but Trey stood firm.

"We won't leave until you help us."

"Trey," Canya said, cringing at the sound of her own voice - it wasn't her voice. "Let's leave before-"

Danger. Run. He's coming. Protect the key.

"...and not leaving." Trey crossed his arms. Whatever he'd said before had been drowned out by the voices. "You have to help us. You know you do."

"I don't want any trouble," the blacksmith said.

"You'll have trouble if I find someone else to help us and we come back," Trey replied.

Something in Canya's heart broke. It was her. She was affecting him. Or maybe infecting would be a better word. The shrewdness strengthened as Trey dropped his chin, glowering up at the blacksmith in a way that made even Canya's skin go cold.

"I'll help." The blacksmith's response came hoarse and strained. "I'll help." He led Canya to a seat and started picking out new tools for a more delicate procedure.

"Which one are you?" he asked, eyes on the collar.

She didn't have to ask what he meant. She knew what was in his head. "I'm not a genie."

The man nodded, sucking in a deep breath as his worst fears were confirmed. "All right. Let's do this."

He worked slowly, careful as he heated up the collar to an uncomfortable burn. Mumbling an apology, he used a pair of pliers to pull the metal, twisting until it snapped and fell to the floor.

It happened instantly. Canya's frail, frizzy, white-gold hair darkened to a rich, deep raven, curling in thick tight ringlets and falling down past her shoulders. Her skin lost its offensive pallor, deepening to a russet-brown she'd missed so much.

Her fingers lengthened, delicate and long, and the scars across the back of her hands the only thing remaining of the shell they'd forced her to wear. When she stood, her legs were longer, stronger, and she knew if she looked into a mirror Canya's face wouldn't stare back with those soulless, animalistic eyes.

She glanced around and realized Trey and the blacksmith had retreated far from her, the blacksmith watching her in fear as Trey considered her with open curiosity.

"Are you really you now?" Trey asked, taking a step forward. She could see it now, the resemblance, the reason Trey trusted her.

"I'm me," Canya said, feeling like she could breathe for the first time in seven years. She kept staring at her hands, the difference in them. Trey glanced down at his own.

"You aren't like me," he said, twisting his hand to show his grey markings. "You don't have these."

"Did you hope I did?" Canya stepped forward, kneeling down to face him eye to eye. Trey nodded. "You didn't get those from me."

Trey eyed her askance. "But I did get something from you." He tapped the side of his head.

Canya closed her eyes, hating that he suffered what she did. "You did. I'm so sorry. A gift from your grandfather."

"Can I do what you just did?" Trey asked, tugging at one of her dark curls so it bounced back up.

"Maybe, if you work hard at it. Thankfully you didn't get my banshee scream."

The blacksmith cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "Excuse me, um, ma'am. I don't wish to offend you, but is there anything else you need? I did you a favor, and I'd appreciate it if you left my shop."

Canya's lips twitched in a faint smile. "Braskians. You've never liked our kind. You fear what you don't understand." She stood, taking Trey's hand. It dawned on her that her clothing had changed when she had, now wearing an elegant dress that made her look like a member of the noble class.

How Helena would cringe to see it.

"I don't want to offend you," the blacksmith repeated.

"I'm not offended, human. Just disappointed. Thank you for freeing me. Come, Trey. It's time we go find your father."

Trey held tight to her hand and turned his chin up to look at her. "What's your real name?"

"Audra," she said, squeezing his hand and grinning down at him. "My name is Audra."

Okay, so subtle but not subtle, right? I mean, I just dropped two bombs on you...or three. Canya's real name, what she is, and what that means for Trey. Now tell me if you got it all because things will only get crazier from here!