Page 13 of A Flame of the Phoenix (An Heir Comes to Rise #6)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Zaiana

H er vision occasionally blurred, but Zaiana blinked hard and focused on her footing. She wouldn’t lie in a sorry state a moment longer. Not with the battle won and movements being made without her.

Under her leathers, her skin was still sticky with heat, yet her teeth were bashing at the winter chill that swirled in from the open arched hall she stormed through. She should have equipped herself with a damn cloak. If this was only the beginning of winter, they’d be bracing for a long and miserable season.

Snow flurried beautifully, only light, and not enough to gather, though some of the ground was frosted white.

“You’re still recovering,” Amaya fussed, creeping up to her.

Zaiana’s retort died when she beheld the black cloak the darkling extended with a warm smile. She slung it around her shoulders with ease as she kept her wings glamoured.

“I see you made a perfect recovery yourself,” Zaiana observed, remembering the weak state she’d found the darkling in inside the cell after months of imprisonment.

Amaya nodded, and under the added weight and warmth, Zaiana’s body wasn’t so rigid anymore.

“Yes. Maverick found a healer. We didn’t know if you would make it. At one point, you even stopped breathing, and Maverick, he?—”

Amaya paused, and so did Zaiana’s steps.

“He—what?”

Amaya shifted a look around as if he were lingering. Her head shook tendrils of loose black hair over her pale skin. “I’d never seen him so desperate for anything. He cast us all out, except for the healer, until you were stable again.”

Why he wanted her back so desperately she could only imagine. He must be Nether-bent on making sure they were tied there together in the end for eternal torment.

Was that really what she believed?

Zaiana shook her head to expel the thoughts of him and winced with the error that throbbed an ache. She pushed forward in distraction.

“Where’s Tynan?”

“He’s been stationed as Malin’s right hand, though I don’t think he’s thrilled with the esteemed position.”

That arrogant bastard prince.

The title of “king” didn’t feel befitting for a coward who had a throne stolen for him. He was nothing more than another puppet for Marvellas.

“Dakodas is still here,” Amaya went on before she could ask. “Though she hasn’t imposed much. Malin has been ordering a send-out for traitors—any guard or warrior who didn’t make it out and refuses to swear allegiance to him.”

Zaiana could admire their loyalty. Even though hollow words in surrender to Malin would keep them safe, and even though their king was dead…these fae had chosen their allegiance to Faythe already.

She could hardly think of the impossible heir without flashbacks of their battle threatening to undo her. Zaiana was so weakened, both in body and mind. From Faythe and her insufferable companion. The brother who’d fled, and the other…

“Where is Izaiah?” Zaiana asked.

She would start with him to gather what she’d missed.

He was up to something, and Zaiana wanted to be the first to figure it out.

“I’m not sure. Malin often requests Tynan to keep an eye on him, but I don’t see either of them a lot. Tynan finds me before I find him, usually.”

“Zaiana.” Maverick’s sharp tone pricked at her back.

She didn’t stop walking despite Amaya’s wary gaze settling on her.

“Are you trying to force yourself out of commission for six more weeks by pushing yourself so soon?” he continued, creeping up to her.

“I’m walking, Maverick. Hardly in combat,” she drawled. Her body shivered at his proximity by her side. “Though if you keep antagonizing me, I’m willing to risk that.”

“Must you see everything as a rule to defy?”

“When it comes to you, yes. I find it keeps me motivated.”

He huffed dryly. “You’re impossible.”

“What do you want?” Zaiana bit out.

She didn’t want his company. Not with the conflict she harbored around him.

“I came to bring you a tonic from the healer for your fever,” Maverick grumbled.

“What duty has the Dark Spirit imposed on you to make you so desperate to avoid it by taking on the role of servant?”

Zaiana almost missed the flex of his eyes, a wince, as he quickly switched to match her ire.

“It’s all a bit dull around here,” he said blandly. “Truthfully, I’m glad you’re finally up to offer some entertainment.”

“What are the next movements?” Zaiana asked.

“Nothing. They took the city and placed a rather insufferable fae on the throne as king. Marvellas took Reylan away almost immediately after Faythe left.”

“Where?”

Maverick shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets, and she wondered if it was her fever making the cold sharper while he wandered around without a coat or a cloak. With them back indoors and the fire torches around them adding heat, she realized she’d never questioned before if his ability made winters more tolerable.

He answered. “They haven’t told us anything. I’m hoping they’re waiting to see if you’ll pull through.”

Zaiana shuddered at the ghost of a presence, as though death were whispering nearby.

In the throne room, she found who she was looking for.

All of them.

Malin Ashfyre reclined lazily on the throne, while three fae were on their knees before the dais. Tynan stood by him, casting a look at Zaiana as she entered, and though he remained poised, his face relaxed as if she were a ghost. Then, across the room, leaning against a pillar cloaked in shadow, Izaiah met her eye with familiar cool loathing.

“Ah, Master Zaiana,” Malin said as he spied her.

The sharp tip of her iron claws bit into her palm at the taunt she heard in that title. Maverick shifted like a shadow turning darker.

“I’m glad you’re finding your feet at last. Perhaps you want to warm up that striking ability you have to execute these traitors for me?”

Her chest hollowed out. Less than five minutes, and he’d already unwittingly upper-handed her. She couldn’t let anyone know of her stifled lightning.

“I didn’t come here to waste my time on your petty kills,” she sneered to him.

It was a great satisfaction to rile him—one who thought he’d won his crown. It was only a matter of time before he realized it would never fit right.

“Then why did you come?”

“To find out what king could possibly see any advantage in murdering his own warriors, fit to fight for him in war. You’ll gradually outnumber your ranks with this path.”

“They had their trial. They do not fight for me.”

“They fight for Rhyenelle. And perhaps their lack of allegiance says more about you.”

Malin drew his sword, but all Zaiana saw was a toothpick.

Tynan remained still but braced at the threat in case she gave a signal to intervene. Maverick merely strolled casually away from her, a hint of a cruel, amused smile at the edge of his lips. Izaiah finally straightened, studying her and the false king.

He wore the crown, and Zaiana couldn’t be sure why her anger surged with bloody violence, wanting to tear his head from his shoulders and watch the metal fall.

She said calmly, “Lock them up or let them go, so we might discuss matters that advance our strategy, not our egos.”

“You don’t make the demands here,” Malin seethed.

“No.” A dark voice of sin and seduction eased around the room as if it were crafted from the darkness. “I do.”

Dakodas glided from a pool of shadow and stars. Zaiana bit down on her cheek at the sight of it and the unwelcome feelings it stirred within her to remember the touch of such dark beauty from Kyleer.

Malin stepped down from the dais, his sword raised, and something feral widened his eyes and locked his jaw before his blade came down without hesitation on one of the guards. It wasn’t strong enough to behead them, and the fae choked on blood that echoed gargling sounds around the hall as Malin shifted his evil intent to the fae beside him.

Izaiah advanced two steps with livid fury, targeting the prince as he drove his sword through the chest of the next.

What overcame Malin Ashfyre was the snap of something he’d been clinging to the tether of for some time, and maybe…Zaiana could relate in that moment.

Being undermined.

Overpowered.

Undervalued.

As Malin killed the final guard—slitting his throat—his chest heaved, and Zaiana recognized the cloud of fury and resentment that started to disperse in his caramel eyes at the realization of what he’d done.

The ground pooled with so much blood that Zaiana shallowed her breathing against the craving to drink. She flicked her sight to Maverick, who strained with a dark stare at the fallen bodies. His lust for blood would always be a far more primal instinct than hers as a Blackfair—the insatiable curse of the Transitioned—but she commended him for his restraint when he didn’t cave and seek out the closest human.

Dakodas appeared before Malin in a stroke of shadow, gripping his chin to lock his stare. Everyone stood still, unknowing of what her reaction would be at his display of carnage.

Zaiana didn’t expect Dakodas to smile wickedly. She’d enjoyed it. Death. As the maiden of it, of course she would.

She wondered if even in this realm Dakodas might feel power from the passing of souls.

“I have been waiting for you to break out of the shadow your uncle placed you in. I knew it was not a mistake convincing Marvellas to give you this throne,” she said, admiring the prince’s blood-splattered face.

Malin was coming back to himself, his eyes turning wide as if he were only just acknowledging the new soul-tarnishing act he would harbor for the rest of his days.

Zaiana followed Tynan’s attention to where Izaiah seemed to be restraining his impulse to lunge at Malin.

Izaiah reeled himself back slowly. Masterfully. Slipping into a mask he knew how to wear like several others. She didn’t like him. Worse, she despised the fact she still owed him a debt when he’d been the one to make sure Amaya and Tynan stayed alive in their captivity by bargaining with him.

“Dakodas.” Zaiana spoke boldly.

The Spirit’s attention slipped to her, dropping her hold on Malin along with the smile she wore for him.

“I came to find out where I can best serve.” She would take anything. She needed something to keep her mind occupied fully.

“Are you sure you are at your best strength to take on anything asked of you?”

Dakodas was almost goading her. Testing her.

“Yes,” she said.

“Good. I worried for a moment you would be of no use to us any longer.”

“That won’t happen.”

Zaiana forced down the unease in her stomach at the secret she harbored. She would be of no use if they discovered her magick was silent. Her fingers flexed subconsciously, as if a spark might touch her fingertips at any moment.

“Be that as it may. Your recent failure against Faythe Ashfyre has left me doubtful of your capabilities against her.”

That name seemed to be Nether-bent on haunting her until one of them was in the grave.

“If you send me, I will capture her.”

“Marvellas already has a plan for that.”

Zaiana ground her teeth. “Then let me join.”

“I think not. You’ll remain here. You can oversee the legion of our army moving in from the west. They should be making their way through Rhyenelle, and their current general will be stepping down soon.”

Leading a legion. Zaiana had done that before she was even Delegate of her bloodline. Being a leading general might be of high esteem in army ranks, but in her world, it was so far below where she had earned the right to be.

“I can do better than that,” Zaiana insisted.

“You’ll take over when they reach Fenher in a week.”

Just like that, Dakodas dismissed her like a child.

Zaiana’s blood was boiling, but she didn’t flinch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Izaiah slip out through a side door, and right now, she’d only risk enraging Dakodas if she pushed for a better station.

“As you wish,” Zaiana said, bowing her head.

She despised the submission, but she wanted to stay alive.

Turning, she exchanged a look with Maverick. He knew she wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t follow her since Dakodas requested him to stay.

He hadn’t failed at all, and she had no right to the bitter thoughts that he’d likely earned a higher place in the Spirit’s plans for war.

To distract herself from the ugly resentment stirring in her, Zaiana followed Izaiah out. She kept as silent as an assassin, tracking him, until he walked down an abandoned hall.

She intended to catch him unaware, but he knew she was there. Izaiah was more observant than she gave him credit for.

His hand caught her wrist, but Zaiana twisted under their arms, bending his arm behind his back. Izaiah was also stealthier than she anticipated.

He kneeled, hooking a hand behind her nape, and Zaiana braced for the impact of being thrown over his shoulder. She groaned at the sharp pain shooting up her spine but stopped struggling at the hand around her throat.

Not because she couldn’t get out of the compromised position, but because she faltered in fascination.

“You’re not the only one with claws,” he said.

Izaiah pushed off her, and she propped herself up on her elbow, watching his skin fade from short black fur to beige skin as his five lethal talons retracted.

He folded his arms, then her ire grated as she became aware of her humiliating position on the ground.

Zaiana pushed herself to her feet. “At least I don’t use them to betray my own.”

This earned a dark stare from him.

“Have you come to find out what you owe me? After I made sure your companions stayed alive. Tynan might have managed on his own. The little darkling would have surely died without my help.”

It was what had been lingering on her mind since waking up. That, and she hoped to gauge what he was up to in staying behind here.

“Out with it then.”

Izaiah smiled, and it was a victory she wanted to carve from his face.

“I want to know how you wield a ruin.”

Zaiana’s face relaxed. He had to be joking. But his stern brow didn’t flinch.

“You know where it is, don’t you? The Light Temple Ruin your little traitor is scouring for.”

It was all the poor human Reuben knew in his new tragic existence under Marvellas’s influence. Izaiah had all but exposed that Faythe hadn’t had the chance to take it with her.

“Can you teach me or not?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she hissed. “No sane person would willingly want to touch the power that lives within them.”

“I didn’t claim to be sane.”

“It is not kind—not a fantasy that will grant you an easy upper hand. To even attempt to merge with such an amplifier is a torture you think you can handle until it’s too late.”

“You seem to be thriving just fine,” he observed.

She hated the sting within her with every mention of her magick while she couldn’t wield it.

“It wasn’t without great difficulty, and many times, I almost never made it. They forced it upon me without a care whether I lived or not. They’ve tried many others since, desperate to have a personal army of unparalleled magick wielders able to turn their abilities to something unmatched.”

“You’re the only one?”

“Yes.”

As far as she knew at least. She’d never heard of anyone else conquering it, only of their deaths for trying.

Despite her warning, Izaiah didn’t flinch. Gave no indication that the high possibility it could claim his life frightened him. It exposed a new side to the fae she didn’t expect. Something cold and distant. She wondered if his companions had ever seen past the layers he wore for a crowd.

“This is my request,” he said calmly.

Zaiana gave an exasperated breath.

Then a flare of hope erupted. What if exposing herself to a ruin could drag her magick forth?

“Where is it?” she asked with a new urgency that didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m not such a fool to take you right to it yet.”

“Then how else am I supposed to teach you?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. There’s always steps to be learned without ever lifting a sword.”

Her jaw clenched. “It’s not a moral weapon.”

“If you don’t,” Izaiah went on, ignoring her, “I won’t be coming for you. No. You like to pretend that still heart of yours can’t feel—make people think there’s no way to hurt you, but there is. Two ways, in fact, within reach. And I won’t hesitate to kill them and watch your black heart bleed for them.”

His threat toward Tynan and Amaya flared a wild rage under her skin. She should have felt the heat of her lightning, and that stillness only riled her to a maddening degree.

Zaiana took a second to calm her fury, as she’d done so many times in her life when the masters had pushed her for a reaction. Only to punish her for lashing out.

She wrote deadly promise in her eyes, closing the distance to Izaiah. “You think I don’t know?” she taunted.

His jaw shifted at her slow assessment of him, the energy between them charged with electric challenge, and in those green eyes he knew what she found.

“A good attempt at masking Tynan’s scent—I’m sure it’s working for most. You’re a damned fool if you thought I wouldn’t see it. Not only in scent—it’s written over every damned inch of both of you in a room together. Let me tell you, Izaiah. If you harm him, I’ll tear the heart from your chest and let the last beat of it shudder at his feet.”

“You don’t get to threaten me with that,” he hissed, matching her standoff. “Not after what you did to Kyleer.”

Zaiana almost winced. Then, there it was: a common ground she hadn’t seen coming.

“Is that what this is? Your attempt to get back at me for your brother by leading on Tynan?”

“Maybe it is,” he sneered.

His heartbeat betrayed his words. Zaiana had tuned herself in to it the moment she’d begun to follow him. Izaiah’s was well-mastered. She’d never found one that could remain so steady even when she was sure his emotions would strike to give away anything his straight face wouldn’t. Until now, with the subject of Tynan, it had sped for just a few seconds before it could be tamed.

“Don’t test me,” Zaiana said, beginning to walk away. “You won’t like how it ends.”