Page 21 of A Flame of the Phoenix (An Heir Comes to Rise #6)
CHAPTER TWENTY
Zaiana
Z aiana was plagued by an unwanted presence in her subconscious mind again. It had been some weeks since the last time they’d interacted, and she’d just about concluded she’d dreamt this place and the intruding male.
“Do you get headaches often?”
Zaiana sat in a thick cloud of her subconscious darkness, her head propped against her fist, while the invading pest paced around.
“More so since you’ve been showing up,” she grumbled.
“You could help us both out by taming this space at least.”
“I like it the way it is.”
“That’s a lie.”
Of course he would feel that. Zaiana was beginning to regret the deal she’d made with her phantom.
“What do you want me to do? Speak to it?”
“Not be so uptight, for a start.”
“I am not—” Zaiana stopped herself from wasting more energy on his insufferable remarks. “You’re not helping at all. This was a damn foolish idea, and one I’ve certainly reconsidered with how long it’s been.”
“I’ve been busy, as I’m sure you have too. And I can only guide—I can’t change anything. I mean, I could, but it would only be a temporary illusion. The real and permanent change has to come from you.”
Zaiana fell onto her back to be swallowed by the dark cloud.
“Dramatics don’t help either,” he called over the next crack of thunder.
“Just send me off to sleep again,” she said, closing her eyes.
The smoke around her dissipated in a flurry that forced her to glower at him.
“Neither of us can afford to expend too much energy in here, so why don’t we just get a move on?” he exasperated.
She propped herself up on her hands, with piqued interest. “What might you be getting up to on the real plane of reality?”
“Nice try. Up.”
Zaiana rolled her eyes, getting to her feet with disinclination.
The male stood cross-armed, always keeping his face shadowed by a hood that she thought was enhanced with darkness by his command.
“You’re really not what I expected,” he said, almost like a slipped thought he’d been guarding since their last meeting.
Zaiana grew defensive. “What did you expect?”
“That you’d be fighting me with vicious aggression, not juvenile reluctance.”
“I guess I don’t have much vicious aggression left to spare by the time you get your turn of me in here.”
“Truthfully, I’m glad whatever you’re doing out there is exhausting you enough to let slip the mask.”
“It’s not a mask,” she bit out.
If she had a face for him, she imagined a hooked brow that would say, I don’t believe you.
Zaiana didn’t care what her irritating dream phantom thought. Once they both had what they wanted, she would be able to block him out for good and forget about him.
“All you’ve done is observe and state the obvious,” she said. “It’s grating on my nerves.”
“I’ve been trying to figure out where to begin, actually. Your mind is one of the most twisted and guarded I’ve ever come across.”
“Good to know,” she mumbled.
“Everyone has their own demons,” he explained. “Parts of the mind that are like a plague. When I said it was rare to see a colorless mind, this is why. Usually, the parts of the mind that fight itself and inflict self-harm are like dark spots. They can grow and linger for periods of time and then shrink back—they never fully fade. But yours…it’s taken over entirely. So many dark spots have merged into one.”
His tone became distant, personal.
“This is too much,” she said quickly. She couldn’t stand the crawling of her skin at everything he was observing, assuming .
He didn’t know her. He couldn’t help her. No one could.
“You should leave.”
“Why? So you can continue to deny you need help?”
“I don’t need anything from you. Or from anyone.”
“I think we should start with a memory?—”
“No.” Her chest rose and feel deeply. “This was a mistake.”
“Zaiana.” He spoke her name so gently she could hardly bear it. “There is no one else here. No one who needs to know about any of it.”
He would know. If she let him in, she couldn’t forget he was a real person out there. Someone who could be using her and finding things in here that could destroy her.
“What if we start with me then?” he tried, so patient and calm when she was ready to do what it took to harness the storm around them and strike him with it to keep her thoughts safe.
“Are we traveling to your mind—is that possible?”
He chuckled lightly. “No, and…perhaps. I’ve never tried to switch minds with another Nightwalker before, actually.” His hood tilted with curiosity before straightening again. “What if I give you something first?”
“Like a name?”
“No. How about a memory for a memory?”
Zaiana contemplated. It would be a clue to figuring him out—perhaps something she could have against him to track him down if he crossed her.
“Fine.”
His mouth quirked before he turned, and Zaiana watched in fascination as the smoke began to shift.
She wandered closer with vacant steps at the impossibility of the moving picture before her. It remained monochrome, but it was wondrous all the same.
“I’ve never shown anyone this before,” he said, the first hint of nerves in his tone.
Zaiana watched the scene through eyes that saw the world from a lower height. She couldn’t guess his age as the memory unfolded from his perspective.
The young fae climbed over a hill before staring at woodland that appeared misty before entering. Past the tree line, Zaiana rubbed her arms subconsciously at the ominous blanket that coated her, as if she were experiencing it for the first time with this fae.
There was no sound to these woods—that was what made every one of his footfalls like a great disturbance to the silence. He stopped walking at the echo of a voice.
“What a brave little thing you are,” the voice cooed. “I’m at a loss with you since one so young doesn’t know true fear yet. What it’s like to love and lose. Need and fail.”
Contrary to its claim, Zaiana was overcome with a prickling terror that belonged to the young fae.
“I could simply deny you, but there is a reason you seek this place so soon. A reason you need it as much as it will need you.”
“I-I just want a place to play,” he said.
“Of course. Such a young heart so alone.”
She couldn’t sympathize with him. She’d grown up surrounded by company she’d had to shield herself from. Other darklings that knew they could end up killing each other one day.
The memory continued.
Zaiana jumped at the sudden crack of lightning. Not in her subconscious, but as part of his vision. Her hand rose to her chest as though the rapid beat were in her too. The young fae took off running when a second crack sounded. He wasn’t fleeing from it—he was trying to find it.
“I’m coming!” he yelled.
“Who are you looking for?” Zaiana breathed, searching the woodland with him, but there was no form nor glimpse of the lightning she could hear.
“I don’t know,” he said, and she believed him. “All I remember is that someone was out there. Someone I wanted to help, and my greatest fear was that I would be too late. I’m most terrified of being the reason people die.”
“I’ll find you!” The young fae’s last call drifted away on a wind that carried the image of breaking light through the grim woodland. One last vibrant stoke of purple lightning scored across…
Zaiana blinked at the returning gloom of her subconscious. She didn’t know what to make of what he’d showed her.
“Why that memory?” she asked.
His head was more bowed than usual. “I think you’re smart enough to figure out a lot from it should you need. It’s vague enough to make it difficult though.”
It shouldn’t mean anything to her, but she was already trying to figure it out. What frightened her was that it had nothing to do with wanting his identity for leverage.
“Is that why you’re fascinated with lightning?”
He huffed. “Maybe. I’ve always quite liked storms, but my mate does not.”
Another clue. Had he meant to slip up?
“Why not?”
He dismissed her question. “Your turn.”
That turned her body taut and her mind to steel.
“Don’t back out on me now,” he warned.
“Why? Because you could take what you wanted anyway?”
His hand disappeared through the shadows of his hood, and she imagined his exasperation. “I’m no stranger to having people think the worst of me with my ability,” he said coldly. “I get it. Yes, I could take anything I wanted right now. I could hold you hostage and make you watch as I did it. You would be helpless to throw me out. But you already know that, and I didn’t have to force my way in here tonight—it was like you opened the damn door and may as well have offered me tea when I arrived. Say it right now that you don’t want me to come, and I won’t. You were only an intrigue. You need me far more than I need you, and I know that’s not something you like to hear. I can feel your protest, your defense, all from a past that has clearly taught you the only trust you can have is in yourself. I’m not going to waste my time and lose sleep convincing you of what I have offered you. Take it, or tell me not to come back.”
Zaiana was stunned by the reprimand. In the real world, she might have walked away. She never wanted to depend on anyone. Help became a debt; a weakness that would be held against her.
This was different. Right now, she didn’t want to walk away. She could wake up and pretend it was a dream. She had some piece of him, and she didn’t know how the certainty settled in her that this wasn’t a trick.
“I don’t know what to show you,” she said in defeat.
“If you’ll let me, I can try to feel for the most prominent lead to figuring out your subconscious storm.”
“What about my ability?”
“I think we need to go back further. While it may seem like it’s come from some traumatic event, a block like this to take your whole ability has to be tied deeper, held hostage by something else. It won’t be easy to confront, and I’ll have to see it all. I promise you, anything that happens in here will remain in here.”
There was no point in asking how she could trust that—she had to find it out for herself. Did she really have anything to lose now anyway?
“Do it,” Zaiana said, even though those two words gripped her with a fear so great she wanted to dissipate into the storm that raged, never to emerge to face the worst of her fears…
Herself.
She turned away as if she could avoid seeing it.
“You have to be ready to face it, otherwise you could hurt us both with your reactions.”
He came closer. Zaiana shouldn’t be this unbothered by his company, but he was soothing the rage of emotions around them. She couldn’t explain it.
“I can handle it,” she said, but it was pointless to lie to him.
“Just give me a forewarning if you want us to retreat from the memory.”
Zaiana could only nod, sliding her sight to him. She still had no face to mark him. Occasionally, she would catch his mouth, but it was little to identify him by.
“You’ll feel me reaching. It will be like a pressure, and it might grow more intense the further I reach. This is your first chance to trust me. I promise to retreat if it’s too much. Just say the word.”
With a long breath, she spun around. She had faced far worse torture than this. At least, she thought she had.
“I’m trusting you.”
Zaiana focused on her breathing when the first prod of her thoughts spiked her immediate need to defend herself. Nothing to lose. And hopefully, her lightning to gain back. Her eyes flexed at the building pressure. Deeper and deeper.
Colors flashed, as if he were touching many years, decades, filing through her memories, and she wondered how he knew what to look for. How he would know where to begin.
Farther and farther back.
Regret began to grow.
“Almost there.”
“Where?” she snapped in her panic.
“The place where it all began.”
Zaiana gasped as it was like a thread of her mind had been plucked suddenly.
The kaleidoscope made its final turn from a mosaic to a clear image, and Zaiana wanted to retreat. To cast him out and never come back here again.
“Him,” the male said, with a low, dark edge she didn’t expect.
Mordecai was the first figure in the scene, so much more dominating and taller than her small perspective, and it was as if she were right back there. They were in a woodland, and though it was all staggered trees and ominous surroundings, she knew where she was: the Dark Woods of Galmire.
“This isn’t going to help,” Zaiana said quietly, because the mass expanding in her chest threatened to erupt.
“There has to be a reason we’re in this memory,” he said.
“Come, little one,” Mordecai said, but her child self was rooted. Frightened. The high lord reached out a hand, and Zaiana knew it was either take it or face punishment.
Zaiana’s hand rose to her chest as the darkling’s did.
“What is that?” she breathed.
It was so precious, but a building terror grew too much for the small chest it occupied.
“Your heartbeat.”
She shook her head. “It’s not possible.”
“I think we’re about to find out how very possible it is.”
“I want to go home,” her child self said, so timid and innocent she didn’t recognize herself.
“You are so brave, Zaiana,” Mordecai said, the gentleness jarring compared to the male she knew.
“I don’t remember this,” she said aloud.
“It was hidden, as if something has interfered with your thoughts before.”
Her child self was content with her small hand sliding into Mordecai’s. Zaiana wanted to believe this was a trick, a false conjuring made by the male himself, but it was so, so convincing.
They walked for some time, until ahead another figure emerged, and Zaiana’s real breath inhaled sharply, along with the darkling’s.
She was so vibrant against the misty gloom.
Marvellas.
Fire against the smoke.
Her child self knew the sight of danger, and that this creature was not a friend.
“This is an extraordinary thing indeed,” Marvellas drawled, fixing wide eyes on her with fascination.
Zaiana’s hand shook at the fluctuating beat under her palm. She thought she knew the language of it, except this was like no other she’d heard before. This small, untamed heart was both full and broken.
“It’s not me,” she said.
“This won’t work if you’re in denial over what you see.”
The hand that landed on her shoulder as they watched shouldn’t have been a comfort, but it was. The male shouldn’t be extending such kindness, but she couldn’t shrug it off.
“Is it really necessary to use her for this?” Mordecai asked, and if she didn’t know any better, she would think he cared for the young version of herself.
“I only met Mordecai when I was past my second century,” Zaiana said, trying to puzzle together why she couldn’t remember this. “He came to watch the Blood Trials.”
“What is that?”
“I won. It was to pick the leaders of the Blackfair and Silverfair lines.”
“If she will be as powerful as you say, there is no better candidate to carry it,” Marvellas answered.
“I have seen it,” Mordecai said, but there was something detached in his tone.
Marvellas crouched to her younger self, and Zaiana’s breath was becoming uneven like the darkling’s.
“Such exquisite eyes,” the Spirit marveled. Her head tilted up to Mordecai to say, “A likeness we never thought we’d see again.”
Mordecai’s hand tightened on her younger self’s protectively. But why?
Marvellas lifted the necklace the darkling was playing with nervously. An eight-pointed star. The male beside her took one small step.
“Where did you get that?”
“I-I don’t know what it is,” she said honestly, unsure why that would pique his interest.
“What do you have there?” Marvellas asked.
“It’s from her mother,” Mordecai said.
“Where is she now?”
“Dead.”
The darkling cried when the Spirit yanked the chain, snapping it from her neck. She tossed it aside, and her younger self strained to pick it up.
“No sentiments. You know this,” Marvellas scolded.
Tears fell from the darkling’s eyes, and her lip wobbled, but she stayed silent.
Marvellas reached out a hand to cup her cheek. “No one is worth your tears, child. There is much for you to learn so you’ll never be hurt by such pitiful things again. Starting with this.”
She tapped a finger to her younger self’s chest, a dark claim on the fluttering, tiny life in her chest.
“I was born without a heart,” Zaiana said, unable to comprehend this vision.
She shook her head, bewildered.
Marvellas tried to reach for the darkling, but she jerked away, hugging into Mordecai’s side.
Zaiana stumbled back. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be right.
When the Spirit reached again, with a look too frightening to the darkling, she screamed. Purple lightning expelled from her tiny body, and Marvellas hissed at it. The darkling was running before the flare of light had died out.
Running and running.
That heart in her chest drummed to a war song of defiance and bravery.
Running and running.
Lightning still shot from her in reckless, untrained bursts, cracking through the eerie woodland. She didn’t know where to go, only that she hoped someone would find her. Someone good and safe.
The vision turned to flurries of color as Zaiana fell to her knees in her plumes of smoke. Her hands fisted her hair, tightening, trying to draw the pain from the inside out, but it was festering inside her too fast.
Thunder boomed more violently, and darkness stole all the light. Her subconsciousness battered her worse than ever before with a storm so thick it consumed her, filling her lungs so she couldn’t breathe. Seizing her bones so she couldn’t move. Ice started to coat her, until there were hands on her…and they were warm.
“I’m here,” the male said.
“Why!” she cried. This emotion-filled mess wasn’t her. This couldn’t be her, or she would never survive.
No one is worth your tears.
Zaiana needed more pain . Something physical to stop them from falling.
“You’re safe in here,” he said, remaining calm despite the tantrum around them. “You’re safe with me.”
“Why?” she repeated, defeat hushing her tone.
“Does there need to be a why?”
“There always is.”
The storm began to calm. Perhaps she didn’t need pain when exhaustion could numb her being. Her entire existence. It was the only way to go on.
“Listen to me,” he said, so soft and grounding Zaiana tuned in to it in her desperation to claw herself out of this Nether. “We’re going to figure out what they did to you. You’re important to them, and the only way to make it right is to become the revenge they didn’t see coming. We’re going to get back your lightning, and I think we might have discovered what it’s become tied to.”
“What?”
She clawed her way out of the destruction that was caving in on her, though she couldn’t be certain whether the new spike of adrenaline at his next words were in terror or in liberation.
“Your heartbeat.”
There was one thing she could be grateful to her sleep phantom for: a deep, silent rest. She woke early, however, needing the fresh air to dissect everything.
The emotions that had exhausted her were replenished by her blissful undisturbed sleep, and now the pressure of the bottle inside of her had been relieved enough for her to breathe clearer for now.
She wanted to beat the crack of dawn outside, but she sensed something disrupting the usually dull atmosphere of Rhyenelle’s castle halls. A few lingering fae whispered closely to each other, with new gossip to spread. She thought about asking them but decided the anticipation was the most excitement she’d felt in too long.
Zaiana marched toward the throne room, figuring if someone new had arrived, they would be greeted there. Perhaps the high lord had paid them a visit, or Marvellas had returned with new instruction.
“Have you heard?”
Maverick always had a way of finding her when she wished he wouldn’t.
“Are you going to tell me?” she drawled without sparing him a glance.
He chuckled low. “I think you’ll enjoy the surprise of what unlikely ally just offered themselves to Dakodas. Though useless, if you ask me.”
Her interest was piqued, running through several options, though his demotion of their worth made her list short. When she thought it could be Kyleer in a foolish mission to retrieve his brother, she had to clamp her fists tight. She despised the nerves the prospect of seeing him again so soon invoked. But no—he would be a very useful captive to draw out Faythe. The heir cared for him deeply.
“You’ve been absent recently,” Maverick hinted.
“You must be just as bored as I am to be keeping track of me.”
“Exactly. I’ve been craving some entertainment, and you’re my favorite source.”
She would have glowered, but they rounded the hall toward the open throne room doors, and Zaiana spied the figure kneeling before Dakodas, who’d draped herself beautifully across the mighty wide throne.
Zaiana didn’t recognize the fae male, but Maverick had made it sound like she should.
He had dark blond hair, wavy to just above his shoulders. Over his back was a bow and a quiver of arrows.
Dakodas’s onyx eyes gleamed down at him, and her smile curved with wicked amusement. “I do enjoy it when royals finally submit to order,” she said, loud enough that it was a boasting announcement for everyone. “Rise, Tarly Wolverlon.”
That was when Zaiana’s steps faltered, and she snapped her head to see Maverick’s smirk.
The Prince of Olmstone was certainly never a consideration of hers. Zaiana didn’t know much about him, but she’d been informed Olmstone was under Marvellas’s control and the prince and princess were unaccounted for.
What in the Nether would he be doing here now, if he’d fled when his kingdom was taken?
Tarly straightened to a tall height. His poise gave away his royal upbringing. “I fled in fear, I admit, but I’ve been watching and listening to Marvellas’s movements, and I know I stand with her.”
Spineless words of a coward out of options , Zaiana thought. She didn’t believe it for a second, but Dakodas seemed pleased. The Spirit of Death stood, a shallow pool of shadows rippling at her feet as she descended the stairs of the dais.
“Poor little prince. Alone and afraid all this time, when all the others have made friends and allies. Do you resent that?”
“Yes. Nikalias and Tauria made a mockery of my father and my kingdom last summer, which led to its disorder. It is why I want to join you.”
“It would be your greatest betrayal to those I believe you once considered allies.”
“They abandoned me first.”
Dakodas canted her head. Her hand rose to trace the prince’s shoulder and around his back as she circled him. “What do you think, Zaiana?”
Her spine stiffened to be addressed for her opinion regarding a prince whose past and allegiances she had no knowledge of.
“Have you seen Faythe Ashfyre?” Zaiana asked him.
Tarly turned, and she thought him elegantly beautiful. Almost innocently so, but his brown eyes bore nothing but ice. He’d seen horrors necessary of the protection. The prince’s cold look shifted to Maverick, and Zaiana stiffened at the reaction that started to widen on him.
He recognized Maverick as Callen Osirion. Of course he would. Zaiana dared a glance to her side, but Maverick kept his expression dark and neutral.
“No,” Tarly said, his thoughts still trying to process what he was encountering. To everyone’s knowledge, the royal family of Dalrune had all been slaughtered when their kingdom was taken. “I only saw her in passing during the kings’ meetings in High Farrow last year. She was nothing more than Orlon’s human pet then.”
Zaiana had to keep the conversation in check before Tarly said something foolish on the matter of Maverick.
“Since you ran like a coward from your kingdom, where have you been?”
Tarly didn’t even flinch at the insult she threw at him. He’d long accepted what he was, which made his submission to come here more believable.
Zaiana approached him, locking his stare as if he might give a flicker of something away that would help her figure out his motives. Could a royal really be so na?ve?
His expression was so emotionless. Unafraid. Given his story, she would have thought he’d be quivering before them, desperate for an allegiance somewhere in a realm breaking with war after abandoning his throne.
What Zaiana sensed from him in her next inhale flared her eyes in recognition, and his narrowed a near undetectable fraction.
A challenge.
“Marvellas wants royals—we have one. He has no magick, and I doubt his skill to do much with a bow surrounded by enemies if he thought to play spy.” Zaiana voiced her verdict.
“Would you Transition to dark fae willingly, little prince?” Dakodas cooed.
This was the first time he gave any indication of uncertainty at what he was doing. What coming here truly meant.
“Is that necessary?” Tarly asked, still watching Zaiana as much as she watched him.
Did he know who she was?
“It is a powerful gift Marvellas plans to bestow on all the royals once the cockroaches are captured. Your acceptance will make it less painful,” Dakodas said.
Bored of him, the Spirit passed Zaiana, taking Maverick’s hand before heading back up the dais. Zaiana’s attention was stolen from the prince to track them. She didn’t realize how tightly her fists had clamped until her iron guards broke the skin of her palms. While Dakodas sat again, she idly traced a hand over Maverick’s forearm as he stood by her side. He didn’t look up. Maverick’s face turned oddly distant, as if he were no longer present in this hall.
“I would like you to oversee him,” Dakodas said to her. “Interrogate him by any means you see fit to be sure his words are true.”
“If I may, Maverick would be better suited for that role.” She didn’t know why she said it, but it was too late to stop. She wanted him out of this room, away from Dakodas. Though not for her own jealousy, and perhaps she was reading a discomfort in Maverick that wasn’t there.
His sharp black eyes sliced into her. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft,” he goaded.
Her teeth ground at the belittlement, but her mind was at war with his motive.
“Of course not. I just have better things to do with my time, and this is subordinate work.”
“What else might you be hoping to do?” Dakodas prompted. It was laced with a warning. She didn’t like her instructions being passed or challenged.
“I was hoping you might have something of greater importance for me. Hunting the heir, perhaps.”
Dakodas leaned her head back against the tall throne with an arrogant smile. “You were rather proficient in that the last time, but I’m afraid that is already taken care of.”
She was growing dangerously impatient. Standing here like she was no better than the castle servants to be ordered around for petty work. Zaiana was a fighter. A strategist. A weapon. She couldn’t bear to be hung in these stolen halls as decoration any longer. With or without her magick, she was worth more than this.
“Very well,” she said, taming her temper.
Grabbing Tarly by the arm, she pushed him toward a side door, exchanging one last hateful glare with Maverick, more out of habit than anything.
She didn’t use any more force once they were marching down the halls, and the prince kept up. Even without her lightning, despite his head of height over her, she was confident she could put him down swiftly if he tried anything.
Zaiana led him down to the cells, making sure no one followed.
“I guess a real bed was wishful thinking when handing myself over to the villains,” Tarly commented.
So the prince had humor.
“The pretty words of a runaway prince are not going to be bought so easily.”
“You must be Zaiana.”
What a fool he was.
She didn’t answer. Not until they’d ventured far below and she knew no guards were lingering nearby. Zaiana opened a cell, and Tarly walked right in like an obedient dog. The moment he was inside, Zaiana slammed him to the wall.
“Exposing you know who I am wasn’t your first mistake,” she snarled at him. “It was coming here wrapped in the scent of the healer Nerida.”
Tarly’s eyes flared at her mention. He was protective of her, and Zaiana’s mind was reeling with that information.
“She mentioned you,” Tarly admitted.
“Last I saw her, she was with Faythe. I imagine that hasn’t changed, and so your lie in the throne room was very dangerous indeed.”
“Nerida spoke kindly of you. Can I trust you?”
She scoffed, pushing off him and pacing away for distance. “You’d be a fool to take my word for anything.”
“In better circumstances, yes.”
“Why did you come here? To spy for Faythe? You’re going to get yourself found out before you can tell her a thing.”
“I’m not here as a spy, and truly, it doesn’t matter what happens to me.”
“Noble of you.”
Tarly kicked at the dead helping of straw in the corner. “How long do my interrogations last before I’m free?”
She pursed her lips. He wasn’t what she expected. “That won’t be up to me.”
“It could be.”
“Did you hope I’d be an ally to you? Whatever Nerida might have said, her heart is too soft to see kindness where it doesn’t reside.” Zaiana didn’t want to care, but she also found herself inquiring, “Where is she now?”
“I’m not sure. Heading to Lakelaria, perhaps. Or with Faythe in pursuit of Reylan.”
He’d divulged that information to her too easily. Recklessly. It riled her even though it was to her advantage.
“I’m sure they’d be kicking themselves knowing they trusted you, only for you to abandon them and spill their movements to their enemy,” she hissed.
“Are you though…? Their enemy?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “I almost killed Kyleer and would have killed Faythe’s father.”
“But you didn’t.”
He was prodding at dangerous nerves that would have awakened her lightning by now. Then the reminder of her silenced magick turned her emotions even uglier, and her hand itched for her knife. She couldn’t kill him; the Spirits would likely kill her for the waste of one of their precious royals.
She stormed out of the cell and slammed it shut. Curling a hand around a bar, she fixed him with an ice-cold stare.
“I’ll be sure to let them all know you’re the one who gave them up when I find them.”
“Doesn’t sound like the Sprits have confidence in you for that task.”
Her grip tightened as she shook with restraint not to open that damn door and slit his throat.
Zaiana forced herself to walk away.
Anger and torment and humiliation pulsed in every step. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was done being idle. Undermined. Left to reel in the aftermath of her failure. Walking these halls, it were as if the ghost of Faythe laughed in every shadow.
They may have both gone down in that final blast, but the heir was out there, still fighting and powerful, while Zaiana was starting to feel as caged as she had been under the mountain. She had to get out of here.
She had to finish what she’d started…and capture Faythe Ashfyre.