Page 26 of A Flame of the Phoenix (An Heir Comes to Rise #6)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Faythe

R eylan put her back in the Magestone shackles. They’d walked in silence for a measure of time lost to Faythe. Though she could have been free, she didn’t regret not leaving him when she had the chance.

“We’ll get rest here,” he said at last.

Faythe looked up from watching her feet sink into the snow. Across a short, undisturbed blanket of snow stood what looked to be a temple long in ruins. The roof was partially caved in at the front, but it expanded farther back and might provide more cover.

“Why here?” she asked. He’d taken them far away from any life or buildings.

“You can’t destroy anything of value if you decide to be foolish again.”

Faythe internally winced. She’d been battling gut-wrenching guilt ever since he’d woken quickly from where they’d lain in the wreckage and immediately restrained her, then he’d marched her away from the pain and destruction she’d caused.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, more to herself.

Reylan answered anyway. “Exactly. It’s a miracle you’re still alive with your unpredictable, impulsive nature.”

Honestly, Faythe had to agree with that statement. He guided her with a hand on her arm toward the temple.

White trees surrounded them, and Faythe’s face was numb from the bitter temperature. Lakelaria was a kingdom of ice and beauty, a land that appeared too pure and peaceful for this world, but Faythe decided she preferred a warmer climate. Her chest beat with the pride of the Firebird.

While the ruins wasn’t much of a barrier against the cold, Reylan led her over to a corner that still had a roof.

“Why don’t we venture in further, to a room that isn’t half-exposed to the elements?” Faythe asked, surveying the beautiful decay of the space.

“This temple has a rather cursed history. Most believe it’s superstition.”

“Cursed?”

“It’s one of four cursed temples throughout Ungardia. They were all infiltrated and destroyed, the worshippers all killed.”

Faythe became eager for more of the story. Reylan let her go, beginning to collect any stick and branch he could through the snow for a fire.

“What did they worship?” Faythe edged for more as she helped him sift through the snow for tinder.

“Death,” Reylan said. That single word shadowed over them.

“Like Dakodas?”

“She’s but a whisper of the true primordial.”

Faythe shuddered. “Why would people who want to live pray to the God of Death?”

“Death can take away what life gives. But it’s more than that. The primordials as old as time have the power to snap worlds in two should they wish. There are those who believe Death is the strongest and fairest of them all.”

Dropping her sticks on top of Reylan’s pile, Faythe sat with her thoughts. The wind whistled an eerie song through the gaps in the stone and down the pitch-black passages. She fixed her eyes down one, chilled by the illusion of the dark reaching out a hand. Faythe jumped, snapped from the hallucination, when Reylan threw more sticks down.

He crouched on his haunches, staring at her with their pile between them.

“If you let me out of these, I can light that in a heartbeat,” Faythe said.

Reylan almost smiled. He raised a hand, snapped his fingers, and Faythe’s mouth parted at the blue fire that sparked in his palm.

“You can’t reach your magick, but I can.”

It was becoming clearer how powerful he was with the ruin in him.

Faythe’s look soured, but her irritation was quickly forgotten when the fire grew and the heat enveloped her. She sighed, hugging her knees to her chest. The sticks snapped and popped, and the air howled. Her lids grew heavy.

“Why didn’t you run?” Reylan asked, so soft against the warring elements.

“You would have found me.”

“You doubt yourself that much?”

Faythe shook her head, not looking up from the flames. “It’s just what we do. We find each other.”

Reylan didn’t respond. Instead he said, “You should get sleep.”

“So should you.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

Her eyes pricked. How much of his memory about her had Marvellas buried in her cruel scheme? Faythe couldn’t allow herself to panic. Once she got that ruin out of him, he would remember. She would make him remember everything.

Faythe lay down in silence. She didn’t think she would get any decent rest with only her hands to cushion her head and her cloak as a blanket. When she couldn’t stand the impression of his eyes on her above the flames, she turned her back on him.

The distance of strangers, of enemies , ached in her soul. Faythe untucked one hand from under her head to glance at her golden butterfly ring. A reminder of time defied and distance erased between them once, and they would do it again.

“There’s a stream nearby. I’m going to collect water for our travels tomorrow,” he said.

Faythe listened to the shuffle of his movements without a word.

“You’re right. I will find you no matter how far or fast you try to run. Don’t waste your energy.”

With that, he left her, and Faythe closed her eyes, knowing it didn’t matter the circumstance or peril…she wasn’t capable of running away from him.

Faythe was woken by a whisper—one that caressed her ear like a stroke of darkness, snapping open her eyes but holding her still in the mercy of unknown terror.

When it subsided, she released her breath and willed her heart to calm. She peeled herself up, daring to sit and discover the origin of the cold, eerie presence.

She found nothing.

Reylan was sleeping, which surprised her. She didn’t expect him to take the chance of a potential ambush or her fleeing. He didn’t stir at the ominous echo she’d felt creeping over her skin.

It came again, a tickle of air with notes of dark beckoning. This time Faythe was more captivated than alarmed, though her body still locked with tension. She got up slowly, wincing at the chime of her shackles and slicing a glance at Reylan. Still, he slept soundly. So peacefully her heart savored the sight for a few seconds.

Until the whispering call wrapped her again.

Faythe followed it despite it leading through one of the depthless halls. The darkness claimed her all at once.

Moonlight spilled into a room ahead, and when she emerged, it took a moment to survey the hall in her awe.

A huge statue loomed in front of her—a cloaked figure with no face, only a void as depthless as the passage she’d emerged from. It held a scythe taller than itself, and the only sign of imperfection was the missing chip on the underside of the figure’s blade. Around it, hundreds of black ravens were frozen in flight.

It was a mortal depiction of Death itself. The primordial the worshippers at this temple prayed to. Did they pray for a kind death? For this entity to spare them pain and misery in the end? Or was it far more than that? Possibly more than she could comprehend.

Faythe’s pulse skipped when she thought she caught movement. Her eyes darted over the birds, which remained stationary, frozen in the air by nothing at all. They began to twitch , coming alive right before her eyes, and Faythe stumbled back. She couldn’t have darted out of there before their feathers puffed in the wind and their wings cracked out of their frozen state until they could fly.

In a few heartbeats, Faythe was surrounded, holding her bound hands up to shield her face. They didn’t attack, but they swarmed her instead of fleeing now that they could.

“What do you want?” Faythe begged, terrified by the pounding of wings filling her ears, the brush of feathers like icy grazes.

“I need him to return to you for a while,” a deep, otherworldly voice said. “I need you to help him, and in turn, he will help you.”

Faythe squinted through the slash of black birds. She found the hooded form, shrunken to mortal size. She tracked its looming scythe—an instrument to reap souls, and she was perfect prey.

“Who?” she dared to ask.

“The first and only son.”

Faythe lowered her arms, overcome with dread.

“What happened to him?”

“He is a son of war. Between mortals and Gods. He is a binding tether between more than you can imagine. You are the heirs who, once united…will decide whether this world ends from the wrath of broken hearts or finds peace after all it will take to win.”

She had to be dreaming. Faythe sank to her knees, trying to grapple something that would expose this as nothing more than a horrifying nightmare.

“What will it take?” Faythe broke a sob with her question. Her mind spun with the faces of everyone she held dear. Her threads to each of them strained so threateningly she couldn’t know which would be in danger of breaking until it was too late.

She was haunted, completely awash with the worst dread of her existence, while this moment felt so familiar to when the Dresair had cursed her with the knowledge one close to her would die. The primordial didn’t say such words, but it was only now she was being crushed with the gravity of the war, realizing she must harbor a fool’s heart to believe the battles to come would spare those she loved.

Faythe took a breath. One long, sure breath to fill her lungs. She couldn’t predict or prevent or control the uncertainty of war. But she was Faythe Ashfyre. She would not be weak, she would not cower, and she would fight with her last breath for everyone.

Hands touched her upper arms, and Faythe gasped, her eyes flying open. She gripped the assailant back, about to fight them off, when their hood slipped down.

Not an angel of death, but one of light.

Beautiful lengths of silver hair spilled against her brown complexion.

“Nerida?” Faythe breathed in disbelief. Now she really wondered if she was dreaming.

Glancing over Nerida’s shoulder, she found the statue of Death was real, but all the birds weren’t. Not even a part of the sculpture. A violent shiver wracked her body.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” the healer asked.

Faythe could only look at her in her stupor. Nerida was crouched in front of her and scanning Faythe with careful attention.

“How did you find me?” Faythe asked.

“I heard what happened at the inn. People are whispering about the Phoenix Queen. Then I tracked you.”

Her guilt surged once again. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know.”

“How could you?”

Nerida’s smile always inspired a warmth like no one else’s. One that freed souls from burden just for a moment.

“It’s not your heart,” Nerida said.

Faythe’s head bowed. Then she had to ask, “Have you found anything for Tarly since you’ve been here?”

The sorrow that dropped on the fae’s face was answer enough.

“I haven’t been here much longer than you, and a lot has happened since we parted.”

Nerida rolled open her pouch of herbs and medicines.

“What’s happened?” Faythe pressed.

Finding what she was looking for, Nerida uncorked a small vial and handed it to Faythe. “This will help with the pain of the Magestone.”

She didn’t really care about that, but Faythe accepted the kindness.

When she swallowed the sour liquid, Faythe’s head snapped around. “Reylan…”

“He’ll be out for at least another couple of hours. The tonic I slipped into his water at the stream should hold someone unconscious until morning, but I would anticipate the ruin’s magick will burn it off far faster.”

Faythe’s helpless look swung back to the healer.

“I don’t know what to do,” Faythe confessed.

“Luckily for you, I have some theories and options. But I need you to listen carefully, and none of this is without risk. There’s something I need to tell you first, and I hope you’ll still see me the same.”

“Of course I will,” Faythe said with absolute certainty.

Nerida remained uncertain. She broke Faythe’s stare to pack away her pouch with a new edge of nerves.

Faythe took her hand and held her beautiful hazel eyes. “None of us are just friends anymore, Nerida. We’re family. Whatever you have to say, that never changes, and how we fight this…is together.”

“Family,” Nerida whispered, lost in her own thoughts at the word, until an endearing smile twitched at her lips.

Unexpectedly, she leaned in and embraced Faythe tightly. When she relaxed, Faythe treasured the blessing of Nerida’s comfort.

“I can’t stay with you, and what I’m going to propose will be dangerous, but I don’t know if there’s any other way.”

Faythe’s arms tightened a fraction—from fear, from anticipation—but when she let Nerida go…she was ready for whatever had to come next.