Page 33 of A Flame of the Phoenix (An Heir Comes to Rise #6)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Faythe

F aythe awoke with ice growing under her skin, slicked as though she’d walked through fire. Her body felt ripped apart by two contrasting forces.

Opening her eyes, her vision came and went in blurry images. Her head pounded, and when she cracked her lips apart, her mouth was bone-dry.

Against all that wanted to remain drowning with her sinking anchor of pain, Faythe found the will to angle her arms and push herself up. A weight slipped off her shoulders as she did, and with it, the scent of her true home hit her all at once.

Reylan.

Faythe’s eyes filled as she sat back and pulled the cloak over herself again. Burying her nose into the fabric, a sharp sob escaped her.

For a moment, he’d broken through Marvellas’s influence. He’d tried to reach her…hadn’t he? She couldn’t be sure if she’d imagined that in the delusion of her agony.

Faythe shivered violently and couldn’t steady her breathing. There wasn’t enough air. Her hand caught her against the cot when a sway of dizziness washed over her. Pain exploded up her arm with the slightest pressure, and she fell, hitting her head against the wooden edge.

There was no end to her misery.

She couldn’t move for what dragged like hours. Recalling the Magestone forced into her body, Faythe couldn’t control the tremors racking through her. When she found the will to move, she dragged fearful eyes to the nasty wounds slashed down her forearms. Her skin had blackened around where the Magestone was submerged under her skin.

“Looks like you’re in a serious predicament.”

She wasn’t aware of company until a silvery male voice jolted through her.

Faythe pushed up on her cot, finding a fae sitting on one across from her in the cell attached to hers, separated by thick iron bars. What stopped time for a beat and washed her skin cold…were the familiar golden eyes piercing into her own.

“Who are you?”

“I’ve been waiting to ask you the same thing.”

She’d never seen eyes like hers before. Faythe blinked as if he might be a figment of her imagination and would disappear. He sat lazily against the wall, one knee bent on his cot, with his arm wrapped lazily over it. In that molten stare was patient darkness and a mystery she couldn’t decipher.

“You’re an heir of hers too,” Faythe said in barely a whisper.

That caused him to peel away from the wall. His legs fell over the cot that was far too small for him, and he leaned his forearms on his thighs. His golden irises were alive, shining brighter than her own.

“An heir of what?” he asked. His voice slithered over her skin like a compelling trap.

He had to be toying with her.

Faythe humored him. “Marvellas, of course.”

His face blanked at the name, as if he didn’t expect to hear it. Had someone else thrown him in here? Was it really possible he didn’t know what his gold eyes meant? Faythe decided it was very possible, for had she lived out her human life as Faythe Aklin in High Farrow, she would have been none the wiser too.

So how had he been captured, and why now?

“Where are we?” he asked.

That question stirred more confusion in Faythe. Maybe he’d been drugged and unconscious when they brought him here. He didn’t appear disheveled or roughly handled. In fact, he was dressed elegantly, too well-kept to be a prisoner. A scar ran from his temple over his left cheek, but it was an old wound. His hair, as black as ink, was straight, with some strands falling into his eyes. His attire reminded Faythe of starlight and midnight with its navy colors and gold accents. Unlike anything she’d seen before. Almost otherworldly. He was mesmerizing in a way that made her start to doubt if he was real.

Or if she was truly awake herself.

Faythe answered his question. “Lakelaria.”

The furrow between his brow deepened. “A kingdom?”

“Yes. One of seven in Ungardia. Are you missing your memory?” It was all Faythe could think of to explain his complete confusion.

“Ungardia,” he repeated. Then he laughed—a breathy sound of disbelief and irony.

He stood, slipping a hand into his pocket as he paced, processing that information. Faythe noticed he wasn’t shackled, but she couldn’t see if he had Magestone embedded in his flesh like she did from his long sleeves.

Faythe knew she should be wary of him, but he was like her. He had to be. One of the gold-eyed children of Marvellas.

She gasped to herself. An Heir of Marvellas…but he wasn’t just any, was he?

The lost first son.

He gave her his attention from her quiet alarm, but Faythe couldn’t speak. She stared at him, unable to erase the obvious conclusion her mind fitted together.

“I know who you are,” she said, blanching at the fact.

Question was, did he know who he was? He seemed completely clueless as to why he was here in a castle usurped by Marvellas.

His head canted, a few locks of black hair tipping over his forehead. “Do you now? That doesn’t seem fair.”

Faythe pushed herself tighter to the wall as if it could give way and grant an escape from him. “You’re her son.”

His gold eyes turned a shade darker. Another attribute that sealed the fact. She’d seen the way Marvellas’s irises could shift tone, as if the language of her feelings spoke from them.

“Yes, I am. Son of Marvellas, the great Spirit of Souls and Goddess of the Stars.”

Hearing him speak it with sarcasm wasn’t what Faythe expected, but at least he knew who he was.

“Did she think I wouldn’t figure it out? Did she put you here to see if you could break me by gaining my trust?”

“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here. I don’t really care. What I desire is to get back to where I need to be.”

Faythe’s mind pulsed with a new ache. He wasn’t making any sense. She scrambled to recall the very little knowledge she had about the Spirit’s son.

“You’re not supposed to be in this realm,” she said, though it felt foolish to say when he was undeniably right here.

“Exactly.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“So how are you here?” she dared to ask.

Unfathomable, maybe. But Nik had been right when he’d said they couldn’t throw anything out of the realm of possibility anymore. Her denial only worked against her, so Faythe would play along.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if it pained and frustrated him to recall the events that had led him here. “I fell under a curse in my realm,” he admitted. “I suppose by some trick of fate, my mind crossed here to protect itself.”

His mind. Faythe didn’t understand what that meant. He was physical, right in front of her.

“When your curse breaks, you’ll be gone again?”

“I hope so.”

“How long do you have?”

That turned his expression dark, and he was quite frightening. There was an edge of unpredictable volatility about him that kept her on edge.

“For the sake of both realms, I hope not long. I have someone I need to get back to, and I will find a way to tear the fabric of the universe if I’m kept away from her for too long.”

Faythe shuddered involuntarily at the promise. She didn’t know how he would achieve it, but she believed he could.

She tucked her knees to her chest, contemplating. If she chose to believe his incredible story of crossing realms, she had to figure out if he could be of help against his mother. It may be selfish thinking, but she had to consider he could be leverage or an advantage somehow.

He withdrew something from his pocket and began to flip it absentmindedly in his palm. When Faythe caught a glimpse of the brass, it was her turn to wear the shock.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded.

The fae looked at her and then down at the item she stared at. “I think someone sent it to me. There was a note inside telling me I would need it to get home someday.” He frowned at it, flipping it over, and Faythe caught a glimpse of the unmistakable symbol of Marvellas on the back. “It was in my pocket when I fell into the death sleep curse. At the time, I had the delusional thought it might prevent the curse.”

Faythe was shivering, but not from the cold. “Do you know who sent the note?”

“It was signed by someone of the name Aesira. That doesn’t happen to be you, does it?”

Her palm cupped her forehead. She didn’t have Aesira’s memory of that note, but the compass…she’d found that within an abandoned store in Rhyenelle. The Dresair had asked for it, and Faythe had thrown it into the mirror before she’d shattered them all, freeing the Dresair, who’d adopted the life of Presilla. For now.

Sneaky, meddling creature.

But how had he found it?

“Your reaction is telling me yes, and now I’m very intrigued,” he said.

“Not exactly,” she murmured.

“I’ve never been fond of riddles.”

“My soul was once Aesira. Now I’m Faythe Ashfyre.”

Those two words may as well have been a blade since his pacing stopped abruptly, as if she’d plunged one into his chest. His amber eyes sliced into her.

“Your father…?”

Of course, if he were telling the truth, this fae had no knowledge of the kingdoms here, or their rulers. Though she didn’t know why the name of her father was important to him now.

“Agalhor Ashfyre.”

The tension in his locked shoulders diffused like relief. Not the name he thought she might speak.

“Your turn to give a name,” Faythe said.

The fae’s unnerving gaze roved over her as if he was still trying to process something, and Faythe grew more anxious by the second. She never could have predicted his identity would collide with her own in a truly incredulous, unfathomable way.

“My name is Nyte,” he said, holding her with golden eyes of kin. “Rainyte Ashfyre.”