Page 36 of A Flame of the Phoenix (An Heir Comes to Rise #6)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Zaiana

Z aiana needed the air no matter that the wind cut ice chips across her cheeks. Atop the Lakelarian castle, she could admire the beauty of the kingdom. Though the temperature left her with little desire to fantasize about a life here. Her eyes cast over the snow-thick mountain peaks, envisioning a world with no end beyond Ungardia.

After they’d locked up Kyleer, she’d resisted the impulse to check on him.

Zaiana shook her head, hissing under the mask she wore over her mouth and her nose to ward off the lashing, bitter air. Her resentment toward herself clawed at every crevice of her thoughts, and she could hardly bear it. She needed out. Free of her own mind, and as she balanced on the pointed crest of the highest part of the castle, she did not unglamour her wings.

She didn’t know what she was doing here. What she hoped to achieve.

She scrunched her eyes shut and stood from her crouch. Her boots maintained their grip on the snowy slope of the roof. Her single hand wrapped around the spire was all that kept her from falling the fatal height.

“What are you doing?”

That voice was the last she wanted to hear. She snapped her lids open and looked down to where the bastard stood across another part of the roof.

Maverick watched her, arms folded, with his wings towering over his shoulders. His brows bore the weight of his disappointment and anger.

“Has she sent you to kill me for leaving without order?” Zaiana asked.

“No. I’m wondering who she’ll send to kill both of us for it.”

Zaiana’s jaw tightened. “Why would you follow me, if not by her command?”

“Boredom, I suppose. It was getting rather dull in that awful castle.”

“Dakodas favors you. She won’t be pleased.”

“I don’t really care.”

Her response was nullified at that, because she didn’t care about the Spirit’s retribution either.

“Now, want to tell me why we’re freezing our asses off for no good reason?”

“Go inside.”

He asked, “Did Marvellas reprimand you for being here?”

“No. I brought her a prize. So I hope you have one.”

“You’re hoping for my safety? Now I’m even more concerned.”

His assessment of her footing and his tracking over her shoulder gave away his thoughts.

“I’m not going to throw myself off this roof.”

“Then I inquire again, what are we doing?”

“ We are doing nothing. I’m scouting, and it was rather peaceful, if you don’t mind.”

It was a quick and obvious lie. Truthfully, Zaiana didn’t know why she’d come here specifically, only that her wrath had festered to her bones inside the castle, and she’d feared it might snap to recklessness if she exchanged paths with Marvellas right now. She had to pull herself together and figure out what she was going to do to find out the truth about the dark fae curse.

“In fact, I do mind.” His stare cut into her, as sharp as the wind.

“What do you want?”

“I’d rather not chat in the freezing rooftop air.”

“I’d rather not chat at all.”

“What do you know of the curse of our still hearts?”

Zaiana sliced him with a look. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“You don’t make it difficult.”

She considered what to share with him. It had been part of the reason Zaiana needed to come here. She just didn’t know how to begin finding answers about the curse with the Spirit of Souls who may have cast it.

“How do I know you won’t just run to them with anything I say?”

“Zaiana,” Maverick said with a hook of sincerity unlike him. He reevaluated what he was going to say in that pause. “This affects me too. It affects all the dark fae, and I want to know what else the curse could mean. You know who I was before they turned me. I’ve resented them all this time, and now I discover there’s even more to their manipulation.”

She considered him for a moment, and she believed him.

“Now, will you please come down from there?”

Zaiana was about to slide down the dome toward the flat part of the roof, but the sound of moving water caught her attention. The guards had left their posts to rotate positions, and there was a moment of vulnerability. To her fascination, the river surrounding the castle parted , and from its depths emerged a hooded figure who quickly ran into the surrounding woodland.

Zaiana locked everything on that small target.

“Don’t follow me, or I won’t tell you a thing when I’m back,” Zaiana warned, then she unglamoured her wings and swooped down from the roof.

They took a deserted path in the night. It was too easy to trap this prey. She trailed them until she found the right moment, and in the space of a breath, Zaiana pushed them to the wall under the threat of her dagger.

But she was on their land, with no ability, and they were surrounded by ammunition as theirs.

Before Zaiana could react to what was happening, snow came down from the roof in a force too strong to have been unfortunate natural timing. It wasn’t enough to bury her, but Zaiana was knocked to the ground.

With a growl of annoyance from the wet seeping into her and turning her even more freezing, she shoveled out of the heap. Her chase turned more deadly, with a laser focus. She tracked them by the footfall they tried to hide by manipulating the snow, but that was a sure path in itself. Minutes dragged, and Zaiana was fearing she’d lost them. When she came to a dead end, she hissed with frustration.

“Why are you following me?”

Zaiana stilled at the threatening voice at her back. Not because she was trapped, but…

When she turned, the fae was still concealed, much like Zaiana with only her eyes on show, shadowed by her hood. But it was that voice.

It might have been foolish to expose herself, but Zaiana pulled down her mask with the confidence she was right. Then she drew back her hood.

The fae straightened, her poised hands making the snow vibrate, and she copied Zaiana’s movements to expose herself.

“Nerida?” Zaiana blinked at the fae. Though she knew this to be her homeland, the fact she was here right now stunned her.

“I had more faith in you,” Nerida said, her voice colder than Zaiana had ever heard. “I know I shouldn’t have. You tried to warn me many times, but still, I couldn’t stop myself thinking you were different.”

Zaiana was already sharp with anger. “It’s not my fault you see monsters and believe you can help them,” she said. Nerida didn’t deserve her tone, but Zaiana’s claws were already out.

“I have never tried to help you, nor would I. The only person who could is yourself.”

Zaiana’s gloved fists tightened. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“It’s a long story. But yours seems clear. Are you going to capture me and take me to Marvellas?”

“If I wanted you, I would have taken you by now. You may be powerful in your ability, but you are no fighter.”

“I may not wish to fight, but I haven’t survived this long alone without needing to.”

Zaiana had so many questions about her that for once had no gain. She wasn’t sure what it was about Nerida, but she didn’t truly want her to leave like everyone else.

“If you’re not going to stop me, I’m leaving?—”

“Wait,” Zaiana said, scrambling for a reason for her to stay. “My magick is gone. Or, it’s still there, I just can’t reach it, and, well, you’re a healer—maybe you could feel if there’s…” Zaiana trailed off, gritting her teeth from how pitiful she sounded.

Then, when Nerida’s face released the tension to display her usual care, she hated herself for using the healer’s nature for her own gain this time. No matter who asked, Nerida wouldn’t refuse help with the ability she had.

“Since when?”

“Since I battled Faythe. I was unconscious for weeks, then when I woke, and it’s been silent since.”

Her brow furrowed in assessment. “Faythe’s abilities are fine.”

Yes, much to Zaiana’s burning annoyance.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Zaiana grumbled, making to leave.

“Wait.” Nerida stopped her this time. “Maybe we could help each other.”

Zaiana turned back with curiosity. “What can I do for you?”

Nerida debated a second longer. “Come with me.”

She followed the healer, having nothing to lose anyway. Nerida brought her to a tall home wedged between many others.

“Are you sure you don’t have your lightning? Would make this a lot easier,” Nerida said, stripping out of her cloak and kneeling by the fire. Zaiana watched her begin with the tools to light it.

“No,” Zaiana barely whispered. “Sorry.”

Though Nerida had meant it lightly, every time she acknowledged her missing ability, it grew on the hollowness inside her. She could be strong without it. Still fight and fly, but she would never be whole again without it.

When flame caught across the debris, Zaiana gravitated toward the heat, crouching with a contented sigh when the warmth caught her skin and began to spread over her.

“Let me see if there’s something I can feel,” Nerida said, shifting closer.

Zaiana jerked away by habit but forced herself back at the healer’s soft, patient look.

Nerida approached again tentatively, taking Zaiana’s hands. Her hazel eyes slipped shut, and Zaiana could do nothing but sit there with a growing anticipation in her stomach.

“I met… someone. They thought it might be tied to my heartbeat,” she offered.

Nerida peeled one eye open curiously. “You heart is still.”

“I don’t think it always was.”

“Fascinating,” Nerida said, closing her eyes again to concentrate. “I have always theorized myself that it’s not a born cause.”

The silence turned painful, grating over her skin, while she gradually felt exposed at the thought of Nerida searching within her.

“Your magick is still there, but yes…something is blocking it.”

Zaiana was always cautious of hope, but a wick caught flame inside her before she could stop it. “How do I get it back?”

The shake of Nerida’s head sank in her gut. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s all you.”

“What is?”

“The resistance.”

Zaiana closed her eyes as if it she could search within herself with the healer’s help, perhaps draw out what was stifling it. Her throat began to tighten with the memories that flashed to the surface. Tight walls. No light. No air. She was helpless.

Nerida ripped her hands from Zaiana’s with a gasp, which made her eyes fly open too. The healer’s expression became ghostly, searching Zaiana’s face as if someone else was sitting there instead.

“You can’t… see things?” Zaiana asked, horrified.

Nerida shook her head. “I’m not Faythe. But I can feel… what—what happened to you, Zaiana?”

Her shoulders deflated. Once, she would have raised a shield against such a question. To speak of it was to acknowledge how damaged she was.

“Many things,” she whispered, sitting to hug her knees.

Nerida picked up a small kettle, filling it up in the dainty kitchen before returning and setting it over the fire.

“It’s possible the suppression you’ve built all these years is causing it,” Nerida said gently. “Something terrible happened to you. Not just once—you have centuries of trauma you’ve hidden from all this time.”

“Why would it be an issue now?” she snapped, only in frustration at her own self.

“I think it’s what happens when the body and mind go through drastic change.”

“What do you mean?”

The healer’s look was thoughtful, and Zaiana resisted the urge to shrink away from it.

“There’s something different about you,” she said. “I think the only way you’re going to find your lightning…is if you find yourself first. What you want to be. Who you want to be. That choice has never really been yours.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” It came out like a plea. How was she supposed to do that?

“It might not right now, but you’re not alone to face it. Not if you don’t want to be.”

Zaiana was tired of being alone. Tired of only depending on herself. Trusting herself. Her walls were crumbling, and she was being buried in the debris. Maybe she would find her lightning when the final wall tumbled, and then she would die under the rubble of her past life.

“I know you can’t trust me,” Zaiana said. “But Marvellas cursed me, and I want retribution for that.”

Nerida squeezed her hands before letting them go.

“I did trust you. I wouldn’t have stayed with you on that quest if I didn’t.”

“We would have had to kill you if you didn’t.”

Nerida only smiled at that, and Zaiana was beginning to wonder if she’d severely underestimated the gentle healer.

“If you want my trust now, you’ll tell me why you’re still helping people who have done nothing for you.”

“I’m not,” Zaiana said, but she realized how weak that sounded. “At least…I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

The healer reached with a cloth to pull the whistling pot from the hook. “If you want revenge, one thing that would infuriate Marvellas most is having someone she thought she’d conquered side with her enemy instead.”

That word was a blow to her existence: conquered . Zaiana had been in denial to believe it, but now, spoken so easily, she was beginning to realize how much of a fool she had looked all this time as Marvellas’s puppet.

“I wouldn’t go as far as that. I doubt Faythe, Kyleer, or any of them would ever trust me as an ally anyway. But I need answers, and I will make her pay.”

“You might not have a lot of time left.”

“What are you planning with Faythe on the inside?” Zaiana asked. Trickles of foreboding slithered through her.

Nerida retrieved two teacups, but the fact she didn’t answer confirmed something to Zaiana anyway. Faythe knew Nerida was here. Had the healer been tracking them since Rhyenelle?

She accepted the steaming cup of tea Nerida offered. The scent relaxed her, with notes of jasmine and honey. The cup warmed her palms while she gave a soft sigh at the gentle caress of the first sip.

Zaiana said, “I get it. You can’t trust me, and I can’t really trust you. But let me tell you, Maverick is here, and he is not one to hesitate with mercy.”

“Callen Osirion,” Nerida said. The alternative name was still jarring to Zaiana, but she nodded. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize sooner.”

“How could you have?”

Nerida dropped her sight into her cup. She changed the topic. “I’ve only been able to get to the cells. I didn’t expect Marvellas would use the tower. Kyleer told me what she did to Faythe. It’s barbaric.”

Even Zaiana agreed. She’d built a tolerance to Niltain steel, but if someone embedded it in her flesh like Marvellas did with Faythe and the Magestone, Zaiana didn’t know if she’d be so resilient then.

Nerida’s gaze turned hopeful when it flicked back up to Zaiana. “If you want to help, you could make sure she doesn’t break Faythe’s spirit. You’re the only one who can check on her for us.”

“I can’t offer anything to keep Faythe from breaking. In fact, my recurring presence might have the opposite effect.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You can’t say that. You don’t know all I’ve done. There is no forgiveness for me.”

“You can’t trust. I understand why, but you underestimate compassion.”

“No one has any reason to offer me that.”

“Compassion doesn’t form from reason but from understanding. Don’t think about them forgiving you—think about how everyone harbors demons and has committed actions they’re not proud of. There are parts of you in them, just as much as there’s part of them in you.”

She didn’t know who they were speaking of anymore. No one at all, actually. Only the good versus the bad, how nothing was wholly either.

“I don’t know how to…help.” Zaiana tasted that word with bitter hope.

“It’s a scale. It balances trust and requires you reach out a hand, or to take the one that’s offered to you.”

Zaiana thought of Kyleer, and for once she didn’t hate herself for it. Even though she’d betrayed him, even in all her attempts to make him see her as a monster, his hand had never fully retreated from her.

Then she also thought of Maverick. He’d killed Faythe in her place, then he’d killed the King of Rhyenelle instead of her. Had she fulfilled her roles, she would be condemned in the eyes of Faythe, Kyleer, and all of them. Instead it was Maverick who’d taken the target of their wrath, and how could she pretend she was any better?

No—Zaiana couldn’t side with them. She couldn’t hide in the shadow of Maverick’s acts.

“A Transitioned dark fae bite on a fae…” Nerida began, her voice reducing with pain. “Do you know of its effects? If there’s a cure?”

Zaiana didn’t expect the question. “I’ve never seen it before, but I’ve heard of Transitioned dark fae killing fae with their bite. There’s a certain poison in it—a lethal consequence of defying the laws nature set, I suppose.”

“What about a cure?” Nerida prompted again. Her hazel eyes were so sad Zaiana pitied her.

“Who was bitten?”

She studied her fingers fiddling with the loose threads of her skirt.

“Tarly Wolverlon.”

Well, that name had unexpectedly slammed her with confusion twice now. She hadn’t cared to get close enough to him to detect anything wrong.

“He’s your friend?”

“Yes.”

“What’s he hoping to achieve in Rhyenelle’s castle?”

The healer’s eyes snapped up to Zaiana with shock. When she processed what Zaiana said, it filtered from confusion to concern then anger . She’d never seen so many emotions flick across a person’s face so fast.

“That damn sullen bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

Again, Zaiana thought she was in the company of an entirely different fae for a second, but she quite enjoyed Nerida’s spirited side.

Nerida ran an exasperated hand over her forehead. “I didn’t know that was where he’d run off to. He was supposed to come with me, but the stubborn prince is determined to accept his fate.”

“He’s dying,” Zaiana concluded.

The heartbreak that fell over Nerida as she looked away tensed Zaiana still. She cared for the prince. More than just as a friend.

“He’s not, he’s just…he’s going to be fine.” She sniffed, squaring her shoulders to suppress her grief.

Zaiana felt for her. The worst pain always came from harm to loved ones, not to ourselves. It was once again a reminder of how vulnerable and exhausting love was.

“You won’t like my only suggestion,” Zaiana said, as gentle as she could.

Nerida glanced at her with misplaced hope.

“Have you considered attempting to Transition him to dark fae?”

Her shock and denial were immediate. “No. He would never want that.”

“Want isn’t his luxury anymore.”

Nerida’s eyes glistened, and Zaiana had an unexplainable urge to make them stop filling with sorrow.

“He would rather die. He would rather leave me than become that.”

Zaiana was torn between pity and envy to watch how affected Nerida was by another person.

“Then he’s no survivor, and this world isn’t built for people like that.”

Her words were harsh, but they were the truth. Nerida stood, pacing away.

“He’s survived a lot,” she argued.

“I don’t doubt it. Many have, and they become too tired to keep fighting.”

“What about me?” Her voice cracked, and Zaiana was beginning to despise the prince for upsetting her. “I’m tired too, but I’m here .”

“If he cared as much for you as you clearly do for him, he would want to keep fighting regardless of the pain.” Zaiana pushed herself up, turning to the fae. “Spare your heart, Nerida. The kind you harbor is rare in this world of spoiled and tainted love.”

Nerida’s face turned determined. “I can’t,” she said firmly. “I won’t give up on him.”

“Some people don’t want to be saved, and there is nothing we can do.”

“We can keep reaching out a hand,” she snapped. It wasn’t just in regard to Tarly now. Zaiana felt the accusation in that statement.

Zaiana let ice form over the warmth that had started to flutter around Nerida. She couldn’t pretend to be good, to decide today that she could forget all she’d done and aid the tragic heroes.

“Then don’t be surprised when the hand that reaches back drags you down instead.”