Page 47 of A Flame of the Phoenix (An Heir Comes to Rise #6)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Tarly

W hen Tarly retuned from relieving himself, he didn’t expect to find another tall, broad human in the room. The man wore a pirate tricorn, with lengths of dirty blond hair poking out the bottom. When he turned at Tarly’s intrusion, the thud as he stepped in drew Tarly’s attention to one leg made of wood.

“Who are you?” Tarly inquired. Scanning Jakon and Marlowe only firmed his defenses when he detected some kind of upset in them at this man’s presence.

“Augustine,” he answered easily. “It’s an honor to meet you, Tarly Wolverlon.”

He was taken aback to be addressed by his full name.

“Is everything okay?” Tarly asked Marlowe, who seemed the most uncomfortable.

“He’s my father,” she informed him.

Once again, Tarly was slapped with surprise. “This is opening more questions than answers,” he said.

He was prevented from gaining any more information when someone burst into the room right behind him.

Tarly spun to find Izaiah, who scanned the room, glossing over them all like he expected to find someone else.

“What’s wrong?” Jakon demanded.

Izaiah was panting as if he’d sprinted around the whole castle in his search. Tynan was right behind him.

“The Light Temple Ruin is gone,” he said though gritted teeth, seeming to conclude something else as he followed with, “and so is Reuben.”

Jakon swore, and Tarly’s stomach plummeted.

“He must have followed me to know where it was, the little rat,” Izaiah seethed. Bottles and instruments clanged when his fist slammed the nearest counter.

“It couldn’t have been long ago. Maybe this is your sign to leave and track him,” Tynan said in a tone that was sensitive to how volatile Izaiah was acting right now.

Izaiah pinched the bridge of his nose, considering. “If I’m going, so are you two,” he said, directed at Jakon and Marlowe. “You can head to High Farrow. Gather what you need—we leave in an hour.”

“How do you plan to escape?” Augustine asked.

“I’m sure you’ve seen it in some way or another,” Izaiah said flatly, then he left without another word.

Though Tarly wasn’t regarded in Izaiah’s plan, if he didn’t tack himself onto it, he didn’t know how else he would get out with his life. Besides, now the Light Temple Ruin was missing and Marlowe wasn’t going to craft more Phoenix Blood, he had no further purpose here.

Once out of Rhyenelle, he could escort the two humans as far as Stenna’s fall, where he would wait, for if all went to plan, Nik, Tauria, and Nerida should be meeting there sooner or later.

Tarly could hardly last the next hour. He didn’t feel grounded with the dark sense of foreboding choking the air. Augustine had left, and Tarly hadn’t asked what he was here for.

“We’re sitting ducks here,” Tarly said—the first any of them had spoken since Izaiah left. The tension had grown too thick to breathe right.

“Izaiah is the only one who knows this castle blindfolded and can walk around without suspicion. We have to wait for his lead,” Jakon said.

“Isn’t that strange to you? Why is he so freely roaming when you two were just as close to Faythe and you’re under close watch?”

Maybe it was irrational—he didn’t know Izaiah, and they did—but he couldn’t shake his nerves since nothing felt right here.

“He has his own tasks,” Marlowe said in his defense.

Tarly let it go.

He was equipped with his bow, just waiting with his senses sharpened for the next person to come through that door. Marlowe continued to spell potions far faster than she’d pretended to be capable of before, easily making a dozen in the hour they waited.

Izaiah stayed true to his word, but when he returned, it was not with the kind of demeanor that was planning a risky escape. He stepped in calmly, with an immediate aura that hit Tarly with dread. Izaiah kept his sights on Marlowe and gave a barely-there shake of his head.

Then the guards flooded in.

Tarly didn’t have time to react. The proximity was too short in this room to nock an arrow, and he was apprehended before he could try. They disarmed him, and in his shock at trying to process what was happening, he didn’t resist their handling.

Jakon did, however. He was the only struggle in the room, because the guards pulled Marlowe away from him. She didn’t fight. Marlowe Kilnight held her chin high, and Tarly’s heart might have stopped beating. Because that wasn’t the face of someone who feared for their life—it was the courage of one who had already made peace with death.

Tarly broke through his stupor then. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Where are you taking her?” Tarly snarled, pulling against the hold two dark fae guards had on him.

“To the king,” one said plainly.

“Take us too,” Tarly demanded.

The guard who spoke looked to Izaiah for permission. How could the humans trust him when it was clear he held authority among the enemy? Tarly didn’t want to know what he’d done to gain it.

“It makes no difference to Malin,” Izaiah answered.

They were taken to the throne room, and when Tarly was close enough, the madness he’d heard about claiming the new king from his consumption of Phoenix Blood was nothing compared to seeing it clearly over every inch of him.

Malin Ashfyre sat on the throne, leaning with one arm on the metal side, with no grace. His slouch was tired, his hazel eyes were concerningly bloodshot, and the angle of his dark stare watching them get escorted in sent a chill over his whole body.

Tarly and Jakon were forced to their knees before the dais, but Marlowe remained standing. Izaiah stood close by, and Tarly noticed Tynan and Amaya were not present.

“We have done everything you’ve asked.” Jakon was the first to speak boldly.

Malin’s head moved like a serpent, studying Marlowe with a chilling silence. There was a level of unhinged in his expression that kept Tarly on a razor’s edge.

“You’ve done what I asked, yes,” he agreed, his voice a dark lick of warning. “But not to your full capabilities, have you?”

“I’ve been working tirelessly,” Marlowe said calmly.

She didn’t allow him to feed on her fear, and Tarly found her bravery both admirable and tragic.

Malin lifted himself from the throne as if his own weight were a burden. There was a madness about the way he moved. Slow, assessing, one wrong trigger away from doing something irreversible.

Tarly didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t fight this many fae and dark fae—they lined the entire hall. He didn’t have his bow. But watching Malin approach Marlowe, a venomous snake primed for a gentle doe, Tarly could hardly stand the sickness tightening in his stomach at being so helpless.

“The potions,” Malin said, low with an ominous chill, “are useless!” His voice was elevated, and a small bottle he’d been carrying shattered to the ground, spilling the crimson liquid at Marlowe’s feet.

“They affect everyone differently?—”

Marlowe choked with the hand Malin wrapped around her throat. Jakon turned savage, but he was no match for even one fae, never mind the three that surrounded him.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Jakon snarled—a sound so unlike his usual nature.

“Tell me, Oracle— in fact, show me my reign at the end of this war.”

His pressure around her neck wasn’t enough to keep her from talking.

“It doesn’t—” She struggled for breath. “It doesn’t exist.”

Malin pushed her with a growl of outrage, and Marlowe sprawled on the floor. Tarly jerked again. His teeth hadn’t unclenched since he’d entered the room, and his anger was growing palpable.

“You either show it to me, or I have no more use for you.”

“Please!” Jakon yelled. “She’s done everything you ask. She can’t write the future!”

Gods , it was agony to hear his desperate pleas for his wife.

“You can kill me,” Marlowe said—a cold, hushed breath of acceptance. “It won’t change a thing. It will not stop the wrath of the Phoenix that’s coming for you.”

Malin’s eyes flared wide, crazed. He dipped into his pocket and produced another vial of Phoenix Blood, downing the contents in a single swallow.

“So I kill her first,” Malin pondered, trying desperately, though he stayed chillingly calm, to calculate a way out of the inevitable future Marlowe foretold.

“You are nothing compared to her,” Marlowe said.

Then she cried out from no physical interference. Malin was attacking her mind.

“Stop!” Jakon cried—a broken sound.

“She’s telling you everything—you don’t need to do that!” Tarly growled.

He shot a look at Izaiah as if he might be able to intervene, but while his expression was masterfully composed in steel, his eyes blazed at the display, and Tarly thought he might break.

“You’ll only seal the future she taunts you with if you kill her,” Izaiah warned.

Marlowe hardly made a sound, but her body was tense with invisible pain, and her glass eyes were fixed on the celling.

Tarly’s chest was pounding. Every movement in this room balanced on a ledge of no return.

Malin contemplated with a furious stare on Marlowe, then he let her go. Tarly’s breath fell out of him when Marlowe’s body slumped, released from the torture and mercifully still alive.

Marlowe slowly peeled herself up, braced on her hands as she caught her breath. The human shifted her head back, locking eyes with Jakon, and it was then Tarly felt the world stand still. He’d never seen such ghostly, helpless horror overcome a person as he did now as he followed her line of sight to Jakon. He’d gone so pale with the declaration that appeared on Marlowe’s lips.

Malin crouched before her. “Your mind is filled with too many reels for me to know what is true, so show me the path I win.”

Marlowe laughed . A few breathy sounds of mockery as she shook her head and then turned it to the king.

“Step into my mind, and I’ll show you,” she said in a voice so unwavering despite the monster she started into the face of. “Here—you win. The kingdom is yours.”

Malin’s eyes darted between hers, widening with hunger at whatever he was shown.

“How do I achieve it?”

“You must lose everything you’ve ever held dear.”

“I have nothing.”

“Your father never died—he left you. He had another son with a powerful Goddess, and you were nothing to him compared to that son. He will return. An ember of the Phoenix is always destined to return.”

“My father?” Malin repeated—the first slither of humanity he’d yielded in the voice of a child.

Marlow shook her head. “Your half-brother. Only for a little while. Only enough for you to see what he chose over you.”

The king’s knees met the marble, and Tarly’s heart leaped with every inch closer he got to Marlowe. He was a bomb on the brink of detonating, and she was too close…they had to get her away from him.

“You’re lying,” Malin seethed in a low rattle that Tarly felt in his core.

Closer…a fraction closer. Tarly watched Malin’s hands tremble as if they were knives about to be thrown.

“Remember this in all I’ve told you…” Marlowe spoke—words that struck the world and snapped the beast inside Malin Ashfyre. “My truth is just as powerful as my lie.”

The wildness that flared in Malin’s eyes was a sentencing.

Izaiah yelled, “DON’T DO IT?—”

Jakon screamed, “NO!”

Tarly shouted Malin’s name.

But they were all words against a blade. Futile.

The hands of the king moved too fast. The calls of protest, Jakon’s cry of anguish, Malin’s roar of outrage, the drum of Tarly’s pulse—everything clashed, but still he heard the second when Marlowe’s neck… snapped .

Chaos erupted, but Tarly couldn’t move. He kneeled, staring at the precious form of Marlowe so still against the marble floor. A life that deserved so much longer to prosper, stolen by an evil that would get to keep breathing.

Jakon’s heart-wrenching cries split through him, and he knew without looking the human was frantic in his struggle to reach his wife. He was owed that at least. So that was where Tarly targeted his wrath over the utter outrage of this tragedy.

Izaiah had the same idea, and Tarly forgot his own pain. It was all numb under his rage and disbelief as he fought off guard after guard. He managed to steal a dagger, then a sword, cutting through bodies in a way he didn’t know he was capable of with this course of adrenaline pumping through him. When no one could hold Jakon back anymore, the human slammed to his knees, cradling his wife’s body, and it was an image that would haunt Tarly for the rest of his days.

“What have you done!” A new roar of soul-tearing anguish boomed through the room.

Malin had retreated up the dais, surrounded by dark fae guards.

The person who stormed in was Augustine, Marlowe’s father.

Augustine’s horror-filled sight slipped from Jakon and Marlowe to the king.

“We had a deal!” he bellowed, torn between wrath and heartbreak. “She was to be spared to take me instead!”

Malin didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on Marlowe, shed of all malice now. His chest heaved as if he couldn’t believe his own actions, maybe even regretted that split second he’d lost his mind without considering the gravity of what he was doing.

Tarly didn’t care. There was no regret or remorse in the world that could redeem this despicable piece of shit.

Malin said, his words vacant, “Your deal was not with me. And they still expect you to fulfill your role for them.”

Augustine was surrounded then. They were completely outnumbered, and Tarly saw no escape for any of them.

Tarly caught a flicker of Izaiah’s movement as he uncorked a small vial.

Phoenix Blood.

Izaiah quickly downed the contents. Then as light grew around him, he looked to Tarly who braced.

“Get Jakon and Marlowe out with you.”

The next second, Tarly was shielding his eyes against a bright flare of light that engulfed Izaiah and a burst of heat that had him scrambling back. The brightness didn’t ease, but the hue changed, and when Tarly looked to where Izaiah last stood, he couldn’t believe the sight of the Firebird he’d transformed into.

The bird gave an earsplitting screech, and Tarly winced, but as it was directed toward Malin and his swarm of guards, Tarly realized the opportunity Izaiah was granting.

Tarly’s instinct raced for Jakon and Marlowe as Izaiah, who dominated the room Tarly feared he might set ablaze, used flame and claws to keep the enemy from him.

“We need to go!” Tarly yelled when Jakon remained on his knees, tightly holding Marlowe’s body.

Jakon shook his head, utterly distraught.

There was no time to be gentle. Tarly tried to take Marlowe from him, but Jakon’s glare was absolutely vicious. It got him to stand with her at least.

“They’ll only lock you up and dispose of her in a way that you’ll never forgive yourself for if they capture you again,” Tarly said—the harsh truth.

This time, when Tarly directed him, Jakon followed his lead.

They raced out of the throne room and down a hall before guards flooded the bottom end. Tarly braced to fight, but he wasn’t as adept with the sword he’d taken from one of the fallen.

An arrow whizzed by them, taking out one guard, quickly followed by another, then another. Tarly spun to the skilled archer and found Amaya as she let go of another arrow.

“Here!” she called, swiping up Tarly’s bow and throwing it to him. She was quick to sprint toward him, and he slung the quiver of arrows she gave him over his body.

It only took three more arrows from him and one from Amaya to clear the path.

“Thanks,” Tarly said, already running again with a gentle push on Jakon.

“This way!” Tynan called from their right at the bottom of the hall.

They’d planned this. An escape. Tarly couldn’t stop the tormenting thought of why they couldn’t have come just a few minutes earlier; that it might have prevented Marlowe’s death. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Jakon was still alive, and he was determined to keep it that way for Marlowe.

Tarly and Amaya took care of any fae or dark fae that tried to stop them. Occasionally, the screech of Izaiah as the Firebird rattled through the halls, but they kept pushing toward a way out.

They hit open air, and when they crossed toward a body of trees, Amaya stopped. Tynan approached, and he watched her nock an arrow of lint. Tynan set it ablaze before she took her aim toward one of the throne room windows.

It shattered through, but that was just a signal.

Tarly didn’t know what he was expecting—perhaps that Izaiah would shift back and be able to escape with the commotion he’d made. Instead Tarly winced, ducking, as a loud boom resounded and the wall collapsed in an explosion of fire and rock.

Izaiah’s cry pierced the twilight, and Tarly thought there was something pained in it now.

“Those bastards,” Tynan growled.

Tarly saw the arrows then—two in his chest, close to his wing—and he didn’t know how lethal those wounds might be on his fae body when he transformed back.

“Let’s go,” Tynan instructed.

He ran out of the tree cover toward Izaiah, and Tarly understood the next leg of the plan with hesitation.

“He’s wounded,” Tarly protested.

“We’ll be caught in minutes if we don’t fly. Now hurry up!” Tynan snapped.

“If he drops out of the sky with us, we’re all dead!” Tarly argued, but he didn’t hesitate to follow anyway, making sure Jakon was close with him.

Izaiah lowered enough, and Tynan climbed up first, then he helped Amaya. The dark fae took Marlowe while Jakon mounted. Tarly gripped fistfuls of feathers, and Izaiah shrieked, his giant body shifting dangerously. Tarly was almost thrown off, but he held as tight as he could. Flicking a glance up, he saw Tynan wrapping his hands around a new arrow in Izaiah’s back, while Amaya braced her legs and fired at the archers trying to take Izaiah down.

The Firebird began to move, bracing to take flight, and Tarly scrambled up with all his might, barely managing to throw himself onto its back and clamp his whole body against it to avoid being thrown off.

Even tension in his body and concern for the humans stretched endlessly in the bustle and commotion of Izaiah trying to take flight against the onslaught of enemy attacks. Fire blazed brighter from his feathers, and Tarly felt the growing heat. His massive head turned back and Phoenixfyre blasted from his breath into the torn throne room.

His powerful wings cast out, and Tarly managed a maneuver to a better position to help Jakon stay secure while he held on tightly to Marlowe’s body.

Those uncertain moments using every ounce of his strength slammed his heart…then they were flying.

It wasn’t smooth and without risk, considering Izaiah’s injuries, but after a strung-out minute, Tarly managed to loosen his grip and let go of Jakon.

The silence that followed was as icy as the whistling wind that cut his skin.

They escaped as six bodies…but only five lives, and the gravity of that ache shackled him all over again.

“Maybe she’ll come back,” Jakon said, barely audible with the air whipping by. His stare was a million miles away as he held Marlowe’s head to his chest, using his body as if he could warm her from the icy temperature. “We have to go to Faythe. Maybe she can help.”

Jakon wasn’t thinking right, only in delusion and denial.

“I’m so sorry,” Tarly said, knowing the words meant nothing, but he didn’t know what else to offer.

“She can come back,” was all Jakon repeated.

Tarly didn’t have the heart to break him more. Grief worked in terrible ways.

Tarly asked Tynan, “Where are we going?”

“High Farrow. Izaiah insisted it would be the only place safe from the enemy until we can make contact with the others to form a plan, and I guess now to tell them we’ve lost the Light Temple Ruin.”

“The enemy,” Tarly muttered. He didn’t know what that meant anymore now they were riding with two dark fae.

Before, it had been an easy line to see. Fae against dark fae, and the humans as tragic collateral in their ages-long feud. Yet that was never the whole truth, only what they were led to believe by forces higher than them all. Spirits and kings and meddling Gods.

Amaya wiped her eyes, and Tarly noticed her staring at Jakon and Marlowe. The darkling was spilling her own grief because of another’s, and if that wasn’t a true heart, he didn’t have right to believe he had one.

Marlowe could have been mistaken for sleeping as she appeared so peaceful in Jakon’s arms. Tarly hadn’t had the privilege of knowing her more, but he wanted to. Now every chance was frozen in time, and as he looked upon the least deserving life to have been taken this night, Tarly felt how cruel and unbiased war was, and he was plagued by the haunting reminder none of them were safe.