Page 65 of A Flame of the Phoenix (An Heir Comes to Rise #6)

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Faythe

F aythe was walking through the familiar halls of High Farrow’s castle, finding it strange to reflect on memories of a human who’d walked these steps adorned in the royal blue guard’s uniform. She felt so far detached from that life as the fae queen of Rhyenelle who was only a visitor in dire times now.

She’d been told Reylan had sent for her to join him in the throne room. An odd request. Until she rounded the corner past the doors and her walk slowed. Taking in the first face she saw, her steps quickened to a run, until she collided with Nik in the middle, swept off her feet in his arms.

“Thank Gods you’re alive,” Faythe whispered, so choked with emotion that came flooding out of her now.

“Oh Faythe…I’m so sorry?—”

She squeezed him tighter. “Not now,” she begged quietly.

If they talked about Marlowe now, she would break into more pieces than she had the strength to collect afterward.

Faythe embraced Tauria and Nerida, and even Tarly. With so much loss and damage to their morale, she was overwhelmed with this gift to have them all back.

Reylan stood near the dais with Kyleer, Izaiah, and Zaiana.

Nik curved an arm around Tauria. “I know you’ve all welcomed yourselves to our kingdom by now, but our home is yours. We have much to exchange and little time to rest, I’m afraid.”

“Did you retrieve the dagger?” Faythe asked, hope sparking in her eyes.

Nik’s solemn face spoke all, and her body deflated. The four of them exchanged glances, and Nerida’s head bowed.

“What happened?” Faythe asked, dread-filled.

Reylan had drifted toward her, feeling the spike of her anxiety.

“We should take this to the drawing room. On top of our losses, we have information that requires we make immediate battle movements. Shifting all the forces we have into place.”

Nik glanced between Reylan, Kyleer, and Izaiah at that. The best general and commanders they had. Reylan’s expression firmed, and the weight of impending battle hung heavy in the air.

“This won’t be like the Great Battles,” Nik went on. “This won’t stretch over decades. It won’t be a series of battles to claim land and soldiers piece by piece. This will be Ungardia’s darkest hour, a scale of fighting and bloodshed our lands have never faced before. It will decide the fate of the world.”

They spent hours in the drawing room, watching day turn to night as they all exchanged their losses, information, and small triumphs.

Faythe was livid over the story of Edith, Mordecai’s daughter, for what she’d stolen from Nerida. Vengeance was becoming a familiar pattern thrumming through her blood.

“Where would she be now?” Faythe snapped at no one in this room.

“Valgard or the Mortus Mountains, I’d wager,” Nik said.

Faythe’s gaze slipped to Zaiana. The dark fae’s stare fixed on Nerida, who wouldn’t meet it. She was glad not to be the only one with wrath boiling beneath her surface, though Zaiana masked hers better.

“So we hunt her down,” Zaiana said, her voice like a slither of shadow through the room.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Nerida said sadly. “In the Book of Enoch, it says only the sister dagger can return what was lost. One to take, one to give. She has to be killed with that, or any abilities she takes will just die with her.”

“There’s another dagger to find?” Tarly said, leaning back in defeat.

“I wouldn’t know where to start looking this time. It’s not as coveted as the dagger that takes. The Spellthief,” Nerida said.

Faythe didn’t fail to notice how Nik hadn’t stopped staring at Zaiana. The dark fae was beginning to notice too.

“Do you have problem?” Zaiana finally addressed him, cutting off the low conversation of others in the room.

“Are you going to tell them, or will I?” Nik said.

“If you give me a hint, maybe I can decide.”

“Did you know about Edith?”

Her purple eyes flexed. “No.”

“Why would she?” Faythe dreaded to ask.

“Because Nerida and Tauria aren’t the only ones with an estranged sister they were unaware of.”

Faythe’s mind puzzled over what he was implying, but when it slipped together, Faythe’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Tauria said, “I discovered that when Mordecai was first alive, he was the most powerful Stormcaster to have lived. Edith wanted the dagger to take Zaiana’s power and be Mordecai’s chosen child.”

Zaiana’s laughter was eerie at the thick tension in the room. Reylan’s hand hovered over the Ember Sword at his hip.

“I would gladly hand her that title,” Zaiana said.

“You’ve known Mordecai was your father all this time?” Faythe said, surprised by the pinch of betrayal she felt in her chest.

“I only recently suspected it. It didn’t seem of particular relevance to share.”

She spoke of it like it was nothing. As though she wasn’t the heir to the Valgard throne and Mordecai’s most prized daughter—his weapon .

“You’re the heir to Valgard.” Tarly spoke the realization on everyone’s mind.

“I am not that,” Zaiana protested, eyeing everyone with a warning. “Whether you think that’s a good or bad thing, I will never be that.”

“Why would you resist what places you above everyone else? Haven’t you fought all your life to be the best?” Izaiah countered.

“You all may wear your crowns and think them pretty, powerful. I see nothing but a fanciful shackle to a land and a body of people for the rest of your days. I’ve been fighting for my freedom, not to be bound to another construct. That is not my choice.”

Faythe understood her reasoning and sympathized with her passion. Though she couldn’t deny Zaiana would make a brilliant monarch, and they had her on their side. For now.

Izaiah said, “If this is all true…Zaiana is more valuable to them than we thought. Mordecai will want you back, and now we have your insane sister to track down.”

“She’s mine,” Zaiana said darkly. “If there’s a dagger to return Nerida’s power, I will find it, and I will kill her.”

Zaiana had grown protective of the healer, and Faythe was too. The dark fae’s purple eyes slipped to Faythe, aligning their will to restore what Nerida had lost.

“We have bigger battles to fight. Don’t divert for me,” Nerida pleaded.

Tarly sat beside her, a clear comfort and source of strength.

Faythe said, “I wouldn’t consider it a diversion. All our enemies are circling, and we need to be as strong as we can be for when they strike.”

“The shadow creatures,” Nik interjected. “Any knowledge on how we get rid of those?”

Faythe winced. “They arrived after I broke the Death Ruin. There has to be a place they’re entering our world from. Though I don’t know what it will take to seal it.”

“A life, probably,” Nerida offered. “Or several. Maybe the Book of Enoch will have more answers on such ancient, lost creatures. It’s in my rooms.”

She stood, and Faythe read that her retirement from this meeting was more to do with her sadness and fading hope at discussing her lost power.

Tarly left with her. Faythe’s frustration and anger pricked her skin at seeing her bright, joyous friend so heartbroken.

“The Mortus Mountains,” Reylan said. Faythe slipped her eyes to him. “Also translated as the Death Mountains . It’s a guess, but we don’t have much time for research. That might be where the split veil is that the shadows are emerging from.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Izaiah agreed.

“I’ll go. None of you know that place,” Zaiana said, pushing off the wall she was leaning her back against.

“I’ll go with you,” Kyleer offered.

While he had no memory of any of them, Faythe noticed how Kyleer was most at ease around Zaiana, often looking to her for assurance or guidance.

“You won’t be able to Shadowport within those mountains. I’ll be quicker on my own.”

A protest firmed on Kyleer’s face, but he didn’t voice it.

“I need your help to wield the ruin,” Faythe said to Zaiana.

“I think you need another plan. There’s hardly time enough for that.”

“No offense, but I don’t need as much time as you did to master it. I have the essence of two Spirits within me. I’ve wielded it’s power before. I just need enough guidance to be able to remain in control with the full connection and let it go afterward.”

Reylan added, “I can take some of the ruin’s influence from her, as we’ve tested already—likely more now we’re mated. We can do this.”

Faythe’s cheeks flushed at his mention of their mating. His bite wound on her neck pulsed, inspiring inappropriate thoughts. They were pulled away too soon after, and she was dealing with a new primal urge for him to take her for days on end.

“We’ll start when I’m back. I won’t take long to confirm or deny if the veil is there,” Zaiana said.

“And if it is?” Izaiah supplied.

“If it wants life, I can think of five masters I’m itching to throw through it,” Zaiana said.

“Don’t act on your own—we can’t risk losing you,” Nik said.

Zaiana scoffed. “I don’t need permission from any of you. And to be clear, just because you discovered who my father is doesn’t change a thing about my value. He made nothing of me. Everything I am and that you feared now and before is what I made.”

Faythe had grown to admire and respect Zaiana. Their relationship might always be prickly and tense from their past—Faythe couldn’t forget the many times Zaiana had harbored the intent to kill her—and she would be a fool to believe that objective would ever fully fade. Despite this, she was glad the dark fae was here as their ally for now.

Just as the room settled, the door burst open, and everyone stood, shifting into defense at the sudden intrusion when the guards were instructed to grant them complete undisrupted privacy.

Those guards now lay on the ground behind the intruders feet.

Nyte’s feet.

“Do you know how long it took me to find where you’d run off to after you destructive display in Rhyenelle?” he said, sounding like the Nether.

Though she was growing accustomed to his dark blond hair and bright hazel eyes, she still saw flickers of his true appearance of midnight hair and eyes of a brighter gold than hers when he embodied the dark side of himself.

“Who are you?” Nik asked, his tone threatening while his hand hovered on his sword.

Nyte canted his head at Faythe, gliding into the room with perfect confidence despite everyone’s brace of hostility. “Do you want to explain, or will I?”

Faythe’s head throbbed by the time she and Nyte had explained all to the others. About him being Marvellas’s son, and his quest to return to his own realm.

“The mirrors,” Faythe breathed when they got to that.

She should have thought of it before, and now they were right above the mirrors below the castle Faythe had once stumbled upon, looking for Aurialis’s ruin. She’d found it. And she recalled the Dresair’s claim of being able to take her through worlds if she so desired.

“Say that again,” Nyte said, as if he knew what she spoke of.

“There’s a creature that lives in the mirrors below this castle. They might be able to help you make it home.”

Nyte stood. “Take me.”

“Hold on,” Nik said, standing too and pinning Nyte with distrust. “You don’t get to waltz into our world that your mother is terrorizing then leave just like that.”

“It wasn’t a waltz, I assure you,” Nyte muttered. “More like a drag through hell before being dropped in the worst possible place.”

“Hell?” Izaiah inquired.

Nyte didn’t bother to amend his strange terminology from another land.

Faythe didn’t forget the stunt Nyte had tried to pull in Rhyenelle. She pinned him as she circled the table until she stood opposite him.

“You had no right to attempt to kill Malin,” she said resentfully.

Nyte’s stare darkened on her. “I don’t expect you to understand why I did it.”

“I don’t care. He was not yours to kill.”

“I didn’t kill him—you made sure of that.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I have another brother,” he confessed. “In my own realm. And I saw everything he could have become in Malin Ashfyre. I guess you could say grim sentiment to end his misery got the better of me. A surprise to both of us.”

“Is he dead?” Izaiah asked darkly.

“Jakon killed him,” Faythe said quietly.

Thinking of that had her reflecting painfully on another loss from that venture.

“Atherius was long past her time,” Reylan said through their bond, trying to soothe her guilt.

Faythe knew that too. The Firebird deserved her peace after thousands of years, many in solitude and suffering. Reylan’s hand slipped over her shoulder, and she relaxed under his touch, but the thoughts of Atherius had her mind turning.

With a careful glance behind him toward Nyte, she said, “We need to be vigilant with him. He can’t be trusted, but he’s valuable.”

“If he tries to leave through the mirrors, do you want him stopped?”

Faythe contemplated. “No. We can’t afford another enemy, and we’ll win without another ally we didn’t hope for anyway.”

Reylan gave a firm nod, pressing his lips to her head before they rejoined the others in discussion.

Faythe slipped out of the room when they’d discussed enough for one night. Everything they had to prepare for and set in place would take many of those long sessions of planning. For now, she trusted Reylan, who was already leading charge to position their armies according to the information Tauria had gathered in Valgard.

Izaiah called her name before she could escape anywhere. She didn’t forget what Reuben had told her about his attempts to wield the Light Temple Ruin. That was his reason for staying behind when Rhyenelle fell, and he was the only one she’d entrusted with its safekeeping. Now she was stung with betrayal, but his dropped look of sorrow kept her lips tight if he came to explain.

“Can we talk?”

“I think that would be wise, yes.”

They occupied a small study, and Faythe waited patiently as he paced the floor.

When he didn’t start, she did.

“Why did Malin trust you?” Faythe tried, as gentle as she could.

Izaiah left a pause of heavy silence. “Malin trusted my allegiance to him because Marlowe showed him it. What he didn’t know was that it was an alternate fate where my allegiance was true to him. She never told me what events would have turned my heart—she said knowing would only cause an echo of the damage the real fate would have brought. She was so brilliant, so considerate, and kind, and—” Izaiah paused, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes with gritted teeth. Faythe didn’t try to fight her tears that fell freely. “I should have protected her better, and I’m so fucking sorry, Faythe.”

“Could you have stopped it?” Faythe barely choked out the words.

“Maybe…if I’d acted sooner. It was my error that I didn’t think he would go as far as to kill her and risk your wrath for it. But also…Marlowe told me I would need the Phoenix Blood at the darkest hour. I thought she meant in battle when she knew I would never be able to wield the ruin, and this was at least a smaller advantage to transform into something bigger. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Did Marlowe ask me to save her, and I…I failed her?” Izaiah’s voice cracked at the end, and Faythe couldn’t resist the need to embrace him.

He’d come to care for Marlowe dearly, and despite the answers she still needed from him, his genuine loss and heartbreak over their mutual friend was genuine. Izaiah clung to her desperately.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Faythe said. “Marlowe’s knowledge has many interpretations, but only the person her riddle was meant for could truly know, feel , when they have the right meaning at the right time.”

They let each other go and fell into a sorrowful reflection.

Faythe said, “I need you tell me why you wanted to wield the ruin.”

Izaiah slumped onto the arm of the chair by the dull fireplace. “It feels completely foolish to admit. I hoped I wouldn’t have to explain—I would just show you when I achieved it.” He huffed a resentful laugh at himself. “Could you imagine me of all people swooping in as the savior? It was a stupid fantasy.”

“You can transform into many incredible things that can tear through masses. And as I hear, you can achieve a Phoenix form with the blood potion. What else could you have hoped for?”

Izaiah’s eyes slipped up to her. “Have you ever heard of the Black Phoenix?”

Her mouth fell open. “Of it, yes. Nerida once mentioned it, but…what can it do?”

“It’s a Phoenix that was never meant to exist. It came to being when a fae with a morbid curiosity discovered how to resurrect a Phoenix that was slain, right before it would die permanently. It created a breed of Phoenix that was touched by Death itself. They say its flame can resurrect the dead temporarily. It can raise an army of the undead.”

It was a concept so morbid and inconceivable she couldn’t believe what Izaiah wanted to become.

“Death-touched,” she breathed.

Then her fear for him triggered an impulse to push him for his recklessness. Izaiah lost his balance perched on the arm of the chair, falling back into the seat and staring at her like she’d lost her mind.

“The ruin could have killed you! Did you ever consider that’s what it might take, but there would be no one to bring you back!”

The thought of losing him was too much in the wake of Marlowe’s death. Everyone around her was risking their lives, and she knew they all had a part to play in this war, but the fragility of all her bonds spun her mind with helpless terror.

Izaiah lost himself in thought. “You think I need to die and be brought back?”

Faythe jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you even think about attempting that, or so help me, I will find a way to resurrect you just so I can kill you myself!”

Izaiah pulled himself off the chair the same way he slumped onto it. He stood, wrapping his arms around her, before she could reprimand him more.

“I love you too, Faythe.”