Page 127 of A Flame of the Phoenix

“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, didheknow 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?”

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