Page 13 of A Flame of the Phoenix

His goal was to appear compliant. Irrelevant, so they’d ease up on the close watch they were keeping him under. It was working—slowly.

He couldn’t fathom Faythe’s grief and was somewhat surprised she hadn’t stormed back already, healed physically and furious in her vengeance. He shouldn’t have doubted her. While she was often hotheaded, and he feared the world for what could become of her wrath, she was also smart. Reylan wasn’t here, and her being caught on Marvellas’s terms would waste the subtle advantage they still held to counterattack.

The only real twist of guilt in his gut was the occasional times he wondered what Kyleer thought of him. Reflecting on his impulsive, secret decisions, he came to realize his brother’s opinion was the only one that could truly impact him.

He shrugged off the notion. It only served to distract him.

Izaiah had been watching the shift of court closely. How the new false king, Malin Ashfyre, was unraveling to the most frighteningly unhinged he’d ever seen him in his desperation to fit into the crown he’d stolen. Faythe’s human friend, Reuben, was near delirious in his search for the ruin, and Malin only added pressure to whatever influence Marvellas had plagued Reuben’s mind with, as though possessing the ruin would prove Malin worthy, and people would yield once and for all.

In his boredom, watching the prince’s downward spiral had made Izaiahverycurious. He was a male with a desire for power, but it was like there was something more. Something hidden. So he’d made it his own risky trial to scour places he never would have been able to before. With the disarray and lack of order, he thought he might never get another chance.

Nearing the king’s study, Izaiah shifted into a black panther. He quite liked to frequent this form. The powerful jaw and lethalclaws made tearing through bodies like tearing through a field of wheat.

He kept to the shadows, spying the two guards posted outside the place he wanted access to. Izaiah growled low, and they snapped their heads toward him. He eased out, lips curled back over his teeth, braced low in a predatory stalk.

It was enough to get them to back away in fear, unsheathing their blades. They might have tried to challenge him, but Izaiah pounced with a roar that sent them scattering with cowardly shrieks.

Izaiah shifted back to his fae body outside the study door, chuckling to himself. They made it too easy.

He dipped into his pocket for the key Jakon had slipped to him expertly in their collision. Marlowe had made the copy he’d asked for.

He sauntered inside, observing the miracle that it wasn’t a wreckage like the other rooms of the castle. Many parchments littered the table, but one caught his attention from the name scribbled out angrily in black ink.

Faythe’s legitimacy.

Malin should have all but signed his own name under it from the bitter, childish act.

Angry little prince.

It didn’t matter. There would be several other copies in existence.

Izaiah sighed lightly, treading quietly with the awareness the guards could return to their post at any minute, likely with others, alerted to a wild beast roaming the halls.

He opened various drawers and filtered through boring court documents until he came across a locked chest. Izaiah had become rather skilled at lockpicking from his time in the mines. He and Reylan would evade the patrols to get extra food and water to pass around to those far weaker than them.

Inside the chest, he filtered through the more important decrees within it. Another of Faythe’s legitimacy, one of Agalhor’s marriage to Liliana. He was surprised to find Malin hadn’t torched the whole chest to ash. At the very bottom, Izaiah found the bastard’s name on something at last.

Malin’s legitimacy.

Izaiah could relate to him for his lack of parents at least. Sometimes Izaiah wished he could tell the easy tale of his parents both dying before their time, rather than the tale of abuse and abandonment, but he didn’t think of his past at all. It was vaulted. A side of him he didn’t ever want to touch again.

He skimmed over the name next to Ashfyre that had annoyingly been smudged over with ink. It was no secret Agalhor’s brother had died near the start of the war, though a body was never recovered. His name wasn’t known to any of them. Malin’s mother, however… Interestingly, she’d died first.

It made his betrayal to Agalhor far worse when he’d practically raised his brother’s bastard.

He stilled. Read the document again. Then he lifted it next to Faythe’s legitimacy document. He was no expert in these things, but he knew someone who might be able to confirm or deny his suspicions.

Izaiah leaned against the desk, scanning the words again and again as though they would reveal something new about Malin he could use.

Mumbling sounded outside the room. Izaiah swore, folding and pocketing the documents, before dipping behind the door as the handle turned.

When it closed again, he lunged, but his intruder was swifter than he hoped.

They caught Izaiah’s wrists, and he was spun around and slammed, his back to the wall.

“Pathetic,” Tynan snarled.

Izaiah’s mouth curled. “Or purposeful.”

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