Page 133 of A Flame of the Phoenix

The Spirit’s irises flashed to hers in the mirror at last, their core like liquid metal. They always moved in the heat of her anger. Her hand had stalled, but with a breath of composure, Marvellas continued her ministrations.

Faythe had so much she wanted to ask, and none of it had a gain in the war. Everything that wrecked her on a deeper, more personal level now flooded her mind with a sea of vulnerability.

“Why them?” Faythe let her first burning question slip. “Liliana and Agalhor. Why their child?”

Marvellas thought on her ask, head tilting while hypnotized by the brushing of Faythe’s hair. “It was both a personal and a practical choice.”

“You were involved with Agalhor’s brother.”

Marvellas’s gaze snapped to hers in the reflection. Faythe’s chest struggled against the beat that surged within it, because her reaction was confirmation.

“There is no one left alive who knows that,” she said, her voice edging onto a warning.

“Are you sure?”

“Who told you?”

“He betrayed you, didn’t he? By taking your son from you.”

“My…”

The brush in her hand became nothing more than gold dust leaking out of Marvellas’s clenched fist. Faythe swallowed dryly.

“Who told you that?” she demanded again.

“No one?—”

Marvellas took a fistful of Faythe’s hair, yanking her up from the stool. Faythe’s body jerked painfully, the sharp tug wrenching a strangled cry from her throat as her scalp throbbed under the Spirit’s ruthless grip.

“Anything you try to keep from me,” Marvellas hissed, her breath hot against Faythe’s face, “I will break your mind to discover.”

The threat hung heavy in the air, suffocating. But despite the ache blooming at the roots of her hair, Faythe refused to yield. She steeled herself, her heart pounding as defiance flickered in her chest. But then Marvellas’s hand lashed out, gripping Faythe’s wrist. A searing, immobilizing pain shot up her arm, and Faythe’s back arched involuntarily as the agony soared. Marvellas’s nails raked at her skin, splitting open the scabbed wound with the pressure, and the Magestone embedded within it roared to life.

The Magestone’s toxic power surged through her veins, its energy screaming in her ears. Faythe’s vision blurred, the world spinning as Marvellas pressed deeper into her mind, her mental dominance tightening like a vise. The Spirit’s presence slithered through Faythe’s thoughts, wrapping around her memories and emotions with chilling precision.

“Stop,” Faythe gasped, her breath ragged.

“It will all be over soon,” Marvellas purred, her voice soft, almost soothing, as her grip on Faythe’s mind tightened further.

That was when the memories surfaced—the ones Faythe had fought so hard to protect. Those of Reylan. His face, his smile, their moments of shared laughter and stolen glances. Faythe whimpered, feeling the weight of Marvellas’s intrusion threaten to tear through those precious fragments. Reylan was the brightest light she had clung to in the endless darkness.

Not him.Faythe couldn’t allow her to take him.

Her heart hammered as Marvellas pressed harder, forcing images of Reylan into sharper focus, threatening to strip them away. The thought of losing him, of having his memory erased or tainted, sent a wave of fierce resolve surging through Faythe’s battered mind.

“If you take him from me…” Faythe’s voice cracked, her chest heaving with deep, painful breaths. She was weak, teetering on the edge of collapse, but she couldn’t let go. “It won’t matter. I’ll find him again and again.”

Marvellas’s eyes glowed with amusement, as if the very idea entertained her.

“Each time…” Faythe’s voice strengthened, her determination burning through the fog of pain and the Magestone’s grip. “Each time, we’ll come back stronger…until we finally win. And we will destroy you.”

The defiance that laced her words was the last shred of strength she had left, but it was enough to cause Marvellas to pause. Faythe dragged the only thing she could think of to the surface, causing Marvellas to release her in shock.

She showed her Nyte.

Marvellas stared at Faythe wide-eyed while she clutched her bleeding wound and caught her breath. “You can’t possibly know his appearance in adulthood,” she whispered in disbelief.

Faythe had never seen the Spirit appear so…human.As vulnerable and desperate as any mortal at the quick vision of her son Faythe supplied.

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