Page 161 of A Flame of the Phoenix

“From Fenstead?”

“Yes. It was a gift from my father long ago.”

He didn’t know why he’d added that second part. The memory lashed him—a time when his mother was alive and his father had loved him. Now, after the passing of his mate, Tarly had become nothing more than an object of his sorrowful resentment for resembling her so much.

“That’s pretty,” Amaya said, her dark eyes fixed on the arrow he’d finished in his hands.

Tarly smiled, considering the arrow, which had red woven into the regular pheasant feathers he’d stored.

“I’ve been saving this one,” he said, holding it out to her. “Use it when your fear is strongest and your aim threatens to waver. Even the greatest archers will face those uncertain moments. This arrow won’t miss.”

A tale crafted of hope was not a lie, and watching the darkling’s eyes widen with wonder over the ordinary arrow he’d crafted, it was worth it.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

Tarly shrugged. “I have a feeling you’ll make better use of it than I will.”

He didn’t know why his attention drifted to Marlowe across the room. She watched them with an endearing smile. In her eyes was something that broke a shiver over Tarly, as if she saw something in the exchange he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Amaya started talking about her archery, and Tarly was glad for the distraction of a topic he was well experienced with—more than anyone he knew for once. It wasn’t an uncommon skill, but there was a specific mastery, so many tricks and styles that very few took care to learn beyond the primary purpose of aim and hit.

The dark fae wasn’t the only intruder that night.

“I heard there was a party in here.”

Tarly didn’t immediately recognize the brown-haired fae, but when he turned to look down at him, the facial resemblance to Kyleer Galentithe and matching eye color quickly gave him away. Izaiah, he recalled his younger brother’s name. Who was followed in by a blond dark fae male.

Izaiah whistled low, swiping up one of the Phoenix Blood potions. “You’ve been busy. How many of these are spelled?”

“Around five dozen,” Marlowe said.

Izaiah set the bottle down with a click of his tongue. “That can’t be satisfactory for Dakodas.”

The room was littered with hundreds of unspelled potions.

“She’s starting to pick up speed,” Jakon added.

“The war is all but won in their favor with these,” the blond dark fae said. Though it should be a triumph for his side, Tarly detected a hint of fear. “The dark fae with human blood were already a force Faythe would struggle to contend with, but now…if all the fae with abilities have amplified magick, she doesn’t stand a chance.”

A dark, sinister tension settled throughout the room. As if they should all celebrate the fact, considering right now they were on the side with the most power, and they could keep it that way if they wished.

“Why are you here?” Tarly asked Izaiah.

“Curiosity and boredom. This calm before the break of either side has me jittery in no pleasant way,” Izaiah said, taking up a lean against one of the counters.

“What is Dakodas doing?” Jakon asked.

“Who knows? I rarely see her, in fact. Perhaps she’s exploring our lands, seeing what she’ll lay claim to when Marvellas conquers it all.”

“So Zaiana, Maverick, and Dakodas are gone from the castle?” Tarly concluded.

“Seems so, but I wouldn’t get comfortable with the fact. They have many spies, and Malin is losing his sanity by the minute. I can’t tell what he’ll do next,” Izaiah said.

“It’s the Phoenix Blood. He’s taking too much to keep his mind ability,” Marlowe said.

“Didn’t you say Nikalias has kept the effects of a potion for months? Why can Malin only use it for a day?” Izaiah wondered.

Marlowe shrugged. “Nik is more powerful.”

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