Page 177 of A Flame of the Phoenix

“I spared her from a life of poverty.”

“I had a life of poverty,” Faythe said, her fire rising, “and I was happier than I ever will be with you, no matter how you try to twist my mind.”

The Spirit’s hand connected with her cheek with great impact when Faythe stood and whirled around. Nyte shifted in the corner, but he couldn’t intervene without arousing suspicion.

Marvellas’s belovedsonwas right there, and yet Faythe was at the mercy of her cursed love, not him. She bit her lip against the cry that wanted to escape, holding her throbbing cheek, with a few breaths to calm herself. When she did, she spared a look of sympathy for him.

“I will never be yours, Marvellas. Even if there are times you manage to twist my mind enough to hold this fantasy of yours, I will always break free, and I will never stop despising everything you are.”

Faythe whimpered at the sensation of sharp talons sinking into her mind. They kept tightening, and Faythe’s legs became weak, sinking her to the ground slowly.

“I’ve been too merciful with you thus far,” Marvellas hissed. Her mental claws sank deeper, and Faythe’s head exploded at the pain as if her brain were bleeding. “I will break you, Faythe. Then you will be mine willingly.”

Her knees met the ground, and Faythe stared up at the smooth white roof. Her eyes traced the filigree medallion around the chandelier.

All she could do in her helpless state was recite to herself the things she guarded with iron will from Marvellas’s vile intrusions in her mind. To remember who and what she was and would always be.

My name is Faythe Ashfyre.

She paused, and with a rush of determination to survive this with her mate in her heart, she amended, starting again:

My name is Faythe Arrowood Ashfyre, soul-bonded to Reylan Arrowood Ashfyre. Daughter of Agalhor and Lilianna. Rightful Queen of Rhyenelle. I am Reylan’s strength, Nik’s wisdom, and Tauria’s resilience. Jakon’s courage, and Marlowe’s knowledge. I am not alone, and I will not die today.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Tauria

Mordecai didn’t trust Tauria. He never had. As soon as they’d reached the war camp in Fenstead’s valleys last night, he’d bound her wrists in Magestone and chained her to the middle of a large tent, where she’d sat vulnerable to the jeers and mockery of the dark fae soldiers who used it for mealtimes.

She hadn’t been able to sleep from the noise and the loss of her dignity, but her spirit remained strong. Tauria tuned them out under the constant reel of her own planning. She hadn’t expected Mordecai to treat her this way, though that was her error in judgment. Night was falling, and the full moon would rise to its peak. The Transition was still scheduled—it was all the soldiers could talk about.

None of them touched her. They were strictly prohibited. But they did approach, crouching around her and inspecting her as if she were some wild beast. She gave them no show. Nothing but her face of pure resentment that promised their death.

Mordecai would have to remove her shackles for the Transition. That window of opportunity with her magick was all she would have to stop the sinister fate from befalling her.

Despite all of this…Tauria knew she was exactly where she needed to be.

A dark fae came over with an arrogant, sloppy swagger. He crouched like the others, canting his head curiously as though he’d never encountered a being like her before. He was handsome, she supposed. But his beauty masked the cruelty that was evident in the gleam of his onyx eyes. A Transitioned dark fae.

“You are far too beautiful to be chained like a pet,” he said smoothly.

“Come any closer, you’ll find out why.”

His smile took that as a challenge. The dark fae dared to shuffle closer on his haunches. Their faces came intimately close, and she could scent the old blood from his breath, which churned her stomach. Tauria gritted her teeth at the thought of her human people being the prey he fed on.

Her leg kicked out, tripping him off-balance. He slammed to the ground, and she twisted over him, jamming one knee into his chest and the other into his neck. Her wrists twisted awkwardly, still tied to the thick pole, and the Magestone burned her flesh, but she didn’t care.

Tauria was close to crushing his throat when someone brutally intervened, slamming her head against the wooden pole she was tied to. Her vision blacked out for a moment, and warmth flooded down the side of her temple. Tauria breathed steadily on her knees, willing herself not to fall unconscious to be left vulnerable to these vultures.

“I said no one was to hurt her.”

The dark, menacing voice of Mordecai rumbled through the tent, silencing their laughter and her shouting from thealtercation with the dark fae. Despite her misery right now, it had been worth it.

“She attacked me!” the dark fae cried. Those were the last words he spoke before Mordecai’s large hand lashed around his throat and crushed it.

Mordecai dropped to her level, taking her chin and examining her wound. His dark eyes were tender for a second, until fingers slid down the trail of her blood from her temple to her jawline, then helickedthe crimson from them.

Tauria looked away in complete repulsion.

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