Page 186 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Izaiah lowered enough, and Tynan climbed up first, then he helped Amaya. The dark fae took Marlowe while Jakon mounted. Tarly gripped fistfuls of feathers, and Izaiah shrieked, his giant body shifting dangerously. Tarly was almost thrown off, but he held as tight as he could. Flicking a glance up, he saw Tynan wrapping his hands around a new arrow in Izaiah’s back, while Amaya braced her legs and fired at the archers trying to take Izaiah down.

The Firebird began to move, bracing to take flight, and Tarly scrambled up with all his might, barely managing to throw himself onto its back and clamp his whole body against it to avoid being thrown off.

Even tension in his body and concern for the humans stretched endlessly in the bustle and commotion of Izaiah trying to take flight against the onslaught of enemy attacks. Fire blazed brighter from his feathers, and Tarly felt the growing heat. His massive head turned back and Phoenixfyre blasted from his breath into the torn throne room.

His powerful wings cast out, and Tarly managed a maneuver to a better position to help Jakon stay secure while he held on tightly to Marlowe’s body.

Those uncertain moments using every ounce of his strength slammed his heart…then they were flying.

It wasn’t smooth and without risk, considering Izaiah’s injuries, but after a strung-out minute, Tarly managed to loosen his grip and let go of Jakon.

The silence that followed was as icy as the whistling wind that cut his skin.

They escaped as six bodies…but only five lives, and the gravity of that ache shackled him all over again.

“Maybe she’ll come back,” Jakon said, barely audible with the air whipping by. His stare was a million miles away as he held Marlowe’s head to his chest, using his body as if he could warm her from the icy temperature. “We have to go to Faythe. Maybe she can help.”

Jakon wasn’t thinking right, only in delusion and denial.

“I’m so sorry,” Tarly said, knowing the words meant nothing, but he didn’t know what else to offer.

“She can come back,” was all Jakon repeated.

Tarly didn’t have the heart to break him more. Grief worked in terrible ways.

Tarly asked Tynan, “Where are we going?”

“High Farrow. Izaiah insisted it would be the only place safe from the enemy until we can make contact with the others to form a plan, and I guess now to tell them we’ve lost the Light Temple Ruin.”

“The enemy,” Tarly muttered. He didn’t know what that meant anymore now they were riding with two dark fae.

Before, it had been an easy line to see. Fae against dark fae, and the humans as tragic collateral in their ages-long feud. Yet that was never the whole truth, only what they were led to believe by forces higher than them all. Spirits and kings and meddling Gods.

Amaya wiped her eyes, and Tarly noticed her staring at Jakon and Marlowe. The darkling was spilling her own grief because of another’s, and if that wasn’t a true heart, he didn’t have right to believe he had one.

Marlowe could have been mistaken for sleeping as she appeared so peaceful in Jakon’s arms. Tarly hadn’t had the privilege of knowing her more, but he wanted to. Now every chance was frozen in time, and as he looked upon the least deserving life to have been taken this night, Tarly felt how cruel and unbiased war was, and he was plagued by the haunting reminder none of them were safe.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Zaiana

Nothing about this day felt right. Something dark and chilling tainted the air. As if Death had crept into these walls, waiting. Not Dakodas, but the true and most final entity of the word.

Zaiana decided today she would confront Marvellas—that had to be the cause of the nerves racking her body. She was no stranger to questioning authority, but this was the pinnacle of her rebellion, and she wasn’t certain she would walk away.

It didn’t matter to her now, so long as Marvellas went down with her.

Her plan was neither for Faythe nor the dark side. It was purely for her own vengeance.

She just needed her confession. To know what Malin claimed and Kyleer suspected was true. Marvellas had tied a curse to her somehow that stilled the hearts of every dark fae, born or Transitioned, making them believe they were unfeeling monsters. Then, when Zaiana herself had started to feel love inher chest for Finnan, Marvellas had stolen that too in the coldest way.

Zaiana was a storm of wrath, but she kept herself collected.

Her path was intercepted, and Zaiana could have taken her blade to Maverick’s chest to remove him.

“Whatever you’re doing, it can’t be today,” he said, a rare urgency in his voice.

“Get out of my way before I make you.”

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