Page 188 of A Flame of the Phoenix

“Just think for a moment, dammit,” he said, heaving breaths like her. “We’ve both been summoned to the celestial dome, soI’m coming with you. I just thought I’d offer one last out before you set your course for him.”

“It’s not for him,” she hissed. It was a lie, but Kyleer wasn’t the sole reason she needed to face Marvellas. “She killed Finnian.”

Maverick’s face relaxed. Not in surprise at the knowledge, but almost like…

Zaiana became awash with a sickly dread, feeling her world start to spin. “You knew.”

He didn’t deny it. Zaiana couldn’t see; couldn’t feel. Her hands planted to his chest, and the next moment Maverick crashed against the wall opposite. She’d pushed hard enough that pieces of the stone crumbled, and he groaned in a hunch to collect himself.

“I never confirmed it, but I suspected,” he confessed. “That bastard wasn’t capable of harming a damned insect. And it was disgusting how much he loved you.”

Zaiana wasn’t thinking anymore. Unseeing rage overcame her as she slammed her fist into his jaw. Maverick could have blocked it, but he didn’t. He spat black blood onto the ground.

“Be glad you’re the least of my problems right now, but I will come for you if you don’t stay out of my way,” she snarled.

Zaiana stormed toward the place he called the celestial dome, knowing nothing but grief and guilt and sorrow and pain and anguish and…

Her eyes burned, and her hands trembled. Every emotion she was told she could have stirred like a volcanic eruption, on the verge of breaking.

Zaiana still had her wits, however. She concealed the lower half of her face and pulled up her hood. Though she wanted to raze the Nether, she still didn’t have her magick. She had to be strategic.

“Dome” was accurate to describe the sphere of glass that encased the large circular room. It was breathtaking. Very little light was needed in here when the moon blessed the space, flooding a beautiful cool glow over the expanse. The stars shone brilliantly, magnified by the glass. Constellations spilled over the floor, and Zaiana felt pulled to chart them, drawn to one in particular that began to glow from the others, but she snapped her focus back down to survey her surroundings.

It was tragic what the stars were about to witness tonight.

Cloaked, masked, and hooded, Zaiana slipped into the space, keeping to the back of the guards and poised as still as them.

Marvellas stood as the brightest thing in the room, surrounded by darkly cloaked guards. Zaiana’s wrath toward the Spirit was a fire she kept under conscious control.

Zaiana had nothing to lose in seeking her retribution.

When Zaiana spotted Maverick approaching close to the Spirit, her resentment for him sparked anew. His cheek was bruised, but it would heal fast. She despised him even more…because despite it all, she still felt something else in the pit of her stomach that wanted to tell him to flee. To leave her behind and justgo.

“Let’s not waste a moment, shall we?” Marvellas said, so proud and calm.

They brought in Faythe, and Zaiana internally winced at the sorry state of her. So much power and potential reduced to nothing. But she was still fighting. She had to be, or this Transition wouldn’t be necessary.

It was tragic, really, what the Spirit wanted from her. To play house was so twisted and wrong, yet one could sympathize with her craving for the one thing always slipping out of her reach. Love.

Zaiana’s resentment twisted like a knife when in turn the Spirit had deprived her people of such an emotion too.

Zaiana had watched this sinister ritual many times. Something wasn’t right.

A stunning silver-haired fae was dragged in, with sky-blue eyes that might have once sparkled like the great waters, but now they were lifeless. This fae was brought to her knees in the middle, but she wondered at her purpose.

Had Maverick been wrong? Had he tricked her into believing Kyleer would be the fae sacrifice so she would leave with him like a coward? She didn’t let her relief soothe any of her anxiety just yet.

Next, Zaiana least expected to see this particular familiar face. Faythe’s sobs broke with fresh heartbreak at seeing Augustine escorted in, not fighting. The usual spirited, playful Oracle bowed his head, led in like a broken dog. Had he seen this coming? What a terrible burden it would be to know where, maybe even exactly when, death’s hand would reach.

“I had sent for Marlowe as it would have been all the more poetic. But her father happened to be there, offering himself up, and I can’t deny his blood will be more powerful with how long he’s lived,” Marvellas said, pleased. “Before Mordecai, I could create dark fae with the spell of Transition using the spiritual blood of an Oracle. But it is not so effective. It would often create those too savage, like a disease rather than a powerful function. It worked to create some fully able dark fae, but it wasn’t until I had Mordecai’s blood that the odds of it were far greater. I guess we’ll see if this one turns out successful.”

After all the Spirit had done to get Faythe, it seemed ludicrous she would risk her life on this Transition.

When shuffling sounded, Zaiana expected to find them dragging Faythe forward to kneel with the sacrifices. Instead, it took everything in her—absolutely everything—not to break her position.

It was Kyleer.

Her blood turned cold.

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