Page 2 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Her name had never been said in a breath of such horror and fear. She was used to hearing it chanted with laughter and triumph. The great Spirit of Souls, conquered by once mortal men.

She turned slowly, but her rage and her sorrow were like adrenaline coursing through her, so she couldn’t see the odds of three fae being a real threat. She recognized each one of them. Her hatred and her revenge flashed in her eyes, and she didn’t feel her steps advancing toward them, sword gripped so tightly her knuckles were white.

Steel sang as they armed themselves. Whatever they saw on her face widened their eyes, and wariness slowed their movements.

“How did you escape?” one she knew as Harris asked cautiously.

They didn’t see her as a threat. Of course they didn’t. Regardless, she was ready to cut them down like timber through sheer determination to be free.

As soon as she was, in her quest to find the key to break her manacles, she would spend every waking moment training to master the weapons she’d seen—the ones that had been used on her. Harris’s sword. Jaquard’s bow. Leon’s daggers. And many more.

“I told you I would kill you all,” she said, not even recognizing her own voice. For so long she’d used it to plead in cowardice; to beg with mercy. She was used to her words being empty.

The chuckle that came from Harris was a violent trigger. With a cry, she lunged, and his wide-eyed horror didn’t get the chance to take root before the slick feel of blood and flesh met with the end of the heavy blade she wielded. Right through his throat.

She let go and stumbled back. Harris choked, spraying blood from his mouth before he fell. Her pulse sprinted, surprised by her own swift movement, as her blade clattered to the ground. The two fae behind him stared down at their friend in bewilderment before anger firmed their faces. She’d seen their anger before.Felttheir anger before. Fear took over, and she had no weapon now. Her trigger response to cry and plead burned in her throat, but she swallowed it down, determined not to become that frightened, captured prey again.

Never again.

Her instinct told her to twist and run. Run as fast as she could despite her frail body. Yet for the first time in her tragic fae existence, it was as if the Gods had finally heard her apology for betraying them so long ago and had allowed her to come to land.

The fae on the left barely managed a strangled cry before someone approached from behind, locking into position, and swiftly snapped his neck. The sound shuddered through her. Sickness rose in her stomach, but there was nothing to bring up.

Her savior twisted to the other fae, about to plunge his dagger through his neck.

“Wait!” she called, trembling to intervene when she might be next on his kill list.

He halted his attack, pinning the fae to the wall.

Hesitantly, she took steps toward them despite her desire to flee the opposite way now the opportunity had been granted.

She needed to know…

Her bare feet stepped through the cold blood pooling out from the one she’d killed. Her stomach was so painful with hunger and the need to retch.

“Tell me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and afraid. Stopping a short distance away, she spoke to the last of her captors, lifting her wrists. “Tell me, how can I be free of these?”

The fae snickered, but it was cut off by the one who pressed his dagger tight enough to his throat to draw blood. She tried to catch a glimpse of her savior, but his mask concealed his face, and his hood cloaked him in shadow.

“You’ll never be free,witch,” he sneered. She wondered what she’d done to earn such a name. “What you are should never be let loose on this world.”

She found the courage to step closer. Her anger and embarrassment were as cold as they were hot, battling an urge to submit and agree or to prove him wrong. “Then you should never have brought me to your land.” Her voice was ice. She hated him so much. She loathed them all for what they’d done to her. “Whatever happens next…youmade me into this.”

Then her savior slit the fae’s throat. She flinched at the gruesomeness of it but felt nothing for him as he choked onhis own blood, slowly falling to the ground before he stopped jerking.

Awareness of the dangerous assailant and his sharp blade returned. Fear struck her as her eyes locked on the lethal tip that dripped crimson to the wood floor. Her breath shuddered as she took a step back. She tried to catch a glimpse of his face, but it was futile in the dim hall.

She decided he was male from his height and broad build, but she couldn’t be certain he wasn’t just another person out to capture the ultimate prize while she was vulnerable. He held up his hands, but it did little for her nerves.

“I don’t wish you harm.” His voice held a smooth, silvery note.

She swallowed hard, but her throat remained dry. “You’re not the first to have claimed that,” she said, cursing her wavering voice as she took another step back. “They were all liars.”

Instead of answering, he flipped the dagger. She flinched with a gasp, anticipating a sharp plunge into her flesh. Yet the blade didn’t soar for her. She blinked at the leather handle—extendedtoher. A weapon offered, not used.

Having lived as long as she had by the rule of cruel hands, a broken piece of her wondered if the fear that had grown roots down to her very core, grown vines over every fiber of her being, could learn to trust again. She craved it. The trust of friendship she’d watched stem through all walks of life as a Spirit of the Realm. The trust of lovers who fell so surely for each other that they would bind their lives together. The trust of blood; family. The trust of neighbors and allies, and even the trust of enemies—equals.

All she was left with was the trust in herself.

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