Page 214 of A Flame of the Phoenix

The area around the headstone was covered in the delicate bluedrops.

Sorrow plummeted Faythe to her knees short of reaching Jakon.

He went on, “I couldn’t bury her for days…thinking if you just came back in time…maybe it wasn’t too late to bring her back.”

The broken pieces of Faythe’s heart turned to ash in her chest.

“I don’t have that power,” she choked.

Finally, Jakon turned his head to look at her, and his cold brown eyes were as painful as a knife to her flesh. They were rimmed red and hung with dark circles. In all their twelve years as friends, Faythe had never seen him come close to this absolute devastation.

“You came back,” he said, harsh with resentment. “You died, and you came backstronger.How is that fair?”

“It isn’t.”

Jakon’s jaw tightened. He wanted to lash out at her, and part of Faythe wanted him to. She would let him weigh the blame for Marlowe’s death on her shoulders if it could relieve his pain even a fraction.

Instead he was so calmly cold, and that was worse than anything.

“I don’t want to see you right now. Because I don’t want to blame you, but I can’t help it. Looking at you…it’s like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Faythe broke her first sob. “I can’t lose you too.”

Jakon stood, turning fully and looking down on her with the intensity of his grief.

“I remember your mother saved me from the illness that took my parents. The memories started coming back after you died, and I think…I think I died for a moment with you that day.”

The revelation stunned Faythe, confused her, but she listened.

“Your mother brought me here, but the yucolites always demand a price. Mine was to protect you. It’s all I can think about now—how our friendship was always a duty. How I was always destined to you from that day, maybe even before then. Your mother took my memories of that day. I can only think it was so I wouldn’t try to rebel against the idea. It made our friendship seem like a choice, not fate.”

Faythe felt herself crumbling where she kneeled. The ground softened beneath her, and she wished it were her buried six feet under. Not Marlowe. Not the kindest, most gentle friend Faythe had ever been granted the privilege of having in her life.

Jakon’s unfeeling stare became too much. In her cowardice, Faythe bowed her head.

“It was a choice. I love you, Jak. You’re my best friend—nothing changes that.”

“The worst part is…I love you too. For some reason, it feels like a betrayal to Marlowe’s sacrifice, but I can’t sever the love I have for you, and she wouldn’t want me to. I can only bury what I don’t want to feel for you under my grief.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I can’t. Even if I wanted to. Duty…fate…choice…I don’t know what it is. I don’t really care. But I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“I’m coming with you when you go to kill Malin.”

Faythe forced her eyes up. Jakon’s expression hadn’t shifted a fraction. Then he reached down a hand, and Faythe didn’t know how many pieces she could break into before she would fall apart beyond being able to mend herself back together and keep marching on.

“Tonight,” Jakon added.

The determination in that word crafted her grief into rage. Faythe wouldn’t be able to do anything else knowing Malin still lived after taking Marlowe’s life.

Accepting Jakon’s hand, she rose carefully, as if every movement were fragile around him and she’d become utterly terrified to lose him too.

“Tonight,” she agreed.

Faythe wanted to embrace him, but as they stood there, his tension alone pushed her away.

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