Page 230 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Kyleer took her hand, pulling her through his shadows again, and this time they landed on their feet, breaking into a run the moment the darkness cleared to reveal a high ledge. Zaiana released the glamor on her wings, her fingers tightening in Kyleer’s. Then, together…they took the leap.

She knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Kyleer’s wings were as good as deadweight, dragging him down fast and clumsily. Zaiana cried out, pulling him toward her and wrapping her legs around his waist, using her own wings to steady and slow them. But agony strained between her shouldersfrom the weight, and she risked breaking her wings. She didn’t care. She couldn’t let him go.

“You can do this,” she said—a strangled note of encouragement. “It’s just like breathing. In and out. A steady pulse between your shoulders to keep you soaring.”

Kyleer listened, and some of the weight she carried lifted as he pulsed his wings. Off-beat and crooked at first, but he kept trying until he started to find rhythm. Zaiana could let him go a little more. He was flying.

As Kyleer held a steady flight in the air, he drew her closer, slipping his hands under her thighs.

“You’re incredible,” he said, holding her with an adoring stare that should belong to treasure, not her.

Then his lips were on hers, and Zaiana’s soul, as dark and ugly as it was, flew higher than her body. She had to remember Kyleer didn’t have all his memories; she couldn’t take advantage of his lust and attraction for her. But Zaiana wanted this more than anything. She didn’t know when it had happened, but slowly, unsuspectingly, Zaiana had decided she would leave it all behind for him. The war, her vengeance, her status—none of it mattered more than this.

They continued to fly for a measure of time lost to her. Sometimes Kyleer drifted closer, and she couldn’t help the natural way her body wrapped around his. Occasionally, his flight would stumble, and Zaiana despised the beat in her chest every time it was tested by fear, slamming hard against her ribs and lodging up her throat.

Zaiana cast a look over her shoulder as she held onto Kyleer to see the white eagle flying higher and farther away. Through the clouds below, Zaiana frowned, registering the territory Reylan had taken them to after they’d crossed the Black Sea. She’d noticed they’d picked up pace a short while ago but hadn’t thought much of it until now.

They were flying over Rhyenelle.

Zaiana had overheard the rendezvous point was High Farrow, which should be where Izaiah was taking Nerida and Nyte, with Tynan and Amaya following.

She realized why they’d come here the moment the clouds broke and Ellium expanded below. The inner-city wall she’d collapsed still lay in rubble and ruins. That had been Malin’s request of her in their bargain when she was captive.

But it was beyond that, in the courtyard of Rhyenelle’s colossal fortitude, that Zaiana understood Reylan’s urgency.

Atherius circled above, carrying Faythe’s human friend, Jakon.

There were at least a hundred guards protecting the castle.

Then there was Faythe Ashfyre, her wrath and power tangible even from the skies, already in the thick of fighting them all alone on the ground.

And she was winning.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Faythe

Faythe Ashfyre descended from the skies like a wrathful strike of the Gods. Her impact cracked the ground over the Firebird emblem in the courtyard of Rhyenelle’s castle.

He had been anticipating her. Lines of soldiers stood in her way to getting inside the castle—far more than would be expected to guard the fortress.

She didn’t try to count. It didn’t matter how many bodies Malin Ashfyre hid behind—she’d paint the streets red, black, and silver to get to him.

As the Phoenix Queen straightened, the world held its breath. So much heartbreak and fury hung in the silence that followed.

She roared one word. A name.

“MALIN!”

Her anguish trembled through even the most unfeeling of souls who bore witness to the brewing storm about to be unleashed. No solider moved, waiting steadfast for her to act first.

Gripped in her hand was the Soul Ruin, uncovered and vibrating with power that was already creeping through her, threading into her well of magick, wrapping around her soul. This time Faythe welcomed the dangerous alliance. It gave her the strength to tap into the minds of every person around her, ready to strike them down at the mere thought of their attack.

Faythe’s voice elevated, carried across the courtyard by the influence of the ruin. “You know who I am, and you can stand down or be cut down.”

Every beat of silence held judgment.

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