Page 274 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Clanging echoed from within, less precise than she’d grown accustomed to expect from Marlowe. Her heart prepared for the uncertainty of how Jakon might receive her today.

She pulled back the curtain, and Jakon spotted her immediately before his next slam of the hammer came down. Faythe breathed, distracted by the rush of energy she didn’t expect from this place, as Jakon threw a rag over his work and set aside his tool.

“What do you want?” he asked flatly.

She’d come prepared to be shut out by him, but she would never abandon him, no matter how my slices he made on her heart.

Faythe observed the many attempts and full daggers that littered the workbench. “You’ve been missing from the castle a lot.”

“Forgive me if I don’t want to sit around idle and useless in your fae battle plans.”

She was always saying all the wrong things. Failing him time and time again. He was her best and longest friend, and yet she couldn’t be what he needed.

“Can I help?—?”

“You can help by not coming back here,” he snapped, leaning both hands on the workbench, wanting to resume his distracted work, but he wouldn’t while she was present. “I need someone to blame, and you’re making yourself too damn easy of a target.”

She’d never seen this side to him—a side so sharp in grief even a glance at him made her bleed.

“What can I do?” she whispered. “I can’t just leave you. Please. I need you.”

“I don’t need you, and if you were honest, Faythe, you have never needed me. Look at you—fae, a queen, one of the most powerful people alive. Our worlds don’tfittogether anymore.”

“Why are you saying this?” She was falling apart. Jakon was carving himself out of her life, and she couldn’t let him stray from her. “In the woods, you said?—”

“I said what I had to because I needed you to take me to Rhyenelle.”

He slammed the door on their friendship, and she was the desperate fool banging her fists on the wood, begging for his acquittal for an unforgivable crime. She couldn’t push herself on him—all she could do was keep trying and hope that time could heal them both enough to find each other again.

Faythe left without parting words, dragging her feet that became leaden the longer she walked. Her mind viciously replayed every one of Jakon’s icy glares; every one of his harsh words. She deserved them all, but that didn’t make it any more tolerable to bear.

She passed her old hut. Already in the pits of despair, she fed it more by heading toward it.

The door wouldn’t last much longer on the hinges that were close to breaking in their decay. No one had claimed her humble dwelling since she and Jakon left it behind, and she wasn’t surprised. It was a drafty, dreary confinement, but still, they’d warmed it as their home.

Faythe couldn’t place her feelings at seeing the place now. She couldn’t force a smile or reflect on any fond memories. Pushing the door to the back room, her first thought was to wonder how Jakon ever tolerated the feeble, small cot opposite hers. On the nightstand, Faythe couldn’t bite back her whimper at seeing the book titleThe Forgotten Goddess.

Marlowe had let her borrow it when Faythe lost herself to the wonders of the Spirit legends within. Legends she had come to learn were only half-truths and fantasies.

Sitting on her cot, Faythe flipped through the pages. She never did get to finish the stories. One page came loose, and Faythe caught it, going to jam it back in, but the paper didn’t match in size nor color.

Frowning, she read the page, her heart slowing as she took in what it contained. Then her pulse picked up, and she flipped the page over, surging to her feet.

It was a picture. A familiar, beautiful dagger.

The page crumpled in her grip as Faythe raced out the hut. She didn’t stop running—straight through the city gates and all the way back to the castle. Her sight blurred with tears, but she could run this route blindfolded.

Oh, Marlowe. You brilliant, remarkable, selfless soul.

Faythe sprinted up the steps, passing Izaiah and Tynan, who called after her, but she didn’t falter. Tauria came onto her path too, but Faythe could only call over her shoulder that she would explain later. They all had to be accustomed to her franticness, because no one followed her.

She burst into her rooms, swiping up the jeweled dagger Marlowe had gifted her so long ago and running back out.

She’d known this day would come.

She’d known they would need it.

Marlowe hadn’t crafted the dagger she’d given to Faythe for her first fight in the Cave against a fae as a human—she’d only been the one to find it.

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