Page 323 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Jakon stared at her, wide-eyed and ghostly, gripping the Ruin Dagger that fell from his grip as his hand turned to dust as well.

“Forgive me,” he said, fear lacing his distant voice. “I had to…to be with Marlowe again. But I’m always with you, Faythe…always.”

He fell to his knees, and Faythe scrambled, reaching for him, but her hand passed through the dust his body became. She fell, palms splayed, to the ground instead. He’d been here…right here just a second ago, and now…

He was gone.

No final seconds to hold him. No body to bury.

Jakon Kilnight had sacrificed himself to save her and the world.

The scream that tore through Faythe Ashfyre could shatter stars and erupt the sun. Her grief was made of the sharpest blade, and when it cut right through her, it fractured the land too.

The ground quaked, but she couldn’t stop screaming. Couldn’t stop the rage that barreled out of her and attacked the world beyond this woodland. Her body curled into itself, in so much pain she didn’t know how to come out of this pit of absolute despair.

She did know how to make the world feel her pain, and so the Phoenix Queen would rage.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

Zaiana

Zaiana forgot when she had begun to fight, but she saw no end. The mountain fringe waged with a battle to end all, relentless and bloodthirsty.

Blood of silver, black, and crimson painted the stone, her clothing, and the blade. She led the lines, and they were holding up well. They’d fought for days, managing to push the enemy to fall back and tire enough for them to collect themselves for a few hours through the nights too. But the enemy didn’t need as much rest.

By the fifth day Zaiana didn’t know how much longer they’d hold out. Something was different in the battle that had resumed today. Something that pushed them harder than ever before, and Zaiana realized what was happening.

They’d been using their weakest soldiers so far. What was most daunting was that the enemy’sweakestwas nearly on par with the strongest among her ranks. They’d always known they were outmatched. The enemy ranks were filled with dark fae enhanced in agility, strength, and speed with human blood.Then they’d discovered Dakodas could command the shadow creatures that still plagued their land, as they never attacked the enemy.

The Spirit of Death lingered somewhere, watching. She knew Mordecai would be too, and that enraged her more. Zaiana wanted to snuff them out, but there’d been no chance to leave the front lines that were relying on her leadership.

They had to find the void that was letting these creatures manifest from shadows. If they closed it, there would be one less ruthless force among the enemy ranks.

Her soldiers were tiring. They were losing hope and strength. Morale was just as important as any skill in combat.

Zaiana realized what else had advanced in the enemy ranks when her boot crunched over something. A vial leaking with a crimson liquid. Their magick wielders had been supplied with the Phoenix Blood potions Marlowe was forced to make in Rhyenelle.

A hum of Firewielding tingled her senses, and with only a split second to react, she threw lightning against the flame that shot for her. Just as she suspected, his magick was too powerful for an ordinary wielder of the ability. As she parried with him for a few seconds, it was clear in the way his fire matched the strength of Maverick’s, but this fae had no skill to use it like he did.

Despite the enhancement, Zaiana ended him swiftly. A bolt of lightning to the chest, a slice of her blade across his neck, and because she was growing particularly frustrated and exhausted, she ripped out his heart.

Then she was onto the next, who attacked with wind.

Shapeshifters on the enemy side could take on mammoth forms like oversized bears and lions. The odds grew detrimental against them, and Zaiana tried to calculate a new strategy to adapt while she fought relentlessly.

But then…the Shapeshifters who towered over the bodies began to writhe, and their wails cut over the chaos of steel and the fallen.

The Windbreaker Zaiana battled faltered before she was about to end it. The fae clutched her throat, and the whites of her eyes turned bloodred. Zaiana didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t have a breath to spare while the fighting of others still raged on.

She was about to spring back into action when she watched a young female fae take a slash across her abdomen. Zaiana struck a lethal bolt of lightning at the dark fae, who lifted her sword for a killing blow. She caught the younger fae before she fell, and Zaiana shot to the sky.

Landing at one of the healing tents, she ushered her inside, demanding help, but everyone was occupied. Zaiana led the fae over to a bench, grabbing gauze and whatever else she could find to press into the fae’s wound.

Her terrified green eyes met Zaiana’s, and for a second she was pierced by grief. Her hair was a dark brown, and she was a similar age to Amaya. Their features were nothing alike, but still, the memory of her brave darkling filled her thoughts with sorrow for a distracting second.

Zaiana had to shake off the emotions that only served to distract her. “You’re not going to die,” she said firmly.

The fae nodded, and Zaiana had to leave her to resume her station.

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