Page 39 of A Flame of the Phoenix

“Izaiah.” Jakon cut him off. “What did you want?”

Jakon’s tone of distrust was mutual.

Jakon had slipped the time he should come by in a note, handing it over when Izaiah had purposely knocked into him in the hall.

Then Izaiah had gotten a little too…preoccupiedin the king’s study to remember such a time.

“Is it done yet?” Izaiah asked.

Marlowe’s concern swirled in her eyes before she nodded.

“It almost killed her,” Jakon near snarled.

He shadowed his wince with a nonchalant shrug. “We all have prices to pay in this war.”

“And what in the Nether is yours?” Jakon accused.

Izaiah’s eyes narrowed at the response.

The human went on, “So far, you seem only to be benefitting since you haven’t told us what it is you plan to do with the one thing Malin and Reuben are tearing apart the damned castle in search of.”

Izaiah took a second to calm himself against the desire to strike out at Jakon for his prodding. It was justified, though he had no care to share that with them.

“Where is it?” Izaiah asked Marlowe without taking his eyes off her husband.

She shifted off the counter, going over to a pile of sacks and digging beneath them before returning.

“How do we know you won’t just hand it over to them?” Jakon asked.

“Because I would have killed you both and done so by now.” His attention landed on the intricately carved box Marlowe held. A shadowy touch pricked his skin. His tone softened for her. “Did you achieve the transfer spell?”

Her nod was a relief. Even if a foreboding and damning one.

Izaiah had enough of Faythe’s blood on him when he’d retrieved her from the square. Enough for Marlowe to use on the Blood Box containing the Light Temple Ruin, transferring the ownership and binding his blood to it instead now.

Faythe had trusted Izaiah enough to show him where she was hiding the ruin: in catacombs hidden beneath the castle.

There was only one unsuspecting and cunning way down to those catacombs. She hadn’t even told Reylan of it. Smart. The fewer minds that knew where it was, the better.

Izaiah planned to follow her sense in that regard.

“What do you plan to do with it?” Jakon asked warily.

“You know more than you should already,” Izaiah said. He took a step to retrieve the box, but Jakon shifted. Izaiah stifled his ire to say, “You’ve done your part. Now hand it over and focus on the part where you escape.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Marlowe asked, pulling the box back to herself as if she doubted her actions in aiding him now.

“No,” he ground out. His patience was running thin. “Is there a problem?”

Jakon said, “How do we know we can trust you?”

“Simple. You don’t have a choice.”

He tried not to be affected by their doubt. Everything was so blasted to shit he couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t safe for them to know, and he didn’t need to be told of the consequences.

Finally, Marlowe extended the box to him. It was heavy in his possession. Not in weight but in dark whisperings.

“You know the route out to take?—”

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