Page 40 of A Flame of the Phoenix

“I’m not finished yet,” Marlowe interrupted.

Izaiah twisted back from his pivot to leave. “What do you mean?”

A full explanation flexed around her features, but the words floundered on her parted lips. Izaiah figured it was her Oracle gift that kept her grappling threads of the future, but at risk of reaching for the wrong one and what it could trigger if she spoke, she stayed silent.

He chose to ask instead, “Does Faythe know?”

“I told her I had to make the Phoenix Blood potion for Malin,” Marlowe admitted, torn by her guilt. “I told her the kingdom would fall and that I would have to stay here. She knew we’d be standing on Marvellas’s side at the end. I don’t think she’ll forgive me, but she asked me to try to make sure they couldn’t make any more with the feather, and that’s the part I have to do.”

“They’ll kill you if they find out you’re purposely holding back.”

Izaiah glanced over at the measly half-dozen vials of potions, which might not even all be spelled fully. The Phoenix feather was clipped into many pieces, with a large part still to be sectioned. Various other herbs and powders and liquids littered the space.

“I know what I’m doing,” Marlowe assured him.

Izaiah looked at her, overcome with his own accusation, which he couldn’t hold back now he knew she’d seen the kingdom’s fall. “The king’s death—did you know of it before?”

Marlowe’s gaze fell, but he caught the answer in the crease of her brow and the way Jakon shifted as if to shield her from Izaiah’s wrath at the truth.

“You did nothing?” Izaiah said coldly.

“What could she have done?” Jakon snapped in her defense.

“I didn’t know when.” Her voice turned small. “But I knew Agalhor had to fall for Faythe to rise.”

“That’s bullshit,” Izaiah snarled. He couldn’t suppress the rage that surged. “They would have risen together.”

Marlowe didn’t respond. Part of him felt for her—it couldn’t have been easy to harbor the knowledge Faythe would be orphaned again without being able to tell her friend. The more he thought about the consequences if she had told her, the spiral Faythe would have fallen into to try to stop the unstoppable…it would have robbed them of the time they’d had left.

His resentment started to turn to understanding for Marlowe’s position.

“Shit,” Izaiah conceded, running a hand down his face.

It didn’t make acceptance any less like swallowing knives. Izaiah hadn’t grieved for the loss of his king. He couldn’t. Because that wasn’t all Agalhor had been to him, nor to Kyleer or Reylan. Izaiah had too much left to achieve, and mourning only served to split his composure. War didn’t wait for the wounded to heal.

“Does Malin have something against you that forced you to stay and make those potions for him?” Izaiah diverted, needing to dissolve the marble growing in his throat.

Marlowe hugged her robe tighter around herself. “He threatened our lives, of course,” she said bitterly. “But I would rather die than make another elixir for him to pass around their armies to make them stronger.”

Jakon’s energy changed with her unwavering statement. Terror for her life. Izaiah believed her. He even surfaced a kernel of guilt that he’d assumed her capable of any true betrayal.

“We had to find a way to stop the production. If Marlowe weren’t making them, he would have found another human withspell magick, and we’d have had no eyes on the inside,” Jakon explained.

Marlowe said, “I’ve seen so many versions of this war it’s hard to keep up sometimes. In most of them, we lose. This is one path that doesn’t end in our favor. If Malin gets enough of the Phoenix potions, the enhanced fae abilities, along with the dark fae armies on human blood, would make them unstoppable. There is a reason both enhancements were outlawed long ago.”

It unfolded in clarity. Bone-trembling clarity. Izaiah stifled a shiver that felt like a lick of death at the downfall Marlowe painted. He fixed his eyes on the Oracle, now with an urge to go to his damnkneesfor the invisible suffering she endured. He couldn’t imagine witnessing the very real—and very possible—death of everyone she loved and herself.

“You haven’t explained your betrayal, which I’m trusting is false,” Jakon cut in.

“Like you, I can’t risk my course being found out or stopped.”

“We told you ours,” he protested.

“No offense, but I have higher hopes of evasion if they start to suspect me. Your plan is safe.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost,” Jakon remarked.

Izaiah turned for the window, but just before he shifted, he lingered a look back.

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