Page 45 of A Flame of the Phoenix

“What do you want?” Zaiana bit out.

She didn’t want his company. Not with the conflict she harbored around him.

“I came to bring you a tonic from the healer for your fever,” Maverick grumbled.

“What duty has the Dark Spirit imposed on you to make you so desperate to avoid it by taking on the role of servant?”

Zaiana almost missed the flex of his eyes, a wince, as he quickly switched to match her ire.

“It’s all a bit dull around here,” he said blandly. “Truthfully, I’m glad you’re finally up to offer some entertainment.”

“What are the next movements?” Zaiana asked.

“Nothing. They took the city and placed a rather insufferable fae on the throne as king. Marvellas took Reylan away almost immediately after Faythe left.”

“Where?”

Maverick shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets, and she wondered if it was her fever making the cold sharper while he wandered around without a coat or a cloak. With them back indoors and the fire torches around them adding heat, she realized she’d never questioned before if his ability made winters more tolerable.

He answered. “They haven’t told us anything. I’m hoping they’re waiting to see if you’ll pull through.”

Zaiana shuddered at the ghost of a presence, as though death were whispering nearby.

In the throne room, she found who she was looking for.

All of them.

Malin Ashfyre reclined lazily on the throne, while three fae were on their knees before the dais. Tynan stood by him, casting a look at Zaiana as she entered, and though he remained poised, his face relaxed as if she were a ghost. Then, across the room, leaning against a pillar cloaked in shadow, Izaiah met her eye with familiar cool loathing.

“Ah,MasterZaiana,” Malin said as he spied her.

The sharp tip of her iron claws bit into her palm at the taunt she heard in that title. Maverick shifted like a shadow turning darker.

“I’m glad you’re finding your feet at last. Perhaps you want to warm up that striking ability you have to execute these traitors for me?”

Her chest hollowed out. Less than five minutes, and he’d already unwittingly upper-handed her. She couldn’t let anyone know of her stifled lightning.

“I didn’t come here to waste my time on your petty kills,” she sneered to him.

It was a great satisfaction to rile him—one who thought he’d won his crown. It was only a matter of time before he realized it would never fit right.

“Then why did you come?”

“To find out whatkingcould possibly see any advantage in murdering his own warriors, fit to fight for him in war. You’ll gradually outnumber your ranks with this path.”

“They had their trial. They do not fight for me.”

“They fight for Rhyenelle. And perhaps their lack of allegiance says more about you.”

Malin drew his sword, but all Zaiana saw was a toothpick.

Tynan remained still but braced at the threat in case she gave a signal to intervene. Maverick merely strolled casually away from her, a hint of a cruel, amused smile at the edge of his lips. Izaiah finally straightened, studying her and the false king.

He wore the crown, and Zaiana couldn’t be sure why her anger surged with bloody violence, wanting to tear his head from his shoulders and watch the metal fall.

She said calmly, “Lock them up or let them go, so we might discuss matters that advance our strategy, not our egos.”

“You don’t make the demands here,” Malin seethed.

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