Page 58 of A Flame of the Phoenix

When Zaiana was held captive the prince had visited her, recruited her, just like the traitor Izaiah. Her task was simple: to tear down the inner-city wall. Her price was knowledge he’d taunted her with, and she’d come to collect.

“Of all the things you could have asked for, you chose something so pathetic,” he shot back.

His words had no effect on her. She already punished herself with worse for the information she sought. Picking up a wooden carving, she inspected the small figure holding a spear.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Tynan interjected carefully.

Her gaze flicked up to him. She thought to cast him away, but it made no difference to her what Tynan knew. He wouldn’t talk.

Zaiana threw her hand sideward. The figure sipped from her grip to pierce the wall with a loud thump of impatience.

Malin swallowed at the display. She continued around the table until she was right before him. With a deep breath, she held it, bracing her hands on the arms of his chair to lean in close.

“First, I want to know how you found out about it,” she said, her tone a beautiful warning.

“One of the messenger dark fae,” he said, trying not to be intimidated by her. “It seems the master’s cruelty crafted betrayers.”

“You met with dark fae in this city?”

Malin nodded. “Ones without wings. Not just glamoured—they were sawn off.”

Zaiana pushed away from him, the disgust coiling in her stomach. She knew of the barbaric punishment. Had been forced to watch it be inflicted many times, and the screams of those dark fae were imprinted in her memory forever. It was what kept her wings glamoured often. She couldn’t imagine a life without them. She wouldbegfor death before that happened.

“What did they say?” Zaiana pressed.

She took up a lean against the far wall. Malin was testing her patience with a mere look of assessment that had her straining not to claw his eyes from his skull.

“That their greatest feat of control was in making you all believe you were unfeeling. That your still heart was the most cunning curse they could have placed on you for their masterful ruse.”

“A curse?” Tynan echoed.

His brow furrowed, but Zaiana couldn’t take his words as truth yet. Even if she did, there was no confirming the dark fae who’d spilled it to the prince wasn’t doing so out of desperate revenge against the masters.

“How many times have you blamed your wicked actions on your still heart? It makes it easier, doesn’t it? I heard what you did, you know…killing a past lover of yours. Then nearly allowing that poison that leaks out of you to kill another—a certain esteemed Rhyenelle commander?—”

Zaiana barely registered her movements in the flash of goaded fury, but she relished in the choking of Malin Ashfyre. Her hand squeezed tighter around his throat when he clawed at it.

“So much bottled emotion,” the prince wheezed. “I don’t think there’s any battle you could fear more than your own self.”

She pushed him, her two sharp claws cutting flesh, and his chair near toppled back with the force.

Malin struggled for breath, but he otherwise gave no reaction to her attack. As though he didn’t care anymore.

The prince went on. “Perhaps that’s what they’re hoping for. The moment you detonate, it will be for them. In battle against all of those you care about but deny vehemently you don’t.”

Danger was stirring inside her. For a moment Zaiana was glad for her missing lightning since she wasn’t confident it would still be contained with everything he spoke of. She wanted to kill him. It kept circling her mind, and she didn’t know why she allowed Malin to keep breathing.

“Did this traitor say anything else?” Her voice was calm and razor-sharp.

“Only that you were the key. As vague as that. Somehow I think they’ve tied it to you. Perhaps it’s why they can’t kill you when I’m sure they want to. Those called the masters who raised you. I’ve met them too—a cold and lifeless bunch, and it’s almost amusing how much they despise you.”

“People hate what they cannot control,” Tynan grumbled.

Malin shrugged in agreement, leaning back against his chair and hissing with the hand he placed over his bleeding neck.

“I may not like you, but those bastards need the challenge to their egos.”

Zaiana could barely hear anymore while she focused on her own dissection of the claim. A curse. It didn’t seem unfathomable—but why?

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