Page 61 of A Flame of the Phoenix

The rage from her stifled magick and the mockery the ruin made of it boiled over at Izaiah’s threat. She lunged for him, a hand wrapping around his throat, and they crashed into the nearest wall.

“This is the last time you lay a threat before I make sure you can’t speak another,” she seethed in his face.

Izaiah only matched her loathing stare.

“No lightning?” he taunted.

Her claws cut into his skin, earning a hiss. “I don’t need anything but my bare hands to kill you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “Though how are you going to teach me to wield the ruin when you no longer can?”

Zaiana’s nostrils flared, and she pushed off him to pace away. How in the Nether was she going to keep up her pretense that she still possessed her lightning when it seemed so damned obvious it was missing?

“For what it’s worth, I only happened to overhear you and Maverick.”

Her shoulder blades locked at this. The memory of being in that room with Maverick combed over her mind, everything that was said…

“The Prince of Dalrune—who would have ever guessed?” Izaiah said.

Zaiana should kill him right here. Izaiah was perhaps the most cunning of them all. He was observant, patient, and with his ability, he was the perfect spy. Looking him over, how couldshe deny the brilliance of his scheming? Stay cheerful, stay unbothered, and he’d become the most unsuspecting player.

“What do you plan to do with that information?”

“Nothing…yet.”

Shewantedto kill him. For the threat he posed not only to her companions…but now to Maverick.

“It means nothing.”

Izaiah chuckled. “Perhaps not. When his days are numbered anyway.”

Zaiana breathed steadily. She couldn’t give Izaiah the impression she cared. Not about Maverick.

“Have you ever wondered why they kept who he was a secret? I hear it’s rare for the Transitioned to keep their abilities. Royal blood, perhaps? Marvellas wanted to Transition Nik and Tauria this past summer.”

“There’s a lot to be figured out about this war on both sides. And I’d rather we started with what in the Nether you hope to achieve here,” she bit out.

“I’m waiting for some instruction. Teach,” he quipped.

Zaiana groaned internally. This was going to be insufferable. She was accustomed to schooling darklings in combat and keeping them in line—she supposed taking the same approach with Izaiah wouldn’t be too different. Someone who was going to test her patience to murderous capacities.

She looked at the ruin with resentment, and since she wasn’t volatile right now, she stormed to it without care, sticking her hand in to retrieve the broken, arrow-shaped slate. When she did, Zaiana gasped at the current that surged through her, almost believing it shifted movement in her chest. It was nowhere near the velocity of power she should feel from it, but hope grew a dangerous bud in the pit of her stomach that it wassomething.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Faythe

It was nightfall when Faythe met Nik, and they left camp inconspicuously. Pressed to the wall of a shadowed alley in town, with their lower faces covered and their hoods drawn, Faythe assessed the quiet street.

“I really thought you were promising action tonight,” Nik complained.

“This is action.”

Nik made a disgruntled sound. “Spying is tedious.”

The Ember Sword weighed heavy on her hip, too big for her to wield comfortably, but it would suffice if she really needed a weapon. She’d brought it along for another reason, and she occasionally glanced at the ruby pommel as if she might miss its flare. She’d had to sneak into Kyleer’s tent for it.

“We have to steal something,” Faythe muttered absentmindedly. She was focused on tracking any suspicious persons.

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