Page 7 of A Flame of the Phoenix

The chain between his wrists clanked as he braced, pushing the stone door with more exertion than it should take in his feeble state.

“I am a Goddess. A true immortal. I cannot be killed by mortal weapons or means. There is only one way to kill a God.” Marvellas passed him inside, heading straight for the podium. “With something from which they are made. I couldn’t risk Dakodas finding out that when she could attempt to use you or Faythe to break her ruin first. When you achieve this for me, there will be no portal to open to the Realm of the Gods, and no weapon that can kill me. It is a peace I have been waiting a millennium for, and only then will I be able to right this world one mighty continent at a time, starting with Ungardia.”

They knew Marvellas wanted to conquer their realm, but it was horrifying to discover her ambition stemmed beyond a single continent.

“Come,” she commanded. With the word, she forced his movements.

Reylan shook with a growing, palpable resentment. When he was standing in front of the arrow-shaped slate slotted into the podium, his hands reached for it.

A hum raked over his skin, pricking him with heat, and whispers of power and destruction twisted like wind around him. The first pulses of strength he’d felt in weeks were too tempting to answer, but there was a counter voice in his mind that reminded him how deadly this power was.

He craved it. How could he not?

His fingers hooked under the metal, and he lifted it from its place. His chest flooded with warmth in response to the magick trapped within the slate, calling to merge with the well that resided in the core of his being.

“Addicting, isn’t it?” Marvellas said, admiring it with him. “The essence of power. There isn’t a being in any realm that would resist the pull. Yet power can corrupt as fast as it can lift. It invites the impossible into the minds of men too weak to balance such a privilege.”

His breathing came clearer. Something primordial and goading whispered within the gray rock. He became spellbound to it, and the symbol of Marvellas started to glow. All he had to do was open himself?—

“This is necessary for now.”

Reylan had become so entranced by the magick coursing through him he didn’t hear the approach from behind. He hissed through gritted teeth when a thick collar of Magestone slammed shut around his neck, and another two around his ankles. Whatever beckoning he’d begun to feel was now silenced by the additional suppressing material.

“For my own protection, as I hope you can understand.” She glided toward him, pausing just shy of pressing her chest to his, and tilted her head elegantly to observe him. “I will break you, Reylan. And when you think I can no longer hurt you, remember that the broken can be shattered.”

CHAPTER TWO

Faythe

The curves of the small wooden butterfly dug into Faythe’s palms as she clasped at her chest. She awoke with the beats of her heart struggling and a tightness expanding behind her ribs. Every time she tried to Nightwalk to Reylan, she was slammed back to the cold truth of their distance.

She couldn’t find him.

As she rolled onto her side, tears slipped silently. She unfolded her tight grip to trace her fingers over the carving he’d made for her.

Forcing back her heartache, with a deep breath Faythe pushed herself up in the small makeshift bed inside her tent. She’d refused anything that would grant her more comfort than the rest of the Rhyenelle soldiers in the war camp at the edge of Fenher.

Faythe drove her hands through her hair and clenched tight, pulling at the roots to inflict pain. Her sleepless nights were only adding to her frustration and anger.

She had found Reylan once before without even trying. Found him through a dream, as an untrained human unknowingly reaching for the other half of her soul. There was no road too long; no mountain too high. She just had to figure out the direction.

Dressing swiftly, Faythe slung on her cloak and headed out of tent soundlessly. She remained as stealthy as an assassin so as not to wake Kyleer in the tent next to hers. He might reprimand her for what she was about to do to release the anger that wouldn’t stop growing in her bones.

Out on the streets, the wintry night air bit at her cheeks, and she rubbed her gloved hands together. Her frosted breaths were steady in her focus to extend her senses while she strolled the deserted streets of the small town, pretending she was oblivious to the darkness that had been tracking her from the moment she set out. It didn’t take long, sauntering with her distinguishable golden eyes fully exposed, for the vultures to pin her. This outskirt town was crawling with dark fae. They had begun to seep through her kingdom like a black plague, and she was riled and ready to eradicate them one by one if she had to.

After a moment of peace, Faythe Ashfyre took off in a sprint and did not falter. The pace drummed her pulse. She didn’t feel a single beat of fear after breaking her act and becoming the bait of a chase with four dark fae.

She raced over rooftops, hopping seamlessly between buildings with her laser focus. One of them she was tracking took a leap to the skies, and at that, Faythe began her descent.

Dropping into a slide on the ice near the next edge, she twisted as her body cut the air, fingers catching on the harsh ledge, and she dropped, meeting the ground in an elegant brace that scattered the vibrations of the impact throughout her body.

A scream ripped through the air, and Faythe’s attention latched onto it. The terror from the civilian pumped her blood hotter, spotting her vision with rage, and she ranfaster.

Faythe found the victim in the clutches of her attacker—a dark fae with his teeth sunk into her neck, determined to drink her dry like the other human man already dead at their feet.

She saw white.

Dark fae minds were a void, some more depthless and demoralized than others. Slipping into this one almost forced her right back out with the ripples of bloodlust coursing through it. Sinister chants tokill,kill,kill.

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