Page 85 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Spineless words of a coward out of options, Zaiana thought. She didn’t believe it for a second, but Dakodas seemed pleased. The Spirit of Death stood, a shallow pool of shadows rippling at her feet as she descended the stairs of the dais.

“Poor little prince. Alone and afraid all this time, when all the others have made friends and allies. Do you resent that?”

“Yes. Nikalias and Tauria made a mockery of my father and my kingdom last summer, which led to its disorder. It is why I want to join you.”

“It would be your greatest betrayal to those I believe you once considered allies.”

“They abandoned me first.”

Dakodas canted her head. Her hand rose to trace the prince’s shoulder and around his back as she circled him. “What do you think, Zaiana?”

Her spine stiffened to be addressed for her opinion regarding a prince whose past and allegiances she had no knowledge of.

“Have you seen Faythe Ashfyre?” Zaiana asked him.

Tarly turned, and she thought him elegantly beautiful. Almost innocently so, but his brown eyes bore nothing but ice. He’d seen horrors necessary of the protection. The prince’s cold look shifted to Maverick, and Zaiana stiffened at the reaction that started to widen on him.

He recognized Maverick as Callen Osirion. Of course he would. Zaiana dared a glance to her side, but Maverick kept his expression dark and neutral.

“No,” Tarly said, his thoughts still trying to process what he was encountering. To everyone’s knowledge, the royal family of Dalrune had all been slaughtered when their kingdom was taken. “I only saw her in passing during the kings’ meetings in High Farrow last year. She was nothing more than Orlon’s human pet then.”

Zaiana had to keep the conversation in check before Tarly said something foolish on the matter of Maverick.

“Since you ran like a coward from your kingdom, where have you been?”

Tarly didn’t even flinch at the insult she threw at him. He’d long accepted what he was, which made his submission to come here more believable.

Zaiana approached him, locking his stare as if he might give a flicker of something away that would help her figure out his motives. Could a royal really be so naïve?

His expression was so emotionless. Unafraid. Given his story, she would have thought he’d be quivering before them, desperate for an allegiance somewhere in a realm breaking with war after abandoning his throne.

What Zaiana sensed from him in her next inhale flared her eyes in recognition, and his narrowed a near undetectable fraction.

A challenge.

“Marvellas wants royals—we have one. He has no magick, and I doubt his skill to do much with a bow surrounded by enemies if he thought to play spy.” Zaiana voiced her verdict.

“Would you Transition to dark fae willingly, little prince?” Dakodas cooed.

This was the first time he gave any indication of uncertainty at what he was doing. What coming here truly meant.

“Is that necessary?” Tarly asked, still watching Zaiana as much as she watched him.

Did he know who she was?

“It is a powerful gift Marvellas plans to bestow on all the royals once the cockroaches are captured. Your acceptance will make it less painful,” Dakodas said.

Bored of him, the Spirit passed Zaiana, taking Maverick’s hand before heading back up the dais. Zaiana’s attention was stolen from the prince to track them. She didn’t realize how tightly her fists had clamped until her iron guards broke the skin of her palms. While Dakodas sat again, she idly traced a hand over Maverick’s forearm as he stood by her side. He didn’t look up. Maverick’s face turned oddly distant, as if he were no longer present in this hall.

“I would like you to oversee him,” Dakodas said to her. “Interrogate him by any means you see fit to be sure his words are true.”

“If I may, Maverick would be better suited for that role.” She didn’t know why she said it, but it was too late to stop. She wanted him out of this room, away from Dakodas. Though not for her own jealousy, and perhaps she was reading a discomfort in Maverick that wasn’t there.

His sharp black eyes sliced into her. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft,” he goaded.

Her teeth ground at the belittlement, but her mind was at war with his motive.

“Of course not. I just have better things to do with my time, and this is subordinate work.”

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