Page 182 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Izaiah pinched the bridge of his nose, considering. “If I’m going, so are you two,” he said, directed at Jakon and Marlowe. “You can head to High Farrow. Gather what you need—we leave in an hour.”

“How do you plan to escape?” Augustine asked.

“I’m sure you’ve seen it in some way or another,” Izaiah said flatly, then he left without another word.

Though Tarly wasn’t regarded in Izaiah’s plan, if he didn’t tack himself onto it, he didn’t know how else he would get out with his life. Besides, now the Light Temple Ruin was missing and Marlowe wasn’t going to craft more Phoenix Blood, he had no further purpose here.

Once out of Rhyenelle, he could escort the two humans as far as Stenna’s fall, where he would wait, for if all went to plan, Nik, Tauria, and Nerida should be meeting there sooner or later.

Tarly could hardly last the next hour. He didn’t feel grounded with the dark sense of foreboding choking the air. Augustine had left, and Tarly hadn’t asked what he was here for.

“We’re sitting ducks here,” Tarly said—the first any of them had spoken since Izaiah left. The tension had grown too thick to breathe right.

“Izaiah is the only one who knows this castle blindfolded and can walk around without suspicion. We have to wait for his lead,” Jakon said.

“Isn’t that strange to you? Why is he so freely roaming when you two were just as close to Faythe and you’re under close watch?”

Maybe it was irrational—he didn’t know Izaiah, and they did—but he couldn’t shake his nerves since nothing felt right here.

“He has his own tasks,” Marlowe said in his defense.

Tarly let it go.

He was equipped with his bow, just waiting with his senses sharpened for the next person to come through that door. Marlowe continued to spell potions far faster than she’d pretended to be capable of before, easily making a dozen in the hour they waited.

Izaiah stayed true to his word, but when he returned, it was not with the kind of demeanor that was planning a risky escape. He stepped in calmly, with an immediate aura that hit Tarly with dread. Izaiah kept his sights on Marlowe and gave a barely-there shake of his head.

Then the guards flooded in.

Tarly didn’t have time to react. The proximity was too short in this room to nock an arrow, and he was apprehended before he could try. They disarmed him, and in his shock at trying to process what was happening, he didn’t resist their handling.

Jakon did, however. He was the only struggle in the room, because the guards pulled Marlowe away from him. She didn’t fight. Marlowe Kilnight held her chin high, and Tarly’s heart might have stopped beating. Because that wasn’t the face ofsomeone who feared for their life—it was the courage of one who had already made peace with death.

Tarly broke through his stupor then. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Where are you taking her?” Tarly snarled, pulling against the hold two dark fae guards had on him.

“To the king,” one said plainly.

“Take us too,” Tarly demanded.

The guard who spoke looked to Izaiah for permission. How could the humans trust him when it was clear he held authority among the enemy? Tarly didn’t want to know what he’d done to gain it.

“It makes no difference to Malin,” Izaiah answered.

They were taken to the throne room, and when Tarly was close enough, the madness he’d heard about claiming the new king from his consumption of Phoenix Blood was nothing compared to seeing it clearly over every inch of him.

Malin Ashfyre sat on the throne, leaning with one arm on the metal side, with no grace. His slouch was tired, his hazel eyes were concerningly bloodshot, and the angle of his dark stare watching them get escorted in sent a chill over his whole body.

Tarly and Jakon were forced to their knees before the dais, but Marlowe remained standing. Izaiah stood close by, and Tarly noticed Tynan and Amaya were not present.

“We have done everything you’ve asked.” Jakon was the first to speak boldly.

Malin’s head moved like a serpent, studying Marlowe with a chilling silence. There was a level of unhinged in his expression that kept Tarly on a razor’s edge.

“You’ve done what I asked, yes,” he agreed, his voice a dark lick of warning. “But not to your full capabilities, have you?”

“I’ve been working tirelessly,” Marlowe said calmly.

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