Page 185 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Phoenix Blood.

Izaiah quickly downed the contents. Then as light grew around him, he looked to Tarly who braced.

“Get Jakon and Marlowe out with you.”

The next second, Tarly was shielding his eyes against a bright flare of light that engulfed Izaiah and a burst of heat that had him scrambling back. The brightness didn’t ease, but the hue changed, and when Tarly looked to where Izaiah last stood, he couldn’t believe the sight of the Firebird he’d transformed into.

The bird gave an earsplitting screech, and Tarly winced, but as it was directed toward Malin and his swarm of guards, Tarly realized the opportunity Izaiah was granting.

Tarly’s instinct raced for Jakon and Marlowe as Izaiah, who dominated the room Tarly feared he might set ablaze, used flame and claws to keep the enemy from him.

“We need to go!” Tarly yelled when Jakon remained on his knees, tightly holding Marlowe’s body.

Jakon shook his head, utterly distraught.

There was no time to be gentle. Tarly tried to take Marlowe from him, but Jakon’s glare was absolutely vicious. It got him to stand with her at least.

“They’ll only lock you up and dispose of her in a way that you’ll never forgive yourself for if they capture you again,” Tarly said—the harsh truth.

This time, when Tarly directed him, Jakon followed his lead.

They raced out of the throne room and down a hall before guards flooded the bottom end. Tarly braced to fight, but he wasn’t as adept with the sword he’d taken from one of the fallen.

An arrow whizzed by them, taking out one guard, quickly followed by another, then another. Tarly spun to the skilled archer and found Amaya as she let go of another arrow.

“Here!” she called, swiping up Tarly’s bow and throwing it to him. She was quick to sprint toward him, and he slung the quiver of arrows she gave him over his body.

It only took three more arrows from him and one from Amaya to clear the path.

“Thanks,” Tarly said, already running again with a gentle push on Jakon.

“This way!” Tynan called from their right at the bottom of the hall.

They’d planned this. An escape. Tarly couldn’t stop the tormenting thought of why they couldn’t have come just a few minutes earlier; that it might have prevented Marlowe’s death. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Jakon was still alive, and he was determined to keep it that way for Marlowe.

Tarly and Amaya took care of any fae or dark fae that tried to stop them. Occasionally, the screech of Izaiah as the Firebird rattled through the halls, but they kept pushing toward a way out.

They hit open air, and when they crossed toward a body of trees, Amaya stopped. Tynan approached, and he watched her nock an arrow of lint. Tynan set it ablaze before she took her aim toward one of the throne room windows.

It shattered through, but that was just a signal.

Tarly didn’t know what he was expecting—perhaps that Izaiah would shift back and be able to escape with the commotion he’d made. Instead Tarly winced, ducking, as a loudboomresounded and the wall collapsed in an explosion of fire and rock.

Izaiah’s cry pierced the twilight, and Tarly thought there was something pained in it now.

“Those bastards,” Tynan growled.

Tarly saw the arrows then—two in his chest, close to his wing—and he didn’t know how lethal those wounds might be on his fae body when he transformed back.

“Let’s go,” Tynan instructed.

He ran out of the tree cover toward Izaiah, and Tarly understood the next leg of the plan with hesitation.

“He’s wounded,” Tarly protested.

“We’ll be caught in minutes if we don’t fly. Now hurry up!” Tynan snapped.

“If he drops out of the sky with us, we’re all dead!” Tarly argued, but he didn’t hesitate to follow anyway, making sure Jakon was close with him.

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