Page 257 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Their futures were shrouded in the uncertainty of war, which left only the present to march on for. They were alive, and what they had, which Marvella nor Mordecai nor Dakodas ever would…was the true and unbreakable strength of blood and chosen family.

PART IV

The Beginning Of The End

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Faythe

Faythe sat by the fires in her old rooms, feeling like her spirit was detached from her body. She wouldn’t stay this still and useless for long—she just needed to recover her strength and magick before she could act again.

She gripped the handle of the jeweled dagger Marlowe had gifted her before her first fight with a fae in the cave. A part of her past that felt in another lifetime. She supposed it was, when day by day she drifted further away from her life as a human.

Unsheathing the blade, Faythe thought it was her sorrow for Marlowe giving off an energy. As if her friend’s spirit were embedded within the steel she’d forged. A vibration hummed along her fingertip as it traced the edge, and Faythe’s pain grew in her chest the longer she marveled over the craftsmanship. Something about it was ancient and timeless. The jewels of the hilt were an array of colors the likes of which she’d never seen before.

Her skin was a fraction of pressure away from being cut by the blade, but Faythe was transfixed, wondering if it couldrelieve some of the ache growing unbearable within her if her flesh was inflicted instead.

Faythe had lost herself so completely to a strange hypnotism invoked by the dagger that she didn’t hear Reylan return. His hand wrapped around her wrist, preventing her from applying more pressure with her finger against the blade’s sharp edge.

Her eyes slipped up to find deep concern swirling in his sapphire eyes.

“Marlowe gave this to me,” she explained, but that didn’t ease his worry.

He let her go tentatively. Then, instead of taking up the armchair opposite, he lowered to sit on the ground, knee bent, touching her legs. His hand carefully slipped over her thigh while his eyes scrutinized her every reaction, waiting to see if she would break in rage or tears. Amid her cold detachment, the only feeling she could spare was for him. Guilt that her emotions would always be his burdens too, as his would always be hers.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, not truly expecting an answer.

But Faythe’s lips cracked open for the first time since returning from Rhyenelle. “Do you remember the last time we sat here and you asked me that?”

Reylan’s brow flinched, and he nodded.

Faythe said, “You convinced me to go to Rhyenelle with you, but you couldn’t have known the curse you’d invited into your homeland.”

His jaw worked, and she knew the tells of his anger. “You’re not the curse, Faythe. You’re the liberation these lands have been waiting for.”

“The kingdom is in ashes because of me. I am pure destruction and will tear everything else down if you don’t stop me.”

“Then burn it to the ground. All of it. I will be right beside you as you do. From the ashes we will always rise. Agalhor knew this. We all know this, and we stand with you.”

Faythe’s eyes scrunched shut. It was the reassurance she needed to hear that Reylan and her friends weren’t horrified by what she’d done and could do. But even so, Faythe could hardly look in the mirror without seeing the monster she tried so hard not to become.

“We’re near the end, my Phoenix,” Reylan said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. He shifted to kneel between her legs, sliding his hands over both her thighs and holding her with a claiming stare that promised every universe together beyond this one. “I have never once doubted you. Never underestimated you. And I take great offense at your negative thoughts about the one I love more than any creature could hope to love anything.”

Reylan was her home. Her anchor to her own humanity. Her guiding light in every darkness.

He stood, unstrapping his sword belt, from which hung the Ember Sword. Then he presented it to her on one knee.

“It may take practice to wield its size, or it can be used ceremoniously. But this is yours.”

Faythe smiled fondly, cupping his cheek. “It was never intended to be mine.”

“You’re the Queen of Rhyenelle—it belongs to the Ashfyre name.”

“Then carry it with me.”

Reylan’s hands dropped the sword to his lap. “Do you mean?—?”

“I need you by my side.”

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