Page 37 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Or had she merely missed it? Mistaken his distance and pain as lost memories, not tragic ones he reflected on?

He was Callen Osirion, the fallen Prince of Dalrune.

“They think I don’t remember anything,” he confessed. “They took everything from me, and remembering what they did is the only thing I have against them.”

It made sense. Only, she couldn’t figure out why he’d gone so long without doing anything with it.

“What do you plan to do? Take back your kingdom?”

Maverick laughed—a resentful, bitter sound. “There is no kingdom to take back. Those lands are barren and overrun with dark fae. Their monarchy is gone.”

“You’re still here.”

“I amnothim,” Maverick said firmly.

Zaiana didn’t insist. Maybe she even agreed.

All this time…what had he been waiting for?

“Whose side are you on?”

“You know as well as I do there are no sides, only a course of survival that can change like the wind.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Her head grew a dull ache in her storm of emotions and chaotic thoughts. It were as if her existence had been blasted wide-open, and she was scrambling to retain any pieces that would keep her from losing herself for good.

“You don’t need to understand,” he said, his voice dropping soft for a split second before it firmed to say, “But I trust you won’t speak of this beyond that door.”

Zaiana said nothing, still mulling over what the revelation meant. To him; to her. What it could mean to the world. She couldn’t figure out what his motive was. After all he’d done… Killed Faythe. Then Agalhor. Dalrune had a living heir who’d made sure there would be no redemption for him should Marvellas fail.

“You haven’t shown your lightning,” Maverick said.

It turned her painfully stiff. Her skin pricked, fingers flexing in irritation as if it would conjure the bolts to prove him wrong.

Zaiana couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from him when he would always be on her tail, but at least now she had a secret against him to trade, should he spill her temporary affliction.

“It’s been silent since I woke.”

Maverick massaged his forehead with one hand. “I figured.”

She didn’t voice her panic to ask how it was so obvious to him.

“How is that even possible?” he said, a note ofangertuning his tone. “Faythe seems to have all her abilities. Shit, it’s almost like she keeps advancing no matter what.”

“Yeah, well, she’s practically the daughter of a Spirit. I’m the daughter of…nothing.”

It was all Zaiana could think of that set them apart. Perhaps her magick was gone simply because she was weaker. Unable to resurface after a burnout that had taken her ability as punishment. This new train of torment had her wondering something she’d locked away for so long.

Who were her parents? Why she wanted to know was simply practical.

The Stormcaster ability wasn’t common—did one of them have it? Or had it awoken from a long bloodline?

Were they even still alive?

Zaiana’s back met the wall, and her head tipped against it. She was slipping. Crumbling. Overcome with questions she’d spent so long denying. She needed the answers, but they would only serve to wound her armor. Zaiana had made herself, and she didn’t want anyone to try to take a piece of that because ofblood.It meant nothing.

“Your power isn’t only in your lightning,” Maverick said, so quiet her head straightened to be sure he’d spoken.

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