Title Page

A Sword from the Embers

Copyright © 2022 by Chloe C. Peñaranda
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Published by Lumarias Press

www.lumariaspress.com

First Edition published January 2023

Map design © 2022 by Chloe C. Peñaranda

Cover illustration © 2022 by Alice Maria Power
www.alicemariapower.com
Cover design © 2022 by Lumarias Press
Edited by Bryony Leah
www.bryonyleah.com

Identifiers
ISBN: 978-1-915534-04-0 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-1-915534-03-3 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-915534-02-6 (hardback)

www.ccpenaranda.com
 D E D I C AT I O N

For you my dear reader,

From the heart of Agalhor Ashfyre,

“It’s easy to forget the leaps we’ve taken when the steps forward become so
small. But never forget you are still moving. You are challenging yourself
with every day you decide to face your reality.”
 AUTHOR NOTE

My dear reader,
In case there was any confusion, I don’t
want you to begin this book with the impression
book four, A Clash of Three Courts, was a
spin-off and not needed for the core storyline.
If you have skipped book four, A Sword
from the Embers contains major spoilers for
Nik, Tauria, Jakon, Marlowe, and Tarly. I
hope you enjoy reading as much as I did
writing.
All my love.

Please read with care. This next part of the journey touches on some darker
themes.

CONTENT WARNING
Not core themes but mentions/ depictions of:
Depressive thoughts
Suicide ideation
Torture
PTSD
Heavy grief/loss
More prominent themes/longer scenes:
Graphic fantasy violence
Adult language
Multiple explicit sexual scenes
 C O NT E NT S

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93

Also by Chloe C. Peñaranda
Acknowledgments
 PROLOGUE

S he didn ’ t often wander so late, but tonight the stars were restless.
Hopping between rooftops, she kept alert, at one with the shadows.
She had no clue what would become of her hasty decision to leave the
warmth and safety of home, only needing the air to breathe since being
pulled from sleep as if the night called to be ventured.
She sat staring at the moon for some time, thinking it might open her
mind to an explanation as to why they sought each other’s company. As she
shook her head, a huff left her, tugging at the corner of her mouth. If this
peaceful moment was all she achieved, it would be enough of a reward.
Though she should be at home where she’d sworn to remain, and she
shuddered to the thought of her mother’s scolding if she were caught. She
didn’t like to defy her, but the pull to leave had tightened in her throat the
longer she resisted it.
A shuffling from the street below awakened her senses. The disruption
spiked her adrenaline at the discovery she was no longer alone despite still
being hidden. Curious, she shuffled stealthily across the narrow flat and
down the slanted side, where she peered out over the street, inconspicuous.
What she found made her heart pound. Two forms locked in a hostile
position—a confrontation she had no business observing when it might
condemn her. She tried to ease away, but the taller one punched the other so
hard she winced in shock. From the attacker’s muscular build she gauged
him to be a male, but with his hood she couldn’t identify a thing. He
grabbed his victim by the collar before slamming him into the wall, and
finally, the victim’s mouth moved to spill whatever information he sought.
Her fae hearing might have been able to pick up the exchange if she tuned
in her focus, but blood roared in her ears to block out everything except the
screaming demand to run.
Yet something kept her eyes glued to the tall male.
Moonlight glinted off the lethally beautiful blade, but that second of
distraction was wiped entirely when the steel drowned in the crimson that
slicked the victim’s neck.
She smothered her cry too late.
Hand clamping her mouth, her horror at the gruesome display stunned
her still, though it came second to her dread as his eyes flashed up to meet
hers.
Her skin crawled at the notion of being next under his dagger.
Every ounce of her agility rose to the challenge as she sprinted across
the rooftops and away. She had no destination in mind, but she couldn’t
stop even if terror ran her off the edge of the world.
The burn rose through her throat until it numbed. Her arms pushed the
speed of her legs, setting a pace that might be as close to flying as she
would ever come. The instinct to gain distance canceled out her ability to
track if he was following her or how near he was. If he were also fae…
The fact was confirmed when a looming figure dropped down from a
taller building. She stumbled to a halt with the force of meeting stone. The
exertion slammed into her, tearing apart her lungs and making her muscles
throb. Her mind scrambled for an out, but with how easily he’d caught up,
the option to flee again seemed futile.
He stalked to her slowly with the ease of a predator. This was the night
she would die. She’d always been warned of the dangers outside, and now
here she was coming face-to-face with the reason for her confinement.
Instinct wouldn’t allow her to stand idle as his prey.
Turning, she lunged only a few strides before a strong arm hooked
around her middle, a hand muffling her cry. Completely ensnared, tears
pricked her eyes.
He spun her around so fast she choked on her gasp, pressing her back
against the tall chimney shaft. His hood shadowed his face, concealing the
heartless eyes she expected to find.
Though she tried to tame her breathing, nothing could prepare her for
the shudder of her heart when her gaze trailed along the arm pinned to her
shoulders and she saw the glint of moonlight off the blade so close to her
throat. She’d witnessed how quickly that hand could swipe clean through
flesh.
“A-are you going to kill me?” she asked, cursing her stutter.
His assessing silence was a battle of ire and curiosity. She took his
moment of distraction to yank down his hood, wanting to see every part of
her killer if that were to be her fate.
She didn’t expect the stunning silver locks. Cropped to sit above his
shoulders, while some strands framed his tanned complexion, two braids on
either side held the rest from being a hindrance. Yet the eyes she met forced
a few conscious blinks from her own. They reminded her of the night sky to
which her thoughts had drifted earlier. His sapphire irises captured the stars,
though it was not dreams but nightmares that lay within them. She had to
tear herself from their distraction only to map every detail she could about
him. His high cheekbones led to a strong jaw that twitched under her
assessment. She gauged him to be no older than twenty in human years.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he growled.
As he pushed away from her, she was drawn back to his eyes despite the
promise of violence ingrained in them. No, that was only a mask. Beneath
it, she found notes of hollow sadness, something lost, and she wanted to
discover what invoked it.
“You killed that person,” she said, sounding braver than she felt. “Am I
next?”
“You don’t know a thing,” he snapped. “And that makes me
contemplate it.”
Her head spun at the backward remark. “Should you not want me dead
for what I do know, not what I don’t?”
While the skin around his eyes tightened, she took the opportunity to
study his attire. All-black form-fitting leathers that highlighted the lethal
build she glimpsed under his cloak. An assassin, she thought. That was
already obvious, yet something about him didn’t settle easily in the
monstrous persona. Perhaps he was too young to have become such an
entity on his own.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“So I can be another on your kill list?”
“You’re making it very hard for me not to give you that wish.”
She didn’t think that to be true. He could have ended her already,
though she wouldn’t get too comfortable if she were living on borrowed
time. “What does a name change?” she asked quietly.
His dark brows knitted together, a beautiful contrast to his silvery hair.
“Everything.”
Her heart skipped in her chest at the way his deep blue irises expanded,
his frown easing as if he’d forgotten why he’d chased her. What she’d seen.
In that moment, maybe she lost sight of it too.
“Then tell me yours.”
As he took a step toward her, she couldn’t help the flash of fear that
compelled her to scan his hands—empty of weapons now. He halted. His
fists flexed tight as though disappointed or angry she’d assumed the worst.
“It wouldn’t be safe for you to know mine,” he answered.
Having witnessed the life he’d taken in a heartbeat, and having run from
him thinking her fate would meet the same end, the mention of her safety
hit like a whip. “I think we’re past caring about safety.”
He assessed her slowly. She didn’t move.
“You’re not afraid?”
She swallowed hard, and his eyes flashed to her parted mouth, skittering
her pulse. This attraction to danger she seemed to harbor surged within, a
conflict of thrill and horror. “No.” Her answer came sure, though her mind
chastised her for the alarm, the fright, she’d let slip for the deadly stranger.
Unable to fit logic to why, when she looked at him she saw a dagger but felt
the embrace of a shield.
“Then why did you run?”
“I thought you would kill me.”
“And what makes you sure I won’t now?”
Nothing. There was absolutely nothing in his actions nor words that
should give her that confidence.
“Take down your hood.”
She was in the right mind to deny him, and if she lived beyond being
trapped by the alluring killer, she might do well to reprimand herself for
listening to her wrong mind. Sliding her hands under the material, she
didn’t break his stare, a current of something slowly building between them.
Her long lengths of chestnut-brown hair came flowing down her chest.
“Your eyes,” he said with a million thoughts behind those words. “I
suppose I don’t need a name. You’re easy enough to find.”
That took her by surprise, having never heard such a thing. For all her
silent observations of people in the small town of Rhyenelle, she’d always
believed she blended in. Then again, she rarely spoke to anyone.
The second thought to register made her blood run hot with adrenaline
at first, and then cold with dread. “You’re not going to kill me?”
“No.”
“Not yet” was what she heard. He’d marked her by her eyes after all. He
could find her again.
“I won’t say anything.”
“I wouldn’t care if you did.”
“Then you have no need to seek me out.”
“What if I want to?”
He approached her again, slowly, but his stalking inspired more
amusement than threat, and she had to blink against the change in him.
Too close. Too close.
The stone scraped her fingertips as they flexed against it. With no way
out, she prayed it would give and swallow her whole. Sense snapped at her
to attempt a sideways step, but he planted his hand by her head to stop it.
Their eyes met, the proximity sparking a new intensity that should be
wrong. Yet she became entranced by the night sky that opened in his irises.
“Are you going to stop me?” he asked tauntingly.
She knew she didn’t need to cower at the notion. He wouldn’t find her.
Not when her days passed inside the same four walls and her nights of
freedom were fleeting. And it was likely they would be moving on to
another town soon anyway.
“I don’t think I could,” she admitted.
Then she wanted it.
Wanted him to find her in ways no one ever had.
She offered up the challenge in her naïve desire to find out why he’d
done what he did tonight. Her mind refused to believe he was capable of
raising that same hand to harm her.
Or perhaps she was nothing more than a desperate soul with nothing to
lose, so when darkness offered her company, she was all too willing.
His stare roamed every inch of her face, the distance between them
gradually disappearing. She’d never known such a closeness, and her body
craved it. Her long inhale doused her in his scent of leather and spice, and
something cold tingled sweetly in her nostrils.
Her breath hitched in her throat when he reached for her hand. Her heart
slammed furiously at the contact. Palm to palm, he kept their hands by her
head. She wanted his fingers to slip between hers and itched with the desire
to know how they’d fit together, but he didn’t.
Only after a few seconds did a cool breeze wrap around her finger,
alerting her to what he’d stolen. His other hand held up her ring. She lashed
out for it until his fingers curled around hers, interlocking their hands. The
electrifying sensation shocked her still, warmth racing up her arm to settle
in her chest.
If he felt it too, he gave no reaction, admiring the gold ring with careful
attention instead. It was embellished with small crystals that glinted in the
moonlight: golden butterfly wings and a white opalescent body.
“So you’re a murderer and a thief,” she said.
The hard snap of his eyes made her wince. He reacted immediately,
pushing away, and her hand flexed with the cold absence of his.
“Like I said, you don’t know anything,” he muttered icily. “Consider
this insurance.”
“For what?”
“For if you try to run from me again.”
“I’m not of any interest to you.”
The curl of his mouth made her stomach erupt with a new sensation.
“That’s not for you to decide now, is it?” he said.
As the stranger pulled up his hood, he left her with one last lingering
look. She tracked his graceful movements, but before the night could steal
him, he offered four more words. A promise.
“I will find you.”

She made it home still in a daze over the night’s events. How fast a
nightmare situation had turned into a waking fever dream.
If she had any sense, she wouldn’t want the dangerous stranger to spare
her another thought. Perhaps he’d forget her. He didn’t seem the type to
pursue someone who offered him nothing. But he’d kept her ring despite
her many demands for him to give it back.
Unexpectedly, unexplainably, she smiled to herself.
“There you are.”
Her entire body stiffened. This fear consumed her more wholly than her
fear of the assassin.
 “I didn’t expect you to be here,” she admitted, the words barely
squeezing out through her throat. She twisted to face the owner of the
beautiful feminine voice.
Easing out from shadows, those gold eyes pinned her, letting her know
she’d been caught. They were golden like her own, yet hers could never
match the otherworldly beauty of her mother’s.
“I came back early. I returned”—her mother took slow steps, the waves
of her impeccable red gown trailing after—“for you.”
“Sorry. I-I just needed some air.”
“Shh,” she soothed. “I cannot blame you, Aesira.”
As Aesira accepted the embrace, her mind flashed once again to the
stranger who’d so desperately wanted to learn her name.
“But I need you to swear to me you won’t go out alone again. The world
is full of those who want to do you harm.”
If only her mother knew who Aesira had met that night. A killer, yet
someone far more than that, whose starry eyes defied her to remain at the
forefront of her mind. For now, she could only hold onto her one sure line
of safety, riddled with guilt for defying her.
She would never know why her mother didn’t want to be called as such.
Aesira whispered, “I promise, Marvellas.”
PART I
 CHAPTER 1

Faythe

D her final
? T
ying hat was easy. Painless, emotionless. It was nothing. Perhaps
breath came so peacefully as a gift for having blessed the
world.
But death was not a force to be reckoned with. It took its revenge in the
agony that tore through her body. Revenge for the mockery she’d made of
the God of Death.
Hours, days, weeks… Faythe couldn’t be sure how long the inferno
raged while she lay at its mercy. She wished she could explain that this was
not her fault. Not some defiant stance. But it was too late.
Her first breath crashed like a wave, dousing the fire in her veins at
once, her senses flooding in again in a rush of clarity so pure. The air
rushed down her throat, filled her lungs, and awakened her heart with
strong, full beats. Through her nose every scent burst to reveal the notes of
a dozen more. If she focused on those scents, she could refine and separate
each one to discover far more than she’d ever known. Breathing came
steady and new.
Her lids slid open, the luminance enough to sting her eyes as they
adjusted from their slumber. The discomfort subsided quickly. Her pupils
dilated, focused, ready to explore every hidden detail of her surroundings.
Everything exposed so sharply.
Faythe blinked a few times, overwhelmed but exhilarated.
A shadow was cast over her. Faythe shifted her head, registering the
cushion of flesh that cradled her, enveloping her in a scent she’d followed
all the way back from the brink of oblivion. Leather, spice, and something
as cold as ice.
Reylan looked down at her, his beautiful face distraught. The sight made
her chest clench so painfully. She raised a hand to his cheek, and as soon as
her skin touched his, Faythe’s lips parted at the explosion of sensation. A
warm vibration like the one she knew, but somehow deeper. Her thumb
brushed the wetness on his battle-worn skin, her eyes fixed on the glistening
trails.
“Why are you crying?” she whispered, but even her own hushed words
seemed so loud.
When her eyes met his, through his irises Reylan connected with her
with such a bright flare of awakening Faythe became entranced by them.
Sapphire and gold. In his eyes she watched the colors merging. Orbiting her
to their eternal dance, wrapping around her like a tether that surged through
her, tugging at something so bound to the essence of all she was…
The great General of Rhyenelle…is your soul-bonded mate.
That truth didn’t settle with the shock it should. It was the faint tugging
in her mind, a thread too thin to follow, denying her those crucial fragments
of memory that stole her breath. The reality of the present crept back in,
snapping Faythe from her dreaming state. Awareness began to suffocate her.
She shot up straight, swaying as she tried to adjust to her new fluidity of
movement. This body of weightless gravity.
And strength.
And power.
Stumbling to her feet, dizzy in her bewilderment, she raised her hands
as though expecting to see something alien. She couldn’t contain her gasp
as she found a single intricate pattern of golden vine trailing past the cuffs
of her leathers. She tried to push up her sleeves but couldn’t be certain
where it ended. Then she found the symbol marking her palm. Horror
drenched her.
Aurialis’s mark.
It was unmistakable: a hollow circle with three lines scored past its
circumference.
Faythe’s heart beat erratically. Raising her other trembling hand, she
dared to flip it over. A breath of fear left her to find she’d also been branded
with Marvellas’s mark: a hollow circle with a downward-pointing triangle
within it and a single line striking through its circumference.
 She’d seen the symbol appear before, when she’d harnessed power from
a Temple Ruin. Yet now, Faythe didn’t want to believe her skin had been
permanently tattooed with the ancient Spirit markings. They glowed in a
beautiful gold against her skin, which had caught a tan since coming to
Rhyenelle.
You and I will become one, Faythe Ashfyre.
Oh Gods. Her last conversation with Aurialis trickled back in as a
haunting note.
A gentle touch grazed her arm, and she whirled in fright. So quickly it
shouldn’t be possible, Faythe backed herself all the way up to meet hard
stone. She winced at the impact, not anticipating her own strength and
speed, then raised a shaky hand. Her eyes widened in horror or shock—she
couldn’t be sure which—when her fingers, which she’d expected to dip
over the curve of her ear, instead continued up and over a delicate point.
The final, most physical attribute couldn’t be denied.
She was fae.
Her mind flashed to images of what those distinctive pointed ears would
look like on her. She shouldn’t know. She didn’t want to know.
“Make it stop,” she breathed in a panic, her eyes clamping shut as
though she could cancel out the visuals in her head too.
“Faythe.” Reylan’s voice cracked, pulling at something soul-deep.
“You’re going to be okay.”
That forced her to see the desolation on his face, the plea, as he took
careful, tentative steps toward her. Faythe crumbled. Her knees gave out
while her hands rose to cover her face and muffle her sobs. But she didn’t
take the impact of her harsh fall to the stone; instead, Reylan’s arms
wrapped around her, lowering them both slowly. Faythe couldn’t be sure
what she was crying for, only that she was completely lost and
overwhelmed. Reylan’s warmth grounded her, soothed her. He kept still,
allowing her to release the sudden flood of emotion. All Faythe could do
was grip him tightly. Out of fear, out of sadness, but most of all, out of
gratitude that she could hold him again.
Above everything else she’d come back to face…
She’d come back for him.
Memories of the series of events that led up to here and now barreled
into her. Faythe’s throat seized tight as the flashbacks raged through her as
violently as thrashing waves. She was the boat—too small, too out of her
depth, to survive the storm.
It’s going to be okay.
Reylan kept repeating his words of comfort until they blurred in her
mind. All she could focus on to reel her back to him was the hum of his
rough, reassuring voice and the low vibrations from his chest.
Faythe didn’t know how much time had passed when her emotions
eventually wore her out, tired her tears, and subdued her with a numbness
instead. “I died,” she whispered. Cheek pressed to Reylan’s chest, she
treasured every thump of his heart as if it beat for them both. She couldn’t
let him go.
Reylan stiffened. Faythe studied him taking a few calming breaths. It
pained her so deeply to imagine what he’d been through, neither of them
knowing for certain they would have this again.
Each other.
“Transitioning” was a generous word for what it took to merge with
something all-powerful. Faythe couldn’t comprehend that in her new form
she harbored Aurialis’s power. Didn’t yet know what it meant.
“You’re right here,” he said at last, his voice just as hushed. “You’re
alive. I’m right here with you, Faythe.”
With him. With her mate.
Faythe forced herself to pull back, but his arms stayed around her. She
searched those sapphire irises for a long moment, having felt at one with the
sky in them since the moment she saw him. She ran her hand through his
hair, and when her fingers reached the ends of the short silver strands, she
imagined them to continue through the beautiful lengths to his shoulders.
“You once had longer hair,” she said vacantly. Faythe had seen it before
in Varlas’s memory, but the image that focused in her mind right now felt
new and personal, so clear her vision blurred.
“A long time ago,” he answered.
Faythe wondered if he knew…
Her lips parted, but she couldn’t form any of her words into sentences.
Faythe leaned out of his embrace to stand. Her mind raced and raced.
“Mates,” she choked. She couldn’t bear to turn around, fearing the impact
of his reaction.
Reylan remained silent for an agonizingly long minute. Faythe counted
the hard beat of her heart and tried tuning in to his. It stunned her that she
was able to hear it from this distance if she focused right. But the two beats
pounded to a confusing rhythm.
Finally, his voice cut through her panic, devoid of any happiness. “You
don’t sound pleased by it.”
Her heart could have stopped. Her breath caught. It wasn’t elation or
liberation that set in as the realization dawned. Her body rippled, so tense
and cold. She turned to him slowly, and the chill on her skin might have
been from the icy glaze that shielded all emotion from Reylan’s eyes as he
stared at her. His steel barrier enforced a real wall between them.
“You don’t sound surprised by it.”
His jaw flexed. More silence. Faythe released a long breath. Her mind
scrambled to scan every memory she had with him, yet their battle had been
so impossible that all she could do to stay standing was shut it all out.
Her eyes fell and everything around her faded as the world shifted from
under her. Faythe’s stomach turned. She covered her mouth at the sight of
the crimson stain. So much blood. The scent drifted to her, the copper tang
of a life sacrificed.
Her life.
The walls began to close in.
Fast. Too fast.
Her hand lifted to her constricting chest, where the phantom pain from
the dagger that had sealed her fate began to tingle, a reminder she shouldn’t
have lived through such a fatal blow. Yet there was no wound, no lingering
tenderness.
Her feet moved before her mind caught up. It seemed as if it wanted to
hold her to that cave and make her relive her dying moments. Taunt her
with the notion she didn’t deserve to have this second chance.
Her hair blew behind her. She was running now, faster than what should
be possible, desperate to be free of her tomb. Death would forever linger in
that cave. The death of the girl who delivered baked goods to keep herself
fed, who spent days training with a sword she never believed would see
battle. The orphan who wandered, always lost. The Gold-Eyed Shadow who
always had something to prove. The human girl who fell in love with a fae
guard and succumbed to living the type of mundane existence that had
always felt tragic to her.
She had died in that cave. And who would emerge…?
 Faythe reached out to the stone wall for stability, her steps so heavy she
struggled to put one foot in front of the other. There was no air left in the
tunnel. She shouldn’t be alive, and it seemed death was desperate to take
back the life she stole. She tried to push on, to be free. Darkness peppered
her vision.
Then darkness was a helpless fall into a warm and safe embrace.
 CHAPTER 2

Zaiana

Z emerald-green
aianaS ilverfair traced slow fingers along the frayed edges of the
banner that hung at an angle. It had managed to hold firm
against the unlawful attempt to tear it down. Her gaze cast upward to the
obscured stag emblem. She imagined the image would have once appeared
mighty, yet now, the side-profiled creature seemed to bow in defeat,
conquered.
She wasn’t sure why they had come to Fenstead. Being back here
brought forth the desolate scenes of carnage she had lived through. She’d
led legions for Valgard to claim dominion over the once peaceful land.
Every bloom and brightness that once thrived in the kingdom had refused to
grow since darkness swept through.
“Dakodas sent me to find you.” Maverick’s voice crept to her from
down the hall.
Her hand dropped as she shifted her cold eyes to him. He strolled over
to her, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket nonchalantly.
Zaiana had barely spoken a word to Maverick since they’d left
Dakodas’s temple. It wasn’t because she held any regard for him killing the
human. That should have been her act to shoulder. Perhaps she was simply
waiting for repentance while Maverick held out on claiming his praise for
completing the quest.
She had felt little at all since. Her mind was reinforced with steel, her
chest frozen with ice. She had failed.
Twisting smoothly, she began to walk off without a response.
 Maverick’s hand hooked around her arm, and the snap of her gaze to
him was nothing short of a violent warning. In contrast, foolish concern
swirled in his obsidian irises, grating on her irritation.
“You’ve not been yourself since the temple,” he said quietly, as though
he didn’t want anyone else to catch his arrogant mask faltering.
Zaiana maintained her harsh glare, snatching her arm from his grasp.
“You don’t have to pretend that you care. That you’re capable of caring.
Dakodas hasn’t requested me for anything since we arrived. I’m sure
you’ve had plenty to do.” It came out with a sneer, but she didn’t care. She
couldn’t. Harboring no emotion was better than letting in what threatened to
destroy everything she had left.
Maverick’s jaw flexed. His eyes hardened. He didn’t bother to deny it.
Zaiana scoffed, casting her gaze away from him as she began to stalk
away.
He’d never caught her off-guard before, so Zaiana could only curse her
own pitifully clouded senses for not detecting Maverick’s brazen movement
before it was too late. He pinned her to the wall, the press of his body
holding her still against the flash of rage that jolted through her.
“You’re not lamenting because I killed her. You’re lamenting over why
you couldn’t,” he whispered as he leaned in. His breath rumbled across her
ear, stilling her movements, for the flashback he inspired slipped past the
barrier in her mind. Her ire became confused with desire for a moment. “I
would do it again. If I have to choose between you or me, I’ll step up every
time.”
For glory. For reward. It had to be. Zaiana’s flare of challenge returned.
“Then what are you waiting for?” she hissed. “Why haven’t you told her
what happened in the temple?”
“Why?” he repeated, war raging in his depthless eyes. The depthless
eyes of someone on the verge of slipping. As quickly as it stirred, in his
next blink, Maverick’s eyes matched her icy glare. “Hate me, Zaiana, by all
means, but can’t you see this works in our favor? I’m their villain. I took
their precious princess. They’ll be too focused on exacting their revenge on
me to see you carrying out Dakodas’s work. Isn’t that what you wish?”
She gave him nothing while she calculated his words, trying to find an
ulterior motive.
“But you’d better get yourself together, delegate, before the truth of how
the Transition unfolded is revealed without either of us saying a damn
thing.”
He didn’t back off. Zaiana had no quick retort while her mind processed
his words.
“This gains you nothing.”
Maverick didn’t answer. Those dark, alluring eyes seemed to soften just
for a moment as they searched hers. The coiling in her stomach was
unwelcome, suffocating. She needed distance.
“Beautifully untamed,” he whispered.
The shock of it parted her lips. Her thoughts raced to stop him when one
of his hands fell to her waist, drawing her close.
“Perhaps I can put to rest your torment. Just for one more night of
fantasy.”
Zaiana slowly slipped her hand over his chest in the small gap between
their bodies. When she reached past his collar, she angled her iron-clad
middle and pointer fingers to scrape under his chin, tilting away the warm
breath that stirred unwanted flashes of memory as it blew across her lips.
Maverick clenched his teeth against the pinch that was just shy of enough
pressure to draw blood.
“Never again,” she said coldly.
His fingers flexed on her thrillingly. “The thing about a fantasy, Zaiana,
is that it can begin and end whenever we want.” He used her name like a
stroke on her senses, but she wouldn’t yield any reaction to the prickling of
her spine.
Instead, Zaiana summoned her vibrant purple bolts, and his teeth
clenched at the mild shock. His hand tightening again on her only drew
them closer.
“Keep testing me, Maverick,” she said with seductive cruelty. “I dare
you.”
With a dark chuckle, the bastard angled and dipped his head, not
breaking her challenging stare. “Must you tempt me?”
Fingers still poised under his chin, Zaiana wrapped her hand around his
throat. The sharp claws of her two iron guards pierced his skin, releasing a
stronger current of electricity that made his body tense. She didn’t stop until
he fell slowly to one knee before her. “You wouldn’t still be breathing if I
caved to my fantasies about you.” She released him with a shove, and
Maverick took a few long, hard breaths.
Yet still, his insufferable smirk remained.
 Zaiana stepped away, not sparing him another glance as she headed to
dine with death.
The castle of Fenstead was ominous in its neglect. When Valgard
invaded, it wasn’t to any courtly system. Their fae had scattered and
occupied rooms without any effective form of leadership. As soon as
Dakodas showed up, that changed. A tension lingered in the air, a dark
sense of foreboding, as though death whispered around every corner, ready
to seize. The essence of the Goddess emanated through the walls.
Zaiana knew where she would be as the Spirit spent her time simply
basking in the present, indulging on food and wine, and likely getting her
fill of whatever desires she could within a fae body. Zaiana showed no
emotion at the knowledge those particular indulgences were likely enjoyed
with the dark fae trailing behind her. She didn’t care about what Maverick
did to be Dakodas’s prized pet.
As she glided into the throne room, she noticed the sky through the tall
glass windows was eerily overcast. Vines of dead blooms climbed the rows
of pillars, and the depictions on the cream stone floor were barely visible
through the coating of dust and blood spatters. Upon the throne, which
appeared to be crafted entirely of white antlers, Dakodas reclined at a sultry
angle, a golden chalice poised beautifully in one hand. She appeared a
Goddess in every sense of the word. Shadows surrounded her on the royal
seat. Zaiana halted a respectful distance away, bowing low.
“Rise.” The Spirit’s voice traveled as smooth as ice. As she
straightened, Zaiana locked her onyx stare, which gleamed with the
confidence of a predator. “You have been very…silent. I should think
someone of your reputation wouldn’t be so content to be idle after
triumphing in such a quest.”
Zaiana wasn’t sure what response Dakodas was hoping for. She didn’t
have an answer to justify her pathetic silence. The Goddess expected Zaiana
to celebrate their win and seek praise and reward. Instead, she’d kept her
distance and allowed Maverick to take what was rightfully his. Yet it was
becoming clear he hadn’t disclosed the truth to the Great Spirit. The truth
that if he hadn’t arrived, Dakodas wouldn’t be sitting here now in the
presence of Zaiana’s cowardice.
“I’ve been awaiting instruction for our next move,” Zaiana responded
carefully. She should be fearful, or at least hold admiration for the divine
being, but she remained impassive.
 The curl of Dakodas’s black-painted lips was beautifully cruel. “Always
looking for the next thrill. I have always greatly admired that about you.”
A sense of disturbance unsettled her. How much of her life had been
studied by the Spirit while she’d watched over their world? What
weaknesses and failures of her long past might Dakodas have seen?
Zaiana assumed she’d find immense pleasure in bringing Dakodas to
their realm, the savior of her people, but her quick bout of adoration hadn’t
lasted long. In her time of reflection, Dakodas had become just another
highly regarded fae with immense power. The more accustomed she
became to the Spirit’s presence, the less Zaiana submitted to the natural
order of things. She had no respect for her. But to voice her treasonous
thoughts would be a sure death sentence dealt by the embodiment of the
dark force herself. So Zaiana would stay silent, obedient, and do whatever it
took to win the war now tipped in the dark fae’s favor.
Then she would leave it all behind. Everything. Everyone. To claim her
freedom.
Dakodas’s hair spilled like ink over her back as she tilted her head to sip
from her chalice, her eyes fixed on nothing, seemingly lost in her own
thoughts. Then she rested her head against the tall side of the throne, her
attention settling with a flare of desire on Maverick as though she’d finally
remembered he was present. Zaiana’s two iron guards cut into her hands,
which were clasped tightly behind her back. She didn’t want to be around
their insufferable flirtation.
“Word has begun to spread. The King of Rhyenelle’s lost daughter is
dead.”
Zaiana yielded no reaction to the news, didn’t let her mind linger on the
human, for the flashes of her last moments still stung like a chill down to
her bones.
“Maverick is of the opinion we should be making plans to strike the
mighty kingdom while it is weakened. I would rather like to hear your
opinion on how we should react.”
“I would have thought we’d be meeting with Marvellas.”
The Dark Spirit curved a brow at Zaiana’s boldness, but Zaiana had
very little to lose. She’d heard so much mention of the Spirit of Souls, the
first to ascend and the one who began the war, yet no one had seen her.
Marvellas hadn’t once visited the mountains in Zaiana’s lifetime.
 “My sister is rather preoccupied. A slight setback in a plan that would
have had the heirs of High Farrow, Fenstead, and Olmstone under our
control.”
Zaiana’s interest piqued. She didn’t know anything of the movement to
take the three kingdoms. From the frustration that creased the Spirit’s brow,
she concluded they must have come close to achieving their goal, and she
was curious to know more. For now, she had more pressing personal
matters to focus on.
“I agree with Maverick,” she blurted, deliberately not meeting his gaze
when it snapped to her. “We should be preparing to attack Rhyenelle, but
not without careful consideration.”
Dakodas straightened, passing her chalice to a fae whose hands
quivered.
Zaiana tried not to cower at the keen attention. “I want to go alone to
mark out Rhyenelle’s defenses. I can remain hidden and spend some time
tracking everything to report back. Reylan Arrowood is Rhyenelle’s
strongest general. He’s one of those who survived us in the mountains to
deliver the news of Faythe’s death, and since he’ll no doubt have told his
king all he discovered about us, they’ll be preparing for the skies. We need
to find out what new defenses they’ll put up.”
Dakodas displayed the full might of her gifted ability: Shadowporting.
Shadows surrounded her like spilled smoke. There were either too many to
contain or she simply enjoyed their company. The Spirit’s fingers reached
idly to play with the living tendrils as she tipped her chin elegantly upward.
Zaiana’s proposal seemed to please her by the slow half-curl of her mouth.
“I should go with you,” Maverick cut in.
Zaiana tightened her hands, but before the protest could spill from her
open mouth, Dakodas inserted her own plan.
“There is a different task I require of you, Maverick.” Her hand barely
extended, but the command was clear.
Zaiana gauged Maverick’s hesitation, believing she saw reluctance in
his rigid poise as he crossed the distance toward her. When the Spirit’s hand
curled around his forearm, Zaiana looked away.
“I want the body of Faythe Ashfyre.”
Both their gazes locked on the Spirit at the grim request, and a dark
chuckle snaked through the hall.
“More specifically, I want her sword. The Riscillius within it.”
 Zaiana believed she had witnessed the pinnacle of gruesome and
disturbing acts in her lifetime, but her flashes of memory from the temple…
of watching such ferocity fall to utter misery…the silver-haired warrior who
cradled Faythe’s body… Those thoughts would haunt her like a ghost.
“And if they’ve taken her back?” Zaiana asked.
“You will travel to Ellium together. If they’ve taken her there, then the
two of you have the task of seeking out her sword. If not, then you will part
so Maverick can find it while you continue to scout the defenses.”
It wasn’t Zaiana’s ideal quest. Mostly due to the company, but she
couldn’t argue against going with Maverick without rousing the Spirit’s
suspicions. She kept silent on her real reason for needing to be alone. Tynan
and Amaya would still be out there, possibly looking for her. She’d left
them on the mountain edge with the fae, and the twisting unease that they
may not have triumphed against the rest of them in her absence churned her
stomach. She even gave a passing thought to Nerida, wondering if the fae
had chosen to go against Tynan and Amaya in the presence of her own kind,
her Waterwielding ability granting them another powerful ally to stack the
odds greatly against her companions.
“I would like to leave tomorrow,” Zaiana agreed reluctantly.
Dakodas tipped her head back against the throne. Her hand caressed
Maverick’s arm. “I am sad we will be parting so soon, but you are right to
view this with urgency.” She glanced at Maverick, lust swirling through her
dark eyes. He slid his hand along the Spirit’s shoulder, and as much as
Zaiana wanted to tear her attention away, she couldn’t help but study his
movements. They appeared stiff, unlike his charged touch still imprinted on
her skin.
“If that is all, Your Grace,” Zaiana bit out, wanting nothing more than to
be free of their public affections.
“I have one last request of you.”
Something about the sparkle of sin in her black eyes locked Zaiana’s
spine straight. The following silence coiled like anticipation in her gut as
she waited for the command she couldn’t escape. Not when it came from
Death herself.
“The opportunity presents itself, with him grieving and weakened, to
erupt the kingdom into chaos and conquer it once and for all.”
“What do you need me to do?” Zaiana’s claws pierced her skin in her
irritation and dread. She already knew what Dakodas would say but hoped
for a different command—anything else.
Luck was never in her favor.
Dakodas’s smile cut with wickedness. “I want you to kill the King of
Rhyenelle.”
 CHAPTER 3

Faythe

C throat as her eyelids snapped

rackling wood awoke her with a surge of panic. Breath speared her
open. The darkness Faythe was met with
was full of stars, each one emitting a flickering amber hue. The sight
soothed her terror, along with the awareness that enveloped her.
Faythe twisted her head, and through the tango of flame she found
Reylan sitting on the opposite side of the fire. His hair was long, held back
from his face by twin braids. His face had lost years. He seemed so much
younger, yet his expression was of one who had been forced to grow up too
fast. His hands fiddled with a knife and piece of wood.
But when his eyes met hers…they were still the same starry blue.
She blinked and her vision gave way to the present. Reylan appeared
exactly as she expected him to, though she couldn’t erase how precisely she
knew the intricacies of his younger self. Slowly, Faythe propped herself up,
observing him carefully. The conflict of emotion turned her thoughts to
loose threads she couldn’t connect to understand her true feelings. Reylan
had closed himself off. That wasn’t difficult to detect. A clenching pain
took over her chest, growing the longer she struggled to decipher what he
was thinking. The tension that echoed between them felt…wrong.
Faythe was confused. So torn and confused in her heartbreak she didn’t
know who she was anymore. Would she ever know? This new body and a
harrowing destiny. Discovering all this time she had a mate. All of it a stark
reminder of what she wasn’t anymore. Human.
 Reylan had made their camp on a small, open patch of greenery. He
halted his carving while she stared at him, rare conflict set around his eyes.
It seemed he was straining to keep his distance from her. Their mutual
silence became like a slow suffocation.
Faythe sat up fully and got to her knees, unable to drag her attention
from him as her mind raced with questions she already had answers to, but
which she needed to hear from him. Questions about what they were to
each other.
“How long have you known?” A pain nagged her from within. His, hers
—she didn’t suppose it mattered. But the moment his lips parted to respond,
she echoed the same words with him.
“Since the day I met you.”
Faythe shook her head, feeling a fool for not realizing sooner. Reylan’s
firm expression creased.
“You’ve told me before,” she explained. By the fire in her room in High
Farrow. At the time, she thought he meant he knew who her father was, and
that was true, but it wasn’t the only thing he meant. Faythe ran a hand over
her face, unable to silence her reeling thoughts. “You thought you had no
choice.” Her eyes stung, and her emotions rushed to consume her as the
pieces slid into place, the sadness so overwhelming it stole her breath.
Nothing made sense before. It didn’t make sense for him to want her—
to love her—in her mortal form, doomed from the very beginning.
“That’s not true. Not even for a second,” Reylan protested firmly.
When she forced her eyes to meet his again, she found they were angry.
The fire dancing across his expression added anguish to his sharp features.
Though she winced to see the harsh lines on his face, she couldn’t deny the
part of her that believed, for his sake, it would be better this way. Better for
him not to want her.
They stared off for a suspended moment. Faythe couldn’t look away.
She loved him so fiercely that the best thing would be to set him free
against all desire for the opposite. She could reject the bond—
“You know it cannot be undone,” Reylan reminded her, detached from
emotion.
He read her thoughts so effortlessly. An unexplainable link had always
run between them, but now it was like a wide-open channel in its clarity.
Yet a taunting thought surfaced that wasn’t entirely true.
 Faythe was missing an explanation. A truth. She didn’t know what
trickled through her mind to convince her not to stop trying to figure it out.
Reylan added in her silence, “But if that’s your wish, I will accept it.”
Something in her chest, her soul, cried out so sharply it cleaved through
her. She recalled Kyleer’s words. Their bond wouldn’t be complete without
the mating.
Reylan’s eyes flexed as she contemplated the prospect. He was in pain.
Pain she had caused. Though it was nothing compared to what would come
if she tore apart their bond. Still, the war was set in motion. Faythe’s life
was tied to it all. And the thought of bringing him down with her was one
she couldn’t bear.
“Before you decide, you should know…” He paused, steely features
softening a fraction as he searched her eyes and rose carefully from the log
he was perched on. Faythe’s head angled back to track him as he took a
single step toward her. “I’ve always felt that I was searching for an answer
that didn’t exist. Every dark path I walked, there was always a light. Every
time I knocked on death’s door, I was coaxed back before the reaper could
answer. Where I expected to see shadows, I saw flickers of gold.” He huffed
an incredulous laugh with a shake of his head. “I believed then perhaps it
was a cruel, twisted joke. This tether that always seemed to stop me from
casting myself into the final realm was really held by my eternal tormenter,
the one who brought me back because I deserved to suffer. But it was you.
It had to have been you. Though I don’t expect you to believe me.”
He took another step, maybe even two. Faythe’s head continued to
recline, her gaze captured by him. He was so tall…and broad…and fierce.
Her need for him grew with every fraction of closed distance.
“One time I even felt you. I was so recklessly drunk and had gotten into
a fight with many fae who beat me to near death. I was ready to die then,
but as I fell into oblivion, I wasn’t only caught by that tether; I was coaxed
to reach back and follow it. So I did. Toward a light so consuming I thought
that was it. The end. And then there you were. I didn’t know who you were,
but by some miracle you brought me back. My consciousness…entered
yours.”
Faythe stiffened completely.
“I knew. That night you asked for my help to Nightwalk to Nik, in your
gold-and-white mists, I knew I’d been there before. Felt you there before.
In what I believed to have been a vision in my dying mind. I couldn’t see
your face since you stood with your back to me, but I answered your call
for me to come closer. And when I touched you…when I first felt your
skin…the heat of your neck you exposed to me so willingly, it was like…I
found my reason.”
Reylan halted right in front of her. Faythe tracked him as he slowly
crouched down. When he opened his palm, Faythe glanced at the small,
delicate carving he held.
A butterfly.
“Tell me it means something to you,” he said.
Faythe frowned at the item, her mind racing with the will to give him
what he longed for, but she came up blank. Reylan’s jaw flexed with
disappointment, but he kept on trying.
“I have something I’ve never been able to let go of. A ring intricately
crafted with golden butterfly wings. I don’t know where it came from, and I
suppose all this time I’ve rested my mind thinking it was my mother’s, but
that’s not what I truly believe. I sealed it away and tried to forget about it…
until what came to me in my dying moment not long ago seemed so
familiar I had to follow it. I began to hear thoughts, but not in words. They
were echoes of wonder and loneliness and dreams. I don’t think I found
you, Faythe. At least not at first.”
Her heart thrummed so wildly at his soul-searching stare.
He said, “I think you found me.”
Faythe remembered. Her head weighed heavy as the memory flooded
her. “I see you, and I hear you…” The incredulous words escaped her lips.
They weren’t just a promise from High Farrow.
Reylan’s knees entered her vision, near touching hers. “Look at me,
Faythe,” he pleaded softly.
She shook her head, unable to comprehend. “I thought it was simply my
own childish fantasy. I wasn’t accustomed to Nightwalking and Nik was
helping me to understand. But I was so lost that night. Without even
realizing, I was searching, reaching, for…” The lump in her throat grew
painful, but she bravely met his stare. “You were really there, weren’t you?
You answered me. And I think when you arrived in High Farrow, some part
of me did recognize you. Enough that I couldn’t fear you. It didn’t make
sense. You were from Rhyenelle, and I’d never left High Farrow. It wasn’t
possible…”
Reylan didn’t move. She couldn’t read his blank expression.
 “I refused Agalhor’s request to attend the kings’ meetings. I was set to
leave for Salenhaven with no plans to return. So instead, he chose a high fae
lord to act in his place and Kyleer to seek out the spy. I packed to leave. I
was equipped and minutes away from leaving the castle for good, but I
foolishly forgot my sword. I never forget. When I went back to my room to
retrieve it, I caught a glimpse of the golden ring I didn’t realize had fallen
from its box and lay coated with dirt on the floor. It brought me to my
knees. I dusted it off and couldn’t stop apologizing for neglecting it. I felt as
if I’d failed it by giving up. In myself…in my search for this thing that
didn’t exist. Salenhaven was my cowardly plan to run away from it all.
Until I saw that ring again and knew I couldn’t leave. To regain some sense
of purpose, I accepted Agalhor’s offer to go to High Farrow, as delirious as
it sounded. I knew I could get the main task done the most efficiently. Kill
his spymaster. But when we arrived there, when I went before the king,
there you were. Your eyes, Faythe. Then, now, perhaps long before,
something awakens in me every time. They have become my sun, and
should darkness fall for good then so will I.”
Then came more internal conflict. Remember. But Faythe couldn’t, and
that desperation almost broke her as much as his tale.
“I heard your voice…and I couldn’t understand how I’d heard it before.
I didn’t want you to ever stop speaking.”
Faythe blinked. She couldn’t be sure the silver in his eyes was real until
the tears spilled and flames flickered in the glistening trail running down his
cheek. Reylan had surrendered, his raw emotions open to her, and Faythe’s
heart seemed to stop. Or shatter.
“It wasn’t the discovery of who you were to the king that made the
thought of what I’d come to do so unbearable. It was because I fell in love
with you slowly. Torturously. I resisted knowing time would divide us, but I
couldn’t stop. Your strength, your will, your heart, your smile… Gods, that
smile, Faythe. You captured me completely the moment you showed me it.
Because you had been through so much. You had nothing. And when you
smiled it was as if life held no burden.
“I’d never before encountered fear like that which I felt in High
Farrow’s throne room. I felt the power claim you. I felt it clawing to take
this bright and precious thing I’d been searching for, and it dawned on me
right then, without a doubt, what you were to me. My mate. If there was no
fighting, if you wouldn’t survive, then neither would I, and so I reached for
you. The ruin came so close to taking you, and in that second something so
heartbreakingly impossible overcame me. It felt as if we’d been there
before, and I was so desperate not to lose you again.”
Again.
Faythe took a moment to compose herself against the flashes of images.
The throne room. Then a wide-open field. Both scenes screamed in her
memory, but only one she grasped with full clarity, and that terror was
enough.
“Just know, before you decide what you want, I choose you, Faythe
Ashfyre. With or without a bond. As human and fae. I choose you in every
life. Your promise to me was that you would always come back to me. And
you did. I spent thirteen agonizing minutes believing you never would. Your
heart…stopped.” The word came out through a pained breath that brought
fresh tears to her eyes. It struck with the ghostly truth. “Everything was so
still and cold I truly believed mine had stopped too. Thirteen minutes,
twenty-nine seconds. You were gone, and I couldn’t stop thinking there
would be no other salvation. No other search. I would have followed you,
but not until I hunted down Maverick and strung out his death for taking
you from me. I still plan to hold true to that. But this is my promise to you:
no matter what you decide or what may try to separate us, even if you reject
the bond, I will always stand by your side.”
Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not time or space. War or
conflict. The world around them ceased to exist. Faythe was still so riddled
with confusion and uncertainty, and Reylan seemed tied to all, but right
now, they’d both suffered enough.
She rose to her knees. Her hands met his face, and her thumbs brushed
the fallen tears. She’d never seen him look so utterly defeated. She harbored
anticipation and fear, but she slowly slid onto his lap, her thighs spreading
over his where he kneeled. Her hands moved over his skin, vibrating along
his jaw, his neck, until her fingers wove through the silken locks of his
silver hair. The sudden urge to find an outlet for her raging emotion was
almost too much to bear—especially in this body that could withstand far
more than before and took everything to new exhilarating heights.
Reylan’s hands carefully grazed her hips, and Faythe lowered until no
air could pass between them.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the bond before?” she asked, her voice
hushed, eyes darting between his. She tuned in to the quickening of his
pulse, scenting a shift she deciphered as lust. So many new discoveries
were expanding her world beyond what her human self imagined. What
frightened her was her excitement to experience it all.
Reylan’s hand didn’t leave her as his fingertips curved up her spine. Her
body answered as if she were molding to his every touch. Her mouth parted,
and she pressed tighter to him until his palm cupped her nape.
“Out of fear of the very wrong reason—which has already crossed your
mind—why I’m standing by you. I don’t choose you because of some
answering bonded power. I choose you because I love every damn reckless,
brave, impossible part of you.”
His lips crashed to hers, the surprise eliciting a small whimper from her.
Their mouths and tongues clashed, every sensation exploding far more than
anything she’d experienced before.
“You lied to me,” she rasped against his lips, but they didn’t break apart.
What they shared was an explosion of desperation and anguish, need and
heartache. Her hips ground against him, and he groaned.
“You wouldn’t have believed me.” His arm hooked around her so
quickly she barely had time to prepare until her back met the ground. But in
this body, the hard terrain didn’t register against her strengthened muscle
and bone. As fae, Faythe could withstand far more than her feeble human
form. She felt…powerful. Even if a sting of horror struck her chest each
time she became aware of what she was now.
“I deserved to know,” Faythe got out.
Reylan’s mouth left hers to meet her jaw, and her fingers tightened in
his hair. Every press of his lips, every squeeze of his hands, shot
electrifying currents through her nerve cells. “You deserve a lot of things,
Faythe.” The gravel of his voice traveled over her neck, where her veins
pulsed with such desire she almost climaxed. “I plan to give you them all.”
With enough of her sense and frustration returned, Faythe’s leg hooked
around his hip, and she pushed up and twisted simultaneously. It shouldn’t
have been possible, but with her newfound strength and having caught
Reylan unawares, her maneuver made him fall to his back, leaving her
straddling him. She breathed hard as they shared a bewildered look, long
seconds suspended in time. Then the slow curl of his mouth accompanied
the hunger in his eyes at what she’d done, and they collided once more.
Faythe’s empowering position sparked her pleasure. She couldn’t
explain her urge. It was something deep and terrifying, arising as though he
might vanish in a second and she had to make each one count. Her mind
lost control to her new body’s demands. Every touch of his fingers on her
spine aided the rock of her hips against him. It was all so much more than
before. Igniting, maddening, every taste of him driving her so far beyond
thought or reason she wondered if the need for him could ever be sated.
When her mind took back control, Faythe abruptly pulled away,
pressing a hand to his chest to keep him down while she panted to gather
breath—and her sanity. “I need time,” she breathed. Only a small circle of
sapphire broke through the darkness of his claiming gaze. Faythe shook her
head to dismiss her words then tried again. “No, thirteen minutes was
enough. But I’m so confused, Reylan. I want to know why you kept it from
me.”
Reylan pushed himself upright. Faythe’s fist curled into the material of
his leathers as he did, keeping her in his lap. His rugged breaths and the
desire glazing his lusty stare fought with restraint, but he held still, allowing
her to decide every move.
“It was never my intention to deceive you. But I couldn’t stand to think
you might believe I was here for any other reason than because…you are
everything. And perhaps selfishly, I needed to know you wanted to choose
me too. What we have is far more than a bond, and with or without it, I am
yours.”
Faythe shook her head, and the defeat that flashed in his eyes elicited a
sharp twist in her chest. “Nothing would have made me turn from you. But
I trusted you. With every darkness, with every impossible truth, I trusted
you.” Her voice broke as she added, “You didn’t trust in me.”
“I wanted to confess I suspected the bond the day you surrendered
yourself to me behind the waterfall. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t ignore the
fact I would have given my life for you at any moment on this quest, and
that it would have been cruel to leave you here with that burden. Knowing I
was your mate.”
My mate.
Her breath stilled as if she were hearing the declaration for the first
time. Because coming from him…nothing ever sounded so joyously
possessive. With him she belonged.
Faythe brought her mouth down to his. The pulse to be with him was so
strong she couldn’t fight it. She remained confused and scared, her thoughts
a mess and questions still unanswered, but she needed him. Reylan’s arm
tightened around her, but just before lust clouded her mind once more, he
broke away.
Leaning her forehead against his, she asked, “Why do I feel like this?
Like I can’t get enough of you. I want to shout, cry, but…” Her fingers
curled in his hair while her thighs tightened.
“I think you’re adjusting,” Reylan said.
She peeled away to watch his contemplative face scanning every inch of
her. Slowly, his hand came up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her
ear, where his stare lingered. Her pointed ear. She couldn’t fully decipher
his expression. Awe enfolded with a haunting realization, perhaps.
“You are magnificent.” Reylan claimed her. “My Phoenix.”
Faythe went to speak, but his lips grazing her jaw stole her words.
“We’re stronger than mortals. Faster. We have more primal needs and
instincts. We feel more deeply.” His lips pressed firmly to her throat.
“Heartbreak. Anger.” Lower, and her breaths quickened. “Lust.” A soft
sound escaped her as her head tipped back, exposing her neck without
thought, wanting him to bite. “Perhaps I will.” His voice was pure gravel as
he answered her loose thought. “But not until you ask. Not until you say
you are mine without reservation will I claim you, Faythe.”
She fought against every new impulse willing her to surrender.
Reylan pulled away, holding her stare instead. “Every emotion needs
constant outlet and balance, or it will consume us.”
Us. A simple assurance she was not alone. He was here, and he
understood. Yet her panic spiked of its own accord. She looked away from
him, mulling over the concept. She had a hard enough time keeping her
emotions in check as a human, but as fae… Faythe was already beginning
to experience how quickly her feelings turned. How they clouded and
consumed.
She thought she heard her name, but a prickling heat began to crawl
over her skin, awakening in her palms the most. They slipped from
Reylan’s silky tresses as her gaze flashed down to the source of the
sensation. Faythe wasn’t sure there was any breath left in her lungs as the
world broke away in fragments. The marks within her palms glowed faintly,
along with the vine of finely scribed letters she couldn’t decipher that ran
past her cuffs. She tumbled back to the present when a cool touch took her
hands, inspiring a gentle breeze within. The faint glow winked out, but
Faythe couldn’t tear her eyes from the Spirit symbols.
 “I don’t know what I am.” She echoed the haunting thought so quietly,
trying to process it all.
His fingers curled under her chin, forcing her to look away from her
upturned palms to meet his calming sapphire eyes instead. “It doesn’t
matter what you are. I see you, Faythe.” The determination of a warrior, a
protector, filled his hard gaze. “I see you as who you are. Exactly as I
always have.” Then a ghostly terror overtook his expression, rattling a chill
down every notch of her spine. “I almost lost you.” In no more than a breath
did he hush the words as though he didn’t mean for them to escape. Reylan
remained unblinking as though she might vanish now he’d dared to speak
them.
The drop in Faythe’s stomach was too much to bear. This raw,
unprotected version of Reylan had been exposed by her. “I’m here,” was all
she said, matching his volume. Because the thought of how close they’d
come to being parted so finally would forever torment her too. “You
brought me back.”
His mouth pressed to hers firmly in promise. A soft whimper escaped
her, a pain so twisting she thought it might erupt in her chest. A pain of
sadness and happiness. Of love and betrayal. So many clashing emotions
she didn’t know what to do with other than let Reylan help by the only
means she knew how.
Right before she gave into the burning need entirely, a spike of
awareness stiffened her body. A presence. Not immediately nearby, but
somehow she sensed the distant approach and couldn’t place who the
intruder was. Or what. Terror gripped her entirely, threatening to consume
her with the flash of fresh memories that rammed into her. Perhaps the dark
fae had returned.
And Dakodas.
Oh Gods. In all her bewilderment and world-changing revelations,
Faythe hadn’t accounted for the biggest event to unfold—the one she’d
missed entirely during her own Transition.
The Spirit of Death now walked among them.
A soothing caress stroked her senses, accompanied by Reylan’s touch
trailing down her spine in reassurance. He must have detected the presence
too, but he appeared wholly unconcerned. A flickering of shadows made
her jerk away from him, but then a familiar voice carried across the
distance.
 “Here I thought I’d be arriving onto a far more desolate scene.”
Faythe immediately recognized the voice, but her head still whirled in
fright. She clutched Reylan a little tighter while she remained straddling his
lap.
Kyleer’s smile broke in relief as he strolled toward them casually. Then,
as his green gaze found her, the curl of his mouth became stolen by wide-
eyed vacancy. She saw the moment time stopped for him and struggled to
comprehend what he was looking at. His attention seemed fixed on her ears
before it shifted to Reylan then back to her. She’d never seen him look so
ghostly, nor at such a loss for words.
Despite their newfound company, Reylan’s mouth hovered below her
ear, his breath causing a shiver as he said quietly, “We are so far from done
here.”
 CHAPTER 4

Zaiana

Z intrusion made her teeththeclench.

aiana was fastening buckle at her shoulder when an unwanted
“What do you want, Maverick?” she
ground out, not turning to him as she continued to equip herself for the
journey she was to set out on that afternoon.
“What are you up to?”
His suspicion wasn’t subtle. Zaiana fitted a blade to her thigh, another to
her waist, then strapped her sword belt over her chest, sliding the blade into
its sheath on her back.
“I think that’s obvious.” She finally glanced him, and his flex of ire
where he leaned against the doorframe was to her delight.
“You’re not some scout to be sent on errands.” Straightening, Maverick
adjusted the cuffs of his leathers, which she noted were also of combat
style, before stalking closer.
“You don’t need to concern yourself with what I’m up to. We may be
leaving together, but I expect we’ll part quickly.”
“I’m heading to the city.”
“You’re to retrieve Faythe’s body; you should be heading to the Isles.”
Maverick’s walk slowed as he assessed her. The bastard was trying to
read into any expression that might give away some ulterior motive. “I
think we both know I would find nothing there.” He smirked at her defiance
as Zaiana’s features firmed. “There’s no way they would have left her
there.”
She didn’t allow her tenseness to ease at his conclusion.
 “So, it looks like we’ll have the pleasure of each other’s company for a
while longer. Who knows, maybe you’ll come in handy as a distraction
while I infiltrate the city and retrieve the dead human’s sword? It’s all
Dakodas wants.”
Zaiana couldn’t protest his plan. Not without giving away her own.
“Just stay out of my way,” she warned him, then she headed out to the
balcony.
Hoisting herself onto the flat railing, she cast her eyes over the land,
imagining it once vibrant and thriving. Yet the greens of the hills were now
dull, flat, and yellow, the trees’ spindly branches barren, and the fallen
leaves dry and black. Not from the shift of autumn, though it felt as though
winter were eager to fall this year; what made this land desolate was its
reluctance to show its true beauty to the monsters who walked it now.
Zaiana closed her eyes at the sad sight, taking a long, freeing breath of
the cool air as she released the glamour on her wings. She rolled her
shoulders, feeling their glorious full weight. These wings would carry her to
the vast skies.
“You don’t plan on saying farewell?” Maverick asked at her back.
“No, I don’t.” She splayed her wings. “And I’m not waiting around
knowing how long yours might take with Dakodas.” She stepped off the
high ledge, enjoying the embrace of gravity before she defied its laws,
shooting skyward, eager to leave the kingdom she’d conquered for Valgard
behind.

Heights would always be Zaiana’s comfort. Being far above most creatures
came with a sense of power. Her mind was eased of its heavy burdens and
her demons relented as though their cage had been opened into the endless
sky.
She sat dangling a leg over a cliff edge, observing the city of Ellium
from such a distance that all she could make out were peppered buildings
encompassed by two high circular walls. The construction was smart, she
thought. Not a class divider but a brilliant defense.
For anyone without wings, that is.
The crimson-peaked mountains surrounding Ellium also offered
protection to the heart of the kingdom. Zaiana was beginning to admire the
ancestors of Rhyenelle.
“Five hours, give or take,” she said, not turning around when Maverick
landed behind her. “I assume Dakodas was far more reluctant to let go of
you than me.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Zaiana.”
She scoffed. “Give me something to be jealous of. I’m sure I could wear
it quite well in blood.”
His chuckle was smooth as he drew closer. “What’s the plan then,
delegate?”
The Spirit’s order still rang through her mind. A daunting task with the
highest prize. It wasn’t the act of killing someone that disturbed her; it was
who wore the target. To be known among her kind as a Kingslayer would
no doubt earn her respect like no other, perhaps even put her above the
Masters. She might also bear the title of Master now, having won the trial
against Maverick before the quest, but Zaiana despised it, feeling it bound
her to their wickedness.
She stood. She’d glamoured her wings a while ago and enjoyed the
thrill of toeing the fatal height without knowing if she could free her wings
in time should she fall. Maverick’s boots shuffled through the gravel behind
her as she looked down.
“Our destination might be the same for now, but our plans are
different,” she said.
“If you stopped being stubborn, you’d see our plans could work
together.”
She turned to him. The wind picked up and she adjusted her footing
against its push. Maverick braced, eyeing the ledge while trying to hold her
stare. Canting her head, Zaiana shifted back, slipping her heels over the
edge.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to fly closer to the city.”
“Your wings,” he bit out as if she weren’t aware of her glamour.
Zaiana smirked, sliding back again until only her toes strained to keep
her on the ledge. She closed her eyes, enjoying the force of the air that
threatened her balance.
Then she was falling.
The air that wrapped around her felt like a pull into another realm—one
that both stopped time and made it race. Hair whipped free from her braid.
She knew the seconds were zipping by fast and she had to adjust her
careless backward fall, yet she didn’t want to. To a risky proximity she
wanted to test how long she could enjoy the drop into nothingness. A part
of her chanted not to twist and release her wings: a small voice full of dark
taunts but also the promise of peace and liberation. Just as she was about to
succumb to its demands, something wrapped around her, and her eyes flew
open. Her breath whooshed at the impact, arms and legs instinctively
clamping around the force that stopped gravity’s claim.
Maverick’s onyx eyes were livid, his brow pinched tight with ire.
Zaiana couldn’t help herself—amusement broke a grin.
“You really thought I’d fall to my death?” She toyed with his obvious
irritation, but when he didn’t respond, her smile began to fade. She quickly
became aware of the position they were in. A flash of memory, but not with
him.
Never with him.
Zaiana’s wings expanded and she let go of Maverick, despising the
shiver that shook through her at his grip. They stared off in the sky for a
moment, but she couldn’t decipher the battle between them. Without
another word, she shot away. Her wings beat harder. She pushed and
pushed, needing the voices to be silenced. Needing the feelings that battered
like fists against the locked vault of her mind to stop. She kept flying until
the air thinned and an ache formed in her shoulder blades.
She welcomed the pain. She needed more of it.
 CHAPTER 5

Faythe

“D oes one of you want to explain what in the Nether happened?”

Kyleer kept advancing, his eyes not leaving hers. He looked, but it
was as if he didn’t know who he was seeing. A sense of dread pierced
Faythe at the thought she might have the same reaction when she finally
stood in front of a mirror. She couldn’t bear the notion.
She got to her feet, but she didn’t know what to say to him to explain
the impossible. The truth of how she was still here and alive when she never
should have emerged from that cave. Kyleer was right: he should have
arrived at a far more desolate scene. One Faythe had witnessed herself, and
which would haunt her for eternity. The sight of her pale, still body cradled
by the broken warrior beside her.
Reylan’s hand on her back reeled her back to present, where she hadn’t
broken eye contact with Kyleer. Her attention dropped to his shoulder as
she recalled the battle.
“You were injured,” she got out, but Faythe noticed he appeared in no
pain or discomfort. “Badly.”
Kyleer shook himself out of his stupor. “As luck would have it, the dark
fae had a healer in their company,” he explained, still looking at her as if he
were interacting with a ghost. A thousand questions swirled in his eyes.
“We convinced her to aid me first. Izaiah was wounded worse, and my
ability could help to get you to safety if needed. Nerida was tending to him
when I left.”
 Reylan’s hand stiffened on her as Faythe’s thoughts became riddled with
urgency. They had to go to them.
“Does one of you want to tell me what happened here?” Kyleer diverted
the topic tentatively. His pointed look wasn’t subtle, and Faythe’s stomach
turned with denial. She couldn’t blame him for his reaction, but it served as
a reminder that she didn’t know who her dearest friends saw when they
looked at her now. Didn’t know who she would see.
“We will. But right now, we should get back.” Reylan’s words were a
command for Kyleer not to press further.
Faythe was grateful, her stiff shoulders easing a fraction as her
explanation scrambled in her mind and lodged in her throat. For now, she
threw up a barricade against the question, knowing she’d come apart again
and again if she were made to relive the raw memories.
Kyleer nodded with an edge of reluctance, but abiding by her wish, he
extended a hand. “I’ll Shadowport you back. Reylan will borrow enough of
my ability to carry himself.” His smile turned tender with encouragement as
she looked down at his hand, and it soothed her nerves to see he wasn’t
treating her any differently. She knew that hand all too well, with its slightly
crooked fingers and long, raised scar, as it had been her guide in the dark
when they’d faced the tunnel collapsing around them.
Faythe took a half-step to reach for him, but a jolt of memory halted her.
Her pulse skipped as she straightened, her head whipping back over the
mountain edge, past the trees.
“What’s wrong?” Reylan reached for his weapons in alarm.
Faythe cast her gaze upward, expecting to find flames far brighter and
more alluring in the night sky than those in the small man-made campfire.
“Atherius,” she mumbled because she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t all a
figment of her imagination. She near swayed with dizzying disbelief as she
recalled how she got here.
The Firebird had saved her from her own reckless plummet off the high
cliff as she sought to gain its trust. It had brought her here, yet she couldn’t
be certain what was real since arriving at the Niltain Isles and meeting her
end.
“The Phoenix?”
She heard the wariness in Kyleer’s tone and nodded. “It was her.”
“You consumed a lot of power. Your memories are likely to be gray,”
Reylan added softly.
 They were tiptoeing around calling her delirious and mistaken. While it
grated on her nerves, she couldn’t deny it until she knew the truth.
“The bird was real,” Reylan assured her. “It’s impossible this is the
exact one you speak of.”
Faythe didn’t believe anything was impossible. Not anymore. But she
was too tired to argue, and it seemed the great Firebird had made itself a
whisper of embers once more. She couldn’t deny that the thought of never
seeing it again dropped with the weight of disappointment in her stomach.
Was the bond real, or had she imagined that too—that she could feel the
Phoenix within her? Perhaps she’d never know.
“Let’s just go,” she muttered, not wanting to stay on the island a
moment longer. She glanced at Kyleer’s palm as it once again extended to
her in offering. Her stomach was already churning at the notion of
Shadowporting. “How long does it take?”
Kyleer smirked. “I think you’re the first to ever ask that.”
“It will only seem like seconds. Less than a minute,” Reylan answered.
Kyleer kept his amusement despite Reylan’s sternness, his eyebrow
cocked as if in challenge at Faythe’s hesitation. “Shall we?”

Shadowporting was just as she remembered, except the extended distance

made her motion sickness stronger than when Kyleer had traveled with her
across the mountain edge to avoid the dark fae’s lightning strike. Faythe
braced herself, eyes clamped shut as she forced back nausea. But most of
all, she fought to suppress the wave of memories from that battle that
threatened to undo her. She had so many questions, but right now, she
needed to make sure everyone was safe.
Kyleer’s hand made her jolt. He winced at her reaction and backed
away. Faythe wrinkled her face in apology. She couldn’t shake her
skittishness at this new ability to detect things it shouldn’t be possible to
detect. Her senses were held permanently on a razor’s edge.
He observed her with a look of caution that only added to her unease.
“I’m fine,” she muttered. It was a lie, and he knew it. As they held each
other’s stares, her brow pinched tightly. Faythe shook her head, her voice
barely a whisper. “I’m not fine, Ky.”
 Kyleer nodded, his arms opening just as she took the step to fall into
them. She didn’t cry or speak or do anything except embrace him tightly, as
if he were a lifeline. A further assurance that this was real and she was here.
“You will be,” was all he said, but it meant so much in his
understanding tone.
Reylan’s presence enveloped her before the shadows cleared to reveal
him at Kyleer’s back. They released each other, and a muscle in Reylan’s
jaw flexed as his eyes shifted between him.
“As if he wasn’t enough of a possessive bastard before,” Kyleer
grumbled, but there was a smirk of amusement as he twisted to his brother.
Faythe didn’t know what he meant by that.
As Reylan crossed the distance toward them, his expression softened
and his gaze didn’t leave Faythe for a second, assessing every inch of her
face. She forced a weak smile at his obvious concern. It was hard to offer
him any reassurance when she had no concept of how to accept herself.
A distant murmur carried on the wind grabbed her focus, and she cast
her eyes in the direction of the sound. The longer she homed in on it, the
louder it became. But it was overwhelmed by the quiet whistle of the wind,
the shuffling of mountain creatures, and the rustling of foliage—things she
shouldn’t be able to hear with such clarity. Then she distinguished the
voices and stumbled back to the present, taking her first steps toward them.
The others. Desperation canceled out everything else. She had to know
everyone had made it.
“Faythe, slow down.” Reylan’s voice accompanied the gentle pull on
her arm.
She slowed to a walk, not realizing she’d broken into a run.
“They’ll all be okay,” Kyleer assured her. But the implication that some
of them could be gravely hurt didn’t settle the pain in her gut.
Her pace was quick. She was unable to slow her steps toward the voices
that drew her closer until they emerged onto the mountain edge, where she
stopped dead in her tracks. Faythe’s hand rose to her chest as though
Zaiana’s lightning had struck her anew. Her body became as heavy as it
would if the rain were falling mercilessly even though the night was clear.
Her eyes found the spread-out group, but she could only focus her attention
on the one thing that breathed life to haunting memories of facing the dark
fae in battle.
Wings.
 It wasn’t only their companions who crouched and stood around the
space. Faythe’s adrenaline spiked to a frightening high as she noted their
company. The kind of terror that gripped her ability to move was the same
kind that sealed the fates of those who succumbed to predators rather than
fighting back. Despite the power she should harbor and the body that was
stronger, Faythe had never felt so weak.
A gentle breeze tamed that surge of fear enough to reel her back to the
present, where she found everyone’s interest had snapped to her. And no
one was fighting. Faythe took a second to glance over them, checking for
any injuries, surprised that it appeared the dark fae were  helping them.
Reylan stepped up beside her, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from everyone
to utter her gratitude to him for grounding her. Instead, she walked toward
them.
Faythe was too busy analyzing everyone to feel the itch of their stunned
attention. Izaiah and Livia had sustained the worst injuries, but it seemed
even they were almost fully healed. A stunning blond dark fae straightened
from his lax position against a rock, inching closer to a younger one
crouching by a fae. The healer, Nerida, Faythe concluded, who looked at
her as if she were a ghost. They all did. Faythe slid her attention to Reuben,
who locked his gaze on her ears, incredulous as the realization dawned that
he was now the only human on the mountain.
Nerida was the first to find a voice among the bewildered faces of
friends and foes. “Remarkable,” she breathed.
Reylan was so close, near touching Faythe as though ready to shield her
from the slightest threat, verbal or otherwise.
“I’m unconscious, aren’t I?” Izaiah was unblinking as he rose. A glance
at his charred clothing made Faythe wince. “This isn’t real.”
“It is.” Reylan’s tone was harsh, and Faythe knew why. She grazed his
hand with a need to add something physical to that assurance.
“So you’re—”
“Yes,” Faythe said, putting all effort into pushing down the panic and
nausea that threatened to undo her now she had an audience surrounding
her, all on tenterhooks to hear the story of how she came to be.
Reylan’s hand took hers fully to halt the rise of anxiety. All she could
muster was a weak squeeze in response.
“I’m glad you’re all safe,” Faythe went on, hoping to divert the topic.
She would explain what happened in those caves and how she stood before
them now no longer human, but she couldn’t let herself believe it changed
anything. She had been given an immortal body on mortal time. Nothing
was promised.
The shift of a shadow had Faythe’s other hand grappling for Lumarias at
her side. The tall dark fae inched closer to his companion. “We’ll be on our
way,” he said, but with a sharp edge that implied hostility. It was there in his
stance too, the male braced to lunge toward the young dark fae and do
whatever necessary to fight them.
“I don’t think so, Tynan,” Kyleer said, his voice nowhere near Faythe
though she could’ve sworn he was on her other side. From the shadows he
emerged behind the dark fae, and Tynan hissed as the point of his Niltain
steel blade pressed into his back. “You and Amaya will be coming with us.”
Tynan reached for his sword despite the odds.
“We don’t want to kill you,” Izaiah cut in, but Faythe was sure she
heard a softness, a faint plea, in that tone.
“Doubtful,” Tynan snarled.
“What are you going to do with them?” Nerida rose from tending to
Livia’s wound, which seemed on its way to being fully healed. The
commander winced as she got to her feet.
“We’re taking them back to Ellium,” Reylan decided. The command in
his voice sent a shiver down Faythe’s spine. “They’re prisoners of war now.
We need to start preparing for a force like we’ve never known in our
lifetime.”
Kyleer’s eyes trailed the length of Tynan’s wings as Reylan spoke,
curious and calculating.
“I want to know where they’re hiding. What makes them weak. What
hurts them. I want to know where Maverick is.”
Those threatening notes were chilling from the general. Faythe blinked.
Twice. She was sure her eyes hadn’t left the dark fae, yet a shimmer briefly
rippled over those towering, lethal wings before they…disappeared.
Tynan’s eyes flashed expectantly to Amaya, who read his command, rolling
her shoulders before her own wings vanished in the same manner. Now they
appeared like any other fae. The fact was both awe-invoking and horrifying.
“Many dark fae harbor the gift of glamouring,” Nerida explained to
Faythe and her companions. “To tell them apart now would require
knowing the shift in scent or how to check their blood.”
 Faythe studied Tynan’s subtle but careful awareness of the darkling. It
was as though he knew that if he attempted his own escape he couldn’t
guarantee hers. Despite the evil she’d witnessed from the dark fae so far, his
protection of Amaya…it was an inkling of humanity Faythe chose to let
ease her resentment.
“I hate to be blunt…” Livia’s voice was still laced with pain as she
leaned against a tall rock. “But what in the Nether happened over on those
Isles?”
That spiked Faythe’s pulse once more, catching everyone’s attention
again. Reylan turned stiff beside her, ready to sway conversation, but
Faythe knew she couldn’t allow her fear to smother the truth from those
who deserved to know.
“I guess you could say I died,” she said, eyes fixed on the ground
because she couldn’t bear to see the mix of emotions. Their thoughts and
feelings, they swarmed her as if she were a magnet of minds, far easier than
before. She blinked hard. Threw up a steel wall to silence some, but it
would take practice to master and block them all out. Faythe blew out a
breath. “‘Transitioned’ is what I believe it’s called.”
“You’re dark fae?” Tynan bit out in partial accusation, as though it were
her choice.
Reylan’s flash of rage was quick and hot, felt through a separate tether
that had nothing to do with Faythe’s ability, and she was glad to find she
could remain open to him but closed off to everyone else. Before he could
voice his wrath, she shook her head.
“No, just…” She had to pause. She had to breathe. This reality was far
harder to voice and accept. Death was an easier fate to believe.
“Fae,” Reylan finished, his words accompanied by the stroke of his
thumb on her hand.
Faythe could only muster a nod, biting back any further explanation.
Because the truth she hadn’t had the chance to confide in Reylan yet was
that she was not fae nor dark fae. Not human either. She was something else
entirely that remained to be discovered. Her lips pressed shut as her mind
rang with Aurialis’s reminder to be safe in their present company. The dark
fae could still escape, and they couldn’t be sure on which side Nerida’s
loyalty lay.
“I think I’ve heard of that before,” the healer said, fascinated. “Fae
being created. But Transitional spells are of the darkest magick. They
always require something specific.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Reylan said in a way that ended the conversation
about Faythe’s situation. “What does matter is that Zaiana and Maverick
succeeded. Dakodas walks our realm, and they have the Dark Temple
Ruin.”
“Gods above,” Izaiah muttered.
“The Gods won’t save us,” Livia grumbled.
“No, they won’t.” Faythe didn’t balk at their attention this time. The
scale of what they were up against was enough for her to suppress her own
troubles for now. She couldn’t afford to be weak and selfish. “Nor do I
think they ever have. We need to start preparing for the greatest war the
realm has seen. A war against the Spirits Marvellas and Dakodas.”
“And what of Aurialis? Surely as the last true all-powerful Spirit—”
“She’s gone.” Faythe cut Nerida off. But as she did, she could have
sworn a pulse emitted from her chest. “At least, there’s nothing she can do
for us now.”
The healer was observant; her eyes flashed down to Faythe’s other hand
by her side, and there was something of question and wonder in them
before Faythe clamped her fist around the golden mark. Nerida didn’t voice
her curiosity.
“You said that you died.” Livia retraced her steps carefully.
Faythe slid her attention to the commander and gave a small nod.
“The dark fae and Dakodas—did they see it? Believe it to be true?”
Her stomach hollowed, but she cast her eyes up to Reylan, the only one
who could answer. Her knees almost buckled at the quick flex of his
expression. Maybe the others wouldn’t notice his soul shattering behind his
eyes as he remembered that moment, but she did. Faythe squeezed his hand.
“Maverick and Dakodas. I believe they did,” he said with a hard edge.
Faythe had never felt more helpless about how to make such a grim,
desolate event less traumatic to revisit in memory. She knew no measure of
time would lessen its impact.
“Zaiana?”
Reylan’s eyes flashed to Tynan, whose posture flared at her mention. “I
can’t be certain she didn’t suspect what was happening to Faythe when she
left after the Spirit,” Reylan said.
“She would have told Dakodas.” Kyleer’s statement held a question,
followed by the shift of his blade on Tynan.
 All eyes pinned the dark fae. His lips pressed together firmly. It was
clear he would sooner be cut down than spill a word about his leader.
“I don’t think so,” a quiet voice said hesitantly. Amaya shrank into
herself when the attention shifted to her.
“Say nothing more, Amaya,” Tynan warned.
Conflict warred on her delicate face. It was hard to believe the darkling
could harbor any of the evil instilled in her kind—or at least the evil they’d
been led to believe the dark fae were formed of. Apology was written in her
green eyes. She seemed to want to share more about their master.
“Zaiana isn’t a mindless follower. She’s smart. I don’t believe she’d
give up such knowledge if she suspected Faythe was still alive, not without
biding some time to see if it could benefit her first.”
Kyleer huffed a humorless laugh. “Her prize will be in displaying her
undying loyalty to the Great Spirit by outing Faythe’s Transition.”
“You’re wrong.” The darkling was brave. Despite facing off with
powerful fae warriors and the only other of her kind being unable to save
her, Amaya didn’t appear frightened. “Glory has never been a prize to her.
If you can think of nothing else she’d have to gain from delaying such
invaluable knowledge from getting to Dakodas, then you’re all fools to
underestimate her. Zaiana’s not afraid to defy orders.”
Amaya spoke of Zaiana with such pride it was difficult not to admire
her sense of perception. Faythe tried not to think of the bright amethyst eyes
that had swept over her along with phantom shudders of lightning.
“We can’t trust a word either of you says.” Izaiah dismissed her.
“We might have to,” Livia countered. She looked to Faythe, who tried
not to balk. “We have a chance at gaining the upper hand here. If they think
she’s dead…so will Marvellas. If she discovers you didn’t just live but
came back stronger than ever, her hunt for you will take a far more
destructive turn. You don’t have to share everything you went through with
us now, Faythe, but it’s hard not to believe it marked a powerful change that
could turn the tide of this war. Marvellas and Dakodas would know it too.”
“What are you saying?” Reylan asked.
Livia looked between Faythe and Reylan as though she knew her
suggestion would immediately be met with protest. “We’re not all returning
to Ellium,” she explained. “Faythe isn’t going back.”
 CHAPTER 6

Faythe

T where they’d battled

he group set up camp in a patch of forest near the mountain edge
the dark fae. A whole day passed, and night fell
once more. Faythe barely heard the conversations of her fae companions.
Their bickering seemed repetitive and offered no solutions. Instead, her
mind was preoccupied with silent calculations and wonder. She let the
others battle it out without her as though they had the final say on what she
chose to do.
Livia’s plan was simple: Faythe should avoid returning to anywhere she
could be recognized. Not Ellium; not High Farrow. But to what end? This
was what the rest of them debated. The key point that struck a nerve with
Reylan in particular was that he would return to the capital.
To deliver the news of her death.
“You’re the strongest of us all. To make this believable, you need to be
the one to emerge and tell the story.”
“That’s a bullshit reason,” Reylan growled.
Faythe sat on a log by the fire, letting the ripples of flame calm her
mind and soothe her heart from the ache that formed at Reylan’s distress.
She fidgeted with the wooden butterfly in her hands, her brow pinching
every time her mind wandered to the memory of that night with him in her
subconscious.
“You haven’t eaten.” Kyleer settled down next to her, his voice low as
he offered her some stale rations.
“I’m not hungry,” she answered, pocketing the wood carving.
 “Your body would disagree. I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed
already. I imagine your fae form is burning nutrients far faster than you’re
used to.”
She couldn’t deny her exhaustion. Faythe had barely moved all day
since the mere thought was tiring. It made sense that it was due to her new
body’s needs, and she should have realized it sooner, but there was so much
else to deliberate over.
Kyleer nudged the rations wrapped in a bundle of cloth toward her once
more. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Faythe took them, offering
a grateful smile as she began to pick at the food, trying to settle the greater
twist in her stomach at the mention of her fae form.
“You’re the one Agalhor trusts the most. The only one who might get
him to listen when all Nether breaks loose at the news. Sending Kyleer and
Izaiah on their own with the dark fae won’t be convincing enough. I’ll be
with Faythe. She’ll be safe with me.” Livia’s voice turned soft toward the
end.
But it was then that Faythe had enough of being silent. “I’ll be safe on
my own,” she said, drawing the attention of the camp. The dark fae sat
together at the opposite end of the fire. Nerida remained near Amaya, while
Izaiah watched them carefully should they attempt to flee. “Let them
believe their frail human princess didn’t make it. Because it’s the truth. I
can’t explain what I am now—I’m still figuring that out. But I’m capable of
looking out for myself.” Faythe shifted her gaze to Reylan, and it was an
effort not to plea with him. “Livia is right: you need to be the one to tell
him. We owe him that. You won’t have my body, and they’ll be speculating
why that is. Agalhor alone needs to know I’m still alive, and you’re the
only one he’ll listen to long enough to hear it after you announce my death
in front of everyone.”
Reylan was already shaking his head. “I only just got you back.”
Stunned he’d let his vulnerability slip in front of the others, Faythe held
his gaze, but it was as if he didn’t even remember they were here.
“If something happened while I wasn’t there…if they found you—”
“They won’t,” Faythe interjected, wanting nothing more than to be
alone with him. “I know a thing or two about remaining hidden.”
“Going alone isn’t an option,” Livia said. “I don’t doubt you, Faythe,
but none of us know what you’re capable of yet. Right now, you’re just as
much a danger to yourself as you are to those around you. I’ll be coming
with you. Let them believe I didn’t make it either.”
Faythe flexed her fists against the heat that began to form in her palms.
She wanted to protest, but as Livia’s knowing eyes flashed down to them,
she ground her teeth and looked away in defeat, hating that the commander
was right.
“We still need to travel out of the mountains together. We’ll decide what
to do next when we reach open ground.” Kyleer stood as the voice of
reason, and reluctant grumbles were exchanged before everyone found their
own spots around the campsite to settle down for the night.
“I can take first watch,” Faythe said, coughing to clear the last bite of
dry bread that stuck in her throat.
“I’ve already got it covered,” Kyleer assured her.
She bit her tongue to stop herself from arguing back. Every time she
offered to help, one of them jumped in first, and it was grating on her last
nerve that they weren’t letting her weigh in on anything. Reluctantly,
Faythe took her spot beneath the tree trunk and accepted that this was just
another thing she’d have to let the others take the lead on.
She hadn’t had any real sleep in days. She couldn’t as nightmares worse
than any she’d ever been plagued with before awaited her in slumber. She
was afraid to greet the darkness, having been in the embrace of a darkness
so final, and she couldn’t shake this new, deep-set terror that it was still
beckoning to her.
Hours passed. Faythe sat against the tree trunk wide-awake. The others
slept soundly, and in her fatigued state she admitted there was a part of her
that envied them. Her head lolled against the wood as she stared through the
endless distorted rows of tree trunks, their eerie silhouettes lifting the hairs
on her arms. They inspired visions of the dark caves that stole her former
life. She couldn’t soothe her racing mind.
Reylan lay close by. Faythe guessed he was sleeping. He appeared as
still and silent as the others, and as her gaze slipped to him, Faythe found a
sight so precious she wanted to capture it. She imagined herself reaching for
the strand of silver that was almost touching his eyes. She felt herself tuck it
back, but it was now too short, and in her frustration she wanted to know
exactly when he’d decided to cut it and why. It had happened too long ago
for her to believe she already knew.
 She studied his face instead. When awake, Reylan’s expression was
rarely free of creases of horror and concern. Knowing she caused it all was
a permanent weight on her chest. He deserved better. He deserved more
than to be fated to one so tangled up in darkness and desolation.
Faythe couldn’t bear it anymore. With feline stealth she got to her feet
and began to distance herself from the camp. She wouldn’t go far, but she
needed a moment to feel alone. Even though they were all asleep, being
around her companions still coated her with unease. She didn’t know who
she was anymore, and she felt her companions’ eyes like a mirror. She’d
studied them over the past day, trying to figure out what they saw behind
their tentative, wary gazes, but…they looked at her with as much
uncertainty as she felt within herself.
She knew where she was headed; she just needed to get out from below
the canopy that seemed to compress her tighter. It was as if the trees were
wooden bodies huddled together, engulfing her in their masses. While her
fae body granted her far more stealth to be silent than her human form, she
couldn’t stop her clumsy footwork in her rush to get clear of the trees.
Claustrophobia gripped her throat and burned in her eyes. She gritted her
teeth, hating the weak, irrational, helpless state she’d been reduced to so
easily.
She was not underground. Not in the temple of darkness anymore. She
was free and alive.
Breaking out past the tree line was how she imagined it would have felt
to emerge from that cave, though she hadn’t had the chance to do so before
losing consciousness. Bracing her hands on her knees now, Faythe breathed
and reeled back her adrenaline to prevent the same thing from happening
again. Then she walked out until she was toeing the edge of the high
mountainside. The cool, unrestricted air eased her panic.
She sat dangling her legs over the edge, not fearing the great height.
Memories of her leap off the mountain to gain the Firebird’s trust inspired a
surge of strength. She wanted to feel that kind of high again.
“Mind if I join you?”
Kyleer had been lingering behind her for some time now. She didn’t
mind it and was glad he’d given her some space to calm down before he
finally approached. Faythe only twisted her head in response, giving a small
smile, and he read that as acceptance. In truth, she was grateful for his
company.
 Her thumb idly traced the golden symbol in her palm, unsure of what to
make of it.
“It’s just power.” Kyleer spoke to her thoughts. “It changes nothing
about who you are.”
She swallowed hard, wanting so desperately to believe it was true.
“Power is changing. It’s a darkness within us all,” she whispered. At the
mere thought of the well of magick she was afraid of—lest she find it
bottomless—she felt it awaken with a whispering heat. “What happens
when one has more than any person should?”
She didn’t know what it was about Kyleer that made her so effortlessly
bare all to him. She knew he would help or even just listen without any
judgment, even if he didn’t know all the answers. She didn’t need him to
say anything, only hear the terrors that kept her from being able to embrace
what she was now.
“It’s okay to want this,” Kyleer said carefully.
Faythe turned to him. It wasn’t the reaction she was expecting, but it
made her pulse skip a beat.
“I watched you train many times, always pushing as though you could
match us when you knew it wasn’t possible. Not before. It’s okay if you
find yourself not entirely horrified to be fae.”
A small weight lifted with his words—one she didn’t realize had been
growing these past few days. But that momentary reprieve was quickly
doused by her concern.
“I’m not just fae, Ky. I don’t know what I am.”
“Do you think that matters?”
“How can it not?”
“Because if you still hold love for those you loved as a human, still
treasure the same memories and hope for the future…why should it
matter?”
Appreciation for his illuminating advice settled her heart. Faythe
nodded, adding a smile to try to convince him of her acceptance. His face
gave away a hint of defeat that told her he knew she didn’t, not fully, when
all this remained to be tested. The situation she’d found herself in was
something she had to figure out on her own.
“Reylan isn’t the only one with plans to seek vengeance on the ones
who did this to you. Maverick and Zaiana best enjoy their days until we
catch up to them.”
 “She let me go,” Faythe admitted. “Zaiana. I don’t know why. She had
me. It should have been her who killed me. But she let me go.”
Kyleer was silent for long enough that Faythe had to know what
expression he wore. His brows were set in deep thought as though the
beautiful dark fae had been consuming his mind long before now.
“Had you met her before?” she asked.
“No,” he was quick to say, face smoothing out as if he were banishing
her from his thoughts completely. “She’s not a face so easily forgotten.
Regardless, she harmed you. And everything that happened to you can be
traced back to her.”
Faythe couldn’t disagree. While she’d released her resentment for
Zaiana, it wasn’t her place to convince Kyleer to let go of his. Awareness
tingled at her nape, but Reylan didn’t come any closer, instead lingering
under the canopy at their backs.
She met eyes with Kyleer, and it warmed her that somewhere along the
line of their friendship they’d developed their own unspoken language. His
smile as he read her face told her he didn’t mind leaving to give her and
Reylan some alone time. Kyleer stood and gave her shoulder a gentle
squeeze before walking off.
Reylan’s advance was slow, careful, as though he could spook her, and
she hated it. Not his caution, but that he felt it was necessary. He said
nothing as he sat in Kyleer’s place. Close, but not close enough when she
had such an urge to feel him.
“The nightmares are back,” he stated at last, his voice tentative and
pained.
Faythe nodded. “I don’t think it has anything to do with forgiving
myself this time,” she admitted. Maybe what caused the nightmares now
was something she would never find freedom from. For there was no one
else she knew who’d survived the touch of death.
“Maybe not forgiving,”—he aired his thoughts—“but accepting.”
“Why does everyone seem to think I haven’t accepted what’s happened
to me?” she snapped—and immediately regretted it. Reylan wasn’t
deserving of her anger. Faythe bowed her head, tucking her arms a fraction
tighter around her knees. She was afraid.
More than anything, she was afraid of herself.
Reylan stayed silent, and she couldn’t bear to look at him, knowing
she’d come apart the moment she did. She spoke her thoughts aloud instead
to the wide-open air that stretched on for miles above treetops and
mountains.
“It’s as if there’s a fire beneath my skin. Shallow, just a hum in response
to the thoughts I can’t silence, but I think it’s a warning. Of what I am…
what I could become. I feel…I feel as if I could burn the world with a
thought. I wouldn’t mean to, but it’s there. Like a tempting trigger. I’m a
liability waiting to detonate, and when I do…I can’t be certain it’ll only be
our enemies who catch flame in the fires.” She paused, wondering if she
should continue voicing all the thoughts that had been tormenting her since
she awakened in this new form. “I don’t feel good or fearless or powerful. I
feel…dangerous. The kind that’s unpredictable. That won’t spare friend or
foe. And I’m afraid.” Finally, she found the courage to turn to him. It was
an effort not to whimper at his glittering blue eyes that reached out for her,
pleading to help and not knowing how. Faythe extended her hand, sliding it
over his. “Do you feel it?” she whispered desperately. “Tell me you feel it.”
The tension in his body spoke of his shock, making her believe he felt
that dangerous power too. But she had to hear it from his lips. Had to know
she wasn’t alone in harboring the entity that was neither good nor evil. It
was whatever her heart willed it to be, and that was completely and utterly
terrifying.
Reylan shifted closer until their bodies were almost flush, side by side,
and his palm met her face. “I feel you.”
Her brows knitted together at that.
“I need you to know that before all else, that doesn’t change. But I feel
the power too. You’re not alone. Never again.” His hands encased hers and
Reylan tentatively flipped her palms upward, holding her stare in case she
objected. When she said nothing, his gaze dropped.
Faythe’s pulse fluctuated as she followed it.
Reylan’s touch was gentle and soothing as he ran his thumb over
Aurialis’s golden symbol. “We’ve seen markings in your palms before, but
not this one.” His wonder seemed like a question.
“And not permanent,” Faythe added.
His anger seemed to dance with sadness—no, disappointment—as
though he blamed himself for what had happened to her. “Faythe…” Her
name left his lips in a breath.
She shook her head, averting her gaze, but before he could interpret it as
her not wanting to share, Faythe spoke. “I don’t know what it means,” she
tried. Tried to form the answers to her own tormenting questions. Questions
the Spirit of Life had left her to discover on her own. There was no
contacting her now like before because… “I had to change to come back.
Into far more than just fae. Aurialis…I think her power lives on in me now,
but I’m not sure what that is. I’m so scared, Reylan. Scared of what I could
become and scared there could come a time I don’t have any control over
it.” She willed her eyes to gauge his reaction.
Reylan watched her thoughtfully. His furrowed brow made her heart
pound. Yet no matter the words he spoke, his calm voice could always
soothe her racing pulse. “It’s okay to be afraid, Faythe. Fear can be the
weapon you need to rise. I’ve seen you overcome it before; it won’t become
your weakness now.”
He was so sure, so confident. Faythe didn’t know what she’d done for
him to see such a strength in her. Then another flash of knowledge from
Aurialis skipped her pulse as she gazed at his face. He frowned as if he felt
her awe.
“You once said you’d only met a handful of others like you before—
with your ability.”
“I have,” he confirmed.
“Mindseers.”
Reylan only nodded, his confusion swirling through his eyes. Faythe
had to tell him what she knew even if, just like with her own power, she
wasn’t sure what it meant.
“They can diminish a person’s power, sometimes completely. But are
you sure you’ve seen them use that power afterward?”
Reylan contemplated this, tearing away from her to stare as vacantly out
over the land as she did. “I guess not,” he said at last.
Faythe hated the disturbance she felt rising in the pit of her stomach like
something bitter. Though it was Reylan’s emotion she felt, it was one
Faythe was well-acquainted with: the fear of not knowing oneself.
“I don’t think I have the only impossible ability to have existed,” she
admitted carefully. Reylan didn’t look at her, too deep in thought, but she
watched the moonlight pool over his features. “You’re Spirit Blessed by all
three of them, able to harness any ability you take. It’s something Aurialis
believed could be valuable.” She could barely whisper her conclusions; it
was easier to accept she was the only one in danger. “I can’t stand the
thought of it, but if Marvellas hasn’t already found out about your ability, as
soon as she does, she’ll want to come after you too.”
Their silence became cold and heavy, but Faythe waited patiently for
him to judge all she said.
“It changes nothing.”
Relief relaxed her shoulders, but her fear remained a taunting force,
convincing Faythe he could be taken from her. “Of course not.”
He shook his head. “It changes nothing because she’s not getting a
chance to be near you. None of them are. Despite what use she might think
she has for me, I don’t care as long as she doesn’t get to you.”
Faythe opened her mouth to protest his fierce protection, but he
continued.
“I’m not being heroic, Faythe, because what I would do to keep you
from her goes far beyond any consideration for my life or morality. I won’t
care what becomes of tomorrow because there wouldn’t be another I’d want
to see again without you.”
He reached a hand to her face. Every touch of his was so gentle, and she
couldn’t bear it. She needed to take back control of her emotions. And that
started with showing Reylan she wasn’t about to break with one wrong
movement. Faythe shifted, hooking her leg around him so fast it forced him
down. She straddled his legs before leaning over him, her chest pressed to
his while her hair pooled by his head.
“I’m not made of glass, Reylan,” she said, her voice dropping to a
breathless plea with the desire that flooded through her body at the feel of
him.
Reylan’s midnight eyes were ablaze searching hers. His fingers grazed
her temple, tucking the loose strands behind her pointed ear, where his
marveling gaze stalled.
Then the air whooshed from her, and her eyes flew wide-open as his
strong arm encircled her. When they stilled, Faythe was pinned on her back
with Reylan hovering above her. The light impression of his hard, toned
body ignited something deep within. His hand curled around her throat—
not with any pressure, but in an enticing challenge.
“No, you are not.” His voice was pure gravel. “My Phoenix.”
Their mouths collided, and Faythe’s spine curved with the need to be
pressed impossibly tight against him. Feeling every glorious contour in this
resurrected body of hers was like discovering him anew. Discovering
herself anew. It was exhilarating. Gods, she wanted to explore every new
possibility with him right there on the open mountain edge.
Reylan’s arm slid under her back, which arched off the ground. Their
lips didn’t stop moving as he lifted her until her face was angled down
while she straddled his lap. Their kiss slowed, heat and passion turning into
a soft searching, a longing, as if they were both realizing at once their days
were numbered before they would be separated again for another indefinite
stretch of time.
They simply held each other. After everything they’d been through,
there was never a more treasured moment than this: both of them alone,
safe in the knowledge it wasn’t the end for them.
“You just told me you feel as if you could burn the world with a
thought.” Reylan reflected on Faythe’s words carefully. His face pulled
back from where he’d been resting on her chest while her fingers weaved
through his hair. “How am I supposed to leave you and go back to Ellium?”
Faythe huffed a short laugh. “Because I can’t have you there to save me
all the time. If I have any hope of discovering what I’m capable of, now is
the opportunity.” Her brow furrowed as she looked over his face, the
thought of being parted so soon aching in her chest. “I don’t like it either,
but this is the best plan we have to find out if the dark fae know about me.
One month. I didn’t mention it earlier with the others because I’ve been
thinking it over. Livia, Reuben, and I will head to Fenher. It should pass the
time enough for you to at least escort Nerida home. If all is still silent, I’ll
head to High Farrow. Nik will be able to keep me hidden. It seems fitting,
really, to go back to where it all began. Go back to my old life.”
“You weren’t born to remain hidden.” Reylan watched her with an air of
awe. “You were born to rise. Made to defy. To carry the dreams of those
who can’t fight for them.”
Her brow furrowed tight in thought. “Do you believe in past lives?” she
pondered. “Do you think you would remember…if you could come back?”
“You remember all, don’t you?”
Faythe shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I— Never mind.” How
could she explain to him what she couldn’t make sense of herself?
“You can tell me anything,” Reylan said.
She lay her forehead against his and her eyes slipped closed. Part of
Faythe hoped her muddled thoughts could be explained away by the fact
her mind was still spinning wild from her rebirth. But in his arms, seeing
the reel of images she couldn’t ignore, Faythe could only treasure her
deeper connection to him. The feeling of having known him for far longer
than what they knew to be true.
“Promise me something?”
“Anything.” Reylan’s lips grazed her jaw, his voice prickling her skin.
“Anything at all.”
After a few lustful breaths, she said, “Promise me this will never
change. That no matter what happens in the war to come, you’ll remember
that I see you and I hear you. And that I love you, Reylan Arrowood. In
every lifetime, I will love you.”
Reylan’s eyes closed and didn’t open again as he leaned forward to
press his lips to her chest. Then he locked eyes with her to make his
promise. “Before bond, title, or name, despite anything that could try to part
us, I love you with everything I am, Faythe Ashfyre.” His lips grazed hers.
“Until the end of days.”
 CHAPTER 7

Reylan

R declaration
eylan A rrowood suffered through nothing except the chant of the
he was being forced to make. Not the wild pounding of the
rain that battered him mercilessly, trying to drown him, slow him. Not the
thundering of hooves as he rode through the punishing storm. He heard
nothing but those words circling in his mind as malicious taunts. Felt only
the painful weight of his failure.
He needed to return to Ellium. It was all that mattered.
He drew focus, knowing if he didn’t, he risked losing his composure
completely. He gambled with the idea of retribution; of damning the world
to burn and unleashing his rage on everything in his path.
But that wouldn’t help her. Wouldn’t save her.
I failed her.
Reylan rode harder, not caring if his company kept pace or stopped. The
fury in his bones pulsed so tense and hot he barely registered the noise of
their horses’ hooves behind him. If he let the anger go, devastation would
take its place. He had to remember he still had a duty.
To her.
He couldn’t stop recalling the memory that would haunt him for
eternity. The failure he deserved to never find freedom from.
The minute the light in her eyes faded out.
The second the last breath left her body.
The suspended moment when his tether to her…broke.
 He couldn’t stop thinking with horror that it wasn’t the first time he’d
endured such agony. Reylan clenched his teeth. He wouldn’t let the
merciless beating of the brutal weather win its fight to slow his stride.
Nothing would stop him. He owed her that.
He owed her everything.
The outer wall of Ellium stretched triumphantly over the horizon. He
galloped straight for it.
The gates opened swiftly upon his approach. Reylan didn’t pause. He
charged through the city, the thundering of hooves over stone alerting the
sparse pedestrian traffic to move out of his path. The signal of his arrival
would have already passed through their swift communication line and
Agalhor would know. The cage of Reylan’s chest threatened to break
against the hard beat of his heart.
Barreling over the courtyard, Reylan tugged on the reins to halt his
steed halfway. His breaths blew out hard, spraying the rain that rolled down
his face. His cold eyes locked on the portico. On the King of Rhyenelle who
stood there expectantly.
Reylan dismounted promptly, each step toward his king weighted as if
stones filled his boots. The words he had to speak rose in his throat like
burning flame. Behind Agalhor, the court flooded out of the castle,
everyone’s attention piqued at his obvious urgency in storming through the
city. Under the cover of the courtyard bodies scattered and gathered, faces
appearing in the windows surrounding them. Reylan held his attention on
the king, but it was not returned.
Agalhor scanned the space behind him for far too long as if he’d already
concluded what Reylan was to convey. The general stopped advancing,
staying at the bottom of the steps.
“We were ambushed in the Fire Mountains by a force too great to
defeat. A species thought to be extinct.”
Agalhor pinned him with a wide-eyed stare, scarily firm and
calculating. Reylan’s soul was cleaved, but not for his king.
“The dark fae rise again.”
Murmurs scattered—of horror and fear—creating a faint buzz barely
audible above the inclement weather. Reylan stood unyielding against it.
They had to know. Had to start preparing for a threat none of them could
possibly fathom.
Yet it was as if the king hadn’t heard his harrowing words.
 “Where is she?” Agalhor asked carefully, the calm before an eruption of
fury nothing would prepare Reylan for when he got the answer he didn’t
want.
Hooves clattered over the stone behind him, but Reylan knew as
Agalhor noticed the others’ approach he wouldn’t find who he longed for.
His next words sank talons in his chest and caused an unrelenting acidic
burn in his throat. Because they were real. That dark acknowledgment
slammed into him without warning, striking worse than any physical blow
he’d endured and threatening to bring him to his knees. The rain didn’t
relent, nor did the darkness ease, as Reylan delivered the dire news that
would shake the kingdom.
“Faythe Ashfyre is dead.”
 CHAPTER 8

Faythe

“I t ’ s him .”
Faythe’s voice was low as she kept her hood drawn, face angled
down. Through her mask she’d been watching the fae by the corner all
night, wondering if he was the crook she’d been on the hunt for; one of the
Raiders plaguing the town on the edge of Rhyenelle. The mask that covered
half her face was a necessary hindrance. Crafted beautifully to have
depthless doll eyes and brows to match, the red was decorated with a
pattern of black and gold. It allowed her to see out without anyone
glimpsing her golden irises.
Livia set down her cup, not immediately turning to look. “How can you
be sure?”
“He’s been approached by two separate people this night. Each has been
paid. The owners of this fine establishment clearly cater to his every need,
yet he hasn’t produced a single coin for the endless glasses of wine he’s
consumed. The barmaid—” Faythe halted as the fae raised a lazy hand to
summon the beautiful barmaid. She was otherwise confident in her role,
smiling as she tended to her other guests—except this fae. Her whole
demeanor changed. She braced herself.
She feared him.
“Have you tried honing your senses? Extending your hearing to catch
his name?” Livia shuffled her cards, in the midst of a game against Nerida
and Reuben.
 Faythe ground her teeth. She’d tried, yet every time she tuned her
newfound fae hearing it overwhelmed her. She’d yet to discover how to
block out every irritating noise she didn’t want to hear to focus on one
thing.
“No,” she admitted.
Livia leaned back in her chair. Turning her head brought them face-to-
face, and she flinched. “I’m still not used to that thing. It’s creepy.”
Faythe was caught between a smile and a scoff. “Try wearing it.” She
subconsciously adjusted the hard mask that had started to slick her skin in
the heat.
“You’re lucky I have been listening. You’re right—one of his clients
revealed his name earlier. I thought he was going to kill the fae right there.
It’s Nessair.”
“I haven’t not been listening. I don’t know how you do it—separate the
sounds, I mean.”
“It takes practice. Even young fae need to learn how to master their
senses.”
“So I’m no better than a faeling?”
“Exactly.”
Faythe bit back her disgruntled response. In the near month since they’d
parted from the others, Livia had been trying her best to help Faythe with
everything new that came with being fae. Every daunting thing that had her
feeling out of control, out of touch, with her own body.
“Don’t forget how far you’ve come since everything happened.” Nerida
was far more encouraging.
Faythe watched the barmaid approach Nessair apprehensively. He’d yet
to touch her, but she kept a cautious distance as though anticipating the turn
this infamous fae might take. His coarse brown hair needed brushing away
from his eyes. He sported three long scars set at different angles over his
face. He was the perfect depiction of a composed monster.
Nessair’s reputation as the leader of a ruthless band of Raiders had put
Faythe on his tracks over a week ago. As they’d set out to Fenher to return
Nerida home, Faythe decided to get a head start on eradicating Rhyenelle’s
Raider problem, which she’d first learned about in Desture. Nessair
reminded her—with fresh fuel for her rage and need for revenge—of Rezar,
an evil fae whose life she’d taken for the human’s he’d ended in her name
out of spite.
 And she would do it again.
Nerida set down her cards, sliding around the table and tucking herself
in beside Faythe. “Look away from him,” she instructed. “Sometimes it’s
easier to take away one sense so you can hone another. He’s speaking right
now—do you hear him?”
Faythe did as Nerida asked, twisting in her chair but keeping her head
dipped. She strained to listen, to reach all the way across the room to where
Nessair was occupying a whole booth to himself. His voice she recognized,
but it was another murmur that began to throb in her head with everything
else she heard.
“Vaguely,” she responded.
“Now imagine he’s the only person in this room. Just you and him.
Close your eyes if it helps. One by one, start to erase the other sounds you
don’t want to hear as if they’re not in the room at all.”
She had nothing to lose despite feeling foolish for being unable to grasp
the seemingly simple task. Her lids slid closed as she attempted to follow
Nerida’s instructions. A group of rowdy humans’ slurs and loud jeering
grated on her senses right away, and her instinct was to retreat. Then there
was the barkeep pouring drinks: the clink of tankards, the running slosh of
ale. The flipping of cards, the chiming of coins, the scraping of wooden
chairs. Laughter. Voices. Laughter. Then…
It wasn’t his voice but something else she tuned in to. The high pitch of
steel being freed from a sheath.
Faythe’s eyes snapped open, sliding back over to Nessair.
“I said I wanted wine, not ale, darling.”
Faythe didn’t have to try to hear those words as the fae’s voice rose with
his temper. His knife speared the table in an act of intimidation.
“Don’t do anything reckless,” Livia warned.
“Maybe you have something far more alluring to offer so we can
forgive this mistake…”
The barmaid’s shrill cry of protest echoed across the crowded room as
Nessair grabbed her by the waist when she made to retreat. Faythe almost
broke a smile as Livia swore, slammed down her cards, and disregarded her
own command. With one swift throw, her dagger lodged itself into the
wood by Nessair’s head as she shot from her chair. Faythe followed in no
rush, watching the commander handle the situation in awe. More gasps and
squeals erupted as people sought distance from the conflict when Livia
pounced onto the table, retrieved her blade, and held it to Nessair’s throat
with a vicious glare.
“Only a pitiful male needs to force a female’s affection,” she snarled.
To Faythe’s displeasure, Nessair’s smug lips turned upward in a smirk.
“I was wondering what it would take to get you to make your move,” he
said.
Alarmed, Faythe clutched Lumarias and approached the two slowly.
The fae slid his eyes to her then, and she tried not to balk at the attention. It
was as though he knew…
Knew who she was.
“You’ve caused quite the hindrance for me with your antics,
Bloodmasked.”
Faythe’s stiff shoulders fell as he hissed the nickname, and she had to
stifle her chuckle. With the crimson red of her mask, she supposed the name
fit. Admittedly, she even found it flattering. They’d ended the threat of so
many crooks during their stops in Rhyenelle towns that this was clearly the
result of those efforts.
“Our antics won’t be troubling you anymore,” Faythe said. “Once
you’re dead.”
Nessair gave a smooth, arrogant chuckle, but his smile remained even
when Livia pressed her dagger tighter to cut off the sound. Through gritted
teeth he said, “There is a handsome prize for your capture.” He leaned back
as though this were a fight he was watching, not participating in.
Commotion began to rise behind them, and Faythe turned to spy several
huge forms filing into the establishment. Nerida stumbled to get some
distance from them. As a healer, she wasn’t comfortable with violence, but
Faythe had witnessed the lethal force she could become with her
Waterwielding when it was necessary.
“Many have tried—and failed—to take her down,” Livia said.
Nessair’s side-smile turned feline. “It is not just her we’re after,” he said
with dark glee. “Evander wants you as well, Livia Arrowood.”
Faythe had never seen Livia gawk before. For the first time, a terror so
stilling paled the commander’s face enough to reveal a rare moment of
vulnerability.
It wasn’t Nerida’s ability or Faythe’s steel that was quick enough to stop
Nessair’s attempt to grab Livia; a full tankard of ale doused him, and
everyone’s incredulous gazes snapped to the barmaid. Nessair’s cry was a
higher pitch than Faythe expected.
Then all Nether broke loose.
Her instinct was to spin, immediately clashing swords with one of the
others who appeared to have been waiting to advance from outside all this
time. She cursed herself for not seeing the trap, but as she ducked under an
attempt to swipe for her and picked up a nearby tankard to knock her
assailant clean out with it, Faythe quickly decided she was enjoying the
dangerous rush of adrenaline.
This wasn’t the first group of bandits they’d faced, and it wouldn’t be
the last. Yet Fenher was only a couple of days’ travel away now.
Faythe leaped onto the tables while the inn descended into chaos.
Sparing a glance at her friends, she saw Livia had Nessair by his collar, her
face heated as she spoke to him. The fae seemed to be mocking her.
Meanwhile, Nerida was by the barmaid, the two of them trying to ease out
of the fight, but two crooks approached them with sinister smiles. Faythe
cursed colorfully, hopping between tables. From behind she jumped onto
one of the crooks’ shoulders. Hooking her leg under his armpit, she twisted
her weight and brought him sprawling to the ground while her knee dug
into his chest. He wheezed through his bewilderment, but the pommel of
Lumarias connecting with his head knocked him unconscious.
Faythe hadn’t avoided injury. She shook off her sword arm, which felt
as if it had met with stone. Livia had taught her many maneuvers she’d been
able to practice during their time together, ones she never could have
attempted against a fae as a human. And while she had a lot to learn still,
being free to explore her new strength and agility was the one thing that
kept her from spiraling into thoughts of what else had changed within her.
The power she had yet to touch. Even the mind ability she had before.
“Faythe!”
Reuben’s cry snapped her attention just in time for her to watch him
being dragged out by a hooded bandit. White rage stole her vision; instinct
drove her movements. Faythe exploded out onto the street. The contrasting
silence rang in her ears, and she strained to focus. The tail of a cloak
disappeared down a dark alley. She shot toward it.
The stillness was deadly.
Twisting, she raised her sword to block the one that fell. In the same
breath, she pushed off it, engaging in a quick sequence of attacks until she
realized they were doing nothing but defending themselves and studying
her.
The person wore a full-black mask like hers, though there was nothing
painted on theirs.
“Who are you?” Faythe hissed, shoving off her next attack and taking a
few backward strides.
They titled their head as if the question confused them.
Her heart beat against her rib cage as she wondered if this were mere
coincidence. Another member of Nessair’s gang, yet something about this
one seemed more alarming than the crook inside.
“I want to know why you’ve returned now.” The male voice sounded
distorted through his mask.
Faythe shivered with a chill when it plucked a string of familiarity, but
her mind offered no sure recognition.
The distraction cost her greatly.
She cried out as her arms were grabbed and the string of her mask
pulled. She thrashed against the hold, but there were too many, and her
cover fell away as they pushed her down to her knees. Breathing hard at the
damning position, Faythe kept her head down for as long as she could,
praying her companions would find her first. It was all about to be over.
Perhaps these fae worked for Dakodas.
The scratch of a blade along her throat made her teeth clench. Faythe
defied its sting until she thought they might truly cut her. She cast her eyes
up. They’d been looking down on her in silence for so long she didn’t know
why they were bothering to waste time. The blade trailed along her
cheekbone but didn’t cut, and all she could do was pour rippling fury into
her stare.
“Why give him mercy only to become his downfall once again?”
Nothing he said made sense. It was as though his words were meant for
someone else entirely, but there was no hiding her face. Faythe could see no
other way out of this, though it terrified her to reach into her newly
sensitive well of magick. She didn’t have his eyes for easy access, but with
her newfound power, she found herself seizing his movements.
The choking sound he emitted surprised the others, who loosened their
grip enough for Faythe to give over to the strength of her fae body. Her
elbow jammed into one who groaned and released her free arm, allowing
Faythe to reach over her thigh for a dagger, which she lodged into the
second one’s chest as she spun and stood then slipped it back into the
holster. As they all rose to advance, so did Faythe’s hand, and their splutters
sounded out as she seized the four males who’d ambushed her, including
their leader.
Her veins pulsed with a sickening heat. It gathered at her nape and ran
down her spine. Faythe breathed steady against the dark chant to kill. Sweat
slicked her skin, but she sent the three before her into unconsciousness
before spinning to the masked male.
The slapping of feet sounded outside the ally, and in her second of
distraction fire tore across her thigh. She cried out as she fell.
Faythe pressed a hand over the bleeding wound. Figures surrounded her,
and Nerida’s floral scent wrapped around her first.
“It’s not that deep. I’ll heal this in no time,” she assured her, already
rummaging through her disorganized satchel.
“You shouldn’t have come out here alone,” Livia scolded.
Faythe straightened on her knees, casting a glance around, but the
masked assailant was gone. “Reuben was in trouble,” she explained,
realizing she hadn’t found him. Her spear of panic settled when he came
panting down the ally.
“I managed to fend him off,” he breathed, examining the blood on his
trembling hands, but he had no wounds of his own.
“There was someone,” Faythe rasped, but she decided against causing a
stir about a person she might never encounter again.
Livia was silent. Curious, Faythe found her staring down the alley, a
ghostly fear paling her complexion that struck Faythe too.
“What’s wrong?”
Accepting Nerida’s help to stand, Livia snapped out of her daze. “Royal
guards are close by. We should get out of here now,” was all she said. She
scouted the street from the edge of the ally, and when she deemed it clear
they all took off running.
Anytime the group caused a commotion, their intentions were never to
kill; only to alert Rhyenelle’s swift guards to come detain the crooks as they
made themselves scarce. They slowed to a walk when they considered
themselves far enough not to be caught. Faythe noted the commander
beside her was still quiet.
“What happened back there?” she asked carefully, examining the
disturbance that hadn’t left Livia’s expression since they came face-to-face
with Nessair.
“Who is Evander?” Nerida asked.
The tremble that straightened Livia’s back was so subtle Faythe might
have missed the movement. It set unease in her stomach to see her so
affected.
Livia shook her head. “It can’t be the same person.”
Faythe heard the commander’s pulse drum with fear though she kept her
exterior hardened.
“Who?” Nerida tried again.
Livia paused as she marched, and when she spoke again her words were
dark and icy. “It’s the name of my father. Reylan’s uncle.” She shook her
head with a ghostly vacancy. “The one he killed.”
 CHAPTER 9

Reylan

T the tension that

he air was too thick to breathe. Reylan Arrowood could hardly stand
weighed down the small underground room.
“She’s still safe?”
It wasn’t the first time Agalhor had asked this, and while Reylan once
again gave an affirming nod and relayed more of the truth about their quest,
he knew the repetition was more for himself.
It had been several weeks since they parted. Twenty-seven days and
sixteen hours, to be exact. As often as they could, the king met with Reylan
and Kyleer in the secret underground room they rarely had use for, away
from any possible listening ears so they could share updates. Reylan
wouldn’t admit it soothed his own anxiety to hear it confirmed over and
over again that Faythe was safe when Izaiah returned from the skies where
he’d been tracking the group’s movements. But no measure of time could
erase the fear that he could awaken at any moment and be right back in that
cave that haunted him, cradling Faythe’s lifeless form.
Kyleer stood to the side of the room. Izaiah was absent, posted to watch
over their captives in the cells instead.
“They should be nearing Fenher by now, and if all remains silent about
Faythe—if the dark fae don’t know she’s alive—she’ll be heading to High
Farrow,” Kyleer reported.
Every day, every hour, every minute, every instinct in his body revolted
at his being parted from her. “The dark fae are a force like we’ve never seen
before. They consume human blood. It means they surpass even our best
warriors’ strength and speed,” Reylan went on, sparing a glance at his
brother with a wince having heard about his short battle with Maverick. A
name that had become the sole trigger to his most murderous thoughts. One
he’d marked to end no matter what it took.
“The two captives—have we gained anything more from them?”
Agalhor asked.
“Nothing. They will not speak. We’ll be moving on to harsher measures
soon,” Kyleer informed him.
Reylan felt nothing at hearing this. He himself would inflict whatever
pain was necessary to get intel on how to combat the dark fae. But on a
more personal level, he wouldn’t rest until he found Maverick. “Try Tynan
first, but he’s protective of the darkling. Use her if you need to,” he
commanded.
Kyleer gave a nod of understanding. A knowing look passed between
them, and he gave a second nod to acknowledge it before taking his leave.
Alone with his king, Reylan paced to ease the nerves he was
unaccustomed to.
“Something troubles you.” Agalhor spoke.
Many things. All of them circling back to her.
He had wanted to confess this for a while, but with everything they’d
had to tame and control these past weeks under the guise of Faythe’s death,
there hadn’t been a right moment. Yet Reylan’s deception had begun long
before this quest. He halted, and it poured out of him. “I need you to know
it was never my intention to deceive you. Or her.” He’d never felt like such
a fumbling fool, childish even. “I also need to make it clear there is nothing
I would ever do to harm her, and nothing I wouldn’t risk for her. Should all
of this have been a horror of reality instead, I would not have returned from
such a failure. That is what she means to me.”
Agalhor squared his stance. His eyes pinned him with a cool warning
that dried out Reylan’s throat. There was a chance it wouldn’t matter, his
confession. That he never had been and never would be worthy regardless
of it.
“Faythe is my mate.”
No other sequence of words would make that fact any easier to deliver.
Though it struck him with pride and fleeting liberation to voice the secret
he’d harbored for so long, unwilling, fearing, to believe such an impossible
dose of magick could be real.
 Agalhor’s stillness was unreadable, his silence heavy. “She was human.
How can you be sure?”
It wasn’t acceptance. His tone still held an edge of warning.
“I’m sure.”
There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind. Their bond—it was
unexplainable with words, so he didn’t try. Not to anyone except Faythe.
“My daughter will return to us,” Agalhor went on tentatively. “She is
Rhyenelle’s heir.” Two titles for her, and he was purposeful in using them.
The implication was there. Both wedged a distance between who she was
and who Reylan was.
“Yes, she will.” He tried to remember who he was speaking to. His king.
“And yes, if that is what she wishes to be.”
“Who she is will not change.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Reylan broke down. What Agalhor shed
light upon was something he’d kept buried in his torment for so long, since
Faythe had decided to come to Rhyenelle and he was torn between his
gratitude at having her near and the realization that who she could become
here would station her out of his reach.
A princess… He was not an ideal match under the judgment of court.
Reylan wanted to believe it didn’t matter, but that was a fool’s thinking.
Agalhor’s posture eased, but only with a pity he couldn’t stand.
“I cannot be the one to stand in the way of the heart, but what I will say
is that it is not without challenge and opposition for you both. It is not
without difficult decision and harsh judgment for her.” The king drew near,
his hands always clasped behind his back. “Even then, it may not matter
what I think. Not as a king when there is a whole council to appease.”
It was a dark sorrow to believe he wasn’t worth it—what she would
have to go through to choose him. And she would. He held no doubt she’d
want to choose him, and he wouldn’t have the strength to let go.
“Let me ask you this,” Agalhor said, his tone dropping to a personal
note. “You’ve stood by my side for a long time, Reylan. Could you bear to
stand in my place instead?”
That was never Reylan’s goal, but the reality hit him suddenly. He’d
never truly considered what being with Faythe could mean one day if they
convinced the court of their bond. The responsibility of a crown and
kingdom that came hand-in-hand with loving her. It was something he had
never desired.
 Reylan didn’t need time to think it over. “I would do so for her.” He
couldn’t read Agalhor’s silence enough to know if he accepted the answer.
It didn’t matter.
The king took a deep breath, pausing shoulder to shoulder with Reylan
as he made to leave. “You’ve always been like a son to me. I know your
father would be proud of what you have achieved, as am I.”
Reylan braced to receive what he anticipated would follow. The king
spoke as no more than a concerned father about his daughter.
“But make no mistake: she will come first. Her choice will be final, and
I will stand by it regarding you or this kingdom. She has been through
enough.”
His parting words lodged a new dagger in Reylan’s chest. He stood still
long after Agalhor left, simply staring at the distorted underground walls
that flickered with cobalt flame.
Reylan Arrowood had battled many torments since leaving Faythe.
He’d never endured such a helpless yearning. It was torture and a pitiful
state of mind to exist in. He wanted nothing more than to be by her side, but
the lingering taunt remained that they were not promised to each other. Not
with the war that threatened, titles that separated, nor names that cursed.
She didn’t deserve everything she dragged along in her shadow, but no
matter what, he couldn’t be parted from her again.
 CHAPTER 10

Nikalias

N her handmaiden,mate
ik watched his in awe. It was becoming a habit for her to dismiss
but he had no complaints as it meant only he was left
to help fasten her gowns. He was only partially dressed in pants when he
had to take a moment to watch her. Tauria’s leg was propped on the seat by
the fireplace as she slowly dragged the material of her stocking up the
glorious length. Nik couldn’t tear his eyes from every mesmerizing
movement she made from where he sat on the edge of the bed.
When she’d finished, the material clinging to her thigh to keep it in
place, her gaze slid to him with a knowing smile that stole his breath. Tauria
straightened, letting the flowing green material fall. When she picked up the
other stocking and strolled over to him, his mind turned wild.
“If you’re going to sit there gawking, you can help.”
Nik swallowed as she held the stocking out to him, their gazes locked in
heated challenge. Only a week since they’d finally arrived back from their
trials in Olmstone and he’d hardly been able to leave her be for a moment,
in constant awe that this was real and she was his. Every morning he awoke
with her in his arms and drew her in a little closer, always bearing the
irrational fear she could vanish in a heartbeat.
Nik took the stocking from her. Tauria didn’t break her challenging stare
as she bundled her dress and lifted her bare leg, placing it on the bed
between his. Nik broke, his eyes devouring every inch of her smooth brown
skin in a maddening rush of desire while his hand traced her calf.
“You are a wicked thing,” he muttered.
 Tauria yelped as he pulled her off-balance, his other arm wrapped
around her waist. His hand continued higher with her thigh now hooked
around him.
“I don’t think you need them.”
Tauria smiled coyly, her hands sliding through the back of his hair. “The
autumn has brought on a chill these days.”
Nik’s slow ascent didn’t stop. He watched her mouth part and listened
to her breaths quicken. When his hand curved over her side a low growl left
his throat. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me the cold doesn’t travel up
this far.”
It wasn’t a surprise to find her without undergarments. Knowing she
often went without them long before she became his—many, many times in
his company—made Nik lose his damn mind. She was beautifully,
cunningly sinful.
“I think,” he went on huskily, watching in delight as her brow pinched
when his fingers dipped through the crease between her thigh and abdomen,
heading toward her apex, “you like to know that I could take you anywhere
in this castle, at any time, with anyone nearby. And this is your scandalous
secret right under the nose of every noble.”
A soft moan escaped her as he continued to massage her and trace a
featherlight touch up her other thigh. “We have duties to attend to,” she
breathed, but it lacked any objection. She didn’t seem to realize she’d
pressed into him tighter.
“Those can wait,” he said, not tearing his eyes from the relaxed pleasure
on her face. “For you, I’d make the world wait.”
A knock interrupted their moment. Tauria let out a small gasp, making
as if to pull away, but Nik’s hold tightened.
“Should I invite them in?” he asked, hands roaming up her waist to
bundle her dress higher. “Would you like them to see what I’m doing to
you?”
That made her brow pinch, and her eyes closed. He wanted to reach
between her legs and give her exactly what she was silently demanding
with the shifts of her body when he pressed his lips to her thigh. He wanted
a taste. Just one taste. He couldn’t deny his own arousal at knowing his
mate’s scandalous desires.
“Your Majesties,” the fae guard outside the door called, nervousness
wavering his tone. There was a good chance he could either scent or hear
what was happening. At least enough to paint a picture.
Nik turned his head toward the door when another knock came, but
Tauria’s hand clamped over his mouth. He chuckled, biting on her
fingertips.
“What’s the matter, love? I thought you liked the idea of an audience.”
“Your Majesties…” the fae cut in again, hesitating before he continued.
“There’s urgent news from Rhyenelle.”
Tauria gasped. The look they shared was one of mutual alarm,
overshadowing their lust. Nik let her go, and she righted herself. Neither of
them said a word before they were rushing to finish dressing. Because it
wasn’t the kingdom or Agalhor or anything political that was enough to halt
their moment; it was the surge of hope, delivered with a drop of panic since
the messenger called it urgent, that the news was from Faythe.
Before they headed out, Nik caught Tauria around the waist. “Don’t you
forget what I owe you.”

Nik leaned against the edge of his desk, his chin propped up in one hand in
an attempt to smother his restless twitching. Tauria paced the floor in front
of him as they awaited Lord Zarrius, who harbored the news they were both
on edge for.
“He’s making us wait on purpose,” Tauria ground out.
At the notes of her distress, Nik reached out, taking her hand to halt her.
He knew of no words to console her when his irritation matched hers. Since
their return, they’d had very few dealings with the lord, but Nik couldn’t
help his dangerous protective flair when Zarrius was close to his mate,
knowing there was still much to be said of all Nik had planned behind his
back. He knew there’d be consequences for his actions, and those
repercussions could be delivered at any moment.
Tauria’s twisted face smoothed out when their eyes met, but he didn’t
get the chance to pull her to him as with a short knock the private council
room door opened. Nik straightened on instinct—not to formally regard the
lord, who stalked in with his usual arrogant poise, but to track his every
movement, every flicker of expression, while his hand slid across Tauria’s
lower back.
“Your Majesties,” Zarrius greeted, giving a reluctant, stiff bow.
 “We don’t appreciate being called for and then kept waiting, Zarrius,”
Nik responded, his warning clear.
Zarrius’s gaze flashed between him and Tauria. Every time it lingered
on her, Nik’s posture stiffened. It wasn’t hard to detect there were many
unspoken opinions about their mating, but he didn’t care.
“My apologies,” Zarrius offered, though it lacked any sincerity. “I don’t
think I’ve had the chance to congratulate you. And we’re glad to have you
back in High Farrow, Tauria Stagknight.”
“When we are wed it will be Silverknight,” Nik said coolly.
That took the Lord by surprise. Nik deciphered the irritation on his face.
“I think that would be best discussed with your council. I will remember
to bring it up in our next meeting.”
“No need. It is not something we require counsel on.” Nik dropped his
hand from Tauria. While it made his skin crawl to put distance between
them in company, he knew Tauria had to be seen as a monarch in her own
right in High Farrow, not only by his side.
“I must object—”
“The news from Rhyenelle, Zarrius,” Tauria cut him off calmly.
Nik almost smiled and went back to leaning against the desk as he
watched her with pride. He wanted everyone to know Tauria held just as
much authority as he.
Zarrius pinned her with his dark eyes. Nik’s hands flexed with the
assessing look the lord gave her before he answered.
“Perhaps we should talk in private so that you might decide for yourself
how to announce what I have to tell you,” Zarrius addressed him.
Nik stayed silent.
Tauria braced herself. “I’ll warn you just this once that I expect the
same respect as you give to your king. Whatever you have to say regarding
this kingdom can be brought to me.”
“You are not wed. You are not yet my queen.”
His distaste was slipping through, and it took everything in Nik not to
break.
“Keep going, Zarrius. You’re going to wish I never am.”
Seconds of thick tension ticked by, and the lord’s face remained firm.
Nik planned to keep observing him. Knowing what he did about Zarrius’s
eye for the throne, it was clear he remained a threat to them both.
 It was a relief when he smiled, his opposition lying dormant for now.
But when his attention switched to Nik, the condolence on his face doused
the king cold.
“I’m afraid the news I bear is not of any hope. Quite the opposite, in
fact.”
Nik’s heart picked up tempo. “Is it regarding Faythe?” He couldn’t stop
the need to ask despite what it might expose of his care for her.
When Zarrius nodded, Nik stood straight, his pulse skipping a beat.
“What happened?” For the first time, he believed the grave look on the
lord’s face.
Everything quietened. It was as if time slowed. Stopped. For the
delivery of the news that felt like a cold lie.
“I’m sorry to be the one to inform you…”
The only explanation was that Nik must still be living in a dark,
unforgiving nightmare.
“…that the Heir of Rhyenelle, Faythe Ashfyre, is dead.”
Reality lashed him like a harsh whip. Tauria stumbled back, and he
instinctively reached out to steady her. She covered her mouth, and Nik’s
hold tightened as he felt her tremble.
“The news arrived yesterday—”
“Yesterday?” Nik repeated darkly. “You’ve held onto this since
yesterday?”
“I wanted to be sure.”
Nik stepped away from Tauria, advancing toward Zarrius with a cool
loathing that wisely brought fear to his expression. “If you ever get
information about any kingdom, you bring it straight to me or Tauria.” He
halted before the lord, locking eyes with him in a deadly standoff. “If you
ever withhold such information again, I don’t care what it takes, I’ll have
you removed from your station, Lord Zarrius.”
The adrenaline from the news coursed through him hot and urgent,
leaving little room for him to consider the threat he was making to the only
one who could rally the power to oppose his reign. He didn’t care. He
scented Tauria’s silent tears at his back and felt her utter heartbreak.
“What happened?” Nik demanded.
“It seems during an expedition the princess did not make the journey
back. That is all I know.”
The quest to the Niltain Isles.
 “And General Reylan?” Anticipation pounded in Nik’s chest.
“He was the one to deliver the news to his king.”
Nik’s mind reeled. The breath whooshed out of him. He had to shift his
stance as the room tilted. It didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t…
“Leave us.”
Zarrius clearly wanted to object, perhaps to relish in their distress a little
longer, but after scanning Nik’s face he backed down. “As you wish.”
Stepping back, he offered a short bow. “I will allow you to decide how best
to release the news to the kingdom. I didn’t realize the human had made
such an impact on you to invoke personal feelings.” His gaze flashed to
Tauria behind him with that statement. “But once you are ready, I believe
we need to discuss the consequences of your…mating.”
That was a conversation Nik wasn’t eager to have, but he knew the
court would demand answers. Answers to why he never claimed her before
and what it would mean for High Farrow. He owed his people that
explanation.
“We need time. But I will send for you when we are ready.”
The flex of Zarrius’s eyes was the only indication of his annoyance.
When the door clicked shut behind the lord, Nik spun to Tauria. She
kept her back to him, one hand braced on the table she was leaning against
while the other stayed clamped over her mouth.
“Tauria,” Nik said softly as he approached her. His hand landed on her
back, but she didn’t move. “Look at me, love.”
Tauria shook her head, and when she turned to him, the desolation in
her glittering eyes cleaved through him. “She can’t be—”
“She’s not.”
Tauria’s sadness smoothed out to shock at Nik’s words. His hand came
up to brush away her tears.
“She’s not dead.”
“How can you say that? Zarrius heard from Rhyenelle…from Agalhor.”
“Reylan went back.”
Tauria’s furrowed brow urged him to elaborate.
“He wouldn’t have gone back without her. I believe…” Nik shook his
head at his own reeling thoughts, trying to piece together what he already
knew to figure out what happened. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but I
know Reylan Arrowood would not be sitting idle in Rhyenelle right now if
she were truly gone.”
 Tauria huffed a laugh that lacked humor as she paced away. “It was
clear he held an affection for her, and I know neither of us wants to believe
it…but Reylan would have had to return.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
Tauria caught his eye.
“If I didn’t have a kingdom depending on me, I wouldn’t have returned
if something happened to you.”
Her expression softened with pain, and it was a fresh slither of cold fear
to realize how close they’d come to that harrowing reality of being torn
apart in Olmstone.
“This is different, Nik. You and I, we’re—”
“Mates.”
She nodded, but Nik held her gaze with silence. As if she might draw
out his thoughts without him having to speak at all. There was a flex of her
brow, then her eyes dropped. She was thinking, calculating.
“That’s impossible,” she said even though it was clear she was fitting
together every puzzle piece.
“Yes, the famous word to describe the existence of Faythe Ashfyre.”
A brightness returned to Tauria’s eyes, faint, held back with her desire
to believe their friend was still alive against the odds.
“I can’t be certain, but I’ve thought it for some time… I believe Faythe
and Reylan are mates.”
“He’s protective—it was clear he cared deeply for her—but that doesn’t
mean they’re mates. She’s human.”
Nik ran a hand through his hair with a long breath. “A long time ago,
when I was helping Faythe with her Nightwalking, there was a time I
entered her subconscious while she was active in it.” He couldn’t believe he
was voicing the tiny snippet of information he assumed held no meaning,
but perhaps he’d been utterly mistaken. “When I entered, there was another
presence already there. It was very faint, and I wouldn’t have entered her
mind without invitation, but out of fear it could have been another
Nightwalker who wanted to harm her, I had no choice.”
Nik shook his head, feeling Tauria’s approach and her encouragement
for him to go on.
“It was Reylan. He had his back to me, but it was more than just his
appearance that made me believe it was him. It was so faint, his essence, I
thought there might be some mistake. Maybe Faythe had somehow met him
before and he was just a vision of her own conjuring. Then he came to High
Farrow, and I couldn’t believe it. They were acting like perfect strangers,
and I knew then Faythe had never met him before. I couldn’t shake my
suspicions about Reylan.”
“You think he knew of her?”
“I think he was just as confused as I was,” Nik admitted, trying to recall
the general’s time in High Farrow last winter. “I don’t think he knew her,
but I think there was a part of him that recognized her.”
“As a mate,” Tauria breathed incredulously.
Nik nodded. “All the signs were there. It was about far more than
wanting to protect her for Agalhor’s sake. I’d never seen him so possessive,
defensive, of someone he hardly knew. A human. I couldn’t allow myself to
believe the insanity of my thoughts, but…”
He didn’t have a conclusion. His thoughts were impossible but hopeful,
and they were all he could offer. Faythe had to be alive.
“I hope you’re right,” Tauria said quietly, looking out the large window
over High Farrow.
Nik walked to her, not hesitating to envelope her from behind. He
would never grow tired of the way Tauria fit him so perfectly. His hand
locked around hers before he brought them together over her chest. As they
watched the glittering city, he knew without saying a word that they were
reflecting on the same thing.
“Faythe is alive. I feel it, and I know you do too. But for some reason
they want us to make the world believe she isn’t, and I don’t know for how
long. All we can do is play our part until we can get more information.”
Tauria exhaled a breath as she relaxed into him completely. “We’re
masters of pretending, remember?”
Nik chuckled softly, planting a kiss on her head. “Yes, we are, love.”
 CHAPTER 11

Faythe

L room they’d
F
ivia and remained awake while Nerida and Reuben slept in the
aythe
rented upstairs at the run-down inn. For the past hour
they’d sat opposite each other in silence, giving their wine more attention
than they’d given each other. It was becoming a habit on their restless
nights.
Faythe spared the commander fleeting glances over her cup. Her words
from their last escape in the previous town hung somberly in the air
between them. Livia refused to speak of Nessair’s claim—the name he
spoke that belonged to Livia’s father. It inspired images of Reylan’s scars,
and she didn’t press for answers when her magick pricked her skin at the
thought alone. 
Then there was the fae in the mask who’d ambushed her. Faythe
couldn’t shake the feeling the two dark pieces belonged in the same puzzle.
He’d spoken to her with words meant for someone else.
Her mind reeled as she fiddled idly with the butterfly carving in her
pocket, which she’d hardly let go of since parting with Reylan.
“We should track down Evander,” Faythe said boldly, anticipating it
would earn the guarded expression Livia wore.
“No, we shouldn’t.”
“If he’s alive, he deserves to suffer for every day past the one in which
he should have died by Reylan’s hand.”
Livia’s scowl eased to a small smirk. “While I agree and rather enjoy
your vengeful side, if my father is alive and gets to you, there is nothing
that could torture Reylan more than that. It’s not worth the risk.”
“So we just let him live?”
“No, but we can’t jump into brash action with someone as malicious
and well-connected as him.”
Faythe’s hand tightened around her cup. She took a long drink to wash
down the acidic dread that wouldn’t leave her. She thought of the man in
the alley as her knee bounced anxiously. Faythe wondered if it could have
been Evander, but his words had confused her so much. She didn’t mention
the encounter to Livia, thinking it would only unsettle her more and tighten
a leash if the commander thought there was a threat to Faythe.
“You’ve barely used your ability,” Livia diverted, but her words
stiffened Faythe’s spine.
Setting down her cup, she countered carefully, “What is your point?”
“We’ve had many narrow escapes in our activities. There’s been plenty
of opportunity to end it all sooner with what you’re capable of, yet not once
have you infiltrated a mind. Why?”
They stared off for a few seconds, and it was as if Livia already knew
yet wanted to coax it from her anyway.
“What I was capable of before and what I could become now…they’re
one and the same. Every time I’ve tried reaching into my power, this new
darkness is there, and I’m—”
“Afraid?”
Faythe dropped her eyes. “Yes.”
“So you’re waiting to be back by Reylan’s side? Where he can diminish
what you are with a mere touch?” Livia was provoking her. Mocking her.
“No,” she ground out. “I just need more time. Space. I don’t want to
hurt anyone.”
“We’ve camped in lots of open woodland by now.”
“I don’t want to hurt any of you.”
Livia gave a short laugh. “I don’t believe that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
There was a contemplative pause from the commander as she decided
whether or not to engage further. Livia slipped a blade free to fidget with as
she leaned back against the booth. She guided the tip up to her face, the
point resting exactly where her marking began.
“I got this scar the first time I had the courage to fight back.” She tilted
her head for the candlelight to catch the imperfection. Faythe admired it.
With Livia’s lax posture, her demeanor, it was hard to imagine the
commander before she took on her esteemed position. “It doesn’t bother
me. In fact, maybe some days I’m even glad for it. For the reminder of the
day I finally took back what was mine. My father was despicably cruel, and
I was raised to believe I was no better than property. Sometimes just
company, but other times…”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Faythe offered at her pause.
Livia’s ice-blue eyes slid to her. “I’m not ashamed of what happened to
me. I was for a long time, and I owe a lot of who I emerged as to the three
of them, but certain things only to Kyleer. He helped me regain a
confidence that was stolen from me without any expectations. It wasn’t just
sex; it was taking back control. Learning my desires. He understood what I
needed and never judged, only accepted my requests with such patience.
But it was long before him that I knew my attraction to females outweighed
what I could feel for a male emotionally. Or a man—I have been with
humans too. But those lovers were typically more…”
“Fragile?” Faythe couldn’t help but smirk.
Livia’s smile eased the weight of the conversation. “In some ways.”
“I don’t know why Reylan put up with me before.” Faythe huffed a
laugh.
“Because he loves you,” Livia said plainly. “More than anything I’ve
seen him dedicate himself to before. Even as a human, knowing the odds
that were against you, he believed in you.”
“He knew I was his mate. That changes things.”
“You’re wrong.”
Faythe’s attention was gripped by the sureness in those words.
“Reylan is many things, but he’s never been selfish despite what he
might believe. Above all, he’s never been one to hold back the truth no
matter how hard it is to hear. If he didn’t think you could handle the trip to
the Isles, he would have challenged you. If he didn’t think you could take
down Rezar, he would have gone against your wishes and killed him in an
instant. If he didn’t think you could take care of yourself, believe you could
master control of yourself, he would be here now. Your being mates has
nothing to do with how he sees you, and if that’s what you truly think, you
don’t deserve him.”
Her last statement made Faythe’s brow arch with its sheer bluntness.
“The brutal honesty must be an Arrowood trait,” she remarked, but the two
shared a smile of agreement.
She thought about Livia’s words. Felt them as a warmth in her chest that
quickly clenched into an ache. She missed Reylan so awfully. Her nights
were long and restless, her days vacant and dull. What hurt the most was
that there was no time to measure, no hopeful countdown to when she
would see him next.
To test their plan, he couldn’t come to them. In case the dark fae were
tracking him Reylan had to stay away. The only thing that kept Faythe
going was the thought of where she would go after Fenher. If her death was
believed by the world and Zaiana truly didn’t know of her Transition to
share it with her enemies, Faythe would be heading to High Farrow. It was
a light in her darkness to get to see her friends, whose absence had left a
void in her chest since they were parted.
Jakon, her longest and dearest friend, was the first to cross her mind.
How different their lives had become from all they’d childishly imagined
together. She wanted desperately to hold him.
Then Marlowe, her beautiful, brilliant friend who’d come into their
lives at the perfect moment, the one who made Jakon the happiest she’d
ever seen him.
Nik… Gods, she missed his jesting, his scolding, his wisdom. She
yearned to see him under the crown she knew he’d wear so confidently now
he ruled over High Farrow.
As for Tauria, Faythe often found her emotions in turmoil over the
Fenstead Queen, hoping she’d made the right choice by going to Olmstone.
Hoping she hadn’t sacrificed her heart for any call of duty.
The stroke of realization at the thought widened her eyes. Faythe was
immortal now, at least in the human sense of the word. Before they’d left
for the Isles, she’d accepted the title that would befall her when she
returned, but never did she think she would succeed Agalhor. Faythe didn’t
know when she’d get to return, but it only now dawned on her the prospect
of one day wearing the crown for Rhyenelle. An intimidating challenge lay
ahead if she wanted to prove herself worthy of being Rhyenelle’s heir over
Malin, as all she was right now left her no more fit to rule than an
untrained, unpredictable faeling.
“You need to try.” Livia pulled her from her tunneling thoughts.
Faythe nodded in agreement. She didn’t want to meet Reylan again as a
failure. She knew he believed in her. She just had to try to figure out what
lived within her and what she was capable of.
“We should get some rest.” Livia cast her a knowing look as she rose.
Faythe swirled her drink. “I’m going to finish this. Hopefully, it’ll help
me sleep. I’ll be up soon.”
Fatigue clouded Livia’s face, and Faythe was relieved when she nodded,
sparing a quick look around the dire inn before she made for the stairwell.
Faythe’s shoulders relaxed, glad the commander hadn’t read any of her
eagerness to leave.
Faythe sighed, admittedly jealous of Livia for heading off to get the rest
she too needed. Exhaustion weighed down her lids, but she couldn’t sleep—
not without the tonic that would send her past her gold-and-white mists and
straight into darkness. Because her Nightwalking…it was dangerously tied
to her new existence, and Faythe wasn’t sure what she was capable of at
night. Flashbacks to when she had no control over her Nightwalking set the
terror in her that she might be capable of that again.
Of killing.
In each town she had managed to sneak out and obtain the tonic at night
by some cautious inquiry. The tonic had run out now, so Faythe was on the
lookout for any shop she could try. She’d lasted more than a day without
sleep before, but it was not without growing suspicion from her
companions.
Faythe blended into the shadows of the night, adjusting her mask and
pulling up her hood. The streets were barren. The cold whistled in the wind,
and Faythe pulled her cloak tighter around herself. Her steps were heavy
with a will to succumb to her tiredness. They were in a very small town,
and her hope began to disappear the longer she trailed aimlessly.
Her relaxed posture stiffened at the sight of a silhouette down the path
too small to be unaccompanied. Faythe halted, scanning around, but no one
came to the child or lingered nearby. As she approached slowly, the hairs
rose all over her body. Her hood was drawn and the child’s face was buried
in her hands.
Then Faythe heard the muffled sobs.
“Hey,” she said quietly, so as not to spook her. “You’re okay. Where are
your parents?” She crouched, and the small shoulders stopped shaking
“I want to go home.” The voice came so soft it tugged deep in her gut.
Slowly, the child’s hands slipped from their face to slide into their hood.
 When the stunning lengths of silver hair spilled out and Faythe saw
their eyes…her balance swayed, and she pressed a palm to the ground.
Faythe knew those eyes. Sapphire, but flecked with gold. Utterly
entrancing, and her heart took off sprinting at what she saw. In a daze, her
hand reached out to cup the girl’s cheek, and only then did Faythe notice the
small points of her ears. Her eyes pricked at the beauty of the child and the
burst of bright hope that erupted within.
“What is your name?” Faythe asked breathlessly.
The child only smiled, her delicate hand touching Faythe’s, taking it,
and she rose with the gentle tug.
This had to be a dream, but Faythe didn’t care. She followed the child as
though walking on clouds.
They didn’t go far, coming to a halt before a shop. Faythe’s shoulders
relaxed at the flickering amber in the small frosted window.
“Thank you,” Faythe said. The child had led her right to what she’d
been searching for.
Her hand became too light, and Faythe gasped as she cast her view
down, taking a step back as gold dust flew from her clutches instead. Her
pulse skittered as she watched the wind carry away her perfect illusion, and
the symbol in her hand winked out its warm glow.
Sadness swept Faythe while her mind clung to the beautiful image of
the fae child. She bore so much resemblance to Reylan that it pained Faythe
to learn she wasn’t real. She wondered why the vision had come tonight.
Perhaps she’d gone so long without sleep that her subconscious space
where she could conjure the impossible had leaked into her reality.
An eerie creak disturbed the silence, and Faythe whirled in fright
toward the opening shop door. No one greeted her, but the flickering
candlelight invited her inside.
The shop interior was lined with rows of shelving in a state of disarray.
There was no counter with any humble shopkeeper where she could make
her quick inquiry and leave. The hairs on her arms rose, but she trailed
further inside anyway, swallowing despite her dry throat with every
intention of calling out. She lingered to scan the shelves, peering through
gaps to find someone. With the rainbow of vials and clutter she wondered
how anyone found what they were looking for in this place.
Faythe couldn’t help but reach out to an iridescent vial with a
shimmering red liquid, entranced by it.
 “Do you make a habit of touching what does not belong to you?”
Faythe jerked at the sudden croak of a voice. Her fright knocked her
elbow back, and horror struck her at the clamor of some items as they fell.
She whirled, catching several easily. Such a reflex never would have been
possible in her human form. One vial she was too late to save, and guilt
washed through her when it shattered, spilling a green substance down
between the aged wooden floorboards.
“I’m so sorry,” Faythe managed. As she looked up from the mess, her
gaze landed on a hunched-over old woman. Faythe was baffled not to have
heard her approach. Her wrinkled face was set in a frown of disapproval,
and then accusation, as she eyed the spillage. Faythe scrambled to add to
her apology, but she only held coin from one card game earlier that night
and still hoped to purchase the tonic, so she simply floundered under the
woman’s assessment.
“What in the Nether are you looking for, child?”
Faythe’s hands bulged holding the various glass vials and brass items
she’d saved from falling. She carefully rested them back on the shelves,
where they fit in easily among the rest of the clutter.
“I’m not a child,” Faythe grumbled.
“Remove that thing, will you? It’s rude to enter a person’s home with no
face.” The woman hobbled around Faythe with her cane, which thumped
against the wood, and the floorboards creaked in her wake.
Faythe had forgotten about her mask, so accustomed to needing it to
hide who she was. Sparing a quick glance around the dainty space, she
didn’t think she had anything to worry about with one lone human. She
untied the ribbon, peeling the shell from her face, and breathed deeply as
the air cooled her skin. She headed after the woman as she dipped around
the back, out of sight.
“Come, come.” Her aged voice was rough and strained.
Faythe walked the narrow hall with tentative steps, until she arrived in a
small kitchen where the old woman was fixing tea. The water was already
boiled, and Faythe wondered why she was awake at such a late hour even
before her intrusion. She scanned the décor. There were so many odd colors
and items, but she supposed they added a warm touch. When her eyes
landed on the wall at the far end of the room, Faythe was quick to drop her
gaze.
“Why do you avoid the mirror?” the woman croaked.
 Faythe wandered over to the table. “I don’t.”
Her smirk was unexpected. Why was the woman being so inviting to a
stranger who had intruded on her home cloaked and masked? Faythe had
forgotten for a moment that now she was fae, she wouldn’t ever grow old
and frail like the human who struggled to sit on the chair she pulled out for
herself.
“You’re afraid,” the woman said, picking up a long, ornate pipe and
bringing a candle up to it. “So powerful, yet you hold so much fear. It does
not bode well, Faythe Ashfyre.”
Smoke puffed into the air, and the woman coughed with such a horrible
choking noise that Faythe advanced a step. The woman waved her off,
fanning the air to disperse the clouds. The smell wasn’t what Faythe
expected. Not foul like that which she’d endured from the pipes in the
establishments they stopped in; it was soft and floral like lavender,
flavorsome like vanilla. She breathed deeply before realization stopped her
short.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, her edge of caution
sharpening. The woman didn’t appear at all a threat, but Faythe knew a
blade was nothing against someone with the knowledge of her survival who
could spill all and ruin their plan.
Her cackle quickly turned into another round of coughing, and although
whatever the woman was smoking didn’t seem to be anything harmful,
Faythe was sure it wasn’t doing her any good. She appeared to be living on
borrowed time.
“Aren’t you going to sit?” She gestured to the opposite rickety chair.
Faythe wasn’t confident it wouldn’t tumble to the ground the moment
she tested her weight on it.
At her hesitation, the woman huffed. “Not luxurious enough for the
Phoenix Queen, I see.”
A cold chill swept the room.
“Where did you hear that name?” Faythe should leave, yet she felt
compelled to the woman. Her tiredness began to creep up again despite her
alarm.
“You have many names. By the humans, by the Gods. In the past and
present. What you have never been is one thing, and that is why you cannot
find acceptance.”
 “Tell me who you are,” Faythe demanded, her irritation flaring with her
alarm. Her hand curled around Lumarias, but not with the firm grip she
hoped.
“I have what you seek, true heir of Marvellas.”
Faythe’s heart was pounding, wanting for answers despite the deeper
well of reservation that screamed at her to leave the odd shop.
“Now sit, Faythe.”
 CHAPTER 12

Reylan

I and scattered
t was as if the stars had fallen. The tiny flickers of flame were too far
for their amber glow to be visible, but the symbol had
glittered through the city all week, and it was breathtaking to realize how
much Faythe meant to her people. Each nightfall the city had extended a
millennia-old tradition of lighting a single flame in their window in tribute
to the fallen royal. Still, it never failed to strike panic in Reylan each time
he saw the faint starry lights even though he knew the truth.
Faythe was alive.
“They barely knew her.”
The voice that traveled to him grated on his nerves, and Reylan
tightened his fist around the hilt of his sword. He didn’t turn to Malin
Ashfyre. He worked his jaw at his not-so-subtle distaste.
“You don’t need to own a diamond to know its worth,” he said calmly.
Malin’s answering huff made it difficult to refrain from the violence the
prince’s arrogance regularly stirred. He strolled right up to stand beside
Reylan, both of them looking out over the city.
“Whether here or in the ground, she was a waste of talent.”
Reylan’s teeth ground so tightly they could break, and his fist trembled
at his side. He knew because they were alone, far from any eyes or ears,
Malin was testing him. Yet still, he couldn’t stand it. “Here or not, she had
more talent than you ever will.” He turned to Malin, uncaring of the
reckless words he spilled. “Your insecurity blares when you speak of her.
Even her ghost threatens you.”
 Malin’s hazel irises clouded with hatred. It wasn’t the first time Reylan
had seen it; it had been there when the prince pushed him to his limit in the
past. Yet while Malin was cunning and held favor with the council, he
wasn’t foolish enough to forget the nobles were only half the running of a
kingdom. They couldn’t defend themselves without their armies, and
Reylan had earned the loyalty of Rhyenelle’s warriors and commanders
over centuries. Malin needed him.
“Yet there’s no body.”
The prince’s head tilted slightly with the switch of topic, and he
observed Reylan for any reaction as he said the words with just enough of a
hint of suspicion.
“She was beyond recovery.”
A dark and violent smirk pulled at Malin’s lips. “Yes, so the great tale
goes. A tragic end to a tragic beginning.”
“Is there something you want, Malin?”
They were dancing around each other with his careful teasing and
Reylan’s rising temper.
“It wasn’t hard to detect that your devotion to her far surpassed what
was appropriate.”
“Your accusation is pointless.”
The prince’s pause skittered over Reylan’s skin. He wanted to lay a fist
to the gleam in his eye.
“Is it?”
Often, it was as if Malin already believed himself to be king. Thought it
so truly that the weight of the crown adjusted his posture, giving him the
confidence to speak so brazenly with words always so cunningly crafted.
“I would only be looking out for your station, of course,” he went on,
his tone switching to sound friendly but deliver a warning. “A general is no
match for a princess. As is my understanding, Faythe stood to lay her birth
claim to the throne before such…tragedy befell the kingdom.”
Reylan tried to calculate what Malin hoped to gain from him, the sharp
edge of suspicion beginning to slice through his skin.
“Though it may not have been of anyone’s concern after all,” the prince
chirped, “as the lords had plans to challenge her legitimacy. It would have
been no small feat for Agalhor to convince them to overlook that crucial
fact.”
 Then it all made sense. Reylan thought Malin must be desperate if he’d
come to him to prize out information. Why the prince even cared to
investigate set every defense on high alert. He didn’t know if Malin knew
Faythe was still alive or if all his probing was yet another way to get him to
slip up.
“You can relieve your followers of the job of raising such a protest.”
The twitch of Malin’s jaw made his irritation clear. It was a rare joy to
see. The prince glanced from Reylan’s boots to his head as he stood a few
inches taller. Reylan gave away none of his anger.
“It seems you’re a male of routine, Reylan Arrowood.” His smile was
darkly wicked as he sauntered away. “Letting helpless, weak people die.”
Reylan twisted, the flash of rage canceling out all logic as his hand
began to draw his sword. A tight grip on his forearm halted him, and his
head snapped with wrath to Kyleer, who stood firm against it.
“He’s not worth it.”
“She is,” Reylan snarled low. It was as if their short conversation had
dissipated to leave only the hateful words Malin spoke of Faythe. And
Reylan owed her his fight.
“Yes, and she needs you alive and free, not locked up should you try
anything or executed should you succeed.”
Reylan pinched his eyes closed, tearing his arm from Kyleer and turning
back to the window. Sliding his eyes open onto the somber sight drenched
his anger with coolness all at once. He breathed sure and steady, silent for
several minutes before he asked, “Izaiah…?”
“He’s still tracking them. We should get an update tomorrow, though I
assure you it will be as boring as the last. Antics aside, they’re being smart
and quiet.”
“Her power?”
“Hasn’t caused her or anyone any harm. Despite her hopes to try to
figure it out, I think she’s been holding it all back.”
That didn’t soothe Reylan. He feared the longer Faythe avoided her
power, the bigger its eruption would be. Yet he believed in her, and what
he’d guiltily kept from her was that it wouldn’t matter if he were by her side
this time; he couldn’t help her anyway.
“I don’t know how much of her magick I can take,” he confessed
quietly.
“What do you mean?”
 “Exactly that. I’ve taken her whole ability before. It was strong, but it
held a form even if it was one I’d never experienced before. Yet now, when
she touched me with the intention of trying to show me…” Reylan looked
to Kyleer with the fear that had ensnared him the moment he realized. “It’s
a power like nothing I’ve felt before. It has no form. No beginning and no
end. I can’t reach in and diminish it all—no Mindseer could—because she
doesn’t have magick; she is magick. A force that won’t be silenced.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
Reylan shook his head. “She thinks I’ll be there to stop it all if she loses
control. And I will be there with her, but I can’t stop her. I didn’t tell her
because she’ll never try to reach the full extent of her abilities if she doesn’t
believe there’s a fail-safe: me.”
Kyleer breathed out deeply with a frown. “It’s terrifying for us all. But
don’t break that trust with her.”
Reylan couldn’t stand the thought.
“You might not be able to take it all, but I don’t believe you’re entirely
unneeded. It may be on her to stop herself, but she’s not alone in harboring
her power. Not with you.”
Gods, it relieved him to hear it spoken from the outside, but at the same
time, it triggered a painful strain within Reylan that she was so far from
him. He knew Faythe was powerful and brave and highly capable, but they
were stronger together.
Reylan didn’t know why he spoke his next words to Kyleer. Perhaps
because he was one of the very few who knew his past—every dark and
grim detail.
“I feel like I’ve known her far longer than possible.”
“What you feel for each other, even from the outside, there’s no denying
how deep your bond goes.”
Reylan wanted to believe it was as simple as that. He didn’t try to
explain more when he couldn’t be certain of his own thoughts. But since
meeting Faythe’s eyes for the first time since she awoke from death in his
arms…something had been plucking at his strings of memory, inspiring
flashes but nothing whole or sure, and he didn’t know what it meant.
Though one thing blared with distinct clarity: knowing her showed him
there was a door out of his mind of dark torment, and loving her set him
free.
 CHAPTER 13

Zaiana

T open
here were few things that settled a mind so shrouded in darkness, but
vantage points were Zaiana’s safe haven. Ellium was an
impressive sight. Far and high enough away, she marveled at how the
double-walled city was built as though a star had hurtled through the skies
and created the most perfect crater in which to nest the capital. The city was
surrounded by tall, crimson-peaked mountains that hugged the city in great
waves of stone. It was an impeccable defense Zaiana found intriguing, for it
was perhaps not entirely uninfluenced by forces beyond their
comprehension. Her eyes cast to the night sky as though those same forces
could be watching her now.
A shudder ran through her as she let her gaze drop. It was a ludicrous
notion. There was no one left to intervene.
“I don’t mean this as an insult…” Maverick’s irritating rumble came
from behind her, where he’d been lounging while she dangled off the ledge.
“But I expected you to have figured out a plan by now. Are you losing your
touch, Zaiana?”
Her fists tightened. She had a plan, though what it required was for him
to be far away when she decided to act. Tynan and Amaya were being held
prisoner in their castle. That she confirmed after a few days of spying and
overhearing the guards’ whispers—of fear, in mockery of their capture. It
had taken great will not to react, but Zaiana couldn’t afford to trigger the
slightest alert.
 “What is your plan, Maverick?” she drawled as coolly as she could
though she itched to hurt him.
They hadn’t seen any action in weeks, just endless days of mind-
numbing stakeouts. What Maverick didn’t know was that she wasn’t
mapping their defenses or gaining insight into their strategies. That she
planned to do from the inside.
The bastard’s groan turned her body rigid as it signaled he was moving
closer. “The general has been rather…silent.”
“He lost someone dear to him.”
Maverick scoffed. “Sulking and pining is pitiful.”
“What would you expect him to be doing?”
“Strategizing,” he said harshly.
Zaiana cast her gaze up to him. It was odd to glimpse his anger.
“He should be coming for me, yet instead he’s remained in that damn
castle like a pitiful fool.”
“He needs time to grieve.” Zaiana brushed him off.
“Faythe’s body isn’t there.”
Her jaw locked. She didn’t look at him. “No, it isn’t.”
“Odd, is it not?”
There was a challenge in his tone that grated on her irritation. Zaiana
rose. Twisting brought them face-to-face.
“Find Faythe. Find her sword. That is your task, not mine.”
The silence between them was charged. Maverick held in a question he
would never ask outright, so he tiptoed around it instead.
“I don’t suppose you gathered any intel on where I might go looking.”
Her eyes narrowed on his. “They’re not as foolish as you think,” she
said carefully. “What I have gathered is that Reylan Arrowood is playing
the right game. He is in mourning with the city over their lost princess.
Though he wasn’t the only one who lost her.”
Maverick curved a brow for her to go on.
“Kyleer has been wandering the castle and city just as vacantly.”
Something in his eyes flared at his mention, yet Zaiana held firm, giving
nothing more than fact. “How nice of you to notice and consider him.” His
tone prodded at a suggestion.
“Yet his brother has not,” she bit out. The snap of her tone only made
him flinch. Zaiana didn’t want to know what he was thinking. She scoffed.
“Have you spent these past weeks doing nothing more than indulging on
human blood?”
“You wouldn’t know a thing about my indulgences.” He took a step
closer, and she couldn’t stand the rise of battle she was all too familiar with.
It had always been present between them since he Transitioned and they
were pitted against each other, yet since the night they shared…Zaiana
could hardly stand to be around him. When tensions rose now, that private
battle seemed encased in uncertainty. She damned her own mind, her own
body, for dredging the memory every time it seemed their feuds could be
resolved by far more pleasurable means.
“You haven’t joined me once,” he went on, voice dropping to an
insufferably low tone. “Tell me, when was the last time you fed?”
The truth was under lock and key.
“That is none of your concern. If you want to test me, Maverick, then do
it.” Her skin pricked with a steady vibration. She didn’t want to fight him.
Not now, when she’d been slowly and carefully gathering strength from her
well of power for weeks. “The younger brother, Izaiah, hasn’t been around
them as much. He’s a Shapeshifter, and they are far more cunning than you
clearly anticipate.”
This caught his attention. Maverick folded his arms. “What are you
saying?”
“I’m saying birds are sparse around the mountains, yet often does one
come and go from the castle. Never the same species—smart—and yet the
flight path stays exactly the same. Sometimes it will dip into the mountains
and emerge a different bird. I would commend him for his attempt to throw
us off the scent, except he enters through the same window every time.”
Maverick’s face relaxed in what she dared to think was approval. “You
gathered all that?”
Zaiana rolled her eyes. “You might have too if you hadn’t spent your
time so far as if we’re on vacation. As Dakodas’s prized pet, I would have
thought you’d be far more eager to please.”
Though Maverick’s posture stiffened, he almost leaned forward as
though he wanted to lunge for her. To fight or do something worthy of
fighting over afterward she would never know. He took one deep breath
before turning away and looking out over the city that glowed red and
amber in the night. “You think she made it?” he concluded.
 Zaiana had no choice but to share the suspicion she held. “I think
they’re hiding her and he’s the path straight to her.”
“Why?”
“Must I do all the thinking, Maverick?”
“I like to hear your thoughts. Your voice…it somewhat soothes me.”
He was infuriating.
“Marvellas wants her. If she or Dakodas knew she were still alive, they
wouldn’t waste a second; they’d be hunting her already. She died in that
cave. She should never stand again.” A foreign chill swept over her—one of
unsettling notions she wasn’t accustomed to. “Who knows what she
emerged as?”
“I can’t wait to reunite,” Maverick said sarcastically. “We can track her
together, just like old times.”
For a few seconds, Zaiana couldn’t fathom the twinge in her chest. It
was a movement as though she cared for the journey they’d shared, at least
before it all turned. The hunt, the calculations… Maybe if she gave more
than a few seconds to that unwelcome feeling she’d believe she even
enjoyed their venture.
“No.”
His head snapped to her.
“I still have to scout the defenses,” she added quickly. A lie and a truth.
It was her task after all. “You were the one tasked with retrieving Faythe’s
sword. Imagine the glory if you return with the weapon in the hand that
wields it.” She didn’t want to decipher the drop in his expression; the war
that flexed his eyes.
“We’ll part this night. We can’t waste another day.” Maverick turned to
her fully. She didn’t know when he’d closed the distance, leaving only a
cool breeze of mountain air between them. She saw the moment he lost his
fight.
Zaiana’s hand lashed out, connecting with his chest before any more
space could be erased. She clutched his leathers tightly while they matched
hard stares, always battling. Always conflicted. “Don’t,” she said as firmly
as she could in a whisper. “This stops now. Whatever impulse you feel
around me—that look in your eye—you can turn it toward any other.” Her
chest rose and fell deeply because while she was speaking of his
recklessness, she was addressing her own. “This stops now,” she repeated,
letting him go.
 Slowly, his harshness returned to add a darkness to his expression.
“You’re many things, Zaiana. Many wicked, cruel, and brilliant things.” He
paced away from her, flexing and expanding his wings. “But you’re not so
delusional as to stop something that was never there.”
The twist in her gut at his words was unpleasant, but she didn’t react.
“I guess we’ll meet again soon, with your strategy planned and my
weapon gained. Just like the honorable servants of the Goddess we are.” He
angled his head down, looking at the ground, while his brow furrowed. His
lips parted as if to speak, but he seemed to think better of it.
Zaiana was glad he didn’t see her yearning for those lost final words in
the single step she took as he leaned off the mountainside. Maverick
disappeared, engulfed by the night entirely. She listened to the beat of his
wings for a few seconds before he shot back into her vision, flying high for
cover before he began to soar away.
He didn’t look back.
She didn’t expect him to.
Yet her eyes remained fixed on him until he was a distant spec, and
when she blinked, she couldn’t distinguish him anymore.
Alone on the mountain, Zaiana was free to feel everything and nothing.
She could scream or cry or laugh and no one would ever know. It was both
a relief and a despairing thought, so she locked her mind tight against all
that threatened to burst free. It was the only way to carry out what she
needed to do. They were holding Tynan and Amaya as if it were some great
triumph; their first step toward conquering their mighty dark foe. It wasn’t
out of consideration for their lives Zaiana was doing this. It couldn’t be, and
they wouldn’t expect her help was coming. She was doing this for herself.
Her retaliation stewed hot and electrifying under the surface, just waiting to
be unleashed.
After all, if they were being mocked, so was she.
 CHAPTER 14

Tauria

“N o visits , by the king’s orders,” a guard grumbled.

Tauria stood unyielding before two of them in the cells below the
castle. She knew it would be an adjustment before they viewed her on the
same level as Nik. Without a binding marriage, without the coronation, she
was still nothing in law to the people of High Farrow. But she was his, and
that fact alone was enough to ease the twinge she felt at the look the guards
pinned her with now, questioning if she belonged here.
Tauria knew she did. By Nik’s side she belonged. Ruling High Farrow
and Fenstead together was where she belonged. She could be patient a
while longer until the world believed it too.
“Fine. Fetch him. His wrath will not be aimed at me; it will be for you
and your insistence to deny his mate.” It was a low move, but it was all she
had.
The reminder of who she was to Nik cast a growing shadow over her. It
made the guards exchange looks, and she hated it, their debate about her
authority. It worked though. One made a disgruntled sound and stepped out
of her way.
As they shuffled to follow her, Tauria paused. “I don’t need protection
against a harmless lady,” she said over her shoulder. “I will call for you if
you’re needed.”
More hesitation. More debate. The air around the guards stirred,
delivering just enough of a warning that she was not harmless. When they
finally retreated, Tauria pressed on through the cold, dark passageway.
 It didn’t take long for her to spot the curled-up form in the corner of a
faraway cell. She didn’t look up, and as Tauria stood before the bars, she
couldn’t find any pity at the state of her, not knowing what she’d done.
“Hello, Samara.” Tauria spoke with ice in her tone.
The tangled mass of blonde hair lifted. Samara’s blue eyes were vacant.
Tauria couldn’t stand it. She didn’t want to feel the rise of sympathy. It was
hard to hate on someone who’d surrendered.
“Come to gloat?” Her voice was an awful croak, and Tauria winced,
feeling her own throat dry up.
“That would imply I had something to lose to you.”
Samara huffed a laugh that was cold with resentment. Her head tipped
back against the stone. “You think you have it all, but you have nothing.”
“I have everything you wanted.”
“No.”
Tauria’s eyes flexed. Her irritation heated her veins, awakening her
wind.
Samara went on. “You don’t see the cage you’re in though it is made of
glass.”
“I didn’t come here to play games with you.”
“Then why did you come?”
A darkness rose from such depths that it would be irretrievable if she let
it surface completely. Tauria stared and stared, trying to see a naïve person,
a foolish heart, but all she knew in that moment was that she was staring at
someone who could have taken everything from her.
“You tried to kill my mate,” she whispered. Her breathing hardened and
her fists clamped tight to stop herself from doing anything reckless.
“I didn’t know you were mated.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Samara looked at her. “Yes.”
Tauria’s need for revenge ceased. She silenced her wind. “Why did you
do it?”
“He promised me everything.”
“Zarrius?”
Samara didn’t answer, though her eyes flashed toward where Tauria had
come from, and she shuddered stiffly before hugging herself tighter. Tauria
unclasped her cloak but paused with it in her hands as she realized exactly
who she was extending her kindness to. Samara could have killed Nik—had
come so close it was unbearable to even look at her knowing that.
She forced her darkness back with a deep breath before slipping a hand
through the bars and tossing the material inside. Samara stared at it for a
few heartbeats as though it were a trap, but in her bitter-cold state she took
the offering eagerly.
Tauria watched her, letting the seconds tick by. She didn’t know what
she’d hoped to achieve by coming here, only that there was a person living
beneath their feet who had tried to harm her mate in the most final way, and
perhaps by facing her she would be able to forgive.
She couldn’t.
Tauria turned to leave.
“I wanted it,” Samara confessed. Tauria halted to listen. “The power he
offered.”
“A throne is not simply power; it is a world of responsibility.”
“Not just the throne.” With a wince, Samara adjusted her position,
appearing far more comfortable in the new cloak. “He said he could make
me something more. I’ve been surrounded by powerful fae my whole life,
those with abilities and high status. I wanted it. And Zarrius said on the first
full moon after we took the throne that we’d both be granted a higher
power. A blessing.”
A chill started In Tauria’s fingertips, seizing her magick and cooling her
blood, and it had nothing to do with the temperature down here. Her mind
flashed with memories that caused her heart to beat to an uneven rhythm.
Wings.
Black blood.
Mordecai.
“What they would have done to you would be a curse, not a blessing,”
she muttered vacantly. Tauria would never forget Samara’s betrayal of Nik
and how it could have ended. She didn’t know if she would ever truly
forgive her, yet the Transition that could have befallen her… Tauria
wouldn’t wish it upon the enemy.
Samara huffed a humorless laugh. “What would you know of being
powerless?” she said. “Your ability is fabled; you are a queen. There are
those of us who have to walk in the shadows as though having magick is to
have worth.”
“That has never been a divide.”
 “Because you are on the side of privilege and do not see it,” Samara
sneered.
Tauria blinked, taken aback. Though it was not with defense that her
heart sank, but at being enlightened to Samara’s ignorance. “What do you
mean?”
“For too long those with abilities have looked down on us. Even those
with mild magick. Zarrius said this was the way to even out the balance of
power. The crown would not have granted me magick, but I would have
been respected and feared.”
Tauria couldn’t stand it. The lord had romanticized the notion of
becoming a dark fae. She wondered with a cold fear how long he’d been
whispering this in the minds of the fae and how many had bought into this
grand plan. She didn’t realize she’d walked all the way to the bars until her
hand reached around the cool metal.
“Your eyes are a beautiful blue. I wonder if they’d be as alluring
eclipsed entirely by darkness.” Tauria assessed the way Samara’s face
creased with wariness. Confusion. Tauria shook her head faintly. “I bet he
also didn’t tell you that your black eyes would match your blood after they
Transitioned you. That you would have wings and your memories would be
stolen. And the worst part? The one thing you would crave over everything
else. More than power or magick or love.”
Samara gripped her cloak tighter as Tauria’s tale echoed around the cell,
as haunting as a ghost story.
“Human blood,” she finished.
Samara’s doe eyes widened. Good. It was something of a relief to see
her horror at what she could have become. That had she known, it wouldn’t
have been the path she chose.
“Be glad Nik caught you as this cell”—Tauria’s eyes skimmed the bleak
room—“is a mercy.” She dropped her hand. Samara was simply a young,
naïve fae, and though her crimes lit a match to Tauria’s anger, she now
thought with time she would learn to forgive her.
Though she would never forget.
“It’s not just me,” Samara confessed quietly, but not without a fearful
scan around as though she believed the stone were listening. “If what you
say is true, he has been working for some time to convince people of his
plan. I didn’t know the sacrifices, and he didn’t tell us. Tauria…” A violent
tremor swept over Samara’s huddled form and her voice dropped even
further. “You could have an army gathering within these very walls. Some
may have already…changed. I cannot be certain, but Zarrius…his
arrogance has to come from a place of knowing he has some great weapon
should you try to oppose him. Should you try to take him down first.”
Tauria blanched with horror, but adrenaline kept her focused,
calculating, absorbing every detail she could so she’d know how to silently
turn the odds. Because if Zarrius found out they knew, he could strike with
a force no wall could defend them against.
They were already surrounded.
 CHAPTER 15

Faythe

F was tempted’by its soothing

aythe hadn t touched the tea she was offered. In her exhaustion she
warmth, but the woman was more focused
on her pipe to drink, and so Faythe didn’t either.
“Who are you?” Faythe tried again.
“I am but a simple shopkeeper. I hold many treasures in these walls.”
Faythe had observed that, and she wondered how the woman had come
to possess such an assortment of items and elixirs. “You said you had what I
was looking for,” Faythe prompted her, growing irritable since this was
more conversation than she’d hoped for tonight.
So tired…
The woman puffed another cloud straight across the table at her. Faythe
coughed, rising to her feet but bracing herself with a hand on the table at the
wave of fatigue that swayed her vision.
“I do.”
Something slid across the table toward her, and Faythe blinked to focus
on the item. Blinked again when she couldn’t make out if what she was
seeing was real. She hadn’t brought it with her. She retrieved the object,
holding it up to examine it. From the front it looked identical, but when she
flipped it over…
“Where did you get this?” Faythe breathed.
Her mother’s pocket watch. What Faythe held could only be described
as its twin, for on the back was Marvellas’s symbol, and yet Faythe’s was
adorned with Aurialis’s mark. To be certain it wasn’t the same watch,
Faythe flipped her palm, eyes darting between the golden lines she wore
and the identical drawing on the brass as a cold fear grew.
“You discovered where the Ruins are. But you will need the aid of
someone long detached from our realm to get to them.”
“That’s what’s inside?” Faythe asked, incredulous, recalling the time
Marlowe discovered the information locked in her mother’s pocket watch
all that time ago: the locations of the Spirit Temples.
“How would I know?” the woman drawled. Her frail hand held the
table, trembling, and protruding veins appeared under paper-thin skin as she
strained to stand.
“This isn’t what I came for.”
“Your sleep tonic. You’ll find that somewhere out front. But come with
me.”
Faythe didn’t want to go after her; all she wanted was to sleep. Yet her
steps moved to follow the intermittent thump of the woman’s cane, her
shuffling steps. The longer she listened the sounds became less present,
more of a distant echo coming from no sure direction. Candlelight became
fleeting as they trailed down another dark hall, creating an eerie darkness.
The woman’s silhouette was engulfed by shadow, but Faythe couldn’t hurry
fast enough to keep up. Her feet weighed heavier, her eyelids drooped, the
hall narrowed and tilted, but she remained upright, only following the
alluring scent of the woman’s pipe.
She didn’t think the small shop could extend back this far. From outside
it seemed no bigger than their hut back in Farrowhold. At the end of the
passage was a door. Out of it streamed light she wasn’t really yearning for
with the darkness being so welcoming in her fatigued state. Faythe took a
couple of steps inside, but horror doused her, snapping her awake, as she
spun to turn back.
The door was gone.
There was no way out.
Faythe clamped her eyes shut, adjusting her footing when she swayed.
She couldn’t even bear to look for the woman, for where Faythe stood now
was in a room of mirrors.
She knew this room.
“I’m scared.”
A small voice sent chills racing down her spine, forcing her gaze to
open, but she couldn’t turn around to face the reflection she’d avoided for
weeks.
“I want to go home.”
But Faythe knew that voice was too young to hold such terror. Against
all that skipped her pulse and churned her stomach, she twisted around.
Dark forestland surrounded them. Charcoal timber, a misty ground.
Though there were infinite trees, Faythe knew these ones—she’d stood
between them before. On this night she couldn’t comprehend how she’d
become trapped in her memory of the Westland Forest. The child from
before stood there, and Faythe wished she were anywhere else. She wanted
to run to her, protect her with everything she was.
“Mother said I wasn’t supposed to go into the woods.” Tears fell from
those golden-flecked sapphire eyes.
Faythe’s pulse picked up in trepidation. She was feeling what the girl
felt, her hurt and terror and loneliness. “You’re not real,” she whispered,
though she wanted this to be—if only so she could hold the small child in
her arms.
Her palms heated, prickling with senses that were dulled but fought to
keep her aware that none of this was real.
A hall of mirrors…
Faythe shook her head, trying desperately to grasp at the loose threads
of reality to stop herself from being ensnared entirely by this cruel mind
game.
“You’re a Dresair.”
“Oh my,” it drawled, stepping to the edge of the mirror. It appeared in
the next large shard.
Faythe whimpered at its new form.
Her mother.
“You have wasted too much time running.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” Faythe choked out. She was suddenly
back in High Farrow, haunted by the knowledge that had taken a dear
friend. Caius. His innocent face, robbed of the life he deserved to live.
Faythe hadn’t forgotten for a single day.
“I think you have something for me,” it cooed. Its eyes fell pointedly,
and Faythe dipped into her pocket to retrieve the brass watch. It was the
first time she’d noticed the hands were not ordinary. This watch was not a
time-teller; it appeared more like a compass. Its hand flickered, becoming
more frantic, and Faythe wasn’t sure why her pulse raced with the desire to
be rid of it.
“I will take it off your hands,” the Dresair probed again.
“I don’t want anything in return,” Faythe said warily.
Its grin sliced too high to be natural, striking Faythe with such terror
that without thought she tossed the watch toward the mirror. She winced,
expecting it to shatter, but her awe replaced her fear when the solid item
passed through the glass as if the pane were made of water, rippling the
image of her mother, who didn’t move.
When it stilled, the watch was gone.
“I will not burden you with knowledge. Rather, I will give some back to
you.”
Faythe braced herself.
Though the Dresair didn’t speak again. A tiny phoenix flew against the
grim illusion of the woods, so vibrant and mesmerizing. Faythe watched in
fascination as it broke off and dispersed as glittering embers. It formed into
letters, then words, until four lines were structured clearly.

Come the return of the lost first son,

The end will fall at last.
For only if the heirs unite,
Can they right the wrong of the past.

Faythe read it several times before the embers dulled and faded away.
She reeled over the beautiful delivery of the message by the phoenix
illusion and stored away the words she knew to be important, slowly
unlocking something in her mind.
“I think you owe me for this favor.”
“It’s not a favor if you request something in return.”
“What if—”
“No.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t bear to look at her mother’s face.
“My Phoenix.”
A choked sob left her. “Please stop.”
“I will.” It soothed her in Reylan’s voice. “If you free me.”
 The surprise of that request forced her to look. Reylan stood there, and
her mind battled her body with the need to run to him. Gods, she missed
him so much. From her thoughts the creature formed him in every perfect
detail.
“Not him,” she begged.
It ignored her. “Marvellas did not plan for you to rise, Faythe. You were
in the past, and in your return, only a means to an end for her to reunite with
her sister at last. But if it will bring you comfort, she did once care for you,
and that sentiment may be the thing to end her still.”
Faythe tried to decipher the meaning, but the Dresair’s words
overwhelmed her.
“Should Marvellas succeed in conquering you, the one true heir of
Marvellas, she will end the Mortal Gods once and for all. This realm will no
longer be accessed by its creators.”
“I’m not the only true heir,” Faythe said. It was the only thing that rang
with familiarity within her. “There was another before me. Do you know
what happened? How did they not succeed?”
Laughter scattered around the space, yet Faythe couldn’t pin its source.
It itched over her skin, and her hands rose to her ears, only halting when the
Dresair eased its amusement enough to speak again.
“Oh, dear child,” it drawled. Faythe saw it had taken her own face. “It is
almost time for you to remember. We have all been waiting. Marvellas
achieved her goal after all with you, but what she could not anticipate was
the last sister’s interference turning the end into fresh hope. You have been
a pawn for too many lifetimes. Now, Faythe Ashfyre, you must become her
doom.”
Dreaded images that didn’t make sense tried to enter her mind, but
Faythe clamped her eyes shut and cast it all away. She saw flaming red hair
and eyes golden like her own, but these ones with an added ethereal fire. So
much terror filled her, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She wanted
to run from her own mind so as not to see the visions that tried to push
through.
“I’ve given you a lot. More than perhaps I should. But I have spent far
too long in this forsaken place.”
Faythe had never been more glad for the wicked voice for it dragged her
from the spiral in her head. She found the will to face the Dresair again. But
who she found nearly buckled her.
 Agalhor and Reylan stood side by side. A creeping dread coated
Faythe’s body. Her adrenaline spiked to protect them, though all they did
was stand and stare.
“I wonder who you would choose,” the Dresair taunted.
She blinked and they were on their knees.
“Stop,” she breathed, fearing so truly for them.
“Your father, a powerful ruler with the heart of the people. He could be
an invaluable influence in this war to come.”
Two figures eased out from the trees like shadows, a glint of steel
catching her eye through the dark.
“Or your mate. Your bond, which has defied what no other has before.
The one who, without memory or reason, never truly forgot.”
Her breaths were suddenly short and hard. Words clawed in her throat
but couldn’t escape.
“Maybe you will be too late to save either one.”
The black wraiths raised their swords, and all Faythe could do was
scream. A surge of heat shot to her palms as she slammed them to the
ground. A gold essence dispersed along with a blast of pure power, and she
had to clamp her eyes shut. Glass shattered all around her with an ear-
splitting crash. Her arms rose on instinct, but none of the raining shards hit
her. When the shattering stopped, her ears were filled with a high-pitched
ringing that matched the thrum of her heart.
Until a crack sounded behind her.
Faythe clumsily got to her feet. Her vision came and went as she tried to
focus on the silhouette stalking toward her. Sluggishly, she freed Lumarias,
but she barely had the strength to lift the blade.
“I knew you held the power to do it.” A serpentine voice snaked toward
her. “Shatter all the mirrors at once and seal their end with what lives under
your skin. You are unmatched indeed. Though only if you find the will to
use your power before it uses you.”
“What are you?” Faythe rasped, fighting for consciousness.
“Out here, I am whoever I want to be.”
Her eyes focused enough to catch onto the figure. Horror-struck, Faythe
stumbled back, glimpsing the creature with gray skin and depthless holes
for eyes. The Dresair’s true form was a thing of nightmares.
And she had unleashed it.
 “I could be you. So much power it is tempting…” It took seductive
steps forward, and Faythe tried to gain distance. “I give this knowledge as a
gift, not a curse, Faythe Ashfyre. This sweeping winter shall be the longest
the land has seen. When snow falls, it will not end until the war is won.
There will come a time when you will lose all. Lose yourself. What you
have broken today will be your only way back. Or you will choose to seek a
new unknown.”
Faythe swallowed hard. Her mouth parted with questions, but the
Dresair lunged for her, and she cried out. Her eyes clamped shut as she
stumbled back. Then her ankle twisted on something, and she was falling.
And falling.
And falling…into darkness.
 CHAPTER 16

Zaiana

T Maverick.
wice now her subconscious had made her heart lurch on account of
Not out of consideration for his well-being, but in
anticipation of his arrogant input. She feared his opinions about her spying
would give them away at some point.
Just as quickly as she jerked, Zaiana remembered she was alone. It had
only been two days. She shook her head as she pressed her back to the stone
wall and stared out into the night. Her toes strained awkwardly to remain on
the ridiculously narrow ledge.
She was simply awaiting the next guard rotation before she swooped
down. It didn’t really matter as she was sure she wouldn’t make it to her
destination without some fae dying in her wake. Though she wanted to
reduce the exertion as much as possible.
Call it resourceful.
Her wings were glamoured. For what she planned to do they only
served as a weakness; a vulnerability that made her shudder with the torture
she knew could be inflicted on them. She wished for anything else. Her
taunting mind raced with the thought they could be inflicting such barbaric
pain on Tynan and Amaya, using them to figure out the dark fae’s
weaknesses. They would know to use their glamour ability for safety, but
the right kind of pain could force that protection to drop.
Zaiana often enjoyed climbing across architecture instead of taking to
the skies. It offered more of a challenge and honed her focus. She leaped,
arms reaching to catch onto a balcony. Swinging, she landed on the railing
below with feline stealth, only pausing for a second to extend her senses
and determine if the room was occupied. Her time and energy were worth
far more than useless killings. She’d rather not deal with any unwanted
occupants tonight.
It hadn’t been easy to get this close to the castle. If she were anyone
else, Zaiana didn’t doubt she would have been shot down or captured by
now. Archers patrolled both city walls, and from her observations over the
weeks, never did they lose focus. It was easy to see why the kingdom was
so difficult to conquer when they never once wavered in their protection of
the capital, always braced for a war they knew could arrive at any moment,
just as it had in Dalrune and Fenstead.
It was admirable, she had to admit.
Zaiana was nothing more than a lone stroke of shadow as she carefully
navigated her way through the cracks in their defenses. The opportunities
were slim and didn’t appear often, and she’d be an arrogant fool not to
believe that at any given moment she could be captured. She wanted to get
as close as she could to the castle with the least amount of fighting.
She was almost there. Hauling herself back up to the rooftops, Zaiana
marveled at the grand courtyard below. Their mighty Phoenix emblem on
the ground glittered under the moonlight and the amber glow of the torches,
creating the illusion that the still image was alive.
He came out of nowhere, eluding her senses like no one had before. Her
first sign of him was when he rested a cool blade against her throat. She
caught a glimpse of dispersing shadows that piqued her intrigue.
Zaiana held still, though she did not fear.
“I have to say, I’m disappointed.” His voice rippled a vibration low on
her back, creating an unexpected shiver beneath her leathers. “I believed
you to be far more cunning.”
In a kingdom known for the legendary material, Zaiana’s first question
was why the steel at her throat was ordinary when Niltain steel would have
harmed her far more. “It’s good to see you again…” she drawled
nonchalantly, aware their position could be mistaken for some twisted
romantic embrace. “Kyleer.”
“I can’t say the same.” His tone was laced with something familiar. A
wicked thrill. “But this night just got far more interesting.”
He spun her around in one swift motion, the point of his blade grazing
up the column of her neck until he was using it to tilt her chin. Their eyes
met, his an odd mix of brown and green set into his tanned complexion. His
hatred toward her added a sharpness to his features, which were already cut.
She couldn’t deny she found him beautiful, but more so intriguing. There
was something rogue beneath such a hard exterior, just waiting to be
unleashed. Through lust or combat—perhaps both. A few tresses of his
wavy deep brown hair framed the curve of his brows, adding a disheveled
look of danger and hidden passion.
“Zaiana.”
Her name in his low, rough voice touched the tip of her spine. She gave
him her best sultry smile. “I wonder, Commander,”—Zaiana raised her
hand, gritting her teeth as Kyleer pressed the sharp point tighter, almost
drawing blood. She traced a slow finger along the blade, unfazed—“if you
will deign to chase me this time.”
Quick as a flash, Zaiana summoned her lightning, gripping the blade
fully. It cut into her palm, but it was worth the pain to watch Kyleer spasm
with her shocks, his groan deeply satisfying. Sheer adrenaline had her
sprinting away rather than staying to enjoy it for longer.
She darted stealthily over the rooftops, not faltering a single step or
pausing for calculation. Zaiana let her senses guide her, confident she could
navigate even without sight as she’d been so ruthlessly trained before, her
senses reduced one at a time as she was forced into trials that would test
each one.
Never give them a weakness.
To her glee, Kyleer did chase her. He closed in impressively fast, albeit
by cheating. His shadows were mesmerizing as they circled and answered
to him. He emerged from a thick cloud into her path.
“Is that all you can do with them?” She paused to inquire, watching the
smoke as it dissipated in the mild wind. “Jump from one place to another?”
“Why don’t you come closer and find out?”
He riled something in her. Unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. He
offered a challenge. Perhaps he’d even be a worthy match.
“You’d like that,” she said, adding a sensuous note.
“What I would like is to kill you on this rooftop. But why let your
foolish decision to walk right into the heart of your enemy go to waste?”
Zaiana freed a blade, flipping it nonchalantly. “Use me and kill me. You
have no idea how often those threats come hand in hand.”
“Yet still you live.”
 The curl of Zaiana’s mouth spoke of pride and triumph. “People don’t
get close enough to achieve either feat.” She sent the blade hurtling for him,
merely a distraction as she began her descent. Zaiana leaped and swung,
skidding down slanted roofs and hopping over balconies. She remained at
too risky a height to attempt a leap, but when she felt his increasingly
pissed-off presence creeping in again, she cursed, having to use a kernel of
her gathered magick to unglamour her wings just long enough to step off
the ledge and glide down.
What followed turned fae warriors into frightened children. Landing in
the center courtyard wasn’t Zaiana’s ideal plan. She knew how many guards
were circling the perimeter. Twenty. But she’d faced worse odds before.
The guard she locked eyes with first stepped into a quick fighting
stance, but not before his terror-filled gaze trailed up the length of her lethal
taloned wings. She smiled at him and relished in watching the bob of his
throat.
Though Zaiana enjoyed the horror her dark fae heritage instilled in the
guards, there were too many archers, and here she risked her wings being
nothing more than ample targets. A familiar tingle rippled through them
before the weight of her glamour, like an extra layer of armor, settled on her
shoulders. Her displeasure came from watching their tension ease with her
wings gone, as though they believed her to be an easy prisoner without
them.
Their lack of urgency was insulting.
“I wish to speak with your king,” she announced to the courtyard,
taking casual steps forward.
None of them spoke back, which ground her irritation. Patience had
never been Zaiana’s strong suit. As she heard the pull of strings, several
guards nocking arrows at once, she decided to demonstrate why she didn’t
make demands twice.
Zaiana took one breath to tunnel away from the confines of humanity.
They have Tynan and Amaya inside.
Her magick hummed, rejoicing at her will.
They made a mockery of me in capturing them.
Her lightning was charged, but she planned to rain down on them with a
show of steel and agility first.
Releasing that breath, Zaiana didn’t falter. Freeing a dagger from her
thigh, she shifted left, braced firm, and sent it with deadly accuracy through
the throat of a guard who took one step closer than the others. Over his
splutter she heard the faint whistle she anticipated. Before his body fell,
Zaiana pivoted on the spot, catching the arrow that would have pierced her
back in flight. Twirling it around in her fingers, her next move was to brace
for velocity as she conjured enough magick in her arm to send the arrow
straight through the chest of the second guard who darted for her.
He would probably live, unlike his companion.
Zaiana didn’t waste a second.
Sprinting, she ducked around the next guard’s sword and kicked the
backs of his knees. He went down with a cry, which was quickly smothered
by her hand plunging through his back and tearing out his heart.
She didn’t bother to free her sword.
Twisting again, she caught the next guard’s wrist, bending it until his
shrill cry drowned out the snap of bone. Zaiana caught his blade, and
without turning she plunged it backward and felt some resistance before
submerging it in flesh. The guard fell to his knees behind her.
“This could have ended with far less blood if you had listened,” she
mumbled to the fae who pleaded for his pathetic life in her clutches. She let
go of his broken wrist. He stumbled back, and to be sure he wouldn’t
immediately follow in the others’ footsteps, she kicked his chest and sent
him flying backward until his head cracked on the stone.
Zaiana made it to the doors, slipping inside the castle as if she lived
there. All her senses were on high alert, and while she found it odd the
remaining guards hadn’t rushed in after her, she didn’t suppose it mattered.
Through the halls lined in brilliant crimson the emblem of the Phoenix
featured proudly. Zaiana didn’t drop her focus, but the memory of the beast
on the mountain inspired her awe and curiosity to learn more.
The next set of guards who rushed around the corner disturbed her
moment of peace. They halted abruptly, and she grew irritable, trapped in
the endless maze. Their sights were focused on her hand, and wisely, none
advanced.
“The king,” she uttered with cold intent. She made a show of admiring
the red blood that stained her pale skin. “I assume he sent you to retrieve
me.”
Zaiana enjoyed the intoxicating scent of their fear, but she didn’t dare
breathe too deeply for the sweet tang of blood tightened her throat with
thirst.
 The guards turned back the way they came, and Zaiana stalked them.
Their occasional glances were met with her sinister smile.
Upon entering the absurdly large room, she spied her target easily. His
poise was unmistakable; he radiated an energy of authority and power. The
king stood a tall, broad figure at the head of the table as Zaiana sauntered in
with unfaltering confidence. From his lack of shock, she surmised he’d
been waiting for her. More guards than were stationed in the courtyard
surrounded the hall. She deemed the room far too grand and pristine to be
sullied by her presence, all white marble and glittering crystal. The council
table appeared to be crafted from the stone of their mountains, only this
surface was polished, the dark stone broken by beautiful crimson.
Zaiana strolled lazily into the space, unfazed by the many threats that
targeted her. She cast her gaze around to marvel at the intricate stained glass
and its beautiful depictions of the Firebird that inspired a heat of
remembrance. Then she drew a long breath as her attention settled on the
King of Rhyenelle. His shoulders were angled and broad, his height and
stature dominating, but it was his cool demeanor and assessing look that
made him the mighty leader he was.
Despite Zaiana wearing the blood of his guards, the king didn’t react
with the outrage she hoped for.
Zaiana examined her hand. “I did ask politely to see you, Your Majesty.
It was their own stupidity that killed them.” Dropping her arm, she braced
her stance, folding her hands behind her back. She wasn’t willing to make
him an exception to her thinning patience. “I believe you have something of
mine,” she said with enough threat to leave weaker males quivering. “I
want it back.”
From the opposite end of the room, one figure in particular stole her
attention as he stalked in with a rippling fury so tangible and familiar—one
that slithered along her spine with a darkness akin to her own. There was no
saying what he might be capable of if that fury were unleashed.
Reylan Arrowood radiated the power she knew him to be capable of,
and though she would never admit it, he was perhaps the only male in that
room who yielded a fraction of respect. Even when her gaze flicked to
Kyleer. His anger hit her differently, and she wondered why he’d sought out
the general when he could have chased her a second time. Disappointing.
Zaiana’s mouth curled so faintly for him. No one would notice the flare of
hatred in the flex of his jaw.
 When Reylan came to a stop near his king, it was as if he were the ruler.
With a quick glance around the room, every guard’s attention was fixed on
him, waiting for any slight signal.
Zaiana didn’t balk.
“Allow me to offer my condolences, General,” she said in greeting.
They held eyes in challenge, and she saw his acknowledgment in the faint
narrowing of his. “Did I miss the funeral?”
Reylan’s hand tightening around the hilt of his sheathed sword was a
delight to see. “Careful,” he said, his voice dangerously low as though they
were alone.
Against him…the battle would be intriguing to say the least.
“A great loss,” she went on regardless, enjoying straining his tethers of
control. It was marvelous to watch his strategy overpower his reckless rage.
“Why did you come?” Agalhor Ashfyre had a voice of authority. His
lack of reaction to anything was unnerving.
“I thought I made that clear.”
“You thought you could storm my castle, kill innocent soldiers, and seek
your prize alone.”
“You haven’t seen me storm anything,” she warned. Her fingers flexed,
drawing their attention to the small purple bolts she played with. “I can
guarantee the death of everyone in this room in seconds should you provoke
me to unleash such a mood.”
“Perhaps. Though you would not make it out of this castle alive. That I
can guarantee you.” Agalhor matched her standoff. “Powerful as you may
be, I don’t believe even in your arrogance you would argue otherwise. So I
ask again, why do you come?”
Her proposition was laughable even to herself. Yet this was the only
way. “You think you hold anything of value in two powerless dark fae?
They answer to me. They know nothing like what I know.” She had his
attention, yet she couldn’t believe how pitiful her next words had to sound.
“I am the sixth master of the dark fae, delegate of the Silverfair bloodline.”
“Yet you walk right in here like their cattle,” the general said.
She took a calming breath at the insult before cutting Reylan a look.
Kyleer shifted at the threat she pinned on him. Zaiana could fight toe to toe
with Reylan without an ounce of exertion. She spoke to the king but didn’t
remove her daring stare from the general. “At least they would not allow
failures to stand by their side. I do not know how you still live letting the
Heir of Rhyenelle die. Letting Faythe—”
A slam ricocheted off her mental barrier, so strong she took a step back,
wincing at the force. Reylan attempted to seize her power, and for a second
she feared he could with the sheer fury and will that erupted in him.
The hall remained still in their silent battle, but the wrath that emanated
from Reylan alerted Kyleer enough to draw his sword. Reylan retreated, but
his cut features were frightening.
“Don’t. Speak. Her. Name.”
Zaiana contemplated pushing further, wanting to know if he would give
in to his desire to kill her against his king’s orders. It would be reckless,
foolish, yet Zaiana had a bigger plan. “As I was saying,” she drawled,
sliding her eyes to the king, knowing her casual brush-off would rile the
general further. “I hold far more value than those you have locked in your
cells.”
“Are you offering yourself in their place?”
Hearing it aloud sounded even more despairing. “I am.”
“I could hold you all.”
“You could try,” she amended. Like a whip, her lighting struck the
marble floor with the quick motion of her hand. Everyone winced at the
thunder that resonated through the hall. She’d hurt no one.
Yet.
Summoning with her other hand, she held the reins of control on her
magick. “Or we could agree it’s not worth the countless lives I could take
and substantial damage I could wreak on this castle before you stop me.”
The king knew it too. He wasn’t an impulsive male, and she was
quickly coming to appreciate that about him. Agalhor deliberated, as she
expected. After all, what she offered seemed to come with a catch. Except
there was none, and she couldn’t be certain her plan wasn’t completely
futile. It would surely rage with the promise of death if the masters or
Mordecai found out.
“I want to watch them be freed. Only then will you have my complete
surrender. You have my word I will not fight.”
“You word means little,” Reylan snarled.
It was becoming difficult to keep from engaging the general in combat;
from doing something impulsive. Her iron-clad fingers dug into her palms.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a look.
 For the first time, Zaiana didn’t have a secure plan. Her ideas over the
past weeks relied upon her making it up along the way. She hoped to
discover something in her imprisonment that she could offer to the masters
to quell their wrath when they learned she’d been plotting all along to turn
herself in like a coward for her kin.
Tynan and Amaya were as disposable as any foot soldier to them.
“I’m losing patience, Your Majesty.” Zaiana locked eyes with the
legendary ruler. Her confidence wavered faintly as she noticed which parts
of him Faythe resembled and how she’d almost been the one to take a
daughter from a father.
If they were sending the Shapeshifter to track Faythe wherever they
were hiding her…the king had to be a part of the ruse.
A ruse that would be all for nothing if Maverick caught her.
“Fight me or accept my surrender,” Zaiana said. “Either way I will
achieve what I came for. It is your choice.”
 CHAPTER 17

Tauria

“T auria S tagknight , I was not expecting you.”

Zarrius straightened from where he leaned in deep thought as
Tauria glided into the games room. She kept the twitch of irritation from her
face at believing his use of her last name was deliberate. He was testing her
reaction to it, which spoke of his refusal to embrace the joining of her name
with Nik’s.
“I wanted to come to you myself,” she started, her posture tall so as not
to give away her unease at being around the lord. Tauria looked expectantly
at the male engaged in a game of chess with the lord.
As if asking for permission, he looked to Zarrius, who gave a short nod.
Her teeth clamped at the subtle brush-off of her authority.
She slid into the vacated seat, not asking before she began to reset the
ornate wooden pieces. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye. I’ve often
wondered why it is you hate me so.” She watched his reaction as she
slipped the last of her pieces back to their opening positions. Holding his
stare, she placed her queen. “You start,” she said when the white pieces
were lined up on his side of the board.
Zarrius obliged after a short hesitation. His pawn opened the game.
“Hate is a strong word, princess. I apologize if that is how you interpret my
having the interests of this kingdom at heart.”
Tauria mirrored his pawn, as expected. He drew out his bishop, and
once again she countered with the exact same move.
“Might I ask what it is about me that isn’t in High Farrow’s interests?”
 They exchanged more moves. He claimed her pawn, she took his
bishop, and though they chatted Tauria studied the game, wondering how
often he sat before these wooden figures and considered their moves as real
strategies.
“If you want my true counsel, I believe your mating to be brash and
heedless.”
“Oh?”
“This kingdom relies on more than just monarchs. You have upset the
lords in your failure to consult them on a matter that affects us all.”
“Two monarchs are stronger than one. We have bound two great
kingdoms.”
His gaze slipped from the pieces to her, bearing a judgment that made
her skin crawl. “I mean no offense as I say this, Your Highness—”
“Twice now you have failed to address me by proper title,” she cut in
with a warning. It was dangerous to fan the flames of a fire as unpredictable
as Zarrius, yet she would not bow to his attempt to overpower her.
“In law, that is not true. You have no kingdom, Tauria Stagknight. No
true crown. In binding yourself to our king you have brought a burden to
this kingdom we are not strong enough to defend ourselves against. Not
alone. We needed an alliance that would gain strength for High Farrow in
the face of what’s to come, not a drain on our resources.”
His statements stung, each cut like small daggers she’d felt before. The
wounds hurt, but then they’d scab and heal completely, ready for the next
person to attempt to bleed her dry. Tauria wasn’t here to vouch for herself.
She wasn’t here to waste a second of breath convincing the prickly lord she
was worthy of his pitiful approval.
“Leave us.”
Tauria didn’t glance up as she echoed the command that made the
guards shuffle from the room. She made her counter move on the board,
stealing another pawn. She was picking them off one by one.
She didn’t dare continue to talk until they were entirely alone.
“You are right,” she said finally, catching the hook of his brow as she
moved her knight to lock his rook. “I became Nikalias’s spy in Olmstone.
The bond kept us able to communicate, and it was smart. I thought I could
see a happy life by his side, yet being back here only reminds me every day
of the idle title I wore for decades. No one knew how much I despised
being Orlon’s ward, and Nikalias was no different to his father.”
 “Do you think me a fool to believe anything you say is true with the
bond that ties you?”
“No.” She shrugged, claiming his rook and attacking his king. “But I
have a feeling you can help me, and Nikalias cannot find out.”
“Be careful, princess.”
Tauria looked him dead in the eye as she took his king. “I can’t stop
thinking of two things I learned in Olmstone. One, an offer that could
benefit us all. Two, a way to sever the bond.”
The silence dropped heavy. Zarrius’s surprise was not to hers.
“You wouldn’t want either of those things. Nikalias would not allow it.”
He tried to play his moves nonchalantly, but Tauria had stolen his intrigue.
She smiled darkly. “Mordecai offered me everything I have wanted for
over a century.”
“He is the one who took it from you.”
“Wrong. It is Marvellas who leads this war.”
“Yet she would be the one to sever your bond. You need her.”
Tauria didn’t let her triumph show. Zarrius knew everything.
“I wouldn’t enter into this if I didn’t have anything to gain. I love my
friends, and I will always love Nikalias. Marvellas remains a threat to them,
and Mordecai can help me end her in exchange for my hand, which is not
yet bound.”
The wheels in his mind were turning. Tauria had sunk her claws and had
him contemplating.
“Nikalias could be listening right now through your mind, Your
Highness. What you speak of is treason against my king and kingdom.”
Of course he’d remain on the edge of protecting Nik, though Tauria
knew Zarrius would sooner let him die if it meant he could take his place.
“He could be. Like this game, you have to see many moves ahead or
you’ve already lost.” Tauria claimed another knight but sacrificed her
bishop to do so. “You have to decide which players are worth keeping to
lead the fight,”—a pawn gain to her; a rook gain to him—“forfeiting small
to win big because they didn’t see it coming.”
Zarrius thought he’d been winning for some time now. Until he realized
he’d lost.
“Give them security so they won’t see their downfall.”
Checkmate.
 “You can’t possibly expect me to believe you would wish to see the ruin
of your mate.”
“Of course not. Nikalias is my mate in power, but there’s always been
something missing between us to keep us from being romantic over the
many decades we shared.” It was a plausible explanation—one she watched
Zarrius absorb slowly. “If only there were a way for me to speak with
Mordecai at the utmost discretion.” She planted the seed and then stood,
smiling at the game he’d played right into. “To win wars, you need to join
the fight. Sometimes you triumph not by force, but by strategy. You of all
people should know that.”
 CHAPTER 18

Faythe

F of her jacket. She blinked

aythe awoke with a gasp from the rough, disorienting pull at the front
a few times, dangling in their grasp until she
made out the pissed-off face of Livia Arrowood.
“What in the Nether were you thinking?” Livia seethed.
Faythe planted her hands behind her, and Livia let go. As she scanned
the room, dregs of memory started to trickle back in with a rattling horror.
Surrounded by glass, the Dresair…
Was all that real?
There was no evidence of any slain creature Livia might have battled to
save her; no trace of the hideous thing she couldn’t be confident was ever
here.
“There was a woman…” Faythe thought back. The old woman who had
led her back here.
“There’s no one here, Faythe.” Livia was exasperated. Her boots
crunched over the shards of the mirror as she paced. “Gods, I thought
maybe—”
“I’m sorry,” Faythe got out, still blinking with bewilderment as she
swayed to her feet.
“What were you doing?”
“I—um, was looking for…” Faythe stumbled over her words,
scrambling for an answer while trying to reorient herself. “What time is it?”
Livia halted her steps, pinning her with ire, and Faythe winced.
“Sunrise. When we didn’t find you in any of the rooms or downstairs for
breakfast, we split off to find you. I picked up on your scent and feared
what you might be doing in a long-abandoned store.”
Abandoned?
Faythe shook her head, ignoring Livia as she stormed back to the
shopfront. In the small kitchen everything was bleak, no hint of the vibrant
array of colors or the woman’s clutter. Her teacup was dried out, a cobweb
across the top of it. Faythe’s chest constricted, and nausea burned in her gut.
Rushing out to the front, she skidded to a halt. A lot of the shelves were
bare, though still in a state of disarray, items and vials all over the place.
Faythe was hardly present as she walked down the row of shelves, taking in
the neglected sight, noting everything was old, discolored, and coated in a
thick layer of dust.
In her rising panic she needed air. She burst out the door that barely
hung on its hinges and gulped greedily, taking a few seconds to piece
together everything…except nothing made sense in the reality she was
living.
The sound of shuffling dragged her attention to a passing human. Faythe
hurried down to them. The woman seemed startled as Faythe intercepted
her path, pulling the small child to her side. A dizzy wave struck her. A
flash of silver hair, sapphire golden-flecked eyes, and the most breathtaking
fae features. Yet who she stared at was simply a frightened human.
“Did an old woman live there?” Faythe asked breathlessly, guilty for her
frantic intrusion.
Casting a glance at where Faythe pointed, the woman’s face fell with
sorrow. “A little over ten years ago, yes. No family, so no one to take over
the business. It was steadily stolen from until all that remained was of no
value.”
“Faythe.” Livia called her name like a warning.
She would have reacted to her reprimanding tone, but as Livia held her
mask, Faythe realized her error. Though she didn’t believe this human and
her child to be a threat, they weren’t what Faythe was afraid of. Anyone
who might possibly know who she was could be a target.
“I’m sorry,” Faythe muttered to them, stumbling away with guilt. She
took the mask quickly from Livia, despising the hollowness in her stomach
as she fixed it to her face. It was a familiar feeling to hide, to pretend to be
someone else, but it was never something she enjoyed.
“Here,” Livia said softly.
 Faythe looked down at what she held out and tension lifted from her
shoulders. She swiped the vial, not having the energy to wonder how Livia
knew.
“We have to get control of your magick,” Livia went on carefully. “If
it’s affecting your Nightwalking, we need to go back to before you even
knew how to use that.”
Faythe appreciated her choice of words. We. Without realizing, she’d
been falling back into old habits that were hard to break, such as carrying
every burden on her own shoulders. It was within her to figure it out, but
without help she feared she’d never have the courage to control it.
When they spied Nerida and Reuben down the path, their faces relaxed
with relief.
Faythe took a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m ready to try.”

“There’s no one around for miles,” Livia groaned.

Faythe stood flexing her trembling fingers. “You’re not helping,” she
grumbled back under her breath.
The commander would hear her despite being several meters away by a
stream with Nerida and Reuben. The location was deliberate: a large body
of water for Nerida to wield in defense should Faythe do something out of
her control. What that might be…well, they’d been out here in the thick of
the woods for hours now, and she’d yet to surface even a trickle of magick
so they could find out. Nerida had been encouraging Faythe with soothing
words and gentle exercises. Livia had stayed silent, but her thinning
patience was becoming tangible.
Faythe thought of the abandoned shop. The room full of mirrors. It was
hard to grapple with those feelings when she wasn’t certain what was real
or a dream. The glass was shattered. Maybe it had been all along and there
was no Dresair. Yet the pulse of magick that coursed through her as she’d
watched Reylan and Agalhor’s lives hang in the balance…
A familiar heat gathered in her palms. Faythe slid her eyes closed to
quell her fear of it and tried to focus on finding the reins of control should
she surface more. The heat grew, trailing slowly up her arms like lines of
shallow fire. It crawled over her shoulder blades until the two lines met in
the middle and a pulse began in the tip of her spine.
 Faythe gasped, her breathing labored in her panic.
“You’re doing great.” Nerida edged forward carefully, but she was too
close.
Faythe shook her head, ready to retreat from the energy as it continued
to build, shaking in her grasp. “Get away from me, Nerida,” she said.
“What does it feel like?”
Faythe’s brow furrowed at the question, though she tried to answer it.
“It’s warm—almost hot. It’s not as sure as a vibration but like a low
tingling.”
“Where do you feel it?”
“In my palms at first. But it’s in my chest too, like it could stop my
breathing. It’s in my mind, like it could change my thoughts and make me
want to hurt you instead.”
“Where is it coming from?”
“Me.”
“I don’t think so.” Nerida’s gentle pondering offered a question. “We
have a well of power that restricts what we can wield, but it is not the only,
nor the original, source of magick. It’s all around us. Try feeling it in the
earth; as an essence in the air. Perhaps you feel it so recklessly because
without realizing you’re absorbing it all.”
That was terrifying. Like a trigger Faythe felt her control slipping, an
urgent need to let go. Snapping her eyes open, she glanced at her palms
first. They were glowing brighter than she’d ever seen them before. As if
sensing it, she heard the flow of water as Nerida took a few backward steps
and stood with a moving wave suspended above her head.
It didn’t help. Staring at that mesmerizing veil of water flared Faythe’s
magick with the desire to take Nerida’s.
She wanted to know what it felt like.
Take it.
The chant angled her body toward them. Faythe reached out a glowing
hand for them…
Water shot for her so quickly she didn’t register it until her back
slammed against something solid and she was drenched completely. Faythe
fell to her hands and knees, panting hard.
“You were going to attack us!” Livia shouted as they ran over.
Faythe leaned back on her knees, gathering breath. “I told you I didn’t
want to do this around you.” She scanned their wide-eyed faces, but she
couldn’t even surface guilt, only ire at their incredulity when she had been
warning them during their weeks together. “This was pointless,” she
grumbled, rising. As she wrung out her hair, her irritation grew. Her
drenched clothing weighed heavy.
“Sorry,” Nerida said sheepishly. “You told me not to take a chance if
there was a moment of doubt.”
Doubt that Faythe couldn’t control herself enough not to harm them.
The shame that overcame her made her unable to stand to look at any of
them. Yet as Faythe paced to the stream, she reflected on what had just
happened.
It wasn’t anger or darkness she’d felt in those seconds; it was magick. A
raw calling of magick. She hadn’t wanted to strike, only take…
Cracking branches far away pricked her hearing. Livia was the first to
react, drawing her twin swords. Reuben scanned the woods in a delayed
reaction, but he was becoming attuned to their fae signals and retrieved a
long dagger. Nerida braced but didn’t otherwise move.
Most likely, they were simple passersby. She couldn’t detect if they
were humans or fae yet. Livia looked to her expectantly, and she refrained
from any sourness as she retrieved her mask. Faythe inhaled deeply as she
raised it to her face, but she paused.
She listened.
For the first time, it was effortless as the voices reached her in her
desperation.
Unbelievable.
It didn’t make sense.
The voices grew slowly. Two of them.
Faythe’s eyes moved to where she tracked the sound. She only saw
woodland, but she took off running. She faintly heard the hiss of her name
and knew Livia was chasing her. She didn’t care. Faythe had to know if her
senses—or her mind in its delirium—were playing cruel tricks.
Her vision began to blur with the clench in her chest. A sob escaped her
at the realization of her disappointment should she be wrong, or her utter
elation should the faces in her mind turn out to be real in seconds.
Faythe halted abruptly. The world slipped away to reveal only one
thing.
Them.
 They were laughing and looked so wonderfully carefree, having not
spotted her yet. Wetness trailed her cheeks, and she didn’t move, wanting to
treasure the beautiful sight, but with a fear that she could blink and they
would vanish.
Then he looked at her and a shuddering sound escaped Faythe’s lips. He
pulled his horse to a stop, dismounting. He only tore his sights from her for
a moment because he wasn’t alone.
Faythe couldn’t advance for them as one hard reality stopped her in her
tracks.
What would he think of her now?
“Who are they?” Livia asked, keeping her caution, but her voice was
soft.
Faythe’s lips parted. She tracked every flicker of their expressions with
rising nerves until they were close enough to see what she was now: fae.
Her voice was strained with emotion as she finally answered Livia.
“Jakon and Marlowe.”
 CHAPTER 19

Zaiana

Z bustling city. Fivea room

aiana stood in casting her gaze over the intriguing sight of the
guards accompanied her, but she gave them her back
with deliberate arrogance as if to say she would not be threatened by them
even if they decided to ambush her at once. Occasionally, her gaze slipped
to Kyleer, who stood the closest. Sometimes she lost the fight of keeping
her mouth from curling, enjoying the flex of ire it provoked on his face.
“Why didn’t you chase me a second time?” she pondered out of nothing
more than boredom while they retrieved Tynan and Amaya.
“Because you would have liked it.”
Zaiana smiled cruelly, raising her chin while admiring how the crimson-
peaked mountains glittered in the sunrise. “So might you.”
The door behind them swung open, and Zaiana twisted to it smoothly,
firming her stance at the thought of how she might find her companions.
They were being roughly handled—two guards on Amaya and three on
Tynan. Zaiana clasped her hands behind her back to keep from letting slip
the rage that itched under her skin, especially when her eyes fell to their
red, torn wrists. She knew immediately why their shackles had caused such
damage.
“Remove those,” she warned with slow words coated with ice. She
might not have felt such rippling fury over the restraints if they hadn’t been
crafted of Niltain steel.
Amaya’s eyes dropped, lethargic but shocked as she stared at her. Tynan
didn’t appear as affected by the material, but Zaiana knew it would be
drastically reducing his strength.
None of the Rhyenelle soldiers moved at her command. Though Zaiana
was unfamiliar with the lack of response, she wasn’t such a fool to think the
guards would answer to her. It was the commander she aimed her wrath at
as she turned to him.
Steel sang at her movement, but Kyleer lazily met her pointed look.
“Now.”
“No.”
Zaiana’s vision flashed as she stepped up to him. Weapons rang out
again, waiting for his signal. Kyleer wore a cool arrogance, arms folded,
face bored. He didn’t fear her opposition in the slightest, and it grated on
her irritation.
“You have five minutes with them,” he said, daring her to unleash her
anger on him. “Then the only shackles you’ll have to concern yourself with
will be your own.”
Kyleer was asking for death by her hand. She put effort into stifling her
lightning as her fingers flexed in habit. He noticed without glancing down
and the bastard huffed a barely-there laugh.
She wanted to hurt him. Badly.
He didn’t have to speak before the guards were filing out. Kyleer made
for the door, but he shot her one last look as if to provoke her further.
Zaiana didn’t get a second to feel her wrath toward the commander
before Tynan hissed, “What in the Nether do you think you’re doing?”
She didn’t appreciate his tone. “Fixing what you gods-damn messed
up.”
“Expect our lives to be forfeited if we’re caught.” His fury was palpable
as he recited what she’d warned them all many times. “That has always
been the order. There’s no damn way they’re having you surrender to free
us.”
Tynan’s will to protect her was understandable. It was his duty. Yet she
wouldn’t stand for her judgment call to be challenged. Even in its insanity.
She ignored his pitiful heroism. “You’ll stick together. Don’t go back to
the mountain—they can’t know. Find Maverick. He’ll know how to keep
the masters from finding out about this.”
“No way in—”
“I made myself clear, Tynan,” Zaiana cut in, her voice hardening with
an authority she rarely had to use against her companions. “Don’t question
me. This is an order.”
“Thank you.” Amaya’s quiet voice snapped both of their attention. “For
coming.”
Zaiana’s teeth ground at the pang in her chest—or to refrain from
snapping at her weak words. She simply looked away from the desolate
state of her. Paler than usual, hollow eyes as if she were braced for death
any day. Amaya wanted to live. It was a rare sight among their kind—at
least in the bright and hopeful sense the darkling clung to like a child.
Something about that fact tore through Zaiana’s stomach, but it solidified
her decision.
“What happened to the healer?” she asked, keeping from using her
name in case it spoke of more attachment than she was willing to admit to.
“Faythe and two others decided to escort her back to Fenher. They’re
keeping her hidden in an attempt to figure out if you’ve told Dakodas she’s
still alive.”
Zaiana pondered their thinking, part of her calculating why they
believed she’d remain silent despite all she’d done to Faythe. “Maverick
knows,” she admitted. “It was the only way to distract him from me.” She
looked to neither of them as she turned back to the window. Her voice
dropped low to elude the guards outside. “This isn’t surrender.” Zaiana
stood in the heart of the city teeming with life, vibrancy, power, and joy.
The kingdom that had never fallen. “You’ve never doubted me before,
Tynan. Don’t start now. But I need you to listen to me so you know exactly
what’s going to happen the moment you fly out of my sight.”

Within the inner-city wall the buildings were more pristine, but they still
varied in size and structure. Zaiana noticed the paths were mapped out like
a maze, strategic in the event of an invasion. Several led into what could be
considered a trap to an enemy group, but in everyday life they were merely
cul-de-sacs where children played and fae gathered to socialize. Many high
walls ran throughout the city, patrolled by archers who were always ready.
Ellium was unlike anywhere she had ever encountered before.
Though it had never fallen, Zaiana didn’t consider the city unbreakable.
She hadn’t moved a fraction since Tynan and Amaya were taken away.
She did have a view of the courtyard, and she watched as their shackles
were removed and they unglamoured their wings. Tynan spared her a
glance, but she felt nothing, fixing her eyes on her companions until a glare
of sun stole their silhouettes. Then she stood alone for some time. She
didn’t think of fighting. Didn’t want to make the king out to be a fool as she
attempted her great escape. Perhaps she could be stealthy and ruthless
enough to succeed, but it wasn’t her plan to risk her life over something so
stupid.
Kyleer was the first to return. She felt him before she heard him, his
presence like a dark and dominating caress.
Zaiana kept her hands clasped behind her, knowing what came next
anyway. The commander stepped right up to her, but she yielded nothing
except a flinch of her eyes, which he couldn’t see, when ice battled fire
against her wrists. The Niltain steel shackles were heavy and tore through
her with such pain she had to focus on taking long, deep breaths.
Kyleer’s hand wrapped around her upper arm and his tall form stepped
closer than necessary as his breath whispered across her ear. “Let’s go.”
Zaiana ignored the ripple down her neck as he tugged on her arm,
pulling her with him. “I can walk just fine,” she grumbled.
Kyleer didn’t answer. His grip was firm, his pace marching, and she
struggled to keep up. They wound their way through many halls. Too many,
Zaiana thought. She knew then that they were trying to disorient her to
prevent her from mapping the castle. Zaiana suppressed her smirk at the
amateur measure.
“Magnificent, wasn’t it?” she drawled, eyeing the tapestries. “The
Firebird.”
Kyleer maintained his silence. She cast her gaze to his stern
commander’s face though he refused to engage.
“She put up a valiant fight, I’ll admit,” she went on anyway. This
seemed to provoke the twitch of his jaw. “Tragic the beloved princess didn’t
make it—” Zaiana winced as she was slammed against the wall, the impact
made worse by the awkward twist of her arms that crushed her bound
hands.
“If you want to live beyond a day you won’t speak of her like that
again,” Kyleer seethed in her face.
Zaiana matched his icy glare. His hand curled around her neck, but not
with any choking force. Gentle, like hands she’d felt before.
 “You’re not worthy enough to think of her.” Those green eyes flicked
between hers, and for a moment she wondered if he was searching for even
a kernel of something to contradict his next words. “You’re not worthy of
anything.”
He pushed off her, but she didn’t move. They stared off for a long, tense
second, and she couldn’t decipher why his eyes flexed as he watched her.
She deserved his words, though she couldn’t stand the faint disruption in
her gut. She’d heard far worse before. Thought far worse of herself before.
“If you want to hurt me, you’re going to have to do so with a blade.”
She brushed him off icily.
Kyleer was fighting within himself. His fists clenched as though he
were holding back from launching to clamp them around her throat again.
“Take her to a cell far on the east block.” He didn’t remove his eyes from
her while he gave the command, his tone so beautifully sharp it had the
guards moving instantly.
Zaiana was held by that dark stare of threat and anger, but it was born of
Kyleer’s passion to protect and defend. She stored away anything she could
figure out about the commander. She would find his weakness.
He turned abruptly and stormed away. Zaiana didn’t realize how rigid
he’d made her in their standoff until she was watching his back, his march
that was so livid and such a thrill to witness.
The guards approached her, and Zaiana snapped back into herself.
Unlike Kyleer, the step she took toward them caused a flash of wariness,
and they hesitated in reaching for her.
Zaiana pinned them with warning. “I said I can walk.”
 CHAPTER 20

Faythe

H strangers, and it was

er heart raced as though she were standing before the judgment of
gut-wrenching to feel such a way in the presence
of her two dearest friends.
Faythe couldn’t go to them out of fear they might reject her in horror if
she did, so she waited for them to approach. All it would take was one of
those quick, assessing looks she was all too familiar with from Jakon and
she’d be instantly detected.
Though Marlowe tucked herself into his side, Faythe couldn’t shift her
eyes from Jakon, waiting on a razor’s edge for his reaction, the moment he
saw she was now one of the beings they’d been raised to fear. One of those
they’d spent endless days mocking on patrol through the streets of
Farrowhold, believing they were all arrogant and power-hungry, and that
what little she and Jakon had was better than ever desiring the same
comforts as the fae beyond the wall. It was all a twisted memory now, but
she couldn’t shake that it had formed a large portion of their lives.
Jakon stopped a few feet away. He knew. He had to have noticed
already. Yet his face—Gods, he hadn’t changed a bit—bore nothing but
yearning, a sadness, and that was when she broke.
They moved at the same time, colliding like stars who’d been separated
for far too long, their constellation exploding in reunion. Faythe shook with
sobs, arms clamped around his neck, flooded with such overwhelming relief
when he held her tightly back without hesitation. Minutes could have
passed for all she knew. Faythe breathed in his scent, which was so familiar
it wrapped her in a contentment she didn’t realize she so desperately
needed. With her fae senses it was all-consuming. Notes of Marlowe
encased him, his cinnamon and woodsmoke scent touched by lavender and
rose.
They finally released their hold on one another. As she stared into those
brown eyes Faythe had to blink back her tears. Jakon’s smile bore equal
parts love and pain. His hand rose to her cheek, drawing his focus to her
ears, and she held her breath, anticipating the shift to horror.
It never came.
“This is certainly the twist of the century,” he mused.
Faythe chuckled. Laughed. Cried. It rammed into her all at once until
her emotions weighed her head so heavy she had to rest her forehead on his
chest while he simply held her. No one interrupted them, and she didn’t
know how much time passed before she calmed. Jakon smoothed down her
hair, letting her release it all as he’d done so many times before.
“I missed you so much,” Faythe whispered.
“Me too.” His lips pressed to her head. “Me too, Faythe.”
“I want to tell you everything.”
“You will. When you’re ready.”
With a deep breath she found the will to step back fully, but she barely
had a second to gather herself before her gaze switched to Marlowe, who
was waiting patiently, and she fell apart all over again. Their embrace was
crushing. The two shared giggles of joy and sadness and nothing at all.
Their time apart wasn’t all they had to talk about. So much had
changed. Who Faythe was now…she was still discovering for herself, never
mind trying to explain what had happened to Jakon and Marlowe.
Amid all their heightened emotions, the most confusing part of it all
returned to Faythe as she remembered where they were. “What in the
Nether are you both doing all the way out here?”
Jakon drew Marlowe close to him—a natural gravitation he didn’t even
notice anymore. “We have a lot to catch up on,” he said. Then, for the first
time, Jakon’s gaze found Reuben. His eyes widened and a laugh of disbelief
left him. “By the Gods, a lot to catch up on indeed.”
They found an inn as twilight began to set in. Faythe sat across from her
three human friends while Nerida and Livia sat on either side of her.
“Where’s Reylan?” Jakon asked carefully, eyeing Livia, who leaned in,
twisting a dagger point-down into the table. The commander didn’t try to be
intimidating, but though her features were soft, she was always carefully
calculating her surroundings and company.
“He has to stay away for now.” Her chest tightened and she dropped her
eyes. “In case the dark fae have eyes on him.” Faythe quickly averted her
gaze from catching her reflection in the ale in her cup. When she opened
her mouth, her words floundered as though speaking about what she was
made the reality dawn all over again. “You don’t seem shocked,” Faythe
tried, flicking her attention to Jakon. “About my, um—”
He chuckled lightly. The sound relaxed her tense shoulders and gave her
the courage to face the topic with a smile.
“I had my suspicions,” Marlowe chimed in.
Faythe huffed sheepishly. “A little warning would have been
appreciated.” She meant for it to be a lighthearted comment, but Marlowe’s
expression fell.
“It wasn’t as clear as knowing you would Transition. I knew you’d
come to great power and that there wasn’t much hope for you to harbor it in
your human form. Then, after the solstice—” She paused, and something
changed in the atmosphere between Jakon and Marlowe. It was there in the
look they shared and the comfort he offered her.
“What happened?” Faythe pressed. She battled with her own rising
pulse at the recollection. The solstice. The solar eclipse. Her dying day, but
also the moment she came to be all that she was now.
It was Marlowe who pinned her with a look of wonder she’d strangely
missed. “It was the day you Transitioned, wasn’t it?” It was like watching a
light switch on in her brilliant mind, revealing the final piece of a puzzle
she’d been searching for. Her eyes trailed over Jakon then back to her.
Jakon’s arm went around her, his face assessing as he watched her
carefully. “I think we felt you. But Jak…”
“Felt me?” Faythe cut in with horror.
Marlowe only nodded, still calculating. “I’m not certain what it means,
but I think we’re all connected somehow. But with you and Jak…there’s
something else.”
 Faythe shuddered with a wave of uncertainty. She met eyes with her
dearest friend, and for the first time she was struck hard with a flash of
memory, perhaps lifted from his mind to hers. They had many of them, but
in this memory he looked younger, and with him…
“You never met her,” Faythe breathed. Shaking her head, she expelled
the twisted image.
“Who?”
“My mother.” Faythe frowned at him. “You never met her.”
Jakon wasn’t quick to agree. He was thinking. It was as though he’d
been wondering the same before. “I didn’t think I had. Yet I’ve been seeing
things: you, someone older. Me, right there with you both. It’s all in pieces
and I’m not sure what to make of it.”
Faythe held no thought or answer either, shaken as she was with unease,
but it was becoming a familiar sensation. To halt her spiral, she asked,
“How are Nik and Tauria?” The thought of their bright smiles smoothed out
her expression with hopeful anticipation.
“Mated,” Jakon answered proudly.
Faythe’s mouth fell open as countless emotions and questions barreled
into her, along with a twisting ache. She wanted to see and hear it from
them. Above all, so much joy burst in her chest for them.
For the next few hours, the group exchanged stories, their meet-up
lasting long into the unsociable hours of the night, until the establishment
was left bare. There was too much to delve into in a single night, but
everything Faythe absorbed and what she managed to explain ran her
emotions dry.
“You’re heading for High Farrow?” Jakon doubled back.
Faythe nodded. “I should be able to remain hidden there.”
“To what end?”
She wasn’t sure. What her life had become was a pool of uncertainty.
“I need to learn this new power I have,” she offered.
That piqued Marlowe’s interest. Her curiosity landed on Faythe’s hands.
Growing accustomed to the golden symbols, Faythe was no longer shy to
let go of the cup she was clasping to flip her palms up. She figured if
anything, her brilliant friend might connect something from a book or a
foresight of her own to shed some light on what they meant.
“They’re beautiful,” Marlowe said, reaching to take one of Faythe’s
hands.
 Faythe thought so too now the horror had subsided. There seemed to be
no way of getting rid of them, so she allowed herself to find some
consolation in their appearance. Simply touching her magick essence was
enough to add a faint glow to the tattoos, but it was only brief before she
retreated, sealing the symbols out of reach once more.
“It’s astounding,” Nerida said, and it was only then, at hearing her tone
of voice, Faythe was struck with the reason why she’d felt such a natural
ease with the healer. Her gaze flashed between Nerida and Marlowe, and
when she found their wondrous natures aligned Faythe broke into a smile.
“It’s infuriating, that’s what it is,” she grumbled.
“Only because you’re so reluctant to figure it out,” Livia cut in.
“I’m not reluctant.”
“Stubborn. Afraid. Does it really matter what we call it?”
Their challenging glare was never malicious, but Faythe was coming to
her wit’s end. Because Livia was often right.
“Are there any libraries nearby?” Marlowe wondered. “That might be a
good place to start.”
“The Livre des Verres would be a great place. Perhaps the only place
that could hold such obscure knowledge. There’s one book in particular I’d
love to seek out,” Nerida answered.
“That’s in Olmstone,” Livia added as though it were not an option.
From all they’d heard of the kingdom from Jakon and Marlowe and
what happened after Nik and Tauria made their narrow escape, it didn’t
seem safe to venture there when it could be overrun by Valgard.
“She was really there?” Faythe whispered in fear.
Jakon knew who she meant. His expression creased with protection but
an edge of wariness. “Yes. Marvellas was there. Perhaps she still is. None of
us were certain how long Marlowe’s enchantment would hold.”
It was so much to take in, what her friend had discovered she was
capable of. Faythe stole glances at Marlowe and all she could see was their
days of careless laughter in the blacksmith’s workshop before either of them
dipped their toes into the impossibility of what they were. Marlowe still
looked the same. She still sounded the same. Faythe clung to hope that no
matter what, nothing would change between them.
“Where’s Reuben?” Jakon asked, alerting everyone to his absence.
Faythe had forgotten about him in the midst of all they had to talk about.
 “He had too much to drink. He headed for bed about an hour ago,”
Livia informed them.
Faythe winced sheepishly. She hadn’t noticed to bid him good night.
“We didn’t get the chance to hear of his great return,” Jakon mused with
a chuckle, taking a long drink. As he did, Faythe’s attention caught on a
glint from his finger. Her brow pinched, struck hard with such a flood of
emotion her eyes pricked with tears. “What’s wrong?” he asked in alarm.
“You’re married,” she whispered, then she dragged her eyes to his
before they fell to confirm a matching band adorned Marlowe’s finger.
Their gold rings met when Jakon reached over and took her hand.
Faythe quickly swiped at her face.
“We didn’t want to wait, but we were hopeful one day we could
celebrate with everyone. With the war coming, it felt right,” he explained
softly.
Faythe was happy for them, so consumed by joy, but that wasn’t all. The
reality flushed through her unexpectedly.  Of how time had become so
precious and she’d missed so much of it with them. Just as they’d missed
out on her coming to terms with being Rhyenelle’s heir, she hadn’t even
been able to tell them about her bond with Agalhor or how deeply she’d
fallen in love with Reylan. Faythe’s hands rose to cover her face. It wasn’t
long before she was enveloped in Jakon’s warmth.
“You’re still you, Faythe,” he said quietly. “That doesn’t change. Not
ever. Pointy ears or not.”
Her choked sob turned to a laugh as she lowered her hands. “I’m so glad
you’re here, Jak. It’s not been the same without you.”
“We’re two sides of the same desolate coin, remember? We’ll always
find each other.”
Her burden felt instantly lighter. What she had to face within herself…it
didn’t seem all that terrifying anymore.
 CHAPTER 21

Tauria

“A re you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Lycus’s concern was understandable, but she’d chosen to let him
in on her plan, and his reaction felt justified. It could be considered
dangerous, or in his words “insane,” yet Tauria wasn’t going back on it.
They walked the halls of High Farrow’s castle, no particular destination in
mind.
“I only told you because I need your help.”
“If he agrees to risk himself to come here,” Lycus pointed out.
Tauria knew what the plan rested on, but it wasn’t Zarrius she was
hoping to convince, and she’d grabbed Mordecai’s interest once before
when he decided to hear her out. “It may be a long shot, but I have to try.”
“And Nik?”
“He doesn’t like it, of course. But he knows everything.”
Lycus ran a hand over his face. “I don’t like this.”
“I only need you to trust me.”
“I’m trying,” he drawled.
Tauria’s spine straightened as Zarrius rounded the corner and started
walking toward them.
“Ah, princess, I was hoping to catch you.”
Her heart skipped, and when they came to a halt where their paths met,
the Lord cast an expectant look at her general.
“I’ll call for you soon, Lycus.”
 She could tell he was fighting his reluctance in the firming of his brow.
His dark skin flexed as he pinned the lord, but he gave her a small nod
before he left them.
“Has there been news regarding my request?” she asked discreetly.
He motioned for her to continue walking with him. “I cannot cater to
your request as I have no correlation with dark forces intent on taking down
our kingdom,” he began.
Tauria’s heart lurched at the opening, and she braced, realizing she’d
need to switch tactics to defend her inquiry if he turned on her now.
“But to protect this kingdom, I have my sources, and they are keeping
an eye on such threats. I may have been able to get an anonymous message
out that has indeed sparked a certain High Lord’s interest.”
Tauria kept her expression neutral, though a conflict of nausea and
rising triumph unsettled her gut at the thought he might agree to see her.
“The king requests a gathering,” a guard announced behind them.
Lord Zarrius smiled—the kind of smile that held a knowing gleam—but
if she took this, she would go down on her own with nothing to incriminate
him for being involved with the dark fae. He held out his arm, offering to
escort her, and while it sickened her, she looped her hand through it. Zarrius
tucked his other hand over hers, making her strain with the need to seek
distance from him even more, until she felt something small slide into her
possession.
“I hope you know what game you are playing, princess.”

In the throne room, they found Nik standing by the dais with the court
gathered around him. Tauria broke from Zarrius, meeting Nik’s warm smile.
Three thrones were still present as it hadn’t been on either of their minds to
update the arrangement. Tauria by routine was about to take up her usual
place, which had been to Orlon’s right, but Nik held out a hand.
“Hello, love.”
She shivered with his accompanying caress on her senses. “You’ve been
busy,” she sent back.
Nik led her over—not to her usual place, but right before High Farrow’s
single ancient throne. Her gaze snapped to him with hesitation, nerves
bundling to know the whole court was watching and this was not simply a
seat; it was a statement. Nik’s only answer was a warm smile and a dip of
his head, so Tauria took his confidence, turned, and sat while all eyes
tracked her. Some wide, some turned away from her to whisper to their
neighbor. She tried not to read into any of it, owning her right to be there.
Letting go of her hand, Nik leaned against the tall back of the throne
instead. “I summoned you all here to watch justice be served.” He
addressed the suspense at last. “It is no secret we held a traitor in our midst
—one who not so long ago made an attempt on my life.”
Just then, sobs echoed throughout the hall, the sound accompanied by
steps and shuffling as guards escorted Samara into the room. Despite the
rage that would always live on in her for what she attempted, Tauria was
not so heartless as to be numb to Samara’s vulnerable state. She took no
pleasure in the fae’s humiliation, but for the severity of her crime, her
sentencing had to be public.
Samara was pushed to her knees before them. Tauria gave no outward
sign of her sympathy.
“This is your last chance to confess anything that could affect your
punishment,” Nik said, dangling a lifeline.
If she confessed to being a pawn, it would be open for investigation and
might even spare her life if her claims could be proven. Tauria did not hold
out hope for her.
“No,” she whimpered quietly.
“Speak up.”
“I acted of my own free will,” she snapped.
Tauria felt Nik’s rippling resentment as he pushed off the throne.
“Why?” she demanded. “What could you have had to gain from an attack
on your king?”
“He is not my king.”
Gasps broke out among the crowd.
“And you are not my queen.”
“You make it easy, Samara,” Nik drawled, unfazed by her words. “I
gather all these people for a trial, expecting you to plead for your life, but
here we are. Left with only one measure. Wouldn’t you agree, love?”
Tauria spared one look at Zarrius out of mere curiosity, to see if he
would offer any protest, any emotion, to show he’d ever cared for her life
like she cared for his. She found nothing but a cold and cruel look of
triumph. He was watching Nik carry out exactly the end he’d hoped for by
manipulating her to kill him.
“Your attempt on my life is treason of the highest form, and there can be
no more just punishment than to take yours. Samara Calltegan, our
sentencing is death.”
“You cannot do this!” a male voice boomed out from the crowd.
“Father,” Samara whimpered, turning to see him, but guards grabbed
her shoulders to pin her forward.
Tauria knew the political stir this would cause. The Calltegans were a
family who brought great wealth into the kingdom with their trades. Just as
they’d hoped, Zarrius moved through the crowd to the distressed lord. As
much as Nik despised the fact, Zarrius was the only one he thought capable
of keeping peace with the family, however much he had to manipulate
them.
Samara’s death was Zarrius’s gain.
“I will grant you a choice, however,” Nik went on when the disruption
eased. “Out of respect to your family, your death will not be made public.
You will be comfortable, and you may choose how it happens.”
Her crying turned silent. She stared at the ground but gave a small nod
in acceptance of her fate.
“Take her back,” Nik ordered.
Tauria looked away while Samara was hauled off. Someone who was
once a fae of high respect and great prospects had been used and discarded,
and Tauria had never resented Lord Zarrius more. Her nails dug painfully
into the arm of her chair until Nik’s hand enclosed it, and she dragged her
attention up to find his knowing expression also held rage and disturbance.
“You look beautiful,” he said to her mind.
Tauria cracked a smile despite everything, and as if he didn’t care about
the room full of spectators, Nik’s fingers grazed her chin.
“And powerful. And like you were meant to be mine for how perfectly
you occupy this throne. I’m glad the whole court is getting the first glimpse
of your long reign here, Tauria Silverknight.”
 CHAPTER 22

Zaiana

H even had a small

’ all that bad. No bed, but a decent provision of hay. It
er cell wasn t
window through which she’d watched the day pass
into night three times now. Zaiana had been confined under far worse
conditions for far longer. She didn’t mind their idea of imprisonment. Even
the food was generous for a dangerous captive. Considering she’d killed
within their walls, she wondered why they were bothering to feed her
anything more than enough to keep her barely alive.
The silence kept her company like an old friend. Zaiana spent her days
training her mind to detach from everything as she had before. It was easy
when her desires rarely knew the light of day anyway. How to cope with
nothing? Easy when she knew the bed of stone far too well.
She was not afraid of what they would do to her for whatever
information they sought to gain. They would be fools not to try. All she
could do was relish how they tried to break someone who’d been fractured
too many times to yield to physical torture.
They’d taken her sword, plus the many daggers she wore. They’d taken
the pins from her hair, leaving her braid annoyingly loose, thick tendrils
around her face. They’d taken her cloak and removed any clothing adorned
with metal buckles, leaving her in a fitted black undershirt and pants. They
could have left her to shiver during the nights, yet a guard had unshackled
one wrist long enough for her to throw on an oversize black sweater.
At the sound of someone’s approach, Zaiana halted her calculated
pacing.
 “To what do I owe the pleasure, General?” she drawled, lazily dropping
her eyes from the stars she counted through the window.
Reylan was alone. Extending her senses, she could tell he’d dismissed
the guards in the hall too. Zaiana leaned back against the far wall, watching
him silently debate his words.
“When you left the temple…” Reylan trailed off, leaving a pause. The
look they shared aligned a thought but raised a defiance. When she looked
at him, all Zaiana could hear was his chilling promise to end her for
harming Faythe. A fraction of that death stare remained, making him a
volatile and real threat.
The iron bars between them were as good as glass.
“You said—”
“I know what I said,” she cut in.
“What did you mean?”
Zaiana straightened her head and crooked an eyebrow. She didn’t
believe for one second Reylan didn’t know. He wanted her to admit she did
too. Zaiana held one thing against him, and she would be damned if she let
it go.
“You tell me.”
His hand came up to curl around the bar, his piercing blue eyes growing
with fresh wrath under his careful control. “Where is Maverick?”
Those three words sent a chill down every notch of her spine before
scattering across her skin, each one delivered with revenge. For what
Maverick had done, and for Reylan having to witness the most unforgivable
crime. The general harbored something that could only ever be settled with
one thing.
Death.
“I am not his keeper.”
Zaiana shouldn’t care about the dark bastard. Yet the thought of him
crossing the general’s path tightened her stomach.
“It sure seemed like it,” Reylan growled. “Did you tell him to come to
the temple? Was it on your command that he—?”
“No.” She didn’t owe him anything, but she wanted to survive. Her
silence on Maverick’s actions could unleash the darkness she didn’t want to
test within the general. It was rare that she remained so uncertain of what
someone could be capable of. “I did not expect him to follow me.”
 “You would have spared her.” Reylan was trying to calculate why she’d
waste such an opportunity.
Zaiana stayed silent, still in turmoil over her own stupidity in that
moment.
“Why?”
“It changes nothing, General. She is dead.”
Reylan wouldn’t know her harsh statement was a question. One he’d
revealed the answer to instantly, exactly as she’d hoped.
Faythe was alive, and they were all part of the ruse.
He stood firm, staring her down with hard breaths of anguish, not the
deep grief she expected.
“I was hoping for a better interrogation from you,” she said to sway the
conversation away from the matter before he could attempt to probe her
further. All Zaiana had was time. She wanted to figure out what their plan
was with the rise of their princess. What Faythe was, what she was capable
of, or if nothing had changed at all in the one touched by death.
His fist clenched with restraint around the bar.
A shuffling sounded from down the block, soon joined by the ripples of
a presence that could offer even more entertainment.
“Agalhor is looking for you,” Kyleer mumbled low as if she wouldn’t
hear it.
Zaiana slid down the wall until she was sitting, growing deliriously
bored while they exchanged more words of little interest. She examined her
raw wrists, which had become numb to the pain of the Niltain steel.
Reylan left, but Kyleer stayed. Zaiana’s tipped-back head straightened
like a dead weight while he stood awkwardly still, watching her.
“Are you waiting for a show, Commander?”
His cut features had eased of some of the rage he wore when she last
saw him. He still looked particularly pissed off to be around her, but she
gauged he was feeling less murderous.
“Are you offering?”
Zaiana tracked him as he walked a few paces. Reaching for a chair, he
dragged it right in front of her cell. Her irritation flared when he sat on it.
“I question your skills if they’ve reduced you to playing babysitter,” she
ground out, hoping this were a test. He wasn’t really going to sit there for
any considerable amount of time…was he?
 His casual recline spoke the opposite. Kyleer gave an overexaggerated
sigh as he folded his arms. “Why is your chest still?” he pondered curiously.
“How often have you been fixated on my chest?”
Kyleer flashed a hint of a smile. What was more jarring was that it
caused a shudder over her body. “Why did you give yourself up?”
Zaiana huffed a dry laugh. “Do you treat all your hostages so warmly
and expect them to offer up everything?”
“Oh no, we haven’t started with you yet. Consider this my own
curiosity.”
“It’s pathetic.”
“Look at where you are, Zai.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She realized too late the error in her words. She’d given him something
to spark that insufferable delight in his eye. Her mind dangled an image
she’d buried. A face. A name.
Zaiana twisted her head to cool down, taking a second to compose
herself while keeping it all from being deciphered by the bastard who
would use the weakness. It was a battle against the first real emotion she’d
felt in so long.
She wanted to hear it again. Yet she didn’t.
She didn’t.
“What was his name?”
Kyleer’s question was all it took for her to embrace a cold detachment.
She didn’t look at him. She gave him nothing. If she were free and found a
blade within easy reach, her instinct would be to answer with violence.
Instead, she had nothing but her silence.
Kyleer stood, making as if to leave, but she didn’t care. Her eyes slipped
closed, her mind tunneling away from hurtful thoughts. Just as she was
embracing the stillness once more, he returned. Zaiana didn’t plan on giving
him any more attention, but an alerting high-pitched sound made her eyes
snap to him.
It wasn’t in fear of the blade he held.
It was her sword.
Her fists balled to know he could mock her by merely having
possession of it. There was a pride in one’s sword.
“Name?”
 Her eyes narrowed on him while he watched her expectantly. His
expression grew bored with her lack of engagement. Kyleer set the
scabbard aside, examining the craftsmanship of the sword, trailing his eyes
over the length of steel that glittered with notes of Magestone. He flashed
her a knowing look, to which she responded with a cruel curl of her mouth.
He was careful to avoid touching the length. The hilt and cross guard were
stark black but intricately woven, and as his fingers grazed the lone strip of
aged material there, she clenched her teeth so hard she thought they might
break.
Zaiana waited for the probing or mocking or taunting over what it was.
Yet Kyleer said nothing.
She slid her eyes back to him just in time to see a small, thoughtful
frown vanish as he continued his examination. Just below the cross guard
he squinted.
“Nilhlir,” he recited. “It’s not of the Old Language.” He didn’t ask her
again. He twisted his wrist once, though the sword was not at all of a
comparable size to what he should wield. “Impressive blade,” he admired
all the same.
“Why are you here, Kyleer?”
He tilted his head. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
She didn’t expect his honesty. Her head fell back against the stone.
“When you do, enlighten me.”
His smooth chuckle drew out a shiver.
Kyleer dipped into his pocket, and what he produced inspired a flash of
white rage she had to suppress. He held up the iron guards—the two for her
right hand, as far as she could tell. Her hands had felt so light and bare these
past few days.
“Can you conjure lightning without them?” he asked, giving them the
same expert attention he’d given her sword.
“Unchain me and find out.”
Kyleer glanced over her through long, narrowed lashes. Something in
his look darkened—not with threat. What spilled through that long pause
sparked a tension she wanted to ignore.
“I quite like you in chains.” He dropped his tone low, taking a single
step closer.
“There are a million ways I could still kill you in them.”
“I could make that the last thing on your mind.”
 Zaiana had played this game before. Many times. It was disappointing
to know how easily the commander fell into the trap. She eased herself up.
They’d bound her hands in front of her now, and she curled them around the
bars, peering up at him with her best look of seduction that made men drop
to their knees. She knew how to make her voice a caress to entrance him.
Parting her lips, grazing her teeth along the bottom to draw his eyes to
them…
Kyleer did as expected. Yet for the first time, a quick flutter pulsed in
Zaiana’s stomach.
“Then open the door.”
Kyleer’s look eased with a desire she was familiar with. He pocketed
her jewelry, then his hand slipped though the bars, taking her chin. His
rough, calloused fingers angled her head. With their new proximity, she
didn’t know why she cared to notice the hazel flecks through his green
irises. They reminded her of moss, earthy and calming. There would have
been an air of freedom in those beautiful eyes were it not for the shield of
something dark and broken. Zaiana didn’t know when she’d pressed herself
tighter, feeling the hard impression of iron against her ribs.
Then, like the flick of a switch, his cold glare returned. His mouth
firmed tightly, eyes flinching in what Zaiana registered as disappointment.
“You’re not that special, Zai.” He released her, stepping away, and
Zaiana had never been so dumbfounded. It was an art to lure men into her
web. She’d done it countless times, yet never had she risked becoming
tangled in her own spool.
Her embarrassment raged, flushing her skin and making her gaze burn.
Her words would form the daggers they took from her. “Look at where
they’ve stationed you, babysitting a single prisoner. I watched you for some
time, you know. Out on that quest. I watched how easily Izaiah and Livia
bonded, how in love Reylan and Faythe were.” Zaiana let out a bitter laugh.
“They even gave the pitiful human more attention than you. You mean the
least to all of them, and you always will.”
She took a large step back. Her throat…why did it tighten?
The stillness of the commander was unexpected, but he swallowed any
words of disagreement. “I guess we just found some common ground,” he
muttered vacantly, already taking steps away. “If you want to hurt me,
you’ll have to do so with a blade.”
 CHAPTER 23

Reylan

R where ’to place them next.poised

eylan s fingers were over the piano keys as he wondered
He tried one sequence. Shaking his head, he
thought it over again.
He didn’t care what it made him to be up in Faythe’s rooms finding
distraction in the instrument. It was all he could do to keep her close.
Though he didn’t enter through the door for anyone to see; a kernel of
Izaiah’s Shapeshifting ability hummed in him.
Contemplative notes filled the silence, resting his torment for a while.
He repeated them, rearranged them, until the music felt right. He couldn’t
stop picturing her seated beside him that first time he played for her. How
beautifully thoughtful she’d looked though she didn’t know how much he
ached to confess everything he felt for her.
Reylan closed the lid of the piano when he detected a nearby presence.
The falcon swooped to the balcony before a flash of white light revealed
Izaiah.
“You know, I always feel like you dampen my flight speed with the time
you take,” he commented, sauntering through the open balcony door.
Reylan ignored him as he stood. “How is she?”
“The journey was fine, by the way. I’m only a little worn out from the
flat-out round trip, but—”
“Izaiah.”
He smirked, but Reylan didn’t have room for amusement. “She’s still
well. They all are. They should be in Fenher by week’s end.”
 “You’re still keeping an eye on their surroundings too? No one seems to
be suspicious or following them?”
“No. Though their antics are both hilarious and admirable.”
He’d first heard of the disruptions weeks ago. Reylan himself had
dispatched several patrols to the outer towns where Raiders were being
conveniently outed, though none of his soldiers had been able to find out
how.
Until Izaiah witnessed who was behind it all.
Reylan had been filled with pride but also riddled with anxiety that they
weren’t entirely sticking to the plan. Faythe was masked. Smart. But he
couldn’t rest easy knowing she was deliberately getting in harm’s way.
Though he couldn’t blame her for needing some excitement.
“Do you really just sulk in her rooms every night?” Izaiah strolled
around the games room, peering into the bedroom that remained untouched.
Reylan felt the rippling essence of magick before the shadows
dispersed.
“He does. It’s unnerving,” Kyleer chimed in.
While his irritation flared, Reylan knew better than to react to their
jests. “Did you find out anything else from the prisoner?” He could hardly
stand to say the dark fae’s name. Seeing her chained and at his mercy, it had
taken all his willpower not to damn everything and end her. All he could
picture when he looked at her was the blade she’d held to Faythe’s throat.
“Not yet.”
“Don’t waste time,” Reylan warned.
It didn’t sit well with Kyleer, whose stance shifted to him, and Reylan
flared with the challenge.
“I told you I was handling her. And I am. You can’t be trusted.”
As though anticipating his next step, Izaiah shifted casually between
them. This tension was wrong. Everything was wrong, and he despised his
own willingness to spiral.
“Perhaps ‘trusted’ is the wrong word, brother.” Izaiah hedged his bets
cautiously. Twisting smoothly, his upbeat attitude was a grinding contrast
against the tension. “Though you would be volatile to kill her without
thinking, she’s not shy to provoke it. Zaiana is cunning, and she would not
entice you to strike without a plan none of us would see coming.” Then he
threw over his shoulder to Kyleer, “And we can’t allow her to get between
us without having to utter a word.”
 Reylan knew he was right and only hated that it should have been him
to voice the strategy. He paced away from them both, staring directly at the
bed in the next room that flashed far more peaceful, yearning memories.
Kyleer lay a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll come home. Soon.”
 CHAPTER 24

Faythe

F lifted the spirits, andwith

enher was bustling people, both humans and fae. The atmosphere
Faythe gawked from all angles as she walked
through the streets. It was nothing like what she was expecting, having only
heard of the large town from desolate memories. She often forgot how long
ago that battle was since the story was so new to her. She couldn’t bask in
the pleasant nature completely when notes of sorrow tightened her brow
with the thought of what this town meant to Reylan. Days of slaughter and
desolation she couldn’t fathom.
They decided to try to enjoy the day, breaking off to sample what the
town had to offer. Livia disappeared on her own endeavor while Jakon,
Marlowe, Nerida, and Reuben headed toward a packed market square.
Faythe joined them for a while, but she had something else weighing on her
mind.
Her mask was growing unbearable in the crowd of people. She had to
constantly adjust it when it stuck to her skin and almost damned the
disguise to feel the cool air. It didn’t help that when she tried to stop the
occasional person to ask for directions, she received many startled shrieks
and a reluctance to engage at all. She couldn’t blame the strangers. Aside
from her unnerving doll-like appearance, they no doubt wondered what
need she had to wear it.
A couple of fae offered her brief directions, but she still managed to get
lost multiple times in the maze of streets. As her irritation grew toward
giving up, she finally reached her destination.
 The open field of grass spanned far and wide. Faythe halted the moment
she stepped onto it, so much emotion barreling into her she couldn’t
organize it. Sorrow. So much sorrow lined the field. She took slow, vacant
steps, finally coming to stand before the first tower of gray stone.
There were so many names. Three columns, each at least one hundred
names high. Faythe was horrified because when her eyes fell back down,
there were so many stones just like this one. Thousands—tens of thousands
of names. She blinked back her wave of dizziness, made all the worse in her
heavy cloak and mask, and she wanted to take both off and fall to her knees.
Hearing about the Battle of Fenher was one thing, but standing in the face
of the colossal loss from those dark days was an immeasurably desolate
feeling.
So. Many. Lives.
What she struggled to believe was that they could come to face it all
again. Faythe couldn’t stop seeing every person walking through the field of
tribute as one who could meet the same fate. She had never felt so helpless
to stop it, but with a rising, burning need to do all she could regardless.
A hand on her shoulder made her jolt. As she spun around, Nerida
winced at her reaction.
“Do you need help looking for someone?” she asked softly.
Faythe’s eyes burned. At Nerida’s kindness; at other people’s lifetimes
of grief she stood among. “All I know is that her name was Farrah,” she
confessed.
She had debated whether it would be appropriate to seek out her grave
without Reylan here, but knowing it was within reach, Faythe wanted to
pay her respects to someone who meant so much to him.
Nerida blew out a breath. “We could be here some time. But at least
they’re organized alphabetically. Do you know her family name?”
Faythe dropped her head with guilt. “Could we try Arrowood?” Her
stomach twisted to say it, but though Reylan had never told her they’d been
married, she figured it was worth a try.
Nerida’s expression creased with realization. Faythe couldn’t bear it.
Twisting, she decided to begin with the first stone.
As they walked the field, a coating of despair weaved through the
stones. Faythe glanced down the rows with a churning gut, spiraling at the
image of the grass soaked in crimson, innocents fleeing, and steel singing.
Had Reylan stood on this very field to fight? Was this where he watched the
one he loved get slaughtered right in front of him?
“He’s your mate.” Nerida’s voice pulled her from her tunneling,
desolate thoughts. “Reylan Arrowood.”
“Yes,” Faythe answered, grateful for the distraction that made warmth
burst in her chest instead.
“Yet you loved him before you knew?”
The way she asked was inquisitive, and after giving a nod, Faythe
realized there was something she was trying to figure out.
“Have you met your mate?” Faythe toyed with anticipation, figuring
Nerida would have spoken of her mate by now or gone straight to them if
they were in Fenher.
“No. But it almost didn’t matter when I would have married.”
Faythe blinked with surprise but stayed silent. Nerida’s face was
thoughtful but disturbed as she stared ahead.
“I fled from that arrangement.”
Faythe winced. “Was he not…good?” She didn’t know how else to
word it, but she wouldn’t pry should Nerida choose not to share more.
“It’s complicated,” she offered with a pained smile before tracking her
footsteps.
Faythe’s chest twisted for the gentle healer. She was everything that was
right in the world, pure and kind, and Faythe admired her immensely,
having been the one to keep their spirits high with her permanently positive
outlook since they’d left Reylan and the others. Though now it was clear
she had not been spared from life’s twisted cruelties.
“I think you could love someone just as much with or without a bond,”
Faythe offered, knowing now why she asked. “I don’t believe it has
anything to do with how much I feel for him. The feeling can’t be tied to
something so explainable.”
Nerida’s expression brightened. Faythe thought that telling her about
Reylan would give her hope to find love regardless if it was with a mate.
Whatever Nerida’s reasons, Faythe felt a sense of pride toward the healer
who’d had the courage to walk away.
“No Arrowood,” she said.
Faythe followed her line of sight, scanning the names where his would
have been engraved. Her brow pinched hard, and she swallowed through
the tightening in her throat. She didn’t know what she felt.
 “You won’t find her here.”
Livia’s voice had them twisting to find her strolling toward them. A
mournfulness weighed on her poise. Faythe had never seen the commander
so down.
“Reylan chose his own resting place for her, along with Greia.”
Of course he did. Of course he did. Gods, her pain at what he’d endured
was like an unrelenting twist in her gut.
“I would like to see.”

Faythe halted on the hill, knowing what she’d find if she kept climbing.
She’d come alone after Livia told her where to go, yet she stilled in
wondering if she was doing the right thing—if it was right for her to be here
without him.
Removing her mask, she pressed on, feeling compelled to visit the
grave. As she reached the crest, what struck her first was the magnificent
willow tree that stood proud and alone. Faythe’s head tilted back in awe as
she wondered the age of the biggest tree she’d ever seen. But when her eyes
fell, so did the cold embrace of sorrow over what stood protected by the
beautiful nature.
Two headstones.
Her walk was slow and thoughtful as she made her way over. Her mind
drew a blank, not knowing what she wanted to say or what she’d hoped for
by visiting. She just knew she couldn’t pass by Fenher without showing her
gratitude to one who had meant so much to her mate.
Standing here now staring at the ending of Reylan’s tragic tale of his
past, it sank deep all at once, and she lowered to one knee. Faythe stared
and stared at Farrah’s name, wondering what she looked like, what she
would have been like. But Faythe knew then why she’d come.
“Thank you for loving him,” she whispered. Because Farrah had once
been a light to guide Reylan through all he’d faced. He was a warrior who
never knew love nor nurture, not from such a wicked upbringing with his
uncle. “He’s safe with me.” She crouched and reached out a hand.
The moment she touched the stone, her lips parted for the shock of
energy that pulsed through her. It warmed her chest and tingled in her
palms.
 “He always has been.”
Faythe gasped, falling back on her hands at the feminine voice. The
fae’s blue eyes sparkled with her smile. Her ethereal blonde hair blew softly
in the wind, along with flowing lengths of white gown. Faythe thought she
must be cold. Her arms were bare, and she had no shoes…
“How is this possible?” Faythe shook her head in denial that who she
was looking at was real. Though her face rang so familiar it made her heart
gallop.
Farrah.
“We would have fought with you. He would have wanted to remember
you, but I’m sorry you had to face it alone, and I wish… I only wish I could
fight it with you this time. But you found him, Faythe. You will always
have him.” Her melodic voice arrived like an echo.
Faythe shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I hope you will someday, but right now you need to run, Faythe.”
Her lips parted, but her words floundered. The hairs on her arms pricked
as she rose slowly, scanning the open space.
“Run!”
Faythe snapped her head around, but Farrah was gone. She didn’t get a
moment to contemplate if she’d ever been there at all when a shadow was
cast over the sun.
Her attention landed on the silhouette as it fell. As it struck the earth,
the vibrations gripped Faythe through her toes, ensnaring her in a web of
trepidation. She didn’t have the courage to turn.
“Like the Phoenix, an heir comes to rise once again.”
That voice… She would never forget it. For it was the one to utter the
final words she heard before it took her life.
That voice was her death.
“Maverick,” she whispered.
 CHAPTER 25

Faythe

T back, gravity didn’t weigh. Faythe

ime was imperceptible hoped to be wrong, but as she turned
her down anymore.
There he was: a dark, towering silhouette against the blazing sunlight. A
form she would never forget. Those tall, taloned wings froze her
completely. Flashes of haunting memory stole her bravery. The sight
captured her will to run…or fight…or do anything but succumb to the terror
of being back on that mountain edge in battle—or worse, back in the
Temple of Darkness that was her tomb.
Before Faythe stood her killer.
Night had switched to daylight in this spinning reel of memory. Stone to
grass. Rain to sun. Death to life. It swayed her vision, and Faythe blinked
hard to land on the present. Breathed consciously to stay grounded.
“I killed you,” Maverick drawled, stalking toward her while he adjusted
his cuffs. “Yet here you stand. I’ll admit I’m impressed.” He was so lax,
unfazed, as though they were old friends catching up after running into each
other. “Chilling” was too tame a word to describe the sting of ice that
climbed from the tips of Faythe’s toes up her legs, threatening to hold her
helpless at his mercy. “What are you now, exactly?”
She snapped back into herself with the heat in her palms that contrasted
the cold. She had the power; she wouldn’t allow him to triumph against her
again. “Strong enough to defeat you,” Faythe said, quelling enough of her
fear to turn to him fully. She cursed the wobble of her hand as it reached for
her sword.
 When Maverick was close enough, the sun’s glare didn’t shadow his
wicked glee. “You’ve come back with fire. I like that,” he said.
“You have no idea what you created, Maverick.”
Amusement and delight twinkled in those onyx eyes. “I plan to find out.
This will be far more entertaining than I hoped. I was worried it was going
to be as easy as the first time.”
“I question your skills if killing someone weak on their knees is a win to
you.”
His chuckle was dark, rich, and it trembled down every notch of her
spine. “Then let’s have the fight we missed out on, shall we?”
Faythe freed her blade, but Maverick simply watched her, waiting. Her
grip was painful to offset her tremor. Then Faythe heard shuffling from
behind her, and as she spared a glance, she didn’t think the world could
tunnel away from her farther. It was simply unbelievable that the fates could
condemn her like this time and time again.
“You make it too easy, Faythe,” Maverick taunted. “Don’t you know
capturing leaders only leaves behind vengeful followers?”
She looked out over the bodies climbing up the hill. So many fae. Some
she recognized, and with Maverick’s words she concluded who they were.
Raiders.
All with a wrath to exact on her.
The dark fae sang, “The time for hiding is over, Bloodmasked.”
A heat gathered in her palms, prickling in her fingertips. All this time
she’d feared her power, yet now she had to believe in herself enough to be
able to wield it then control it. Every lesson she’d attempted with the others
she had to recall here, with her survival on the line.
“What will you do without your Mindseer by your side? We all know
how reckless you became last time.”
“You wouldn’t have survived through your first words if he were here,”
Faythe spat.
“Do you need him to fight your battles?”
“Do you need Zaiana to fight yours?”
That made his smile drop. Faythe’s head tilted to watch his reaction.
Flickers of cobalt caught in her vision, drawing her attention to his hand as
it lifted, growing an alluring flame under his touch.
“There’s no leap to take here, Faythe Ashfyre. No Phoenix to save you.”
 Faythe had begun to reach into her power. It was of light and danger,
raw and uncertain. “Keep saying my name,” she said, extending the ability
she knew, feeling the pulse of minds beckoning to be seized. “And
remember I am the Phoenix you created.”
Twisting, she avoided Maverick’s first dart of flame as it blasted with a
cry into a fae behind her. Her hand raised, gathering the essence of three
minds. Her darkness chanted to shatter them, but Faythe fought against
herself, silencing the crooks to unconsciousness instead. It was a push and
pull she had to learn within herself, and right now her only alternative was
hope.
Faythe had no choice but to take her eyes from Maverick as the bandits
at her back closed in. She turned in time to clash swords with one. Then the
world blurred. Her sword met steel and leather and flesh. Killing wasn’t her
goal, but some wounds she had to inflict, and she couldn’t be certain they
weren’t fatal. She fell them with her ability and her sword. She was wind
and ice and fire, owning the new body she’d paid the ultimate price for,
drawing upon every ounce of heightened speed and agility and channeling it
into the battle moves she could carry out blindfolded. Faster, with a laser
focus that canceled out the world, answering to a mind that once spoke to
death and promised not to meet him again. Not anytime soon. Not until she
had lived.
The attack ceased all at once.
The bodies began to back away from her, and Faythe breathed heavily,
twisting her blade. “Is that all the effort you’ll put into seeking revenge for
your captive leaders?” she goaded at the ghostly looks on their faces.
Eyes of hatred and uncertainty bore into her in reply.
“Impressive,” Maverick commented. “I just wanted to make sure you
could deliver a worthwhile fight.”
Faythe heard his advance through his mind right before he threw up a
firm barrier against her. But she turned, locking blades with one charged
with a mesmerizing cobalt blue. Maverick pushed into her, and he was
stronger, there was no doubt. Yet he didn’t make any further move to strike
as she glimpsed his smirk of triumph through the flickers of flame.
Then his smirk slowly began to fall, mixing with confusion as he looked
over her. Maverick glanced at her palms clamped around the hilt of
Lumarias, but she didn’t waste time pondering why he’d paused. Faythe
slid her blade against his, emitting a sharp note. Twisting, she kicked the
backs of his knees. He hissed as he went down, but she wasn’t fast enough
to pin her blade to his back when he reached behind her and gripped her
leg. He pulled, and then she was falling.
Faythe’s head hit the ground hard, sparks peppering her vision. A sharp
pain in her skull disoriented her, and she blinked at the blue sky, watched
the rolling clouds for a moment of peace. Against the bright daylight, a dot
of darkness blocked the sun’s glare. It burst out from the fleeting clouds
with purpose, growing larger and larger.
It was falling—no, diving—for them.
“I killed you once,” Maverick said as he got to his feet. “Don’t make the
mistake of thinking I can be merciful.”
Faythe kept her eyes on the dark bird, her heart stopping still. Not out of
fear, but pure, exhilarating relief. Then her eyes closed against the glare of
light as it struck the earth. This was no creature; it was a brilliant warrior
she’d missed so much.
Izaiah straightened, so elegant and nonchalant. “Sorry I took so long. I
thought bringing backup would be useful.”
Just then, loud male cries erupted with the clang of steel. Faythe lifted
her head just in time to catch Jakon firing his next arrow and Livia cutting
through the fae like timber with her twin blades.
She didn’t waste the opportunity.
Kicking Maverick’s legs out from under him, she watched as the dark
fae fell. But his blade clanged against Faythe’s once more as she rolled and
straddled him, and she was stunned by his swiftness.
“One-on-one you cannot defeat me in battle,” he said with a confidence
she knew he’d earned every right to. With his diet of human blood, he
outmatched her in strength and agility alone.
Faythe tested his mind for entry. It was firm, near impenetrable, and she
wondered if his heritage had any influence on that too. He was a
Transitioned, as was she. Aurialis’s power was different from what she’d
inherited from Marvellas.
Maverick sparked a new flame along his blade, and Faythe felt a
prickling sensation. Not heat, but something inviting. While she lost focus
to admire it, Maverick growled in frustration, bafflement returning in the
knit of his brow.
“How does it not burn you?”
 Though chaos ensued behind them, it became distant to Faythe as she
reached back to the unexplainably enticing vibration, figuring she had
nothing to lose. Their blades were still locked, but any second now
Maverick could switch his tactic and overpower her. Faythe let go of her
reservations and embraced her magick, testing what it wanted to do.
She couldn’t believe what began to happen.
Maverick’s eyes widened, just as stunned as she was, and both of them
forgot their fight for those few seconds as they held their stares on their
steel and watched Maverick’s flames slowly dim. As his eyes darted along
the length of the blade, his bewilderment confirmed it wasn’t happening by
his command. And when the cobalt winked out completely, Faythe pushed
off him, stumbling back as she stood.
She breathed hard. She trembled with control. A vibration hummed in
her blood, heating and pulsing. Maverick rolled over and rose, eyes
downcast to his ordinary blade. On her exhale, Faythe looked down at her
tight grip on Lumarias.
From her fingertips, waves of cobalt burned down the Niltain steel
length. She watched—she felt—the fire as it was released from her hold.
Without realizing what she was doing…
She’d absorbed Maverick’s conjured flames.
And she could feel it. Her other fist was clamped tight, but as she raised
it and slid her palm open, she found a blue flame had ignited within it.
“Impossible,” Maverick sneered.
Faythe admired the dancing flame. It felt like danger and intrigue. It
tasted like ash and salt. “Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire,” she
mumbled to herself in awe.
Maverick sheathed his sword. He watched his hand as he sparked his
flames anew. “How are you doing that? When I don’t feel I’ve lost even a
kernel of power.”
Then his fascination seemed to drop faster than Faythe could react. She
was still scrambling to figure out what her magick was doing when her
flame winked out as Maverick’s struck her chest, sending her soaring
backward. She collided with something solid and unforgiving.
As gravity pulled her to the ground, she drilled all her focus into not
losing consciousness. Lumarias lay too far out of reach, and it too had lost
its fiery glow. She couldn’t make sense of what had happened. Faythe tried
to feel for that foreign magick she’d harnessed just a moment ago, the
unique essence of fire, but adrenaline made her too clumsy to focus. She
had to wonder, in her exertion, if she’d imagined the obscure sensation.
Faythe leaned back on her knees as Maverick advanced toward her. She
was so exhausted, battling with her magick, taking the brutal beatings
Maverick didn’t hold back. All she could be grateful for was that her friends
had arrived and seemed to be triumphing against the Raiders, sparing her at
least from that fight.
Sparking a new flame, the dark fae stalked up to her slowly, arrogantly.
The smooth twist of his wrist sent that ball of flame hurtling for her without
hesitation. Faythe winced and her eyes clamped shut. There was no escape
from its precision strike. Her hands rose, and then…
A pulse tingled in her palms, but not with the scorching blast she’d felt
from Maverick’s fire darts before. Sliding her lids open, Faythe could do
nothing but succumb to her disbelief at the lethal glow that hovered just shy
of touching her palms. There it was: the return of her magick. Without
sparing a second to wonder how, Faythe pushed back with everything she
had, crying out as she sent that ball of flame hurtling back toward its maker.
Maverick didn’t see it coming. It struck him hard, sending him flying
back, and Faythe scrambled to her feet, about to advance, when a cry too
young to belong on a battlefield caught her attention.
Her head snapped to the source, and she found a fae male overwhelmed.
In his youth, his striking will to defend reminded her of Caius, but
something else about him was familiar. The world drifted away from Faythe
until it was only them.
The grassy hills turned to stone, and she coughed as smoke and dust
clogged her lungs. The young fae fought valiantly until Faythe saw one of
the enemy racing for him from behind.
Horror struck her to act.
I can’t lose him.
That urgent plea rang out on repeat.
Faythe moved as if she already knew the sequence of events to come.
With no sword, she raced for the bow discarded on the ground, snatched up
an arrow, and before she’d registered any of it, held her trembling aim on
the foe.
If she missed…
The enemy ran so fast, and time seemed nonexistent. He would die.
Faythe didn’t know how she knew him, but he couldn’t die.
 Too many seconds she let slip, but she couldn’t stifle her trembling as
she choked on a whimper. She knew this weapon; had struck true with it
many times.
She blinked hard.
No. She’d been afraid of it.
So why did it feel so sure in her grip?
Her arrow soared as the enemy raised his sword above the fae’s head.
Faythe screamed his name when it rushed to her suddenly, but she already
knew she’d failed him. Terror, guilt—nothing was enough as she watched
her arrow miss.
Their eyes locked, his so wide, sealed with glassy fear for all eternity as
the blade swiped clean through his neck. Faythe’s bow dropped from her
hands.
She missed.
Her body fell as his did.
She could have saved him, and she missed when it mattered the most.
As her eyes closed, a cool breath of metal met her throat to snap them
back open like a jolt of lightning. Her breathing speared her chest. The
setting changed. Bright daylight opened up in place of the dark, overcast
sky, and her eyes stung, mind scrambling to restructure reality. Faythe’s
fingertips grazed the strands of grass to be sure it was real.
“We have Zaiana!”
Izaiah’s voice thundered over to them with a rage she’d never heard
from him before. This was real. The bow she’d held didn’t exist when she
scanned the ground, but her missed shot haunted so truly she still trembled.
Her stomach turned and turned, spinning like the world around her, and she
grappled with consciousness.
The fae…
His name was Kerim.
“I’ll give you one chance to think of a better lie to spare her.”
Maverick’s snarl lifted her back to the present, but Faythe was too
exhausted to fight. Sorrow and agony for a loss she couldn’t fully remember
encouraged tears from her eyes, and she bowed her head. Her mind couldn’t
stop chanting her apology to such an extent she almost spilled it aloud.
“She offered herself up,” Izaiah taunted.
Maverick scoffed. “Now I know you’re lying.”
 “She walked right into our throne room and gave herself up for the
release of Tynan and Amaya.” Izaiah threw something onto the grass before
them.
Maverick’s eyes locked onto it for a few long seconds before the blade
at Faythe’s neck disappeared and her palms splayed on the grass. She
caught a flicker of what Izaiah had tossed right before Maverick snatched
the objects up.
“A trick,” he hissed, but he continued to examine the jewelry closely,
clearly trying to decipher if the two metal guards were Zaiana’s.
“Harm anyone here and we’ll take you in to watch as we kill her,”
Izaiah threatened, cold and calculating. It was rare for Faythe to see this
side to the commander.
“Where are Tynan and Amaya?” Maverick’s fury pulsed so tangibly
Faythe turned nauseous.
Izaiah merely shrugged, not deigning to respond.
Jakon kneeled by her, but she couldn’t look at him. Her head pounded,
her heart fractured with it, and she couldn’t move. The scene of Kerim’s
death replayed in her mind over and over, and Faythe sobbed.
“You’re okay,” Jakon said softly.
Maverick spoke some more to Izaiah, but Faythe could hardly catch
their words. She was traveling elsewhere, unable to be anchored by time.
Izaiah crouched beside them, his voice a new tether to the present. “Can
you stand?”
Faythe shook her head. She’d rather the ground open up to claim her
and free her of this misery. She let Izaiah scoop her into his arms as the
battle and her emotions dwindled, and a new sense of detachment coated
her senses.
“He died because of me,” she whispered to no one at all.
“We’re all alive, Faythe,” Izaiah said. “No one died.”
Her brow crumpled. She couldn’t make sense of how she knew him or
why she’d seen his death, but Kerim deserved to be remembered…and
somehow, she’d failed him in that too.
 CHAPTER 26

Zaiana

“S orrow .”
Zaiana stifled a groan where she lay. She’d been enjoying the
peaceful chirp of birds before the vibration of Kyleer’s voice crawled across
her skin.
He diverted from his initial topic to say, “That’s a perfectly good
cushion of hay you’ve completely disregarded.”
Her head lolled lazily toward him. “You’re welcome to come in and test
just how comfortable it is. You’ll find both to be of equal firmness, yet
down here, one has the advantage of not being spiked by straw with every
slight movement.”
He huffed nonchalantly. “The horses appreciate it far more. I’ll make
sure they don’t waste any more provisions on you.”
“Are you likening me to a horse?”
“Never.” He leaned against the bars, and Zaiana’s gaze trailed the length
of her blade, which he spun casually against the ground. “Their company’s
far more tolerable.”
He was insufferable.
“You’ll dull the point,” Zaiana grumbled, ignoring his gibe to push
herself upright.
Kyleer raised her sword to eye level, scrutinizing it just as he had
before. She held back from giving him the satisfaction of letting it rile her.
“Nilhlir,” he recited. “It means sorrow.”
“It wouldn’t have been easy for you to find that out.”
 “It wasn’t. I was out of my depth among the books, I’ll admit. It’s never
been my point of interest.”
“Clearly.”
“Are you calling me dim?”
“Something like that.”
He broke a smile—the kind that made it clear he relished their banter
even if it grated on her nerves. Perhaps because it grated on her nerves.
“Battle plans, weapons, strategy—hand me scripts on those and I’ll happily
lose hours to reading them. They’re practical.”
“And language is not?”
“When it predates even the oldest living king, I believe not.”
Zaiana didn’t want to entertain him, but he was becoming like an itch.
Annoying, but irresistible nonetheless. Besides, learning everything she
could about one of Rhyenelle’s leading warriors would only serve to her
advantage. So she humored him.
Rising carefully, Zaiana drawled, “I can assure you”—she stalked
toward him, her chains clanking—“that word does not predate the oldest
living king.” Smiling cruelly, she paced her cell while she let the statement
linger.
“Mordecai is not a king. Not anymore.”
She was glad it didn’t take him long to catch onto her meaning. “He is
the greatest dark fae king to have ever lived.” It wasn’t what she believed,
only what she recited from the teachings that had been drilled into her.
“Can he even be considered alive?”
Zaiana gave him her attention, holding his eye for long enough to make
it clear she was being serious. “You would be right to fear anyone who has
touched death and still walks. Not a simple graze, not with a dangerously
slowed heart—I mean true death.” In the look they shared, perhaps they
both thought of the same face. Not the face of a dark fae, but one of beauty
and strength. Zaiana didn’t allow the thought of Faythe to linger. “But one
who has slumbered with death for centuries? Who knows what they could
be capable of?”
“Not much if he’s been hiding all this time.”
Zaiana couldn’t stop the huff that escaped her. It was almost a laugh.
“You know she’s alive,” Kyleer accused, his voice dropping low.
Taking a long breath, she cast bored eyes around the cell. “You’ll have
to be more specific in your interrogations, Commander. Gentle doesn’t suit
you.”
“You’d like me to be rough with you,” he said, and she almost shivered
at the gravel in his tone. “And that time will come.” Kyleer slipped his hand
through the bars, propping up her sword and not breaking eye contact.
Maybe she could be quick enough to swipe it from him while his green eyes
twinkled and goaded, but she didn’t move, keeping her expression bored as
she leaned back against the wall.
“Why sorrow?”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m interested. A sword’s name says a lot about its owner.”
“Maybe I’m not the original wielder.”
“It’s crafted perfectly for your body.”
“What would you know of my body?”
“Not nearly as much as I’d like.”
He was provoking her to lash out, wanting her to break her composure.
Zaiana was almost insulted that he believed even for a second she might
unravel to any attempt at seduction or praise. She would not break. She
invited the shift to physical torture lest she suffer through any more of his
poor attempts at flirtation.
Kyleer reached to his side, pulling free a mighty blade. He retracted his
arm to stand the swords side by side, and while Zaiana was proud of her
blade, she couldn’t deny his made a powerful companion.
“Knightswood,” he said.
“I didn’t ask.”
He shrugged, admiring the two blades and their similarities, such as the
leather binding around the hilt for better grip and the way the rain guard
came to a point over the steel. “I was given this sword by Agalhor when I
became commander nearly two centuries ago.”
“I didn’t ask,” she repeated through clenched teeth. Zaiana needed to
figure out his strengths and weaknesses, yet he was swaying her off course
with tales she held no use for. It made her fists clench because regardless,
she found herself wanting to listen. Wanting to coax him to tell her more
even if the useless trivia offered no advantage and was only a distraction
she could not afford.
Kyleer paused, but after a slow study of her, he chose to go on
regardless of her outward disinterest. “He said it belonged to the famous
General Fredrick Salver. Have you heard of him?”
 Giving up since he wasn’t going to quit, Zaiana shook her head. “Would
it not better serve his own esteemed General Reylan Arrowood?”
A spark twinkled in his eye at her engagement, but it seemed foolish for
him to care. “I wondered the same myself. But Reylan declined the sword.
He didn’t think it should belong to him.”
“How noble.”
“Not exactly. Believe what you want about him—it makes no
difference, and he will not care. Though I don’t believe his reasons were
selfless or because he didn’t feel worthy.”
Zaiana had many thoughts about the general, some she might even
compare to admiration. She couldn’t figure him out, but she wasn’t sure she
wanted to. “I’m sure your general would not approve of your methods with
me so far.”
“You’re right. If he had his way, you wouldn’t even be breathing.”
“Lucky me that the king sent you instead.”
“You’ll be glad to know I volunteered.”
Zaiana gave a mocking laugh. “And why would I be glad of that?”
Kyleer sheathed his sword. “Don’t get too comfortable, Zaiana. I still
plan to make you scream.”
She ground her teeth.
“The servants will draw you a bath. You’ll be closely guarded and still
bound, but this is not an act of kindness—”
“A bath?”
“Never heard of one?” Kyleer was pulling tighter and tighter on her
tether of control, and she was doing a commendable job of not allowing it
to snap.
“No.” The word cut like a cold warning.
“Tub of hot water, naked skin, soap—”
“Your disgusting fantasy would only happen against my will.” Fear
trickled through her defenses as she wondered to what lengths he might go
with his torture and if she’d just exposed a great weakness. The mere
thought roused a dangerous fighting instinct in her.
She watched his jaw lock as if he wanted to counter but decided against
it. Then her breath left her easily when he turned and walked away without
another word.
 CHAPTER 27

Zaiana

A days. Zaiana almost

new visitoroffered a welcome distraction from her painstakingly dull
wished they’d begin interrogations so she’d at least
have something to pass the slow hours. She twisted from watching the
clouds roll through the boxy window and pining to soar between them. Who
she found waiting at the bars of her cell certainly drew her interest.
“Now what is such a pretty face doing down here in these grim depths?”
she mocked the visitor. He was nothing of importance to her, but she chose
the angle deliberately to gauge if his stunning but feeble exterior was just a
guise.
“I would watch your tone with me, darkling.”
His voice wasn’t what she expected, though it rang of his distant eyes.
Zaiana peeled herself from the wall. Her shackles clinked, but her mind had
long since detached from their constant bite.
“And why should I?” she challenged.
“Because I may the one person who can help you.”
Zaiana lifted a brow, sparing a glance down the dark hall, and he read
her wariness.
“If you help me,” he added.
Her expression fell. She even rolled her eyes in disappointment as she
began to pace. “I hoped for a second you wouldn’t be so highly
predictable.”
“It is a great risk, my being here at all. Wouldn’t you like to hear what I
have to say?”
 “Why would you trust me not to speak of your visit if it could grant me
favor with the court?”
“No one would believe you.”
Zaiana pondered this for a second, concluding it wouldn’t matter; the
seed would be planted by a prisoner with seemingly nothing to lose. Fear
seemed to surface in him when she curled a cruel smile, not having to say a
word.
He added with a note of hatred, “And because I have something you
want.”
“I don’t make deals.”
“Oh, this isn’t anything like that. I wouldn’t trust you for a second.
Consider this more like…an understanding.”
Zaiana gave him her back—a movement she knew he wouldn’t be used
to and one that would rile him further. It was becoming the height of her
entertainment. She was almost glad for his decision to bother her. “You
wasted a trip. Now leave.”
“I know why your heart is still.”
Her fists clenched. “You cannot trick me.”
“You don’t believe you were born with it—not truly.”
She turned back to him with nothing short of a threat, pinning him with
dead eyes to make sure he knew no one ever fooled her and lived to tell the
tale. “Be careful of what card you play. Now what is it that you so
desperately want from me to be ballsy enough to risk my wrath?”
She could hardly stand the kernel of regained confidence that made him
roll back his shoulders. “I won’t be visiting you again anytime soon. You
know my offer, and I know yours.”
Zaiana flared at his arrogance, but he was already making steps away as
he voiced his next thought.
“You’ll bring down the inner-city wall.”
 CHAPTER 28

Faythe

F knees tucked’ up tight, leaning

aythe hadn t spoken since the battle with Maverick. She sat with her
into the corner of the booth.
They’d found a small inn for the night. The establishment was bustling
with so much sound it upset her senses when her mind sought calm. But
they’d wanted somewhere with enough bodies that they’d blend into the
crowd.
Every movement turned Faythe rigid. She kept glancing at the door as if
Maverick would storm through it any second to finish what he’d started.
Her leg bounced. The lute player and singer at the back of the inn played
wonderful songs, but Faythe only begged for silence.
“What happened back there?” Izaiah startled her he was so close.
“Besides facing the dark fae who killed me once and tried again?”
His mouth curled in amusement, enjoying her sarcasm. “You still have
your spirit. I was becoming worried.”
Faythe appreciated his easy company. “You said you had Zaiana.
How?”
“She came to us.” Izaiah shrugged, sipping his drink.
“Why would she do that?”
“We had two of her companions. She made a rather epic display of
infiltrating our defenses, all to surrender herself for their release.”
It didn’t make sense that one who embodied her wickedness would be
so…caring.
 “Simply to spare their lives?” Faythe quizzed, trying to figure it out, but
with Izaiah’s shrug it seemed they were content to accept her reasons.
“We have her locked away, bound in Niltain steel. She is powerless.”
Faythe didn’t believe that for a second. It would be wrong to
underestimate Zaiana when she’d felt and seen her ruthlessness. But her
mind raced with thoughts of what they could find out from her, though she
didn’t believe it would be extracted by any easy means.
“You deflected his fire back there.”
Faythe jerked with Marlowe’s change of topic.
Her delicate face was thoughtful. “Have you ever tried to conjure it?”
Faythe huffed a laugh. “I am not a Firewielder.”
“I don’t think you are any one thing, Faythe. You never have been.”
Marlowe slipped from the bench abruptly. Jakon moved as if to go after her,
but she didn’t go far, returning quickly with an ordinary glass of water.
“Can I have that?” Reuben asked with a partial slur. Faythe had to admit
she was becoming concerned with his growing appreciation for wine.
“No.” Marlowe set the cup on the table. Sitting, she clasped her hands,
and Faythe curved a brow at her odd behavior. “Just hear me out, okay?”
she said in a way that held reprimand. “Try to move the water with your
magick.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Just try to move the water.”
Faythe cast a wary look at her companions. Reuben was near falling
asleep; Jakon nodded in encouragement; Nerida waited in fascination; but
Livia and Izaiah tried and failed to hide their amusement. “No.” She
crossed her arms, perhaps childishly, as she anticipated the fae’s playful
mocking.
Izaiah’s laughter rumbled. “Oh, come on. Don’t lose out at our expense.
We’re merely excited to discover your talents.”
“You two are insufferable,” she grumbled.
“It can’t hurt to try,” Livia said.
“If either of you makes one comment… I don’t need magick to throw
that glass of water over you.”
Faythe gave no one any attention as she stared at the cup of water. She
took a long, deep breath to shut them out, feeling a fool for what she was
about to attempt. She tried to feel for her magick, imagining what it would
be like to move the water, but she had nothing to grasp. No sense of what it
felt like. Flame was made of ash and salt. It inspired danger and passion.
Faythe raised a hand, trying to silence the buzz of the establishment and
the gentle song weaving through it. The thought of alluring cobalt called to
her. Her palm tingled, and when she opened her eyes, everyone’s attention
was fixed on her hand with complete fascination. She tried not to
immediately balk at the shallow flame she held.
“What does it mean?” she breathed. Her panic threatened to rise with
her uncertainty, and her fist clamped tight to wink out the fire.
For a split second, a surge of terror had her scanning the establishment.
Faythe extended her senses as far as they could go. Relief washed through
her when she couldn’t detect Maverick. But it only brought up more
confusion about how she could conjure the flame.
“It’s like what I said in the woods: I don’t think you take your power
from others,” Nerida assessed. “Perhaps once you’ve sampled an ability, it’s
as if it unlocks within you. To master it, that’s on you.”
“Aurialis is the original source of elemental magick. It might be wise to
assume that’s where you’ll be strongest. But your mind ability will remain
from Marvellas’s bloodline,” Marlowe added.
Faythe tried to absorb the information that seemed too much to process
all at once.
“Nerida, would you?” Marlowe instructed.
The healer hesitated, only as she tried to figure out Marlowe’s thoughts
like the rest of them. When she reached up a hand, it was mesmerizing to
watch the water in the cup lap around lazily before rising like a gravity-
defying stream out of the top of the glass. Everyone leaned in to watch the
suspended rippling water with awe.
“It’s beautiful,” Marlowe breathed. “Now try to move the water,
Faythe.”
Faythe met eyes with her over the water, expecting laughter, but she was
serious.
“I know we’ve all had an eventful day, but I don’t feel like being the
source of everyone’s entertainment,” she said bitterly.
“You’re not,” Jakon said softly. “We need to rule out things one by one.
Trust us.” He was the only one who nodded his encouragement while the
rest became giddy at the thrill of watching Nerida’s magick.
Faythe huffed a harsh breath and copied Nerida.
 “Don’t focus on the water itself; feel for the magick coursing through
it,” Marlowe said.
“Explain it to me,” Nerida prompted.
Faythe felt for it like she did with fire, but the contrast was stark since it
was difficult to touch the essence of water. “It’s calm,” she tried. “Cold and
soothing and healing.” A new energy vibrated in her palm this time. Her
heartbeat quickened, but not out of fear. Faythe focused, and what she felt
was wonderful. Water… It tasted sweet and airy. Refreshing. But that
wasn’t to overshadow the lethal force it could become.
“By the Gods,” Izaiah muttered. His awe sounded genuine, though
she’d expected another gibe. It drew her attention to him, but he was
looking at Nerida.
Faythe followed his gaze to find Nerida’s hands in her lap, the water
still levitating in the air, the glow of her palm reflecting off it.
In her shock she let it go all at once.
The water splashed onto the table, and everyone jerked as it spilled over
the sides, yet their concern quickly faded when all eyes pinned her.
“She can take people’s power…like Reylan,” Livia pondered, a small
glimpse of triumph shining through.
It was then Faythe realized all this time the commander had been just as
on edge trying to figure out what to do with her magick as she, equally at a
loss for what to suggest while she kept her distance after all Faythe had
been through. Faythe’s gratitude couldn’t be voiced in that moment, but she
made a mental note to thank Livia for enduring this with her these past
weeks.
“Faythe’s power is raw,” Marlowe said. “She doesn’t need a vessel. She
draws from the source of magick before us and can turn it into whatever she
wants if it’s an ability she’s experienced.”
“I wonder if I can help,” Nerida interrupted. “Now that Faythe is known
to be alive, I assume you’ll all be heading back to Ellium. I can head north
to Olmstone and pay a visit to the Livre des Verres. I’ll report back with
anything I find as soon as I can.”
“We don’t know how safe Olmstone is after everything that happened,”
Jakon said apprehensively. “I wouldn’t risk it to find out if Marvellas is still
there or the dark fae have taken over. We left it in the hands of Chief
Zainaid and the Stone Men to fight for the kingdom. I don’t know what
happened to King Varlas after everything, but Tarly, the prince, has gone
missing. Tauria tried to find him before we fled.”
“Tauria Stagknight?” Nerida interjected, but she quickly subdued her
interest when all eyes fell to her.
Jakon nodded. “The Fenstead and High Farrow queen, yes.”
A warmth erupted in Faythe’s chest at hearing Jakon title her as such. It
was so fitting and triumphant for Tauria, and the image of her and Nik
ruling their kingdoms side by side was one she swore to see. It added fresh
flame to her drive to fight.
“You’ll want to be careful about flaunting that kind of magick.”
The new voice made her jump, and everyone moved to draw their
weapons.
Faythe’s eyes landed on a tall man who pulled down the hood of his
long leather coat to reveal shaggy, unkempt brown hair as he approached.
Yet his attention only lingered on her for a moment before it slid to Nerida.
“One with such a rare talent can fetch pretty coin on the mainland,
Waterwielder. Bonus for the unique beauty of you too.”
Faythe’s protective side flared, but Izaiah spoke up first.
“Unless you’re making a threat, you’d best leave, pirate.”
The man’s smooth chuckle flexed the unruly scar on his lips. “I just
thought you might appreciate the warning not to go wandering alone.”
“She’s not alone,” Faythe cut in.
The man’s dark eyes slid to her, twinkling in delight. “I don’t know
what you are, but the same could be said for whatever lingers under your
skin.”
“What do you gain from approaching us?” Livia asked, jamming her
dagger into the table.
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Consider it an act of kindness to repent
for some of my sins.”
No one matched his devilish grin.
He rolled his eyes. “Maybe I believed you lot might offer some
entertainment for the night, though it seems the drunken states in the corner
would offer better company.”
“What is your name?” Faythe tried.
His smile turned sly. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He studied
her as if she were a trophy. “What a peculiar—”
“Set of eyes. I know.”
 “Spirit,” he corrected her.
Faythe’s breath caught in their stare-off. She’d slipped up, and she
cursed her own childish error in alerting him to something that would now
stick in his mind. Her fists tightened so as not to give away their faint glow.
“I think you’d better leave,” Jakon said, rising.
The man held up his hands. “As you wish.”
Something about him didn’t feel right, yet Faythe couldn’t place it. She
didn’t realize she’d shifted forward. His eyes lingered on Nerida as he
backed away, and the healer’s soft hand took hers. As Faythe’s eyes
snapped down to it, she was whipped into an entirely different mood at the
flash of memory. While her skin had gained a tan during her time in
Rhyenelle, Nerida’s warm brown tone against hers brought forth joyful but
yearning images of Tauria.
“I think we should all get some rest,” she said softly. Their eyes met,
and Nerida’s hazel gaze was appreciative, though Faythe wasn’t sure what
for.
Rest would at least pass another night and welcome a new day. One
closer to their heading back the city. One closer to home.
One closer to him.

Faythe finished the last scoop of her breakfast the following morning and
set down her spoon to tune in to the melodic singer wandering around the
tables performing quietly. Her volume was far more bearable in the
daytime. Marlowe and Nerida sat with her while they waited on the others,
who were outside securing two horses.
“I guess this is where we say goodbye,” Nerida said in a sad tone.
It only now dawned on Faythe that the healer was at home in Fenher
and would not be coming with them to the city. “Are you sure we can’t
convince you to come to Ellium?” she asked. “Your skills would be
invaluable, and you would be housed and paid well.” Faythe had already
extended the offer, and she knew Nerida had made her choice to stay.
“Thank you, but my attention is needed here for now,” she said, but at
the drop of Faythe’s enthusiasm, she added, “But I will not forget. Perhaps
our paths will cross again sooner than we know.”
 They hadn’t known each other long, but something about the healer
drew Faythe to her with ease. She trusted Nerida. Her nature was inviting,
hopeful, and almost familiar, especially her hazel eyes.
“Thank you, Nerida, for all you’ve helped me with.”
“Don’t be afraid of what you’re capable of.” Her golden-brown hand
met Faythe’s over the table. “I have something I’ve been waiting to give
you.” Dipping into her satchel, she produced a small item wrapped in
parchment.
Faythe frowned at the item, taking it warily.
“I never told you all about my time under the mountain with the dark
fae. It was short, but to get me out I believe Zaiana used a path that goes far
deeper than any of them typically venture. On that path we discovered a
woman. She was old, barely clinging onto life, and I…I had to deliver her
the only mercy I could.” Nerida fidgeted with the item, the memory making
her hands shake, and Faythe reached out to encase them.
“You helped her. There would have been nothing of kindness to greet
her at the end without you.” It was all Faythe could say to ease the guilt that
surfaced in the healer.
She gave a grateful nod. “She didn’t give a name, but her eyes…they
were like yours—or at least, they might have been once.”
Faythe straightened at the fact, her heart tumbling out of her chest.
“Eyes like mine,” she breathed. Shaking her head, she had to step back to
breathe air. It didn’t come easy.
No, Nerida couldn’t have met the only person who surfaced in Faythe’s
mind at the news.
She couldn’t have met her mother.
“She would have given a name,” Faythe thought out loud. “But then
who?”
“She told me to only give it to you. She used your first and last name,
Faythe. She knew who you were.”
Faythe fixed her eyes on what Nerida held, realization dawning that the
answer she’d been searching for could be right in front of her. “You never
opened it?”
Nerida shook her head, extending the gift once more. “It was not
intended for me.”
It was Faythe’s grasp that shook now. The item that slid into her
possession was heavy, but not in weight. She didn’t know why, but her gaze
slid to Marlowe, and for a second they were back in the humble blacksmiths
in Farrrowhold, discovering the ancient note hidden within her mother’s
pocket watch.
Her friend gave a knowing smile, advancing forward. “Do you want me
to?” she asked quietly.
Faythe could only nod while her ears filled with the hammering of her
pulse. She felt the others nearby, attentive but keeping their distance as she
began to pace, restless. She blinked hard a few times as she heard the paper
unravel, chewing at her fingertips as she waited, and from Marlowe’s pause
Faythe decided there indeed must be something written on the underside of
the parchment.
“Is it my…?” Marlowe couldn’t bring herself to finish. The faint shake
of her head accompanied a wary frown. “Not your mother,” she confirmed,
passing her the crumpled parchment.
It read:

She taunted me with your name. She knows

who you are but tells me you do not. It is
part of her plan to keep you forgetting, only to
have you remember the parts she wants. You
have to remember it all.
I don’t know how this will ever find you.
Perhaps it never will. I couldn’t achieve what
you asked, and trying to led to my capture.
Should you remember, know my fate was
not your fault.

“This was wrapped in it,” Marlowe said. “Just like the one you own.”
She slid a brass pocket watch across the table.
Faythe was beginning to hate the sight of the thing that didn’t seem to
stop duplicating. “Dakodas’s mark is on the back,” she stated without
knowing.
 Marlowe flipped it over, confirming the etching of the circular symbol
with a crescent moon, two lines striking its circumference. “I wonder what
could be inside,” she marveled.
Faythe wasn’t so keen to know and slid it into her pocket, where it
became a new weight of anticipation.
The singer’s words filled her ears as they fell into silence. Faythe tuned
in to her subconsciously as she took a swig of water and they all stood to
leave. Then her steps halted abruptly with the next verse of the song. She
was suddenly hit with why it sounded so familiar…

The heir of souls will rise again,

Their fate lies in her palms.
With rings of gold and will of mind,
She’ll save the lives of men.

She’d heard it before.

Faythe whirled around. Not knowing why, she leaned her hands on the
table the singer was wiping clean. “What is that song?”
The woman startled back at Faythe’s abruptness, but her adrenaline
couldn’t force an apology through her tight lips.
“It’s a very old and common song. I did not mean to offend.”
“Where is it from?”
The woman shrugged. “I heard once that it was part of an epic that some
musicians turned into song.”
“Poems?”
The singer nodded, backing away as though Faythe could be dangerous.
“Time to go!” Izaiah called out.
But it didn’t sit right with Faythe that this was all they were. With her
time up, she couldn’t risk it becoming something she forgot. She turned and
met eyes with Nerida.
“Are you still planning to head to the library?” Faythe asked quietly.
Nerida spared a glance around as though one of the others would come
barging over to scold her. Then she nodded. While Faythe’s unease rose in
concern for her venture, no part of this war would be won without risks.
“Do you think you could look for something for me? I think I’ve heard
that song before, a poem. It might not be anything, but maybe—”
 “I’ll try to find out what I can,” Nerida said gently, squeezing Faythe’s
arm to defuse her guilt for asking. “I didn’t think this would be the end of
each other’s company,” Nerida went on. Her smile could disperse any cloud
of negativity in the room. “Until we meet again, Faythe Ashfyre.”
 CHAPTER 29

Faythe

A They passed the daysthewith

fter another week group stopped in a small town called Gasvern.
casual conversation. Faythe heard more
about Jakon and Marlowe’s time in High Farrow since she’d left, but she
feared for Nik and Tauria as they told her about the threats to their reign.
Faythe told them about their quest, not leaving anything out as time was too
precious for half-truths. She wanted to share every harrowing tale, but also
every wondrous thing.
Now, she was so tired from her travels with a yearning to be home that
time began to mock her with its slowness. They made camp in a forest,
everyone in low spirits as they’d run out of food and coin a day ago.
“We’ll need more wood if we’re to keep the fire going all night,” Livia
said, poking at the dwindling flames.
It was twilight. The darkness would cloak them soon, and Faythe
shuddered at the thought of its embrace. She pushed up from the log she
was perched on.
“I’ll go,” she offered.
“I’ll come with you,” Jakon said, but he was cut off by Izaiah.
“She’ll be fine. There should be some close by, and I can gather more
on my watch later.”
It wasn’t like Izaiah to let any of them go off on their own, but Faythe
wasn’t going to point that out when she desired the solitude.
Her friend’s brow knitted in protest, but Izaiah held his eye, and
whatever Jakon read in his had him backing down. Marlowe offered some
comfort, placing her hand over his thigh. The movement seemed so loving
and carefree, and Faythe hated that their affections twisted in her chest. Her
own hand subconsciously dipped into her pocket to clutch the wooden
butterfly as the reminder of Reylan’s face, his hold, made her body cry out
in longing.
Faythe said nothing, not looking to anyone as she turned and began
stalking through the trees. She didn’t look for wood for a good measure of
distance, needing to simply walk and clear her mind for a few minutes to
ease the prickling in her eyes.
She skulked through the woods, eyes tracking the brown foliage
scattered across the ground. Her feet kicked at useless branches while she
began to stack logs in her arms big enough to create a fire. Twilight was
fleeting, and she had no desire to be so far from the group when darkness
fell.
Faythe was about to turn back when the shuffling of foliage spiked her
alarm. Her heart stilled. There was a beast near the stream ahead, but thick
trunks restricted her from seeing exactly what it was. Lowering her pile of
wood, Faythe curled her hand around Lumarias at her side as she
approached with feline stealth. If it was something she could take down on
her own, Faythe figured the beast could be traded in for coin they could use
for their journey or at least a hearty meal.
The creature huffed loud enough that she immediately doubted her
choices. It had to be large. Its dark coat eased out from the trees a little
more. Then, when its head dipped to feed off the frosted patch of grass,
Faythe stopped in her tracks.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
She closed her eyes tightly, yet when her lids opened, the horse
remained exactly where it was. When its head straightened and turned to
her, the world around her stopped. Vacant steps closed the distance between
them. Faythe’s fear was nonexistent, but her furiously pounding heart
warred with her mind, not letting her believe this could all be a dream.
She stopped right before the obsidian horse. Its head lowered to meet
her hand as she stared into those glacier-blue eyes, and familiarity struck
her chest with a joy so overwhelming her eyes began to blur.
“Where is he?” she whispered to Kali.
She was answered by an awareness that raced along her spine before
scattering over every inch of her skin. Faythe barely heard the crack of
branches at her back, but the world silenced at the presence.
“I’m right here, Faythe.”
Her breath shuddered in an exhale. She delayed turning around with the
emotions that barreled into her all at once at hearing the voice she’d missed
so much.
Faythe’s hand dropped from Kali as she twisted.
There he stood.
She choked out, “Reylan.”
The general nodded.
This is real.
Then she was running. In only a few quick strides they collided, and the
completeness of that embrace broke her down. Her arms clamped around
his neck, straining from his height as he straightened. Her legs wrapped his
waist, and he held her tight. Reylan buried his face in her neck, breathing in
her scent, and she didn’t care how much time passed in this moment she
wanted to treasure forever.
Faythe started trembling with quiet sobs mixed with euphoric laughter.
She didn’t want to let go, but she had to look at him. She pulled back just
enough to take his beautiful face in her hands. The connection in their stare
spoke of a mutual impulse as her mouth angled down to meet his. Their kiss
exploded within her. Their time apart drew out a feverish urgency, and
Faythe didn’t register any other movement until her back was pressed
against something solid. His body molded to hers, wrapping her entirely
with a warmth, safety, and contentment she only ever felt with him. One
hand gripped her thigh and his other hugged her waist tightly as she clung
to him, wondering how she’d survived weeks without this, realizing just
how hollow she’d become in his absence now her chest, her mind, pulsed so
bright and strong with him nearby.
Their kiss began to slow, turning to a soft yearning, and her fingers
weaved through his silver locks. They broke free, foreheads resting together
while they caught their breath.
“I haven’t felt a moment of peace in forty-six days,” he rasped. When
he pulled back, the tree kept her still while she leaned into the palm that
encased her cheek. “Not for one damn second—until right now.”
Her brow pinched, and she nodded in agreement. “Why are you here?”
She couldn’t be more glad for it, but they were heading to Ellium anyway.
 A dark shift filtered across his eyes as they scanned every inch of her
face. “Izaiah got word back to us about what happened. I wasn’t going to
stay away a second longer.” His breaths turned hard, deep, as though he
were trying to suffocate his rising wrath as he fixed his stare on the ground.
“Maverick was here. He could have—”
“He got nothing,” Faythe cut in, unable to bear his turmoil. Her hand
gripped his chin, forcing him to look at her.
Those sapphire eyes snapped open. The anger in them she’d only seen
once before, and Faythe fought against the sickening shudder to be back in
the temple. Then, slowly, as they shared a deep look, it was as if they both
realized at once what mattered. Here and now. Being safe and together.
“I’m not leaving your side again,” Reylan promised.
Faythe nodded. “Good.”
He leaned down to kiss her again, instantly pulsing a desire so strong
she pressed herself to him, moved against him, without conscious thought.
Their scents shifted and mingled to bring them back to the time before they
were parted. Lust. Against her core she felt his arousal, dipping her hand
before she knew what she was doing.
Reylan groaned against her mouth with her first firm stroke.
Faythe didn’t care where they were, calculating she’d traveled far
enough from the group that they could have this private moment. Her need
had been building since the Fire Mountains.
He pulled back, holding her face in his hands, searching her stare with
wild, blazing eyes.
“I need you,” she whispered.
He didn’t stop the heel of her palm from dragging down again, and he
gritted his teeth with a hiss that sparked through her. “Gods, I missed you,”
he said, colliding with her, and she moaned as their tongues clashed with a
wild urgency.
Faythe had felt a burning lust for him before, but now, in this fae body,
it was inexplicably maddening. Every touch ignited, every instinct turned
raw and primal, and a part of her raced with the thrill that what she’d
experienced with him before would be nothing compared to what they
could share together now, as equals.
Faythe worked him again and again, her core tightening each time he
thrust into her hand, driving her toward the brink of climax. His mouth left
hers only to trail kisses across her jaw and down her neck as if he might
devour her. Faythe clutched him tight, her thoughts scattered as she roamed
over his chest, imagining his skin rather than the textured leathers. The
scrape of his teeth drew her gasp.
“I’m seconds from taking you against this damn tree,” he growled.
“I want it, Reylan,” she panted, tipping her head back, wondering if he
was aware of his own shallow movements against her core from their
position. “I want all of you.”
The friction was torture. More so, the pants she still wore.
Reylan swore, pushing off the tree. He only walked a few paces before
Faythe gasped as he lifted her higher, and spying Kali, her leg hooked
around him on instinct. Faythe glanced back as Reylan braced.
“We should tell the others—”
Reylan hauled himself up in one smooth glide, slipping in warmly
behind her, and she could have melted into him.
“If Izaiah let you go off on your own without knowing I was here, it
might have been enough to distract me from you to strangle him.”
Faythe smirked, relaxing into him.
“Where are we going?”
“Only a bit farther away. There’s a small running lake.” His lips pressed
to her head, then down to her ear, and she shivered. “I want this one night
with you without the possibility of hearing about it from them by morning.”
A blush crept along her cheeks. Her thighs tightened.
In a few minutes, Reylan pulled them to a stop, and her heart fluttered
when he dismounted and poised to aid her. Bracing on his shoulders, she
eased down, but instead of planting her feet on the ground, Reylan’s hold
slipped around her waist and her legs wrapped around him. The twinkle of
desire in his eyes resurfaced her lust.
As he carried her, Faythe’s head angled up and her lips pressed to the
soft spot below his ear. His body turned taut, hands clenching her upper
thighs, and she smiled, traveling lower over his neck.
But something overcame her in that second—a desire so frightening and
new…
Bite.
Her gums ached, but the ache was dulled by the new feverish impulse
that doused her with panic. Her tongue traced her top teeth and she gasped
at their sharpness.
 Reylan lowered with her. The cool grass against her back didn’t register
as her eyes widened and her hand darted to her mouth. Reylan’s attention
fell there in confusion, then realization. Tentatively, he pulled her fingers
away and his thumb brushed her bottom lip. All she could do was watch the
awe swirling wide in his midnight irises as his breathing became
delightfully rugged.
“Beautiful,” he admired, fixating on her elongated canines. “You have
no idea how insane it drives me to see this.”
It was the first time she’d felt them. There were new discoveries around
every turn, it seemed, and having Reylan here meant the fear that threatened
to rise turned instantly into confidence as he coated her in pride.
“They kind of hurt.”
He gave a side-smile. “They won’t after a while.”
“Why didn’t they come out when I was in danger?”
Reylan looked puzzled.
Faythe clarified. “The fae use them as a threat.”
His smile bloomed, wide enough in rare amusement that it showed his
own sharp teeth. “I don’t know who told you we bite to attack,” he teased.
Her cheeks flushed.
“The dark fae, perhaps, with their taste for human blood. Fae don’t bite
fae for any reason other than pleasure.”
Faythe couldn’t remember where she’d heard the obscure fact, though
now she felt like a foolish child to learn her insight was nothing but a
wicked bedtime story.
Reylan hovered above her, and a few silver strands fell over his dark
brow. Faythe reached up to comb her fingers through them.
“I’m glad you came,” she whispered, choking up. “It was all for
nothing.”
He shook his head. “If there was even a chance we could have kept you
hidden and safe, we had to try it. Nothing about the plan was a waste, but I
resent them for driving us apart, even if it was only for a short time in the
forever I promised you.”
That beautiful ache in her chest grew so strong she had to act. With her
hand on his chest and her legs hooked around him, Reylan read her gentle
push and gripped her hips, switching their position. A new hunger flared in
his eyes.
“I’m beginning to really love this position,” he ground out.
 “You are?”
“Yes. Sinful thoughts aside, your confidence is growing. You’re taking
what you want. If it has to start with me—with us—take it all.”
Faythe yelped as without warning he hooked an arm around her and
twisted. His hand pinned her wrists, a few loose curls near touching his
passionate eyes.
“And I’ll challenge you every damn time until you know you can take
control when you need to and it is nothing to be fearful of.”
Her brow pinched with that because he wasn’t just speaking about their
lust in that moment. Not submitting but encouraging her to rise. To fight. It
struck a chord in her to have him shed light on what she assumed she was
failing at.
“Push back,” he dared.
Faythe strained once before slumping back down.
He gave a soft smirk. “You’re not even trying.”
“How would you know?”
He leaned in close, warm breath across her collar. “I know you.”
“Are you sure?”
She felt the near touch of his lips on her throat, and in his distraction,
Faythe’s knee tucked up between them, about to jab into his abdomen.
Reylan was quick, however, and he shifted back, one hand grabbing her calf
and pulling. He held it around himself instead, bring their bodies flush
together. His mouth barely moved from her skin.
“Yes,” he purred.
Faythe arched into him to give the impression she was falling for his
seduction. But her competitive side still hummed through, and Reylan
reacted exactly as she’d hoped.
Hands freed, Faythe’s thighs clamped tight around him, and she reached
to his side, using all her strength against his to make them tumble once
more. When they stilled, chest to chest, her sly smile reflected on the blade
angled against his throat.
Reylan’s bewilderment quickly eased to a clouded lust. His hands
trailed up her thighs and squeezed.
“Is it bad that I found that highly arousing?”
He spoke to her in her mind, the stroke on her senses somewhat more
intimate than his external touch.
 “You still have a lot to figure out, and I’m with you every step of the
way. But I see you, Faythe—the progress you’re making—even if it doesn’t
feel like you’re moving anywhere fast.”
She didn’t realize how much she needed someone to see what she
couldn’t. And coming from him, those words of encouragement gave her a
strength like no one else could. Faythe had no words; could only bring her
mouth to his to express her gratitude, her love, to the one who had never
once dropped an ounce of his belief in her.
She pulled back, eyes instinctively falling to his neck. “Pleasure,” she
whispered—more as an escaped thought that raged through her. “If I bit
you, would it…?”
“No,” he answered. “It wouldn’t complete the true mating bond without
a declaration from each side. It’s a law that protects against forced
matings.”
The fact drummed hard in her chest and tingled heat straight to her core.
“Would you enjoy it?” she asked, but she already knew his answer by the
desire clouding his irises.
“Very much so.”
“Would I?”
“Yes.”
It was a surge of something primal she wasn’t used to. It terrified her
and raced a thrill that canceled all thought and reason.
“I want to,” she breathed.
A wildness flared in his expression at her words. Faythe braced, but she
didn’t know what for—only that she wanted him wholly unleashed. Then a
softness replaced their moment of passion and his hand curled around her
nape, guiding her head down to meet him in one firm kiss.
“I know,” he mumbled. Carefully, he sat up until she straddled him,
propped up on one hand while the other stroked between her shoulder
blades. “But it’s intense, biting. It could overwhelm you right now.”
When his words started to dispel her reckless lust, Faythe knew he was
right. She was grateful he had a handle on restraint while she was still
figuring out her impulses.
She eyed the water and her thoughts drifted to how everything was still
so new to her—even her power. With Reylan here what crossed her mind
didn’t seem so frightening. And he didn’t know what they might have
discovered about her magick.
 “I want to try something,” she said, not taking her eyes off the flowing
water as she slipped from his lap and kneeled by the stream.
Reylan wordlessly shifted behind her.
“I need you to be ready, and to take it all from me if I can’t let it go.”
Her hand trembled as she dipped it into the water, the bite from the icy-cold
stream jolting through her.
“I’m right here,” was all he said, his warmth a welcome contrast as he
tucked himself in close.
Faythe took a long, deep breath. She wasn’t sure if she could do it, but if
what Marlowe said was true…
She closed her eyes to focus. Though her mind sparked with terror, she
tried to erase Maverick’s face from her memories so she’d only focus on his
ability. Fire. The heat it brought to her chest, the vibration of its essence in
her palm, the taste of ash and salt…
Slowly, it became tangible, and she retracted her hand with the need to
see it. Her eyes slid open, and she grappled with the tethers of her panic at
seeing the shallow cobalt flame dancing over her palm—not touching it, but
its blue light shone over the gold symbol that lived there, which awakened
with the use of her magick.
“This is an interesting development,” he said quietly, but the awe in his
voice quelled her fear. Reylan’s hand eased under hers, and they marveled
over it together. His sharp intake of breath spiked her alarm. “I can feel it,”
he said, stirring Faythe’s confusion, until he slipped his hand from under
hers, and with the movement, the flame diminished from her palm only to
reignite in his. “I can take it.”
“You have always been able to do that,” Faythe pointed out, but she
furrowed her brow at the shake of his head.
Reylan manipulated the flame, growing it, weakening it. He broke it in
two, holding the fire in both hands. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with
you. When you asked if I could feel your magick I never lied, but I
discovered that I was unable to reach it—to take any of it—because there
was no one thing to take and use. Not like when you only had your mind
ability.”
Faythe’s mind blanked as she tried to make sense of what he was
saying.
“When you translate it to something, this raw well of power you
harbor…Gods, is it a relief to feel your magick. To know I can still help
you, though it will take us time to figure it out.”
Emotion lapped over her as she watched him marvel at the flame. The
small smile he wore lit a warmth in her chest.
“Can you still conjure your flame?” he asked.
With a deep breath, Faythe thought of the essence. Each time it sparked
to life it came a little easier, though it was a mere matchstick flame
compared to what chanted darkly within her each time to push and push and
push. Faythe didn’t know how destructive she could become.
“Good,” Reylan said, winking out his own fire. “At least you got
something back from that bastard.”
At his enthusiasm, Faythe allowed herself to smile. To see the power
she harbored as something other than an entity that could harm and
consume and destroy. Even if it were just a kernel she’d surfaced, her power
could be beautiful, and maybe one day controlled.
Her next breath eased out of her much lighter, then she lowered her
hand to the water again. The flame fizzled out, but Faythe focused on the
harsh contrast of the bitter water that wanted to silence her Firewielding
ability. She willed the heat to stay, felt it tingling through her veins right to
her fingertips, until it escaped into the water. She kept going, thinking she
could keep her control on this small change, but it began to grow. From the
heat in her palms, she knew the line of script was slowly lighting up over
her arms. She could feel the familiar burn and knew it would end between
her shoulder blades, but by then it would be too much.
“Reylan,” she rasped, beginning to tremble with her reluctance to know
what would happen if she kept going.
“You’re doing great.” He didn’t touch her again.
“You said—” Yet her words halted because he’d made no promise to
stop her.
“Breathe. You are the master of yourself—don’t let your magick take
away your control.”
Faythe shuddered, her eyes scrunching shut as she exhaled. She wanted
to believe him just as fiercely as he believed in her. The water became hot
—soon too hot, hissing over the surface. Faythe felt no end; no burnout.
Steam began to moisten her face, and her eyes snapped open.
“I could dry up the entire lake! You have to stop me,” she rushed out,
pulse racing. She couldn’t move her hand, fearing if she did, without the
water as an obstacle, the fire could erupt from her and harm Reylan.
 “I’m right here,” was all he repeated, hand slipping around her waist.
For a moment she felt no change, but then she thought of how beautiful
the water looked with its misty veil across the surface and how she’d
warmed it and not caused any destruction. Slowly, she drew away from her
magick. As if it were cast out on a line, she reeled it in slowly. Faythe lifted
her hand out of the water, watching the symbols’ glow wink out before she
clamped her fist. She balled them on her knees, panting lightly, silencing
the last vibration of magick completely.
Then she grinned.
She chuckled, shaking her head, but her brow pinched tight against the
sting in her nose. “Thank you,” she said.
“I didn’t do anything,” Reylan answered softly.
Her head tried to twist to him, but he shifted behind her instead. His
hands came around her shoulders, and her back curved into him with a thrill
when his fingers began to undo the buckles of her leathers.
“You didn’t…?”
Soft lips grazed the tip of her ear. “It was all you.” His whisper shivered
down her neck, making her eyes flutter. “We can’t let the heat you made go
to waste.”
As she caught onto his plan, a giddy knot tightened her stomach.
Faythe’s hands rose to aid him, but he took her wrists instead.
“You consume my every thought, Faythe,” he murmured huskily.
“Everything we’ve done, but more so, everything yet promised.” His hands
dipped to the buttons of her pants, and she inhaled. “Up on your knees,” he
commanded.
Faythe obliged, easing into his body as he rose too, and when he undid
the last button, her head tipped back and his hand curved down. His groan
rippled over her collar when his fingers trailed through her slickness.
“Tell me how often you thought of me doing this to you while we were
apart.”
Faythe’s hips ground into his hand while blood roared in her ears, the
pleasure he ignited so familiar yet so different. As fae, she felt his touch as
if he were setting every nerve alight one by one. “Often,” she breathed. “So
often I think it’s been the cause of my irrational frustration and lack of
productivity.”
Reylan’s light chuckle was entrancing. “We can’t have that.” He
removed his hand, and Faythe couldn’t bite back her whimper quickly
enough. “If this is what it takes to ease your frustrations, I’ll oblige every
time.” He began to peel away her jacket.
The crisp air tensed her muscles, and she shuddered until the steam
from the water drifted over her bare skin. Reylan took one breast in his
hand, massaging slowly while the other hand traveled low again.
“Do you know, there is not a surface I can look at now without picturing
how beautiful you would look splayed upon it for me?”
Faythe swallowed hard. “The thoughts I’ve had…” She moaned without
restraint when a finger curved into her, beginning a slow stroke.
“Tell me.”
“Are thoughts I’ve never had for anyone before.”
“Like what?” He added a second finger, and her grip tightened on his
forearm. She found it highly arousing that she could feel every flex of his
muscles as he worked her.
“The first was what you said about the piano,” she confessed, feeling
his smile against her throat.
“I’m glad that caught your attention.”
“But I don’t think there’s an end—no boundary I wouldn’t push with
you.”
Reylan groaned. It was a needy, satisfied sound that stroked at her new
dominance. “You doubt yourself, but I have never—not for a second.” He
kissed the edge of her jaw. “This world is far from done hurting you, but
know that I hurt with you. I fight with you.” His arm hooked around her
ribs, and she gripped his forearm tightly, submitting to his pleasure.
Some primal noise of approval sounded from him, palpable in the speed
of his fingers. Faythe’s vision began to pepper, and she had to close her
eyes, feeling a high she’d never experienced while she rocked her hips
against the hardness of him behind her. She wanted more of him inside her,
and she couldn’t stop. Or speak. Or beg. She could only chase.
“If you don’t stop that—”
His words were muffled as her thighs slipped farther apart so she could
ride his hand unashamedly, unable to keep her need for release in check.
His tight grip was necessary when bliss shattered through her—waves and
waves of trembling pleasure. It felt endless, otherworldly. Her tremors
subsided slowly, stretching out into a climax that lasted so long it took a
moment for reality to reform.
Faythe slumped against him in breathless bewilderment.
 Reylan’s fingers easing out of her drew forth a coolness that made her
shudder. He was panting hard, and she hadn’t even noticed his own state of
arousal while he’d been gripping her hip tightly, his forehead pressed into
the crook of her neck. It dawned on her instantly with his final shudder.
“Gods above. This was supposed to be about you,” he mumbled
hoarsely, coming down from his own release. His teeth nicked at her collar,
and she gasped. “Just wait until I can have you in a far more comfortable
setting. I’m going to explore every inch of this new body and bow to your
every desire.” His arm around her pulled them both to their feet as his
words brought color to Faythe’s cheeks. “It’s just as well you heated the
water.”
 CHAPTER 30

Faythe

T build their’ own fire—which

hey didn t return to the others until morning, choosing instead to
Faythe lit with great triumph—and spend
the night they deserved alone with each other.
Faythe heard Izaiah before she saw him as they trudged back to camp.
She tucked herself in close to Reylan as they walked, needing every second
of normality she could steal since they were about to head back to the city
to face the storm they’d conjured.
“Ah, not eaten by a bear,” Izaiah drawled, spotting them as he looked up
from his puny meal. His gaze moved over her from head to toe and his
mouth curled. “But a lion.”
Faythe gaped, finding his shameless joke astounding. Livia covered her
mouth as she choked on her food. Marlowe and Jakon wore looks of
confusion, much to her relief, and as Faythe’s eyes drifted, she was glad for
the opportunity to change the subject.
“Where’s Reuben?”
“He went to scout the nearby town for horses,” Jakon answered.
Faythe’s concern spiked. “Alone?”
“He’s a grown man—he can take care of himself.”
She wanted to agree, yet with the threats that lingered and the
possibility that those who were after her could bump into him, she was
riddled with dread at the thought of any of them going anywhere alone in
public.
 “You know, I just had a thought.” Izaiah perked up, rising to his feet. He
pointed between her and Reylan. “If Marlowe’s theory is true, Faythe is
kind of like your upgrade, Reylan.”
“We already knew that,” Livia chuckled. “But your abilities could be
similar now.”
Faythe glanced up at the general and found him looking back with
nothing but warm assurance. They would share their discoveries eventually,
but right now, Faythe treasured what they were slowly figuring out together.
The distant rush of footsteps snapping branches set all of them on high
alert. As Reuben stumbled toward them, Faythe’s feet moved to match his
urgency.
He halted, panting, completely out of breath. “You might want to come
deal with this.”

The screams hit her first. Faythe ran, closely accompanied by Reylan,
Izaiah, and Livia. They made it to the nearby town in no time with their fae
speed, the only thing obstructing their pace worse than the staggered trees
being the frantic crowd of pedestrians.
Faythe paused to stretch out her hearing, but mainly she followed her
instincts, racing in the direction the crowd seemed to be fleeing from.
Though they staggered and stumbled, she tried not to let her bravery slip at
the many blanched faces making their retreat.
What she eventually saw made her falter. The ghastly sight split her
attention between two places, starting at the creature whose teeth sucked the
life from a human man in front of her, and ending back under the castle in
High Farrow, where she’d been filled with the same type of all-consuming
dread at the sight of a force so utterly horrific.
“Dark fae,” Faythe muttered.
Livia stopped behind her with a gasp. “What happened to make him
look so—”
“Hideous?” Izaiah supplied.
Faythe shook her head, trying to subdue her horror to make room for
calculation. This dark fae was not like Zaiana and Maverick; his flesh was
torn, blackened like poison, and the way he drank was characteristic of a
starved animal. Her hand subconsciously rose to her neck as she wondered
if the puncture wounds were still there from her ordeal or if they’d been
erased on her fae form.
A new scream pierced the air from another direction, then another, as
bodies pushed past them, and Faythe didn’t know how to react. Fortunately,
she didn’t have to as Reylan took command.
“Izaiah, you should shift and take the east town. Livia, you go south. If
you find yourselves too greatly outnumbered, draw them back to where we
can take them on together. Faythe and I will handle this one. Go.” His
words were unwavering, owing to his status as general.
Izaiah and Livia didn’t argue, both giving a firm nod before taking off.
Before they turned to the threat, Reylan blocked Faythe’s view of the
creature, his hand on her waist as if to make sure she was still grounded
enough to help. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Faythe nodded, beginning to draw her blade, but Reylan’s hand eased
around hers to halt her. When she met his sapphire gaze, his eyes sparkled
with challenge.
“Want to lend me some of that fire, Phoenix?”
Her pulse skipped, but she wasn’t sure if it was with a thrill or wariness.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she mumbled, but her raised palm spoke
of her willingness to try.
“Not at all. But why not test yourself when with these enemies there’s
only one option: to kill?” He watched her palm as Faythe ignited the cobalt
flame. His smile curved wider, and he raised his own palm to display a twin
flame. “I can diminish your fire if you lose control, but I’d be lying if I said
the thought of watching you come unleashed doesn’t excite me.” His
squeeze of her waist drew out a short gasp that made her flame flicker.
“Keep your focus,” he warned, but his gravelly tone inspired the opposite.
Only a guttural moan snapped her attention from him. While they’d
been speaking, the dark fae had drained the man dry. Faythe’s gut twisted
with sorrow for the loss of life, but as Reylan moved aside and the creature
stepped into her path, her desire for revenge grew as hot as the flames she
sent soaring toward him.
Her first blast struck; her second he pivoted around with impossible
speed, but Reylan advanced from the side, catching him off-guard. Together
they exchanged blows, but it was as if the dark fae didn’t feel anything at all
beyond the impact that made him shuffle back a step.
“Niltain steel is the only thing that will kill him.”
 Faythe sent the reminder to Reylan.
She got back: “But this is fun, isn’t it?”
If she wasn’t so focused on the dark fae’s advance toward her, she
would have shot him an incredulous look.
“Hardly my idea of fun.”
Faythe drew more fire darts, but in her inexperience they were sloppy,
sometimes missing him entirely, and her inadequacy began to grind her
irritation.
The creature let out a loud growl of annoyance, close enough now that
Faythe’s fire winked out in her panic to reach for her sword. She drew
Lumarias halfway before the jab of a blade through the dark fae’s chest
elicited the most earth-shattering screech.
When the body fell, Reylan’s blade dripped with the foul stench of
black blood.
“And what is your idea of fun?”
Faythe’s mouth snapped shut, but she fought a smile at his playful jest.
He was trying to lift the mood to offset the chaos erupting around them.
“I enjoy cards,” she offered, gathering breath after the spike of
adrenaline.
Reylan stalked toward her with an enticing hum.
“Sometimes chess. And surprisingly, I think I enjoy horse riding.”
“Anything else?” Now right in front of her, his fingers tilted her chin
up.
“Cake, if we’re talking food,” she said. “You know, I never got to taste a
morsel of the one you pulled me from in High Farrow.”
Surprise lifted his brow. “I left you as you requested.”
“No, you didn’t,” she whispered.
From the moment they’d met he hadn’t left her thoughts at all. He
wasn’t always at the forefront of her mind, but Reylan had slowly entangled
himself in every fiber of her existence.
His mouth pressed to hers firmly, and Faythe arched into the kiss. It was
short and needy, but he drew back since they couldn’t be sure another dark
fae wasn’t lurking, ready to attack.
“Then I won’t forget that I owe you,” he said against her lips.
A shiver raced along her spine, but she didn’t get long to enjoy their
intimacy as awareness drew them apart.
“I hate to break up a moment, but we have company,” Izaiah called out.
 Faythe had already ignited a flame for Reylan as they turned to him.
She momentarily gawked, not anticipating the half-dozen creatures of torn
flesh and black blood that raced for them.
“This way too!” Livia called from behind, baiting another four to join
them in the open space.
Freeing Lumarias, Faythe exchanged a look with Reylan, sealed with a
nod, for their plan didn’t require words. In a flare of white light, Izaiah
shifted into a huge black panther.
Then they attacked.
Livia took on one, and Faythe twisted to begin striking through those
who were advancing from the opposite side. Meanwhile, Reylan held the
others back with fire, and Izaiah covered Livia, preventing her from
becoming overwhelmed.
Honing her battle skills against the dark fae, Faythe’s blade slicked
through flesh, black blood poured, and the creatures fell one by one. She
was coming to her last dark fae when an invasion in her mind made her
gasp aloud. It happened so suddenly and with such ease Faythe didn’t know
how it was possible. She lost focus on all else. The sounds of the fighting,
the screams, drifted away as she searched frantically for the source.
“Faythe,” the voice drawled like an omnipresent echo. “What a delight
it is to finally see what you came back capable of, even if this is only a
glimpse.”
Feminine, otherworldly. Familiar.
Terror gripped her still as she pictured a face of striking beauty. She
knew every detail of the red hair tone and bright eyes even though she
shouldn’t. Faythe scanned frantically for the vision to become real flesh.
“Marvellas,” she whispered aloud. Or at least she thought she did,
though it felt as if the Spirit had taken her away and planted them both in
their own still dimension.
“I can’t wait for us to be together, Faythe. This next chance we’ve been
gifted.”
“Then face me,” Faythe said, her hand trembling with an iron grip on
her sword.
A dark but entrancing chuckle vibrated through her, setting every hair
on edge.
“Time and order, my child. We will be together so very soon. I only had
to see you, to know what power you have come into since Transitioning.
Since coming back to me.”
“Everything I have become is for the purpose of defeating you.”
“There are two ends to our story, Faythe. I have every intention for us
not to repeat history. The desired end will keep us together and create a
world I know you will come to see is right.”
“You’re afraid,” Faythe said, reading between her words, “that my will
for the opposite ending will triumph yours.”
“Fool yourself once, and a second chance is granted. Fool yourself
twice, and there will not come another.”
All at once Faythe was catapulted back into the realm that raced at full
speed. Her hands lashed out to grapple with something that would ground
her. Her fingers curled into leather and her tipped-back head straightened.
“There you are,” Reylan breathed.
She trailed her hands along his forearms to his wrists in bewilderment
as he held her face.
“What in the Nether happened?”
Faythe blinked at her surroundings, finding Izaiah and Livia staring
down at her with concern, and she wondered when she’d fallen to her knees
with Reylan. Black blood flooded the gray stone, but she could no longer
hear the screaming or detect any more dark fae. “Marvellas,” was the only
word she could surface, trying to figure out what it meant. Why she would
be here, and why she would unleash this attack. “She was here.”
With an arm hooked around her, Reylan pulled them both to their feet.
Everyone braced in alarm, scanning around them as though the Great Spirit
would step out any moment.
“I think she’s gone now,” Faythe tried to explain.
“What did she want?” Livia asked.
Faythe had no sure answer. Pressing tighter to Reylan, she wondered
with a sweeping chill why the Spirit hadn’t taken the opportunity to seize
her. That she hadn’t even tried rattled a fear far worse than if she had.
PART II
 CHAPTER 31

Tarly

B in life. No crown
eing no one was peaceful, existing only to enjoy the simple pleasures
sat on his head for Tarly Wolverlon was the name he
carried no longer, not since the moment he’d stepped over the border into
Rhyenelle territory days ago. Yet Tarly wasn’t in entirely new land. The
woods he camped in were familiar, sitting at the edge of Fenher, a place he
knew from times of battle over a century ago. Still, he felt…free. 
Cracking branches and a steady pant signaled Katori’s return. Every
time she left, he wondered with a hollow loneliness if it would be for good.
But so far, she’d always returned, this time clutching two limp rabbits in her
powerful jaw. 
Tarly huffed a laugh—one of pride and relief that they would both be
well-fed tonight and he wouldn’t have to go hunting. He’d done so plenty of
times, but that evening he’d put all his efforts into a fire instead. Twilight
was drawing in. 
He was finishing up the tie on a new set of arrows when someone’s
approach tingled in his ears. It was distant, but he grabbed his bow anyway,
deciding to duck under cover until he could be sure it was only a harmless
traveler. Tarly couldn’t let his guard down, not while he was still so close to
Olmstone’s border and he wasn’t certain there was no active search for
him. 
He tucked himself behind a large tree trunk, and like always, Katori
read his signal and instinctively made herself scarce. He kept still,
extending his senses to gauge all he could. Their steps were light, and the
scent that drifted to him was floral, like rose mixed with a note of
cinnamon. If that wasn’t confirmation enough of the female presence, her
gentle humming eased his caution completely. 
Until… 
Tarly tensed again when he picked up on the others approaching. Many
of them, and all male judging by their musky scents of ale and sea. He
couldn’t stop his compulsion to peek out and match a face to the delicate
humming voice, overcome with dread for the stranger’s safety should the
others turn out to be malicious. 
His sights fell on her instantly, and though she stood with her back to
him, staring through the trees as she halted in alert, her brilliant silvery hair
against her warm brown skin mesmerized him. The light penetrating the
canopy highlighted her like a Goddess, an angel, and he had to wonder what
she could possibly be doing alone in the thick of these woods. 
It was a relief to see she’d picked up on the possible threat too. Tarly
nocked an arrow but made no move to expose himself unless absolutely
necessary. He hoped the males would pass and the beautiful fae would be
on her way, singing happily once more. 
He should have known that in this cruel world, that outcome was the
stuff of dreams. 
“Don’t be afraid, little one,” one male drawled. The belittling tone alone
already marked him as Tarly’s first target. 
Still, he waited, needing to figure out how many could be easing in
around her. 
“I never said I was,” she said with admirable confidence. 
Four males, Tarly detected. Not such outstanding odds even if he were
quick with his shots. 
“You look it,” another taunted.
His teeth ground with a flash of rage. Tarly didn’t know her, but he
didn’t need to. His disgust at them for cornering a lone female triggered his
violence.  He peeked back around, finding them starting to close in on her
from different sides, herding her as if she were a feeble lamb and they a
pack of lions. 
“I tried to warn you,” a new voice sang.
Tarly’s eyes were drawn to a tall form. His long leather coat seemed like
the wears of a pirate. There were five of them now.
“Yet you flaunted your tricks and cast my help away.”
 “You weren’t helping,” she snapped. “You were marking.”
“Smart you are,” he said in a way that reduced her to the opposite. “But
you forget I did in fact tell you not to go wandering on your own. You can’t
blame me for seizing an opportunity when you are so willing to be caught.”
She remained so calm considering her odds. Tarly couldn’t imagine
what the males wanted with her. He didn’t want to know despite their
conversation indicating they’d all crossed paths before. 
“I wouldn’t say willing. But I don’t want to hurt any of you.”
Four of the males exchanged mocking laughter, but not their leader,
though he flashed a yellowing grin. 
“You have but a flask of water,” he pointed out. 
“It’s more than what I’d need to hurt you.” She spoke as if it pained her
to admit it. “All of you,” she added.
Leaves shuffled and more bodies started to ease out from behind the
trees. Tarly’s pulse quickened at the perilous odds, having to suddenly
reassess how to get both of them out of these woods alive. He couldn’t
fathom what they wanted with her, though he had no doubt it was evil in
nature. Twelve against one… His fist tightened around his bow at the
spineless brutes.
When a branch snapped as one stepped closer to her, Tarly moved
without sane thought. Ducking out of cover, he made a show of slowing his
pace as all eyes targeted him. 
“There you are, angel,” he rushed out through a breath of forced
exertion. He came right up to her, not hesitating to reach out an arm, but he
didn’t touch her, and when her surprised features twisted up to him, time
halted, for he was looking at the most stunning fae he’d ever seen. Tarly
wondered for a heartbeat if she were truly real in her unique beauty. “When
you didn’t make it to our meeting place, I got worried.” He continued his
impromptu story. 
Warm hazel eyes enraptured him, striking a familiarity that made the
stranger feel less daunting. Her silvery hair falling around her brown skin
made him wonder so many things about her—such as where she came from
and what she was doing here. It was a difficult notion to want to know so
much about her when his plan had only been to aid in her escape and then
the two would part ways. 
“I-I…yes, I got caught up,” she said, finally dropping her gaze back to
her assailant.
 Tarly’s tense shoulders eased to know she was playing along. He took a
deep breath of false confidence. “As you can see, she is not alone. We’ll be
on our way.”
Though he wasn’t such a fool to believe that was all it would take when
his first step to steer her away with him was answered by shuffling on all
sides. 
“I don’t think so,” the tall man said. They were all human, yet against so
many, Tarly’s odds were still damned. “Quite the prize you have. She would
fetch handsome coin.”
“You won’t see the flash of gold again if you don’t watch how you
speak of her.”
The man chuckled. “You fae are so foolishly emotional over your
mates.”
At hearing the last word, the stranger stiffened beside him completely,
near shifting to step away as though he’d triggered a flight response. Tarly
dropped his arm from her, and the wince she gave him tore at his heart. 
The pop of the cork on her water bottle drew his attention, yet she didn’t
take her eyes from the men. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but Tarly
somehow knew to brace. Marking his first target, he waited. 
“If you know how to use that bow, do it now,” she said under her
breath. 
Tarly almost smirked, but he didn’t need a second to protest. He had his
first arrow nocked and soaring in the space of a breath. The man’s knees
had barely met the ground before his second arrow was striking through the
chest of his companion. Steel sang and a commotion began to erupt at his
attack.
Tarly twisted to finish watching his shot pierce the man’s shoulder
before an iridescent sheen made him halt in disbelief. It rippled through the
air, passing over his head, and his sights whipped to the fae beside him. Her
hands were poised elegantly, a frown of focused anger etched into her
smooth features. With one quick movement the water dropped. Not much of
it doused the men for it was all she had in her bottle. 
The leader shook his head, droplets scattering from his unkempt brown
lengths. Dark amusement curved his mouth as he examined his damp
clothing. “At least we know you can make it rain,” he mocked. 
Her eyes flexed with an ire Tarly couldn’t believe such an angelic face
was capable of displaying. Hand still raised, she closed her fist, and with
the movement cries echoed throughout the space. Tarly glanced over at the
men in shock, seeing them all tense as the water froze to ice in her grip. 
“Run,” was all she said, already sprinting away. 
Tarly chased her, not entirely conscious of his effort, as the thought of
letting her drift out of sight drummed an urgency in his chest. Not out of
fear of her—or for her—but because she’d sparked his intrigue in a way he
wasn’t accustomed to. Her attack plus their speed gave them a high chance
of eluding the bandits, but he didn’t believe she was entirely free of danger. 
“That was impressive,” he commented while they ran through the
staggered rows of trees. 
“Hardly,” she answered, not meeting his eye. “I didn’t need your help.”
“Clearly.”
“So why did you bother?”
“How was I to know what ability you possessed?”
She didn’t answer for a long moment while they kept running. Without
faltering, she bundled the skirts of her blue-and-white cotton gown—hardly
the right attire for the activity.
Tarly spotted the tree line only because it opened up onto the biggest
lake he’d ever seen. They halted on its rocky bank, and he gawked at the
massive body of crystal-clear water in the most spectacular glade enclosed
by small mountains and trees. The place was so bright and ethereal, and the
fleeting sunlight exposed tiny glowing creatures in the pool that began to
glitter with starlight.
“Stenna’s Fall,” the fae said, and he found her studying his admiration
of the place. “You’ve never been here before?”
The name rang with familiarity, and his memory lit up like a beacon
when an old reading came to mind. The lake was famously named after a
water nymph who in lore had reigned over the waters below. “Some say
Stenna ruled from this lake, but not in the traditional sense.” He recited
what he could. “She was once considered the High Queen of Ungardia for
her channels of water connected all the kingdoms. Though the kingdoms
each had their own reigning monarchs, she kept the peace between them
all.”
The silence that settled had him glancing for her reaction. The girl’s
expression wandered curiously over him. 
“Who are you?” she asked. 
 That was when it all came crashing back. From the moment he’d lain
eyes on her he felt as if he were living inside a dream, but now reality
lassoed around him and tugged hard. Tarly’s guard was rising. He couldn’t
stop it, the wall that defended what little remained of himself with its harsh
exterior. She didn’t know who he was, and giving her his name seemed too
much of a risk.
Her features smoothed out before he could respond. She seemed to read
all without him having to say a word, her eyes scanning every inch of him.
He tensed as though if she looked long enough she’d see his broken crown
of failure, the kingdom he’d abandoned, and the name he was undeserving
of because of that.
Instead, her attention fell behind him. “You’re from Olmstone,” she
observed. 
Katori’s fur skimmed his hand as she passed him, walking right up to
the fae. The beast took one cautious sniff before nuzzling into her. Tarly
was about to apologize, but the fae’s soft giggle made him halt. Made time
halt. He watched her for a few prolonged seconds…and smiled faintly at the
sight. 
“She’s beautiful.” The fae’s hazel gaze flashed up to him. “I’m Nerida,”
she offered. 
The name echoed in his mind and fluttered like warmth in Tarly’s chest,
but he tried his hardest to cast it away. He didn’t want to know this personal
piece of information. It only brought him one step closer to her when he
needed to take two steps back. 
“I didn’t ask.” 
The wince his rejection gained from her sank in his gut. “My mistake,”
she muttered. “Thanks for your help back there. I can protect myself from
here.”
Nerida turned, and Tarly stood rooted to the spot watching her back. He
counted one, two, three steps before he called on impulse, “Wait.”
He cursed himself repeatedly when she stopped, yet he couldn’t stand
the thought of her facing another band of crooks alone. 
“They could catch up with you, or there could be far worse people
wanting to do you harm.”
Nerida turned, mildly incredulous before her features firmed. Then she
lifted her hand and the water from the lake answered. He watched in
fascination as with a few swirls of her hand the water morphed…into a
wolf. It stood right beside her.
Katori dropped into a crouch with a snarl.
With a flick of Nerida’s wrist, the water beast lunged for Tarly. He was
about to brace when midair it lost its form, raining down before his feet as
her magick left it. 
“I think I’ll be fine,” she said flatly, not waiting for his reaction before
spinning on her heel again. 
“Where are you headed?” 
She didn’t answer, and she was gaining enough distance from him that
his whole body turned rigid against the unexplainable pull he fought so hard
to resist. “Shit,” he swore under his breath eventually, giving in to the
instinct to follow.
 CHAPTER 32

Faythe

“W reach
’ e re almost there, but if you keep shifting like that, the others will
the city gates long before us.” 
Reylan’s quiet rumbled words scattered down Faythe’s neck as he
leaned his mouth down to her ear from behind. She couldn’t help that her
hand reached back to his thigh in response. The constant dip and shift of
Kali’s walk had been driving her to distraction all week. 
“We could have stopped to acquire another horse,” she said. 
Reylan chuckled lightly. “It was because of your protest that we didn’t.”
Faythe suppressed a coy smile. She didn’t want to delay the group, but
more importantly, she wanted to be close to Reylan for every second she
could steal. Being wrapped in his warmth took away the burden of what
they were to face in a few short hours. 
Her return. 
He’d spent the journey comforting her of the nerves she didn’t often
realize were the cause of her restlessness. Words weren’t always needed; he
consoled her with gentle touches, a light kiss. He’d distract her with tales of
the towns they passed through, and she absorbed everything, lost in his
storytelling as he spoke so entrancingly. 
“I can’t wait to see the famous city,” Marlowe said from beside them. 
Faythe flashed her a smile that resonated in her chest with pride. Her
friend rode with Jakon, and it dawned on Faythe how close they were and
how she could show them everything that had left her yearning for them
before she left on the quest. 
 “I couldn’t have done it justice in a letter or with any words. It’s truly
magnificent,” Faythe answered, leaning further into Reylan as this was
something they shared.
Their home. 
The climb over the next hill brought her vision to life, stealing Faythe’s
breath as if it was the first time she were seeing it. Her heart lurched to
know she’d left this city as a completely different person from the one
who’d be returning, both inside and out. She knew she’d face her father
here, and what often consumed her with nerves to the point of sickness was
that they’d be facing each other as strangers all over again. And she had
failed in her quest. 
The drum of her pulse filled her ears, and her breath came short. She
didn’t realize Reylan had halted Kali until her eyes caught onto their friends
making paces away from them. Reylan said nothing for a long moment, but
a gentle caress lapped at her within. 
“What are you afraid of?” he asked gently. 
Faythe didn’t know how to answer. So many things rushed to the
surface that none came coherent. 
“What if I’m not me anymore…?” she trailed, knowing it shouldn’t
make sense, but Reylan knew. “What if everything is different?”
“Do you want it to be different?”
She thought on his question—one she’d asked herself before. “People
have always underestimated me,” she said. “I don’t want the reason they
start believing in me to be because I’m not human anymore. Because I
am… Human and fae and possibly something else.”
“Then you’ll make them believe in who you are, not what you are.
You’ve done it before, with me and many others.” His lips brushed the tip
of her ear. “I see you and I hear you…and it’s about time the world did
too.”
Faythe nodded, hoping he could feel her gratitude. She expected him to
press Kali on, but Reylan hesitated, and Faythe twisted as best as she could
to catch a glimpse of his face. His expression seemed sad as his hand rose
to encase her cheek. 
“You are my heart, Faythe. That doesn’t change, no matter what. Tell
me you’ll remember that.”
Her brow pinched as she wondered what could have caused the
insecurity. “Always,” she promised, but she couldn’t ignore the twist in her
gut that he felt it necessary.
He smiled, but it was barely-there. She wanted to ask what brought the
question forth, but he scattered her thoughts with a kiss. Short, firm, but
necessary. 
Then Reylan snapped the reins as he said, “I’m not the only one who’s
been anticipating your return.”
As they passed under the wall, Faythe held her breath. They rode slowly
through the city, and she sat so stiffly it was near painful. She didn’t fail to
notice Reylan had shifted back a fraction, their position no longer so
intimate. Faythe almost questioned it, but as soon as the murmurs of the
people started up, she could focus on nothing else. They gasped and ran to
each other, everything becoming such a buzz that she only caught a few
loose words. 
“She’s alive.”
“Faythe Ashfyre.” 
“It was a lie.” 
“The princess has returned.” 
The weight of their attention hummed in every nerve cell. Faythe and
the others passed into the inner ring, and while the voices in here weren’t as
loud, their disbelieving stares were just as piercing. 
“She’s fae.” 
“Impossible.”
“A miracle.” 
“An impostor.” 
She took deep, steadying breaths. They had every right to their thoughts
and suspicions; to wonder how their heir could die and rise again. They
were right and wrong, and Faythe wondered if the world would ever truly
believe her story.
Then the castle gates came into view, and her heart pounded against her
rib cage. She could see him. Agalhor stood with a few others atop the
portico, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from him as they emerged onto the
expansive courtyard. Everything was deathly quiet, save for the horses’
hooves against the stone. 
More bodies poured out—flecks of movement and color Faythe
couldn’t pay attention to as she tried to gauge the king’s every reaction. 
Their horses stopped, and Reylan dismounted swiftly. Faythe tore her
eyes from Agalhor, who had yet to move an inch, only to glance down and
see Reylan poised to help her. 
“You’re doing great.”
Bracing on his shoulders, Faythe landed on the ground weightlessly. His
hands didn’t linger for a second, and it pinched her chest when he took a
step back. Reylan’s smile spoke to her protest until he turned to the royals
awaiting him. It was then she noticed Malin near the king, his expression as
cold as always, but those eyes were attentive. 
Faythe straightened her shoulders as she released another deep breath
and turned to begin her walk toward the King of Rhyenelle. Agalhor’s
formal stance unnerved her, creating the fear that who he saw was no longer
his daughter. Just as quickly as the panic rushed in, it eased all at once when
he broke position. Faythe’s nose stung, eyes blurring, as he descended the
stairs, dropping the firmness of a king to let the concern of a father flood
in. 
There was no pause, no hesitation, when his large arms opened and
Faythe fell into them, uncaring of what was proper or who was watching.
All she needed was that embrace that lifted away the burdens of the world. 
His acceptance. 
“I failed.” She whispered the haunting truth. 
His large hand held the back of her head as he peeled her away,
studying every inch of her face, his gaze lingering with concern and awe on
her ears. “Not at all, my dear.” His fingers tilted her chin. “The fact you
stand here as you are—it’s a defiance that can win this war once and for
all.”
“I’m just glad to be home.” She barely got the words out through the
tightness in her throat. Faythe had never called the city that out loud before.
She looked over her people, stunned by the masses who had crowded in to
look upon her not with distaste, but relief. Faythe might never have gotten
the chance to embrace them all as home. 
Her gaze caught on her cousin, and the warmth in her chest froze over at
his piercing assessment. In her next blink it was gone, and he plastered on a
false smile as they headed toward the castle. 
“A masterful plan you kept up this past month,” Malin commented. “I
am glad the harrowing news of your passing turned out to be a ruse.”
Faythe read the undertone to his words: they were far from the truth.
They headed inside, Reylan trailing behind them, and though it didn’t
sit right with her, she didn’t look back. 
 “We have much to prepare for,” she said as confidently as she could. 
“Indeed. I look forward to discussing it all, hearing of your tales and
what your…change might mean for the kingdom.” Malin’s tone was laced
with cunning—something she hadn’t missed nor forgotten about. “A
council meeting should be called immediately. The lords have been restless
since the news of your impending return.”
“In due time,” Agalhor inserted calmly. 
Faythe’s pulse skipped with the notion. Even before leaving, she knew
this time would come—that she’d have to integrate into an active court role
if she were ever to claim permanent status here in Rhyenelle. 
“I’m afraid it cannot wait long. With the new threats, as you said, the
kingdom is weak while the matter remains unresolved,” Malin insisted.
Walking the familiar halls eased Faythe’s tensions and filled her with
gratitude that she’d lived to do so. Though every time her eye caught on the
Firebird emblem, a creeping heat swept her skin as flashbacks stole her
attention. 
“Wouldn’t you agree, Faythe?” Malin asked, and she snapped her head
to him. 
Her cheeks flushed. She blinked a few times with the rush of
overwhelming words, feelings, and thoughts, realizing she’d missed what
he said. 
“I think we should wait…” Agalhor started.
“I’m ready as soon as the council will have me,” Faythe cut in. She
wasn’t sure what Malin believed was so urgent, but Faythe had matters of
her own that couldn’t wait in the wake of the looming threats. 
“You can take time to rest.”
Reylan spoke to her mind, but she didn’t look to where he lingered a
few paces away when they all stopped in the hall. 
“I’ve taken enough time.” 
She kept her eyes only on Malin, riddled with wonder at what the gleam
of his delight at her willingness meant. She didn’t have room to decipher it
right now. 
“I’ll have it set up for week’s end.” Malin gave a nod of his head,
flashing a quick look at Agalhor before he left them. 
As soon as he was out of sight the tension of his presence lifted. Faythe
rubbed her temple where a dull ache began. 
 “Do not push yourself too soon,” Agalhor told her softly, resting a hand
on her shoulder. 
“I’m not. But I meant what I said: we need to prepare. And I need to tell
my story.”
Pride danced in his hazel eyes, and she allowed herself to accept it. 
“I want more time with you, my dear, but you must be in need of rest. I
will see you very soon.” His hand gave hers a light squeeze, and she smiled
gratefully as he glanced cautiously at Reylan before turning away. 
Guards still lingered, but finally, Reylan came to stand beside her,
saying nothing as she led the way to her rooms. At whom they saw around
the next corner, Faythe lit up running. 
As she collided with Kyleer, the two of them rumbled with joyous
laughter. When he set her back down, he looked over her brightly. 
“You’re collecting a fine list of names, Bloodmasked.” Kyleer chuckled
when her mouth popped open.
She flashed Reylan an accusatory look. He hadn’t mentioned he knew
of the nickname. 
“You were spying on us the whole time?” She’d suspected they were
since Izaiah knew when she was in danger, but she hadn’t realized for how
long. 
  Reylan gave way to amusement. “It was getting dull around here
without your antics. We had to be kept in the know to pass the time.”
Faythe huffed a laugh, but then she remembered. “You have Zaiana.”
Kyleer’s expression switched so quickly she couldn’t read what else
firmed his features at hearing her name. “We do. I’ve been overseeing her
detainment.” His attention flashed briefly to Reylan, and Faythe felt
something between them in that exchange she wasn’t used to. It felt as
though she’d stirred some disagreement. 
“Have you found out anything yet?” she asked. 
“Not much, but we haven’t moved onto more…forcible methods yet.”
Faythe didn’t want to know what that would entail. She’d been itching
to speak with the dark fae as soon as she heard of where she was. As much
as it haunted her to think of facing her again, she had so many unanswered
questions, and Zaiana was perhaps the only one who held the answers to
them. Though she knew it would be difficult to draw them out of her. 
“I want to see her,” Faythe blurted. “Alone.”
“Soon—” 
 “Now.” She met Reylan’s stare firmly, hating the tension she locked on
him, but she didn’t need permission. 
“It could overwhelm you, facing her.”
“It could, but I won’t know until I do.” Her expression softened, and she
took a step toward him, though Reylan glanced away as she did, surveying
who could be near. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she accused,
hating how he’d been acting cautious since they arrived. 
“Things are changing right now. More than ever our actions are being
watched.”
“What does that mean?” 
“We need to know where you stand, Faythe,” Kyleer cut in gently, voice
dropping low as he came closer. “Until you speak with the council, we can’t
give anyone the impression something’s going on between you two. It
would only give them further reason to discredit you.”
The weight of the revelation sent her a step away from Reylan, her
incredulous look sliding between them. “Further reason?” she breathed,
suddenly feeling the meaning behind Malin’s eager gleam. 
“Don’t worry about it right now. It’s just a precaution.”
Denying what lay between her and Reylan as a precaution made a
sickness roll through her. It felt wrong. 
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to dampen what little time we had,” Reylan said guiltily.
Her anger quickly dissipated to a drop of sorrow. As much as she
longed to be back, if staying cautious around him in the public eye was
what it cost, she’d rather be anywhere else. 
“I’ll see you later,” Faythe said, trying to hold back her disappointment.
She didn’t know if Reylan would even risk coming by her rooms, and the
thought of nights without him didn’t settle well. She turned to Kyleer. “Take
me to her.”
 CHAPTER 33

Tarly

“Y nothing.”
’ou ve been following me for nearly an hour and you’ve said

Tarly came to a stop. The snap of Nerida’s voice was a shock though he
had in fact been trailing her from a distance for a countless stretch of time.
“Maybe I happened to be going this way anyway,” he countered. She’d kept
to the lake’s edge, though he didn’t have a map to guess where she could be
headed.
A loud splash caught their attention, but it quickly fell when Tarly
beheld Katori wrestling a large fish in her jaw. 
“You have your company. You have your meal. Leave me alone,” she
grumbled, turning to continue her walk. 
“You can’t expect me to leave you wandering alone at night.”
“Like I said, I don’t need your protection.”
“Seems like you did,” he muttered under his breath. 
She whirled to him again. “Your name,” she demanded. 
Tarly blinked, stunned to learn that was what was keeping her hostile.
When he didn’t answer, her huff was adorable. 
“That’s Katori,” he offered eventually, casting a hand toward where she
padded over to them, the fish now limp.
Her mouth parted, and he resisted an amused smile. “You need a
haircut,” she commented.
Tarly ran his hand though his disheveled blond locks. Before he could
utter a word, she studied him with her gaze.
 “Your clothes could use replacing too. You’re alone with a wolf for
company, camping in the woodland. You’re hiding.”
He didn’t appreciate the assessment, nor could he stand the clamp in his
gut that encouraged him to give up caring about what might become of her
if he let her walk away for good. “Once we reach a town,” he said, “you
won’t have to worry about me following you for another step.”
Unhooking the bow from his back, Tarly set it down, and he didn’t
bother to look up again as he paced to the tree line, where he began to
gather sticks for a fire since a chill was starting to seep through his clothes
as night fell in.  He was using rocks to form sparks over sheddings of
Katori’s fur when Nerida approached, setting down the small pack she
carried and taking a seat opposite him. 
“I know what it’s like, not wanting people to know who you are,” she
said quietly. 
Tarly’s hands slipped, but it was with the right amount of force as the
embers finally caught on the lint. He flashed her a look as he shuffled the
wood, watching the amber flicker over her thoughtful face while she stared
at his hands. 
“Because of what you are?” he asked. He’d thought he was content with
silence, that he’d accepted his bottled feelings and terrorizing thoughts, if
only so he could be spared from the cruelty of the outside world. Yet her
voice made him want to break free. “You’re from Lakelaria, aren’t you?”
He couldn’t help that it slipped from his mouth. He was making the
assumption based on her ability and the mesmerizing tone of her hair.
Perhaps he’d refused to acknowledge it was a magnet for his intrigue since
any such reminder of the great island brought forth memories of his
mother’s love for it. 
“I guess you could say that.”
He didn’t know what she meant by that, but it would be hypocritical of
him to push for more information considering he was withholding the most
basic of knowledge: his name. He feared it was the key to a door that would
blast right open and expose everything he wanted to forget he once was. 
Nerida shuffled closer to the fire, raising her hands to warm them. “I’m
heading to the Livre des Verres.”
Tarly’s head snapped up. “You can’t.”
She said nothing at first. The narrowing of her eyes he explained away
as outrage, but it also offered a challenge. 
 “I mean, it’s not safe to go there.”
“Alone, you mean?” 
“At all.” He matched her tone. 
They stared off. 
“Are you in the habit of telling those you’ve just met what they can and
can’t do? Where is and isn’t safe?”
“You know I’ve come from Olmstone.”
“I don’t know how long ago.”
“Weeks,” he snapped. “I was there just weeks ago, and I guess you
haven’t heard, but that kingdom has all but fallen.”
Her hard expression eased, yet he couldn’t stand it that her realization
fell to sympathy. He saw the benefit of giving her the knowledge—it let her
believe he was simply a citizen fleeing from a besieged kingdom without a
monarch. 
“What happened?”
“Valgard,” he said, and that seemed to be enough. He took no feeling
from the horror that passed over her face.  It shrouded them with a heavy
silence, and Tarly used that time to skewer the fish and set it over the fire,
delighting in the scent as his stomach had been twisting with hunger all
day. 
“Then that’s all the more reason I need to get there.”
This fae was unbelievable. He looked at her like she couldn’t be serious,
but Nerida only stared out over the huge lake, lost in a pool of her own
thoughts while she hugged her knees. The image of her stole everything for
a second. She looked so ethereal with the fire and moonlight painting her
warm brown skin and making her hair twinkle. 
Tarly shook the admiration as quickly as it came. 
“I can assure you there’s nothing in that library worth risking your life
for.”
“I appreciate the warning, but I’ll know to be vigilant.”
“Nerida…” He paused, letting it sink in how much he enjoyed the feel
of her name on his tongue. But he ground his teeth with the unwanted
thought. “There are plenty of other libraries.”
“Not like this one. Livre Des Verres is the most guarded library in all of
history. They don’t make copies of books often. It holds knowledge you
can’t get anywhere else.” 
 Tarly knew this and likely far more interesting facts about the library
than she did. Not that he could say much without risking exposing himself.
“Dare I ask what you seek to find that is so important?”
It was in that moment he realized the common ground they stood on.
Nerida was being careful of how much she shared with him not because she
was a stranger, but out of a habit he knew all too well. 
“I’m helping a friend,” she said. 
“Must be someone great to be so worthy of you making such a long trip
even despite being enlightened to the dangers.”
She gave a smile, and he had to drop his gaze out of fear of how much
he enjoyed it. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. She’s…special.”
Tarly tried to read between her words but decided it wasn’t for him to
press the matter. He reached for the cold end of the stick when he gauged
the fish to be cooked. Then he extended it to her. 
Nerida shook her head. “Thank you,” she said quickly, “but I don’t eat
meat.”
Tarly blinked at the fish, feeling guilty for the kill he never even made.
“Uh…no, I’m sorry, I don’t have anything else.” He fumbled like a fool. 
“I have some provisions. Please, don’t enjoy the fish any less on my
account.”
Nerida rustled through her pack as Tarly picked at the fish. She
produced a small bundle of cheese and crackers before extending it to him.
He was shocked at her kindness, unsure of what to do with it. 
“All yours.” He shook his head. “Thank you.”
She gave one of those smiles of pure innocence, the kind that lit like
treasure in their harsh world. 
“How long have you not eaten meat?” He tried to start a conversation,
feeling awkward that he wasn’t sure how to be…interesting. 
“My whole life. I, um…”
Again, her pause to deliberate whether she should share the information
or not he could only sympathize with. Tarly kept quiet.
Nerida spared a glance around as though extending her senses before
she went on. “I’m a healer too. I enjoy helping people, and I guess the
thought of harming another creature has just never felt in my nature.”
Tarly was stunned into silence that she would share this piece of herself
with him, a perfect stranger, without knowing that it touched upon such a
deeply rooted memory. His mother, who’d held a weak essence of the same
ability Nerida harbored. In that moment he wanted to give a piece of
himself right back to her, but the words stuck in his throat. He swallowed
hard, so overcome with grief and longing that his appetite left him
completely. Tarly threw the fish over to where Katori lay, and she wasted no
time in devouring it. 
“Did I say something wrong?”  Nerida’s soft voice only tugged at his
despair. 
“No,” was all he could reply, unable to meet those hazel eyes he was
sure would bore through him with sadness. “I’m just tired. It’s been an
eventful night. We should both get some rest.” He shuffled down, facing
away from her. All he had to do to rest his mind was see her to the nearest
town, where she’d be surrounded by people, and if she were smart, she
wouldn’t wander through any more woodland alone. 
He listened to her fold away her food without eating much either and his
eyes tightened shut against the hatred he felt toward himself. She didn’t
deserve his lousy company, yet he was forcing it upon her because of his
own damn restless mind. He couldn’t let her go off alone despite her
impressive water defense display. 
“Are you always this sullen?” 
Her question was more of a demand. Surprised to hear her voice again,
Tarly rolled to glance over his shoulder. She was lying down but had
propped herself up with a hand to call him out.
“Probably,” he answered. 
Her lips pursed, and when she huffed back down and out of sight behind
the flames, Tarly let go of the small smile that twitched at his mouth. 
“If you’re not going to give me a name, then I’ve found one for you.
Sully.”
Tarly couldn’t stop the huff of a laugh that escaped him. It was a foreign
sound and a light feeling he cut off quickly, but it eased the tension he’d
dropped on the night. 
“Very well, Nerida.” 
And though it was utterly ridiculous and somewhat insulting, he
embraced the fact she even cared to give him a name at all.
 CHAPTER 34

Faythe

F guards at the end of hands

aythe wrung her the whole way to the cells. They passed the
the hall, but before they went through the next door
Kyleer caught her elbow. 
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked quietly. 
Her mind couldn’t stop racing. She wanted to say no. Wanted to confess
her bravery had left her completely with the flashbacks that slicked her skin
with sweat as she pictured those amethyst-cored eyes. The absolutely lethal
beauty of them she’d battled through the heavy rainfall, Zaiana coming
close to ending her life. But she could not cower. Not now. She’d failed in
letting Dakodas ascend and could only listen to her urgency that she needed
to be stopped along with Marvellas. 
“I can handle it,” she said weakly, and Kyleer sensed her fear. 
“She’s chained and has no magick or wings. She can’t hurt you. She’s
just another fae.”
Faythe breathed in relief at one fact: no wings. Perhaps without them
her mind could ease off seeing Zaiana as the deadly creature she was.
Just another fae…
Focusing on taming her pulse, Faythe counted her steps until she
spotted the form sitting against the back wall. Time slowed when she was
standing right outside, and those eyes that haunted her awake drifted lazily
down from staring out the small window to lock directly on her. Then
Zaiana’s mouth curled slowly, so familiar in its cruel amusement. 
“Hello, Faythe.”
 Those two words were all it took for the bars to be removed, leaving
them face-to-face on that mountain edge once again, the shadow of high
taloned wings casting over them. Faythe’s head snapped to Kyleer. Eyes
darting to his shoulder, she expected to find him bleeding, but he was still.
She met his eyes with horror, trying to blink hard to stay present. 
“This was a mistake,” he said. 
“I don’t think so,” Zaiana sang. 
Again, those words she’d heard before projected her back to the past,
sounding out over the rain while she held Zaiana under her sword.  The
clang of chains made her jolt, and she snapped her attention to the dark fae
as she stood. 
“How do you expect to overcome a fear if you run from it?” Zaiana
drawled, taking up a casual lean against the back wall. “I can assure you it
will only chase you until the end of your days.”
Just another fae.  That was all she was, and with the acknowledgment
Zaiana was right, all that threatened to consume Faythe started to ease. 
“I’ll be fine,” she said to Kyleer.
He stayed reluctant, and Faythe observed the tilt of Zaiana’s head that
accompanied something like a challenge directed at Kyleer. 
“I’ll be right outside this door,” he muttered to Faythe, but he didn’t
take his stare from Zaiana. 
When he left, the groan of steel over stone echoed a ripple of awareness.
Faythe breathed steadily. 
“So,”—Zaiana broke their silence—“you’ve come back as an ordinary
fae. I did wonder if we’d be able to take our fight to the skies sometime.
Disappointing really.”
Faythe stiffened against a shudder at the possibility that hadn’t crossed
her mind.
She could’ve returned as dark fae. 
Zaiana chuckled at her reaction. “You don’t know what you’re missing
out on.”
Faythe couldn’t be sure what she expected from the dark fae without the
fuel of battle, the pump of rage, and the focus on the task of capturing her.
The Zaiana who stood before her now embodied someone else entirely, and
Faythe couldn’t decide if the cold-hearted ruthlessness that dwelled within
was even more terrifying now it was encased in such a normal exterior. 
“You knew I was alive the entire time.” Faythe spoke at last. 
 “Does it matter?”
“You told Maverick where I was.”
Zaiana’s smile fell instantly. Faythe planted her feet against the sudden
sweep of darkness shadowing the surface of her striking purple irises. 
“You mean he found you?”
Faythe’s eyes narrowed, trying to assess if the reaction was genuine.
“He tried to kill me,” she confirmed. “I wonder how he’s coping with the
impact of a second failure.”
Zaiana pushed off the wall, causing a jolt in Faythe’s chest. “How did
you escape him?” she asked with a cold, dead calm. 
Deciding to test Zaiana’s temper, Faythe shrugged casually. “It’s
becoming something of a talent of mine.”
Zaiana’s jaw locked as she took a step closer, and though the heat of her
skin betrayed her nerves, Faythe held firm against the advance. “Was
Reylan there?”
“What if he was?”
Zaiana’s thinning patience became palpable. Faythe remembered the
chains, the bars, the Niltain steel. Repeated that she was safe on this side. 
“You want to know if he’s still alive.” She voiced the question she knew
Zaiana would never speak out loud. 
“I’ve wanted to kill that bastard for longer than you’ve lived, Faythe.
Don’t goad me with pitiful notions as if I care for him.”
Faythe only gave her a look, but Zaiana took another step forward in
warning, so close now she could reach out and touch if it weren’t for the
cage. “Did you only come to rest your terrors? To see your monster caged
and convince yourself you’ll finally be able to sleep well at night?”
“You didn’t kill me when you had the chance.”
“A fatal mistake on my part. One I won’t make again.”
Faythe shook her head. “You think you won the battle, but you only
started the war.”  She raised a hand, focusing to conjure a familiar heat
before it sparked as a shallow blue flame over her fingertips.
Zaiana straightened, eyes wide as she focused on it too. “How?”
“I have Maverick to thank really. For forcing me to feel what it was to
hold fire, to tame it…play with it.”
“Did you kill him for it?” 
Though she tried to hide it, Faythe felt the echoes of Zaiana’s
trepidation as she waited for the answer. She could torment the dark fae by
not replying or delight in watching the mask obliterate if she lied. Yet
glancing at her stunned face, all Faythe could think about was how Reylan
would have felt in those moments he believed her to be gone. 
“No,” she said, winking out the flame with a closed fist. 
The relief that fell on Zaiana’s face was so faint she could have missed
it. “What are you?” she asked, and Faythe thought it was more to divert
from her almost spilling her care for Maverick. 
She held no answer.  Instead, she said, “There will come a time to
choose sides. You’ll either be a part of what I am or feel the force of what I
will become.”
As they held each other’s eye, Faythe chose to believe it would invoke
the dark fae’s consideration. Though she’d never admit her true reason for
coming here was that she had to see for herself if the one who’d spared her
life was genuine or if she’d merely sacrificed one gain to await another. The
rise of her chin was all Faythe needed to walk away. 
“Your name,” she said, nearly at the door when she clarified. “Your
name was all it took for him to stop his attack. That was how I escaped.”
 CHAPTER 35

Zaiana

Z word and flicker of expression

aiana thought over Faythe’s quick visit days ago. She analyzed every
on the face that looked so familiar yet
embodied something horrifying, her thoughts reeling back through the visit
over and over again. When her silence was disrupted, it was by more than
one set of boots. Zaiana didn’t balk at the figures who stormed down the
passage. She sat bored, knees bent with her arms draped over them, meeting
their seething stares with impassiveness. 
Four males she’d never seen before stopped abruptly. They hesitated,
staring her down as if the force of their anger could inflict pain alone. When
none of them moved, Zaiana smiled sweetly. 
That seemed to snap the tether of the one closest to the door. The rattle
of keys echoed through the space before the cell door swung open. 
“Am I getting a tour?” Zaiana drawled. 
“Shut up,” one snarled. 
She didn’t give him the satisfaction when his grip lashed around her
arm, hauling her up with brute force. At least he thought so. It was
somewhat gentle to her. 
“You’re brave,” she mocked darkly. Another grabbed her other side,
pulling her with such unnecessary power it was beginning to shake her
composure. “All of you.”
One scoffed. “You’re powerless. Nothing more than a worthless
mutation.”
 Zaiana was many things. Dark, wicked, cruel. Many unforgivable and
heinous things. 
But never powerless. 
Even bound in Niltain steel, she was confident she could end them all.
She wouldn’t, of course. Zaiana had a bigger game to play and wouldn’t let
their misplaced arrogance be their end. 
“Does your commander not like to get his hands dirty?”
One of the fae who wasn’t holding her veered into her path. Zaiana
heard the second he flipped, caught his shuffle out of the line, and braced
with clenched teeth long before the hard strike across her face. The sting
pulsed in her jaw. She took two seconds to breathe, blowing her loose hair
harshly to reel back her instinct to rip off his head with her chains alone. 
She said nothing. When her eyes opened and her head straightened,
Zaiana poured death into her stare. Unblinking, she held him, marking him
with it. And she saw the message was received in the way he balked, the
movement so small maybe the others wouldn’t notice his slip of bravado.
Then she turned to each of them, remembering their faces, and made sure
they too knew their lives had been placed on borrowed time. 
Zaiana spat the blood that pooled in her mouth, a shining silver against
the dull gray of the ground.
The fae’s expression twisted in disgust. “I’m going to enjoy spilling
more of your foul blood,” he sneered. 
“No more than I’m going to enjoy spilling yours.”
That earned her a decent punch to her abdomen. She tensed in time for
that too, knowing how many breaths it would take for the crushing pain to
subside enough for her to straighten as though her insides didn’t feel
ruptured.  They weren’t. Zaiana had sustained far worse injuries and she
didn’t fear what they’d do to her. Her entire existence had trained her for
this moment. Capture, torture. She would give them nothing. 
They led her through a series of underground passages. She mapped
each one. These idiots didn’t even try to make sure she wouldn’t know her
exact route out should she escape. It had her wondering about Kyleer’s
judgment if these were the best guards he could send to kick off
interrogations. In fact, what she’d witnessed so far spoke nothing of the
stories she’d read of the mighty kingdom. 
The room they arrived into was empty, no windows. Two guards placed
their torches in holders, and Zaiana spied the two metal rings with long
chains hanging parallel on each wall. She knew what was coming. Focusing
her mind, she began to tunnel away from who she was, where she was. 
A hard hand clamped her shoulder, forcing her to her knees, which
cracked off the unforgiving ground. One wrist was freed only to be hastily
shoved into a new restraint, then the other, until she was splayed there on
her knees, the chains only just long enough so her arms stretched wide. 
Zaiana knew this position all too well. It had been a long time, but she
focused everything she had into not projecting back there. These grim walls
beckoned her mind back to the black warped stone under the mountain. 
“That’s better,” one fae mocked. 
They circled her, feasting on her pitiful state, enjoying every second
they held their dark sister species at their mercy. They goaded her, hoping
she’d give way to an ounce of rage, but Zaiana stayed silent, tunneling and
tunneling until she reached the well of detachment that would numb the
world just enough that she could endure what was to come next. 
But not forget.
She would always remember this.
Zaiana wished for anything else in place of the long leather whip that
lapped across the floor in one snap. This method of punishment was the
most recurring demon from her past: stripped top-bare, braced against the
masters’ long stone bench while they each took their fill. 
The leather snake approached. Zaiana couldn’t waive her steel
composure before they even got past one round of torture. She closed her
eyes. Every muscle in her body locked as she felt the presence close in
behind her. 
“You are a stunning little monster,” one of the guards cooed. His foul
hot breath against her ear pinned him as the first on her list to die.
Picturing how she would end each of them was all she could do to keep
from breaking. 
“We’ll save that pretty face of yours until last if we can.” 
Her whole body gave off a stiff tremble when the sound of clothing
being ripped rang through the room, projecting her back to the masters’
private chamber with a flash as cruel as the whip. 
Breathe. Control. Breathe.
One lash tore through her sweater, but as she expected of any beast who
favored this punishment, one wasn’t enough. The second tear was the
cropped undergarment she wore, though the long black sleeves kept her
front from full exposure.
For now. 
Laughter broke out. Tears pricked her closed eyes, and she despised it.
The hatred burned agonizingly in her throat.
She wasn’t under the mountain. 
These were not the masters. 
These beasts she would kill the second she got the chance. 
“Looks like many have had their fun with you before us,” they mocked. 
Her hands twisted around the chains, fisting them tightly. Her hot rage
had no outlet. She hoped the loose hair from her braid was shielding her
clenched eyes as she tuned out their degrading words because she could
track nothing but leather grating over stone, the guard circling her,
preparing to strike. 
One leaned in close to whisper, “Count for us, darkling.”
Zaiana knew the suspended seconds before the crack of a whip. At the
first strike, her body lurched forward against the searing burn, wrists
straining in their steel hold.
Why don’t you count for us, Zaiana?
It was Master Koy’s voice that replaced the Rhyenelle guard. He liked
to watch, not inflict. 
“This can end in twenty lashes,” another taunted from across the room. 
It only starts when you begin counting, Zephra would say. 
“Otherwise each before then is just more fun,” a guard sang. 
Zaiana retained her silence. She would not break. 
The whip cracked again, scoring her flesh. 
“Or this can end one other way.”
She would not break. 
Leather against stone, a whistle through air.
Strike. 
“Show us your mighty wings, darkling.”
She would not break. 
“I think they’d make great trophies for our halls.”
Within, she was counting, only to know how many cuts to inflict on
each of them when she had her revenge. If there was one thing she would
take from the masters, it was that the fae and humans…they would never
relent to her kind. Never see anything past the monsters they were, and yet
it was all in aid of taking back what was stolen from them. Freedom, power.
They thought they’d rid the world of the dark fae, and Zaiana basked in the
knowledge she would have her victory. 
While they had their fun, she separated mind from body. Her training
had been ruthless and unforgiving, but it had made her a master of
endurance. Soon she would feel nothing, hear nothing, and after their sick
joy had been satisfied, she wouldn’t remember the pain—only her wrath. 
Zaiana’s palms clenched tightly for the next strike. Her teeth slammed
together, shoulder blades locked…
The whip fell, but her flesh didn’t take the impact. Her eyes snapped
open, landing on a pair of boots that seemed familiar. She trailed her tired
gaze up from them, and the sight of Kyleer coated the room in ice. Not only
his presence, but the livid, frightening fury that didn’t just cut through his
features but emanated throughout the room like an energy. Jarring,
confusing, as he intercepted the fall of the whip that wrapped around his
leather-clad arm before it could strike Zaiana. And that rage…
It was directed at his own soldiers. 
His voice was a cold sweep of shadow as he said, “What do you think
you’re doing?”
“We planned to get information on—”
Kyleer pulled the whip from the fae, and it clattered to the ground
where he tossed it. Sparing a glance, Zaiana found the others gaping at
Kyleer. 
“On whose orders?”
The silence was deadly. 
He moved lightning-fast, pinning the fae who’d inflicted her lashes to
the wall with such an impact it made Zaiana wince. “On whose gods-
damned orders?”
Zaiana hung her head. The whip wasn’t what exhausted her, though her
back stung and throbbed; it was the mental toll it took to tighten her mind
against all that threatened to reduce her to a frightened, pleading victim. 
“Our own.” The guard’s tone was stripped back to a quiver.
“How many lashes?”
His pause earned him another hard slam into the wall.
“Twelve,” Zaiana answered for them. Her body shuddered though she
didn’t look up.
 “Get. Out,” Kyleer commanded, his tone so dark her bones rattled with
it. 
The four fae shuffled, leaving her and Kyleer in a silence she couldn’t
place, nor really care about. What she didn’t expect was for him to drop to
one knee before her, taking her chin with a gentler hold than she
anticipated. His glare of rage and hatred was the only strangely normal
thing. 
“Don’t pretend like you’re not enjoying this,” she got out. 
A muscle flexed in his jaw as he searched her eyes. Then he let go of
her abruptly to stand. Kyleer moved around her, and she stiffened
completely once more, knowing what caused his stillness. He was staring at
the map of scars on her exposed back, and she couldn’t bear it. She
wondered why it made shame and embarrassment rush in to have the
commander see them. A building, twisting sickness. Zaiana barely took in
his movements until after her wrists were back in her old chains, bound in
front of her. 
“What a pathetic mode of torture,” she said, her words weighted with
fatigue. “They didn’t even ask about my still chest, yet it was the first thing
you were interested in.” 
Something heavy fell on her shoulders. It wrapped her in his scent, and
she should have had the mind to shrug it straight off. Yet she couldn’t.
Zaiana took steady breaths. Having her back covered was a relief, but that
scent… A secret she would take to her grave was that she found comfort in
it. She felt as if she didn’t have to fight so hard to protect herself when it
was near.
The thoughts were unbearable, traitorous. She emptied them from her
mind. 
“You need to pick better guards if you want any hope of extracting
information,” she said.
“They weren’t looking for information.” Kyleer helped her stand. She
didn’t see any reason to expend more energy fighting him. “They’re afraid
and used you to prove to themselves they have nothing to fear.”
Her gut twisted. “I suppose they got what they wanted.”
“No,” he growled. “You gave them the opposite.”
Her eyes widened, unable to react as she normally would when Kyleer
leaned down and swept her feet out from under her. “I can walk,” she
snapped. 
 “I know.”
He marched out of the room, carrying her wrapped in his crimson cloak,
and though in her tiredness she accepted it, everything else screaming at
Zaiana from within did not. 
“Put me down,” she warned.  It was so wrong. So wrong. No one had
ever held her this way before, and she didn’t want to pay mind to the
thoughts that clung to the tenderness of his grip.  Kyleer didn’t speak,
wouldn’t even look at her, so all she could do was study his hard face. He
was silently warring with himself, and she knew that look—had worn it
herself many times. 
“Am I hurting you?” He broke the silence, but his question was
reluctant.  Kyleer’s arm was already high enough not to rub the material
against her raw skin. 
“No.”
More silence. 
“Tomorrow, servants will draw you that bath—”
“No.”
The thrill that raced down her spine was unwelcome under his
darkening stare. The challenge and passion in his eyes seized her.  He
stopped walking, and she thought he was about to drop her. There would be
no graceful way to catch herself. Yet he simply stared her down as though
wanting to go to war against her…or with her. She couldn’t be sure. 
“Your stubbornness is remarkable,” he grumbled, pressing on. 
“Why did you stop them?” The question tumbled from her mouth, and
pathetic anticipation coiled in her stomach as she waited for his answer. 
“They were acting against a direct order.”
“What order?”
They reached her cell, where he placed her down. His gentleness with
her was driving her insane. She couldn’t bear it.
“No one touches you.”
Zaiana breathed through the spike of intensity shooting through those
green irises while he crouched before her. 
“Except you.”
He stood, sealing her cell door as he left it. “Except me.”
Those two words sparked something in her dead chest, only because
they were accompanied by a look that captured her for a second. A look that
devoured. 
 “Kyleer,” she called to halt him as he walked away. “You forgot
something.” She clenched her teeth, making as if to shrug out of his cloak. 
“Keep it,” was all he said, not giving her the chance to object before he
disappeared completely.
 CHAPTER 36

Tarly

T remembered who he expected

arly awoke doused in alarm. He pushed up, glancing sideward, then
to find.
Nerida was gone. 
Scrambling to his feet, he snatched his bow, scanning the lakeshore for
Katori but not finding the beast. The snap of a branch had him whirling,
bow poised and arrow knocked. 
A familiar beauty that stunned him all over again started back with a
gasp as she beheld his arrow. Tarly dropped his aim immediately, eyes
flashing to Katori, who was wandering along beside her, head lowered as
though braced to lunge but relaxing along with him.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said carefully, edging closer warily.
Tarly ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.” It didn’t feel enough for
the target he’d made of her, and he couldn’t erase the flash of terror that he
might have struck her. She didn’t know him. She shouldn’t trust him. No
one usually did, and Tarly had accepted that their time together would be
short anyway. “We should get going,” he grumbled, fixing the bow to his
back. 
“I picked some berries for breakfast,” she said, holding out a cloth
stained with pinks and purples. “Katori and I ate plenty while you slept.
These ones in particular will help with energy, and these—”
Tarly watched her while she went on about the other fruits she held
along with some nuts. While he absorbed her knowledge, what fascinated
him was the passion she spoke with—her true healer’s nature coming into
play. 
When her hazel gaze flashed up to him, she halted abruptly, and so he
wouldn’t seem like he’d been gawking like a fool, he dropped his eyes to
the offering and took it with a quick thanks. 
They walked for some time in silence. Tarly enjoyed the berries and
wanted to tell her, but the spark of conversation died every time he looked
upon her face. She seemed to be soaking in the sights of the grand lake
peacefully, and he decided his voice was nothing more than an unwanted
distraction. 
“We should come to a small town by nightfall. The path I plan to take to
Olmstone by then is fairly open—no depthless woodland,” she said at last. 
That was all he needed to know. She could take care of herself. So why
wouldn’t the twist in his stomach unravel?  Tarly only gave a short nod
when she turned to him. 
“Sullen and somber. Your solitude is making more sense.”
“I figured you were enjoying the silence,” he said.
“If that ever becomes the case, I’ll tell you to shut up.”
Tarly’s brow lifted, yielding to the curl of his mouth. He didn’t doubt
she’d speak her mind. “How did you come to be on the mainland?” he
tried. 
Nerida pulled away at the question, and he cursed himself, knowing it
was better to keep to himself in his dampened mood. “I came here around
three centuries ago. I was fairly young.”
Every piece of her he gained he found himself storing away. They were
small pieces of a grander puzzle he didn’t know how long it would take him
to complete, but he knew the picture would be worth waiting a lifetime. 
He pondered what she told him, not wanting to press, so instead he felt
compelled to give something back. “I lost my parents during the Great
Battles,” he said calmly, and it was the truth. Tarly didn’t linger on the fact
he wasn’t sure what had become of his father once he fled. He was a pitiful
son, but he had long mourned Varlas as a parent. 
“Much was lost then. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“No, but every life lost before its time is a tragedy. I mourn that our
world has come to this. Fighting each other.”
 “The war is simply a larger-scale representation, an enlightening visual,
of a darkness that has always been present.”
Nerida’s stillness grated on his nerves. He wanted to take back his
words like an inhale, but he knew they were caught in the wind. 
“You’re rather thoughtful, you know.” 
It wasn’t the response he expected. His fists flexed against the heat that
skittered over him. “I’m just making conversation.”
“I didn’t mean to sound condescending.”
“You didn’t. Just—forget it.”
“Sullen,” she muttered. “Oh!”
Tarly jerked in alert at her sudden shout. Scanning her over, he could
see nothing wrong save for a confusing brightness. He followed her line of
sight and spied a small hut upon a grassy hill overlooking the lake. “What
interests you about an old hut?” he grumbled, irked by the unnecessary
fright. 
“I know the fae who dwells there—I should pay her a visit. She likes
her solitude too. You two might make great acquaintances.”
Tarly bit back his retort. “Then I’m sure she would appreciate not being
disturbed.”
“She doesn’t hate all company. She simply found that out here she
doesn’t have to pretend to be someone she isn’t.” 
“You said the town was near.” He tried to divert the topic. 
“I also said you don’t have to follow me.”
Instead of heading through the tree line like he hoped, Nerida steered
the opposite way. He internally groaned, watching her begin the incline that
gradually steepened to reach the small home with smoke puffing through its
chimney. 
Tarly feared time. Time with her. Every minute added to his reluctance
to watch Nerida in all her silver-haired fascination drift away from him for
good. All things worth keeping had a habit of slipping through his fingers—
not without suffering the damage of his hopeful longing first. 
His steps pressed on toward her as darkness began to fall. Tarly’s eyes
drifted to the overcast sky that promised an angry storm, and perhaps it was
a blessing that it might break just as they reached the quaint home they
could stay dry within. 
A few hours. He could spare a few more hours of keeping Nerida at
arm’s length, only to see her to the town when the rain passed. 
 At the crest of the hill Nerida didn’t pause for a second, marching
straight for the hut. Tarly heard the faint knock, and she waited. More
seconds than expected had passed by the time he stood by her. 
“Erilla, it’s me, Nerida.” She tried calling through the wood. With only
silence for an answer, she knocked again, louder. “She must be home—the
fire is burning.”
Tarly took it upon himself to circle around to the window, wiping it with
his sleeve to clear the layers of dirt so he could peer inside. The fire was
burning, but it was also the only living thing he beheld. Eyes darting around
the space, what he caught at the edge of the doorway jump-started his
pulse. 
“What’s wrong?” Nerida asked, reading his face when he came back to
the front. 
He wasn’t thinking as he took hold of her shoulders. “You might want
to stay here.”
Her brow pinched in confusion but quickly lifted, along with her hand
to her mouth. Tarly’s lips firmed against the shock and panic on her delicate
face. He let her go, taking a deep breath before bracing and eying the door.
Then his shoulder rammed into it. 
Tarly knew his error the moment he felt the impact. He should’ve taken
it easily, but instead blackness crossed his vision and fell him to one knee.
Pain erupted across his chest and down his arm, stunning him still—not
with fire, but a pain that pulsed and froze. It began to feel like endless
needles piercing his skin. 
He should have remembered the bite wound that was often numb with
the salve he was running dangerously low on. The thought had even crossed
his mind that the town in which he would part with Nerida might offer a
place to purchase more. Yet as his dominant right arm, he’d used it out of
habit. 
“Sully?” Nerida’s voice came into clarity repeating the ridiculous name.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he rasped, knowing later she’d believe him to be so weak as
to be brought to his knees by a door. “You should wait outside—”
Her smothered cry cut him off. Tarly squeezed his eyes, knowing she
would have discovered exactly what he thought he’d seen. 
Rising, he dared a look at her first. Her wide-eyed horror while both
hands clasped her mouth struck through him more powerfully than he
anticipated. He stepped toward her, but Nerida rushed past him, and he spun
just in time to see her crashing to her knees beside the fallen fae. His
urgency to follow spiked at one crucial thing:  she was still breathing. But
the wood beneath her was stained dark. The coppery tang stung his nostrils.
Too much blood.
Nerida didn’t waste a second, tipping her satchel to scatter its contents,
which she quickly rummaged through. Tarly jumped into action, reading her
movements and scooping what he could into her peripheral as things rolled
away. Her hands were shaking, and her sniff drew his eyes to hers as she
tried to blink away her tears. He wasn’t thinking when he took her wrists. 
“What do you need?” he said calmly.
That forced her eyes to his. “I-it has a green hue. Mistleweed. It’ll numb
her pain.” The steadiness returned to her voice.
Tarly nodded, and she went back to examining the fae while he picked
up and examined the tiny bottles. 
“We need to get you some kind of pouch to organize these,” he said,
more as a distraction from their panic, but he didn’t slow his search. 
“That would be…nice,” she answered, and it was a relief to hear her
calm voice.
The name lit up like a blazing beacon when he found it. Tarly popped
the cork as he spun to her, but then he halted in utter fascination when he
beheld the purple glow emitting from her palms. It covered the gruesome
sight of the deep wound on the collapsed fae’s abdomen. He couldn’t
fathom Nerida’s pain for her friend. 
Tarly didn’t need her to ask; he leaned over, holding the fae’s forehead
and slowly pouring the liquid into her mouth.  Nerida’s hands began to
tremble, and he thought it was the return of her anxiety, perhaps even just
adrenaline, but then he beheld the sheen on her forehead. 
“You’re trying to heal too fast. You’re using too much,” he said. 
“She’s bleeding out rapidly—if I don’t stop it, she’ll die in minutes.”
“If you don’t stop you could die.”
“I’ve done this many times, Sully.”
“Or I very well might die if I have to hear that name again,” he
grumbled.
She huffed a laugh, a fleeting assurance she was fully present and not
falling victim to the magick she pushed. 
 Tarly continued to watch the shimmering glow of her magick, entranced
by it. The longer he stared, the more he felt a pull to it—a compulsion to
reach out and know what it would feel like. It formed whispers, and though
he couldn’t decipher the words, a warmth emanated through him in small
caresses, lavender and honey notes touching his tongue. He didn’t realize
he’d reached out his hand. Vibrations shot up his arm as it hovered over
hers. 
“What are you doing?” 
Her voice snapped him out of his trance, and he pulled back all at once,
rising to his feet with the need to seek distance from the pull of her energy.
“How much longer?” He diverted the topic. 
A long breath stuttered out of her as she removed one hand to wipe her
brow. “The bleeding has slowed, but it feels like something important has
ruptured. I believe it may have pierced her lung. I can’t let go until that’s
sealed and I clear the internal bleeding.”
It sounded like complicated work, but she brushed it off simply to curb
the severity of what it would take from her. Tiredness already swept her
face. Tarly was about to voice his concern, but in his distraction he didn’t
detect that they were no longer alone.
His bow was off his back, arrow nocked and released in a breath. The
archer in the front doorway choked as he fell to his knees, but Tarly’s horror
settled when he gleaned the assailant’s bow was also empty.
There was no explaining the flash of dread that sank him far from
reality in the second that slowed as he turned back to Nerida. She wasn’t
hovering over the fae’s body anymore, having fallen back, but her hands
caught her fall. The assailant’s arrow was protruding from the neck of the
fae she’d tried to save, but Tarly couldn’t give way to anything but relief
that it wasn’t Nerida instead. 
“Get up,” he barked, retrieving another arrow, when a footstep creaked
the floorboard behind them. Nerida remained still in her horror, and he
cursed, whirling to soar his second arrow without hesitation—but it was not
a lone man this time. He fell one, only to narrowly escape the fatal blow of
the other’s sword, which slashed across his arm like fire. Tarly hissed,
gripping the man’s wrist and snapping it with a sickening crack muffled by
his cry. The sword clanged to the ground, but instead of killing the man like
his rage pulsed for, Tarly gripped his head, slamming it against the wall and
knocking him unconscious. 
 “Nerida,” Tarly panted. Whirling, he found she’d scrambled to her feet,
but her wide eyes were fixed mournfully on her friend. “I’m sorry,” he
rasped, clutching his injured arm as he strode for her. His boots shattered
small bottles, the only thing that snapped her attention. “But we need to
go.”
Nerida didn’t speak, and he turned cold with her detached shock as she
dropped to her knees as though trying to salvage the remaining tonics. Tarly
gripped her arms against it. 
“We need to go,” he repeated as softly as he could when in his urgency
he wanted to haul her out of there, unsure of how many more bandits could
be nearby. 
She nodded, but it was shallow, vacant. Nerida’s gaze was about to fall
back to her friend, but Tarly caught her chin.
“You eased her pain. She’s not suffering anymore.”
Her eyes creased, but before his chest could cleave at that look, his arm
around her forced her out of the hut. He was halfway to pulling up her cloak
hood for the rain when her hands grazed his. 
“I’m fine,” she said quietly, but with enough emotion he believed she
was returning to herself as she fixed the hood into place. The light fall
promised a looming downpour. 
“You’re hurt,” she said.
“It’s nothing.”
“Let me see—”
“As easy as attracting a moth to a flame.”
Both their heads snapped up. Tarly moved subconsciously to shield her
from behind, scanning the crowd of men—over a dozen this time, led by the
same tall leader who’d ambushed Nerida in the woods. He approached
arrogantly with a predator’s gleam. 
“I didn’t appreciate you killing two of my men back there—four now—
but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones for a reasonable price.” Those
wicked eyes flicked over his shoulder.
“If you want her,” Tarly said calmly, realizing the odds—but his mind
was calculating what weapons he had, analyzing the weakest in order, and
preparing for the right moment to strike—“I dare you to try taking her.”
“I’m guessing you have no other talents,” the leader went on, brushing
off Tarly’s threat. “Though they are always looking for new bodies to mine
the camps. You could fetch a decent price too. But her—she’s exactly what
they’re looking for to gain access to Hyla’s Cave.”
Tarly didn’t let the knowledge falter his focus, but he stored every piece
of information that spilled from the man’s foolish, arrogant mouth. 
“What’s in Hyla’s cave?” Nerida stepped around him, drawing down her
hood despite the rain that lashed down heavier now.
Tarly slicked back the lengths of his hair, watching her, watching them,
with a laser focus. He couldn’t believe her inquisitive side was coming out
now. 
“You do not know the tales? Surely, as a Waterwielder, your kind know
all about the treasures on the opposite side of this lake.”
“It’s a myth as old and fictitious as the merfolk.”
“Someone doesn’t seem to think so.” 
Tarly unsheathed two daggers as the man braved a few steps toward
her. 
“Someone who has passed on through generations the instructions to
locate it.”
“Then they will know the merfolk were not fabled to be humanlike or
merciful. That they were creatures of nightmares who lured victims to their
waters with a glamour, only to drown them, consume their flesh, and steal
their riches.”
“And so you will know one of those very riches is foretold to be
Seanna’s Song.”
Nerida huffed a laugh, but he thought it was laced with wariness. “Only
a fool would risk their lives in the hope of finding such a thing.”
Of all the books Tarly had absorbed, nothing of what the group spoke of
rang with familiarity. He knew of histories and stories, though myths were
not his favorite. 
The man canted his head. “Which is why he enlists the likes of your
kind to go looking for him.”
With the next step he took Tarly braced, ready to fight—
A loud wail over a vicious snarl attracted everyone’s alarm, and Tarly
twisted just in time to watch Katori rip out the throat of her first victim. The
men started scattering, but she was upon another.
Tarly didn’t waste the mercy of her perfect timing. His first dagger went
through the throat of one man, and as the second lunged for him, Tarly
twisted around, plunging his second blade into his back. He took no
pleasure in the killings—would have avoided them if he saw any other
method—but with his adrenaline he was too aware of his new companion to
leave room for second-guessing.
With the thought of her, he whirled to find Nerida hadn’t moved an
inch; had only braced her legs, arms poised as though she held an invisible
force and was trembling with it. He followed her line of sight, in awe while
he watched the suspended lasso of water surrounding the leader. 
“She did nothing,” Nerida croaked. “Why?”
The pain that came from her echoed through him. He knew she’d get an
answer that would only further her guilt for her lost friend. 
“Call it a test. To know if you were more than simply a Waterwielder—
and you are…so much more.” He was as fascinated as if he beheld a jewel
before him, not a person. 
With a cry, Nerida tightened her lasso, forming a sphere that encased his
head from his neck up. The man clawed at his throat while she drowned
him slowly.  Tarly studied her face, pinched tight while rainwater rolled
down her skin. He couldn’t distinguish her tears, but her eyes held so much
pain it stole his breath. Her braided curly hair was limp, a sad gray with the
rain and overcast sky. 
“You don’t have to do this,” Tarly called to her. 
It struck something in her, and all at once she let go. She wasn’t a killer,
but it was as if it rattled her with guilt not to be.
The man fell to his knees, gasping for breath. 
“You kill me, this won’t be the end. I have already sent word about you.
Kill me, and your capture will be far worse than what I could offer you.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Tarly said and let go of his arrow, which he’d
nocked in his rage at the threat toward her. 
Her nature couldn’t carry out her revenge, but he could. 
They were left only with the growing patter of rainfall against stone and
grass. Tarly spared a look around the ghastly sight of fallen bodies, most of
them mauled by Katori, whose white fur was stained crimson and weighted
with water, turning her into a frightening wild beast. 
“Why did you do that?” Nerida’s quiet voice cut through the eerie
stillness. He found her eyes still fixed on the leader who’d fallen onto the
arrow through his chest. 
“He didn’t deserve to live after what he did. Then what he planned to
do. He would have come for you time and time again. A man with such
ambition wouldn’t stop.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” she snapped.
Tarly was taken aback at the harsh look she pinned him with. His own
flare of anger flashed across his vision. “Most people would say thank
you,” he bit back. “So, you’re welcome.”
Nerida held him with that intense look, and for a second he almost
feared she’d surface her magick against him. Instead, she stormed to him,
then right past him, knocking into the arm he clutched, enough for him to
let out a hiss. He turned to her, expecting to find her marching away, but
she’d halted a mere pace behind him, fists trembling at her sides as though
she were battling mind with body. 
She whirled around so suddenly Tarly’s only instinct was to believe she
would strike, and he winced. “Let me see your wound,” she demanded, but
her expression eased carefully at whatever she read on his. “Did you think I
would attack you?”
Tarly swallowed any response, his guard rising, defense firming. He
turned for the cottage. “Stay here.”
Inside, he numbed himself to the lost life he stepped around. He found a
broom and thrust it into the fire until it caught. He made his way around,
letting the flame loose so it would catch and lick all perishable things. It
blazed and grew, and when he was satisfied it had been freed enough to
devour the entire house even against the storm, Tarly left. He didn’t look at
the healer as he passed her. 
“Let’s just get to that damn town.”
 CHAPTER 37

Faythe

F gather her reelingtothoughts

aythe made it her rooms unescorted, needing the time alone to
after parting with Kyleer from their trip to
the cells.  Her first step inside hit her all at once. She halted just past the
threshold with a burst of emotion she hadn’t anticipated at seeing the bed in
which she’d shared many treasured nights with Reylan, as a human. The
walls she’d claimed as a human. The room in which she’d slowly come to
feel like she belonged as a human. With vacant steps she surveyed the room
as though it were new all over again.
A wonderful scent drifted to her, and a presence registered in her senses
as she whirled to the dining area in fright. At the fleeting glimpses she got
before the person detected her quiet entrance, Faythe’s vision blurred. She
stood in the doorway and watched her assembling the table. 
Gresla startled upon seeing Faythe, and she couldn’t help her smile. “I
suppose I’ll have to get used to your new light footing,” she commented.
Emotion choked Faythe’s response at hearing the first notes of her
voice.
Gresla looked over the assortment she’d laid out. “Stew and bread, just
as I promised.”
Faythe let go of a sob then, and Gresla’s old face pinched knowingly as
she rushed over to embrace her. 
“I can’t begin to imagine all you’ve been through, Lady Faythe. But
remember you are here, you have returned, just as I knew you would no
matter what changed.”
 It was all she needed to hear. Faythe was almost able to let go of the
fears that kept her from embracing what she was now with complete
acceptance. 
“I’ll leave you to eat and rest, dear.” Gresla smiled up at her. “Welcome
home.”
So few words spoken with such great impact. When Gresla left, Faythe
was one burden lighter. Her stomach twisted at the scent of food in her
hunger, and she eyed the second place that had been laid at the table just as
awareness stroked her spine. 
“How are you feeling?” Reylan asked quietly. 
She twisted to him, but he made no move to come closer, and the
distance felt wrong. “It’s been a long day,” she said, unable to hide her drop
of disappointment as she sat before her meal. 
Only then did he come to take the place opposite her. Faythe could
hardly look at him. 
“It’s best if my scent doesn’t linger on you more than what people might
expect from me being your guard.”
“My guard?” Faythe was incredulous. 
He winced at her reaction. “It’s the only way I have reason to be close
to you often.”
Her hand tightened around her fork. “Who knows you’re my mate?”
“Only your father. And those you’re already aware of.”
“So it means nothing to the council,” she ground out.
“We don’t know yet. But it’s best kept secret for now.”
“I hope it doesn’t, because it means nothing to me. Not if this is the
price to pay.” Faythe rose from the table with her declaration. “I can’t use it
as an excuse for my feelings for you, nor will it make it easier for others to
understand what you mean to me and that you deserve to rule this
kingdom.”
“It’s not as easy as that.”
“Nothing in my life has ever been easy.” Her voice broke.
Reylan rose, face pinching with conflict.
“Except loving you, which comes as easy as breathing. I have this one
sure, easy thing, and they can build as many obstacles around it as they
want, but I’ll knock each one down one by one.”
He came around the table, wordlessly taking her face in his hands, and
her body relaxed in relief. “Together,” he said. “We’ll knock them down
together.”
Faythe gave a soft whimper when he sealed that vow with a kiss.
“Now eat, please. Your bath will be getting cold.”

Faythe stood in a short silk robe, breathing in the delicious scent of orange
and something like spice and florals. The water wasn’t visible through the
biggest mound of bubbles she’d ever seen. She twisted her head but quickly
snapped it back on habit before she caught a glimpse of her reflection. 
“Have you looked at yourself at all?”
Reylan’s interruption shivered over her skin. Faythe dipped her hand to
scoop up some bubbles as a distraction. 
“No,” she said honestly, blowing them from the tips of her fingers. 
Reylan leaned in closer. Reaching his hands up, he grazed her skin with
his fingertips, hooking them into her robe. Faythe answered by untying it
and letting him peel the thin material away with deliberate slowness. 
“What are you afraid of?”
His voice was thick, and while she couldn’t see him, the impression of
his eyes over her naked body made her lids flutter. Then his lips pressed
lightly to her shoulder. 
“I thought you said you shouldn’t touch,” Faythe breathed, raising her
hand behind her with a need to tangle it in his hair, but he stepped back
before she could. 
“I won’t push it, hence the bath.”
Faythe eyed the inviting tub with a new reluctance. It flared something
ugly to think its purpose was to erase his scent as much as possible. “This
isn’t right.”
“Trust me,” he groaned, once again hovering the words over the skin of
her back. “I want nothing more than take you right now, so much it’s
driving me insane, and I should not be standing here—not with every inch
of you on display. It’s taking everything in me not to imprint my scent all
over you, and inside of you, until the whole damn world can make no
mistake in knowing you are mine.”
 Her core tightened with an impulsive lust. 
“But the world can be cruel, and I need you to help me help you. At
least until we know how this might be received. I can’t be responsible for
jeopardizing the future of this kingdom, your future, because of my
selfishness. One obstacle at a time.”
Faythe’s gut twisted with the plea in his tone. She let go of all her
protests, knowing she was only making it harder on them both. She sighed
instead, dipping into the water and easing back with the heat that coated her
skin and relaxed her muscles. This was her first hot bath in what felt like
forever. 
“I didn’t take you for one to enjoy a bubble bath,” she commented. She
hadn’t bathed with such luxurious soaps before. 
“I’m not the one in the bath.” 
Faythe inhaled sharply when cool hands settled on her shoulders. She
bit back her moan of pleasure as Reylan began a slow massage, lathering a
honey-scented liquid over her. 
“Though I’d very much like to be. And I would endure the bubbles for
you.”
Faythe giggled at the image, knowing one day she’d force him to join
her in the most ridiculously extravagant bubble bath she could create. Then,
through their pause of peaceful silence, something nagged on her mind. 
“Have you ever wondered…why us?”
Reylan’s breath was long and affirming. “I have.” His hands didn’t stop
tracing her shoulders, sensuously smooth on her wet skin, adding just the
right pressure to her tight muscles. Her tension eased and her eyes fluttered
as she listened to his voice. “I believe we come into this world when we’re
needed. For others, to do things we probably don’t even realize make such
an impact.”
“Do you believe…?” Her mind stumbled over the ridiculous thought,
but Reylan gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Do you believe we
could live more than one lifetime? Do you think you’d remember?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But if so and I didn’t remember,
I would still find you.”
Her eyes pricked with tears, and she closed them to stop her emotion
from spilling.
“I’ve witnessed platonic mates. I’ve seen hostility between them. Some
pairings never meet at all. Magick is its own force; the heart can have other
plans. Falling in love…” His hand curled around her throat, then up her jaw,
and he twisted her face to look at him “That was our choice. Do you believe
that?”
 “Yes.”
He smiled softly, letting her go to resume his work easing her arms, her
chest. “I’ll never forgive what happened to you. I’ll never rest until I find all
those who wronged you. I would have loved you until the end as a human.
Maybe this makes me selfish, but Faythe, you being fae…is it wrong of me
to find joy and relief in that?”
Faythe wanted to give him the answer he hoped for, but it came with a
story, a confession, she finally had to set free. She watched the water ripple
around her fingers as she traced the surface. “For the longest part of my life
I was taught the fae were ruthless and cruel. I suppose in High Farrow,
under Orlon’s twisted reign, it was somewhat true. Yet my mother never
once tried to say otherwise. She loved my father. I can’t stop thinking about
how the whole time she was alive but far from him, she loved him still. She
knew how kind and compassionate the fae could be, just like the humans.
We’re not so different.”
Faythe paused. Her stomach dropped as she realized she didn’t know
which side she was on now: human or fae… She drifted with hopelessness
for a second, feeling tied to neither. “I’ve tried to ignore it, but I resent her
for it. She kept me in the dark about many things I forgive her for, but I
can’t find a reason for her sheltering me from the world beyond
Farrowhold. There’s so much to discover, so many walks of life, and maybe
if she’d helped me to prepare for it sooner it wouldn’t overwhelm me as it
does now. Despite all I’ve seen, there’s still a part of my child self that feels
I should be horrified at what I’ve become. Fae. There was a time when I
would have wished for death before I became like the cold, heartless beings
I thought you all to be.”
Faythe counted his breaths. 
“And now?”
She twisted in the bath to look at him. His brow furrowed, disturbed by
her thoughts and longing to hear a counter side. The air caught on her wet
skin, and the bubbles that clung to her and concealed her naked upper half
began to dissipate slowly. She shuddered. 
“Now I’m so gods-damned relieved, Reylan.” She let go of the
confession she’d harbored deep since she Transitioned out of fear it was a
betrayal to everything she’d been before. Reylan’s face smoothed out; his
stiff shoulders loosened. “Before, something always felt just out of reach,
yet I couldn’t figure out what it was. I think a part of me has always known,
but hope and impossibility clashed only to leave me forever reaching for
something that can never exist. I didn’t think I’d ever be whole.” She shook
her head, weightless in the embrace of her new reality. “I died…yet I’ve
never felt more alive.”
Reylan slipped off the stool and onto his knees, bringing their faces
level as he shifted around to the side of the bath. His hand reached for her
face, his eyes soul-searching. “You are exquisite, my Phoenix.” His lips
pressed to hers, and Faythe’s mouth opened to deepen the kiss. She savored
it as each one they shared was now forbidden and secret. 
Reylan’s hand dipped into the water and trailed along her thigh. Faythe
fisted his hair, begging for more now the bath’s heat came second to her hot
need for him. He teased her deliberately, never reaching her core as he
explored the length of her leg.
“You’re making this impossible,” he groaned against her lips.
Faythe undid the top tie of his shirt. “You started it.”
His low chuckle vibrated along her jaw as he said huskily, “Hardly.”
“Get in the bath, Reylan.”
“Is that an order, princess?”
Faythe bit her lip, but the hook of her teeth released with a small gasp
when he held the side of her face with rough passion.
“You’re becoming rather demanding,” he said thickly.
“Is that so?”
“It drives me wild for you—more than I thought possible.”
Faythe couldn’t take the searing gaze that touched her in a blaze like his
words. She pulled his face to hers and their kiss turned drunk with fervor.
On her knees, the water lapped low on her waist, and Reylan’s hand reached
beneath the surface.
She moaned as his fingers worked between her legs and their kiss
deepened, tongues clashing with a demand that rocked her hips.
She needed more.
So much more.
“I can’t join you this time,” he rasped, hooking two fingers into her, and
Faythe cried out, her head tipping back. “But I can give you this. Gods, if I
had any decency, any sense of duty, I wouldn’t. But with you right here at
my mercy, I really don’t give a fuck about anything except the pleasure you
ask for.”
 His mouth closed over her peaked breast, and Faythe chased the release
building in her lower stomach. She clutched him tightly, nails scraping
down his back, which only seemed to drive his pace harder. Reylan’s other
hand glided over her wet body, worshipping every inch as if it were the last
time, and she wouldn’t have that, no matter what it took.
Faythe was teetering on the edge and Reylan felt her, letting go of her
breast to peer up at her.
“Eyes on me, Phoenix.”
Locked onto those icy sapphires Faythe came apart. Her brow furrowed
tightly as her thighs slipped farther open, her body trembling helplessly
with waves of all-consuming bliss. He devoured her every reaction, slowly
reeling in his feverish pace. When he removed himself from her, Faythe
slumped down in the water.
Reylan leaned in to kiss her once. “This is going to be a torturous few
weeks.”
 CHAPTER 38

Faythe

I white-and-gold
t had been so long since Faythe last stood in the familiar comforts of her
mist. She’d been here for some time since drifting off
alone with an ache carrying through her that Reylan wasn’t here beside her. 
Faythe hadn’t told him she’d been stifling her ability out of fear of
touching her magick. She didn’t know what harm it might do if she lost
control and Nightwalked unintentionally. Now, with her slow discoveries,
Faythe was braving the one thing she’d been yearning to do for so long.
There was one last set of people who had yet to be faced with her new twist
of fate. 
Clutching Nik’s star pendant around her neck, she paced with nerves.
Last time, it took merging with Reylan, but now she was stronger and more
confident she’d make the leap. That wasn’t what caused her hesitation
though. She was fearful of what her magick could do to Nik if it began to
consume her. 
Fear was a permanent shadow, and with a stomp of defiance and
irritation Faythe stopped her pacing and began to focus. She felt herself
project though time and space, her body utterly weightless as she traveled to
her destination. When she was finally standing outside the barrier of Nik’s
mind it didn’t feel so indestructible, though it was solid. Faythe waited,
fighting the dark chant to take her own entry with her magick.
The resistance lifted and Faythe stopped moving, slowly peeling open
her eyes. She could have dropped to her knees at the familiar whorls of
black-and-gray smoke; the distant memory it sparked to be back here. 
 From the shadows a figure emerged, and as the first flicker of emerald
broke the darkness her eyes blurred the image of him. She couldn’t move or
speak; could only stand trembling, stifling her sobs, at the sight. 
Nik stalked toward her slowly, deliberately, hands in his pockets and
wearing a soft smile that held pain. He was beautiful and elegant and
somehow far more befitting of his title as king, yet not a part of him
appeared different. 
He halted when they were near shoulder to shoulder, and her first tear
fell. A hand reached up, tracing delicately over the tip of her pointed ear.
“Not human,” he mused in a whisper. 
Faythe released a sharp sob then, and their arms opened for each other
when she twisted to him. 
“I knew you had to be alive. You’re far too stubborn,” he mumbled into
her hair.
Faythe was crying. Laughing while she cried. Clinging to him like a
lifeline, but too soon he peeled away to look over her face, brushing her wet
cheek.
“And brave and strong and so gods-damned remarkable.”
“Nik,” she whimpered, her forehead falling to his chest. The one who
was first to know her differences and had never judged her, only guided. “I
don’t know what I am.”
He squeezed her upper arms. “Just Faythe and the fae guard in the
woods, remember?”
Her brow crumpled. “I wish you were really here.”
There would always be something different about him. A tether of
absolute understanding bound them both.
“Right now, we just have to make do with how we can see each other,”
he consoled her. 
Faythe nodded, and when her tears blinked back, she took a moment to
scan every piece of him. A smile of pride and joy bloomed on her cheeks,
widening to a grin. 
“You and Tauria…Jakon told me everything.”
Nik breathed, slumping in relief. “They made it to you. I can’t tell you
how much of a gift it is to hear that. Jakon and Marlowe, we owe them a lot
for their help with the conflicts in High Farrow, then for their aid in freeing
Tauria in Olmstone.”
“Are you both safe now?”
 “There’s still the threat of Zarrius, but we’re being vigilant. Don’t worry
about us—you have much to figure out for yourself.” His hands took hers,
and he examined the symbols within them then glanced again at her ears.
“Is it wrong of me to say I think you look radiant, Faythe? That looking at
you now…I have to wonder how you were born human when fae suits you
so.”
“I’m still figuring it out,” she muttered. 
“You might prove an equal match in combat now.”
Faythe chuckled. “What I wouldn’t give to have just one rematch in
those woods.”
“We will.”
Their eyes met, and a promise fused between them. 
The magick within Faythe had been humming, beginning to grow, but
Faythe was desperate to hold onto as many precious minutes as she could. 
“Don’t worry about us here. We’re figuring out how the dark fae may
have infiltrated our defenses, but you need to be preparing on your end. The
only way we can fight them is together.”
“We are,” Faythe confirmed. “We have a captive and we’re learning
what we can, but it’s slow-going. I fear they could strike any moment.”
“What’s the plan now?”
Faythe had been thinking that over. “We lost the Dark Temple Ruin.
Dakodas has it now, and we need to find out a way to retrieve it.”
Nik must have felt the panic her words roused from the way he gave an
assuring caress to ground her. “Do you know where?”
She shook her head. “I hope we can find out from our captive. Then
there’s still Marvellas’s to retrieve. We need them all.”
His palm cupped her nape, his expression firming with determination.
“You’re not doing this alone. Not for a second longer now this is our war
too. We trapped Marvellas and Mordecai in Olmstone’s castle, but I’m not
certain how long they’ve been free. Leave Dakodas’s ruin to us.”
“No. You don’t know what she’s capable of, nor where it could be.”
“You have to trust us. We might have a good lead on where to start
looking.”
Faythe wanted to protest, could hardly stand to look at him as her head
bowed in his hold with the thought of them risking themselves. 
“You’ve given your all to this, Faythe. More than any of us could, and I
know you’ll continue to. It kills me, despite how triumphant and brilliant
you are, what you had to give up and what you had to go through for it. But
you can’t be the only one to sacrifice yourself time and time again. Let us
help.”
Faythe had no choice. This was not her war; it was all of theirs. She told
him everything she could, not leaving out a single detail about what had
unfolded. It rushed out of her, and her pulse became rapid, her head
throbbed faintly, and she was all too aware of her magick continuing to
rise. 
“The dark fae who tracked you…can you show me?”
The only way to show him would be to unfold the scene around them.
To relive what had kept her from sleep many nights and transported her
right back to that moment at the most unexpected of triggers. 
He must have seen the blanching of her skin. “You don’t have to—”
“I will,” Faythe rushed out before she could succumb to her panic. She
had to. Maverick and Zaiana were two of their leaders—enemies she
couldn’t withhold from Nik should they make an attack on High Farrow
too. 
Faythe stepped away from him and began to tunnel for the memory. She
walked but kept her eyes closed. The damp heat of the ash-clogged air and
rain came first. Then the scent of smoke, which circled in her lungs. Bright
—it was so blazing bright, and before her the great Firebird heaved its
powerful wings. 
“Gods above…” Nik’s whisper was faint against the roar of
Phoenixfyre. 
Faythe still didn’t open her eyes though she knew she’d be standing
there all over again. Without looking, she cast out her hand, remembering
exactly where everyone had taken refuge. “That’s Zaiana. We have her in
our cells.”
Nik didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.
Faythe pointed again across the mountain edge. “That’s Maverick.”
Something struck her so powerfully it forced her eyes to snap open. Not
her own stab of shock, but Nik’s. Yet the image around her halted her
before she could turn to him. She wasn’t prepared though she knew
Atherius would be standing before her.
Time slowed in her vision. Faythe’s heart pounded in her ears to a
mighty drum, but the blazing red fire flickered with tranquility. The rise of
its wings and the flick of its flaming mane happened so slowly she almost
fell to her knees in awe. Yet she knew what the Firebird was bracing for.
She felt a breeze lick up the sweat that trickled down her nape, over her
forehead, and knew she was seconds from being devoured by Phoenixfyre.
On instinct she glanced at her wrist. 
“Faythe, remember, it’s not real.” 
She heard Nik’s words, but they didn’t echo with the same clarity as the
cry that pierced the night from Atherius. She was confusing memory with
reality. 
Her wrist was bare where she expected to find the amulet that would
give her a fighting chance. A panic so gripping took hold of her every
muscle, stopping her still, until a form appeared in front of her as if to
shield her from the fire—though it would only kill them both. Her eyes
flicked up to warn them, but those emerald irises connected with hers like
lightning, drawing out a gasp that tightened her lungs. 
Nik couldn’t be here. He was never here.
Hands took her face. “Listen to me, Faythe. This is your mind. You have
control.” His voice was strained, and the fragmented truth of the present
began to form back together. 
The ground beneath them vibrated. The mountains broke off and
boulders crashed as the fire blazed higher. Faythe searched frantically for
the others, but they were gone.
Atherius was gone. 
“You’re hurting me, Faythe,” Nik said, his voice far clearer, and his pain
pounded in her mind. 
“I can’t stop it,” she breathed in horror. Her palms glowed so brightly
with the magick that had erupted from her. She tried to hold Nik’s gaze, but
the edges of her vision glittered in gold too, close to consuming her.
“Yes, you can.”
She could kill him. Kill them both. It had been a mistake to believe she
held enough control to Nightwalk to him, to use the technique she already
knew, because the essence that lived within her now was not content to be
separated or lie dormant. It laughed at her lack of ability to wield it. 
“I need you to know something before you pull back. If he comes for
you again, you need to know.” Nik’s teeth clenched, and her forehead
creased as he fought the magick within her that would take him down
too. He leaned his forehead to hers, echoing a few words in her mind that
stopped the world. They echoed over and over in her disbelief that he might
have rejected the knowledge. But his tone was urgent.
Then a flare of gold erupted around them, and Nik was stolen from her
completely.

Faythe’s eyes snapped open, but all she was met with was gold.
Shimmering, brilliant gold that felt trapped in her lungs as she drew breath
as if air didn’t exist. Her eyes scanned frantically from side to side as
objects started to take form—though still gilded, glittering with that rippling
amber power.
“Faythe.”
Relief whooshed from her all at once at the echo in her mind. She
reached up a hand up to confirm he was real. 
Reylan was straddling her lightly, pushing the sweat-slicked hair from
her face. He breathed a long sigh before his lips pressed to her forehead.
“You scared the damn Nether out of me.”
Exhaustion caught up to her all at once as she glanced over the swirls of
white and gold around them, the colors drifting through the air as if she’d
expelled a translucent form of her subconscious into their realm. “Do you
see it?” she whispered. 
Reylan eased off her, shuffling back on his knees as Faythe propped
herself up. “Yes.”
“What is it?”
He studied her with confusion pinching his brow. “Your raw power. At
least I think so. I couldn’t… Gods above, Faythe, I almost couldn’t get
through to you. I couldn’t take it or stop you.”
  Faythe couldn’t stand his turmoil. “You still felt me.” Rising to her
knees, she carefully shuffled over in case he would retreat with the caution
that had kept him from sleeping next to her. “You still came.”
When his arms encircled her waist, she breathed in relief. His head
rested on her chest, and they held each other. 
“If you destroy yourself then take me too. If you destroy the world, I’ll
be right there beside you.”
Her fingers curled into his silver locks. “Does that make us villains?”
 Reylan pulled back, looking up at her with sparkling sapphires of
determination. “Yes,” he said, studying how she’d react, but Faythe felt…
liberated. “We’re the villains in someone’s plan, someone else’s ideals, their
wants and desires. Here’s a promise to you, Faythe Ashfyre: I’m damn well
honored to be a villain with you. And for you. To whoever stands in the way
of you fulfilling your dream of a better world.”
Faythe angled her head to kiss him fiercely. “Stay with me tonight,” she
said against his lips. 
Reylan answered by hooking an arm around her. She felt weightless as
he drew her back to lie down. He hovered over her, and Faythe’s hands
couldn’t fight the impulse to run up his bare torso, eliciting a groan from
him as he kissed her jaw, her neck. She curved into him as if her body were
molding to his every touch. His rough fingers trailed up her thigh, fully
exposed as they lifted her short silk nightgown. Just as he reached the hem
he halted, planting a firm kiss to her chest. 
“Best not to push it,” he rasped, fighting restraint. 
Her protest was strong, but her will to protect him was stronger. “Best
not,” she agreed, though she was just as needy. 
Reylan lay on his side, tucking up behind her and pulling her in close as
she faced away. All that mattered was that he was here. Faythe watched the
last fleeting notes of her power wink out slowly like dying embers. Then, in
the silence, only Nik’s last words replayed again and again, knowledge that
changed everything and nothing.
She didn’t know what she would do with it.
 CHAPTER 39

Nikalias

“N ik !”
The urgency of his name sounding out through his mind snapped
him awake. His hands gripped the form that straddled him, gaze flicking up
to find Tauria’s horrified expression drop with relief all at once. Her weight
slumped though her hands remained braced on his bare chest. 
“Thank the Gods,” she panted. 
Nik blinked while his consciousness splintered back. He started to
remember the clutches of Faythe’s power within his mind that had rendered
him helpless. He’d been trapped and held in his own subconsciousness. It
was like nothing he’d come close to experiencing before. 
“What happened?” he asked, wondering what she would have felt from
it. 
“You tell me.” Tauria leaned back so Nik could prop himself against the
headboard.  His hands hooked around her thighs when she tried to back
away. Despite his sweat-slicked skin, he needed her close. The feel of her
skin as he ran his hands up and down her legs grounded him while he reeled
back from the ordeal. 
“I saw Faythe,” he explained. 
Tauria’s fingers wove through his hair. “I want to be thrilled, but I’m
wondering what could have happened that meant I couldn’t reach you. Your
pulse was too fast, your skin was hot… I feared the worst, that another
Nightwalker had gotten to you, and that’s the one place I can’t help, and I
—”
 Nik cut her off with a tender kiss. “I’m sorry it frightened you, but did
you really doubt me against another Nightwalker?”
Tauria’s smile stretched to a teasing grin. “Not until now.”
He gave a soft chuckle. Then a frown formed with all he had to explain
to his mate about their friend. What Faythe had become. It should have
shocked him, stunned him, but all he saw was…clarity, as if Faythe had
removed a cloak of pretense and now stood in her true, perfect form.
“Faythe is not just another Nightwalker,” he began.
Tauria only nodded in agreement.
“She’s not…human anymore either.” He watched her carefully.
The flex of her eyes was calculating. “Not human?”
“And somehow, I think…not just fae. She tried to explain what she
could, but I don’t think she realized it didn’t all make sense in her rush. But
the Firebirds, they’re real. I guess we knew that from the Phoenix Blood
potions, but Faythe showed me the one they faced. They still live.” Nik
listened to the drum of Tauria’s heart, tucking her loose hair behind her ear
while she took in his words and tried to grasp them as true. 
“She’s fae?” She shook her head vacantly, and then her frown
eased. She smiled, grinned, and Nik’s own mouth tipped up with hers until
they shared a laugh—one of absolute incredulity over the impossible that
finally felt right.
“She is something,” Tauria mused with a hint of sadness. “I wish I could
see her. She needs her friends now more than ever.”
“Jakon and Marlowe made it to her.”
Tauria’s face lit up with joy and her small gasp turned to a partial cry as
her eyes closed. Nik understood the feeling of that weight being lifted.
Wondering if the humans were safe in Rhyenelle had been a constant itch in
the back of his mind, and Tauria cared just as deeply. 
“There’s something else,” he said. He had to take a pause before telling
her about the unfathomable task, but he knew Tauria would do it, and what
they would need to give seemed far less than Faythe’s sacrifice. “I love you,
Tauria. I have always and will always love you no matter what.”
Tauria seemed to know where his thoughts had drifted. She nodded
softly. “Always,” she whispered, kissing him firmly. “That never changes.
No matter what. I love you, Nikalias.” She squealed as Nik flipped them,
leaning over her.
 With the scare and every darkness they’d decided to face, Nik would
treasure every second they still had.  He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her
chest. His teeth grazed over her skin and pinched her peaked breast through
the thin silk nightgown. Tauria arched beautifully into his every touch. He
continued lower, enjoying her soft breaths, sliding the silk high to expose
her. Tauria was needy in her desire, waiting for him to go further. 
“What do you want, love?”
He knew it would earn him a moan of frustration, and he smiled,
slipping a hand through her slickness, fingers curving inside of her. He
watched the perfect angle of her body bowing on the sheets, clutching them
tightly. 
Nik would go slow. Torturously slowly was what he felt like tonight, so
he could stretch out the hours since his mind was so far from being able to
rest.
Not that he needed any excuse to worship every inch of Tauria, time and
time again.
 CHAPTER 40

Zaiana

T he ice that doused her was real, and a damn rude awakening. 
Zaiana gasped, jerking back completely disoriented, wincing when
she hit solid stone. The freezing water drenched her heavy and left her
panting. The shock that struck her chest was almost enough to jump-start
her dead heart.
“Since you’re adamant in your defiance,” Kyleer’s insufferable voice
sang, “I thought I’d bring the bath to you.”
Zaiana glared but blinked with bewilderment as she processed his
words. How he had managed to make it all the way up to her cell without
waking her up puzzled her. Glancing down at the now soaked cloak
weighing her down, she realized just how deeply she must have fallen
asleep wrapped up in it.
She shuddered violently, teeth clamping together to keep from
chattering. “You’re tempting death, Commander.”
His chuckle was smooth, lighter than usual, but she still itched with a
desire to claw it from his throat. “I think we’re past that.”
On her knees, the cold air reacted to her wet clothes. Her fists balled,
and she tensed not to give away how frigid she was, thinking of a
distraction instead. “I completed a method of training once,” she rasped,
keeping her eyes on the ground. “I was made to walk across a mile-long
mountain ledge in the dead of winter. Repeatedly. Each time, they would
take something from me—my cloak, then my shoes, then my top layers—
until on my final walk I didn’t know if I would survive. I could hardly move
from the freezing grip of the cold. The ground wasn’t quite layered with
snow—it was frost and ice, tearing the skin off my feet as I walked, but if I
didn’t make it to the end, I would have been left out there for the night. The
walk was brutal, but no one would have survived a full night out there.”
Kyleer processed her tale before he asked, “What was the lesson in
that?”
She huffed a laugh. “They praised it as endurance, but I think it was a
lot of their own twisted boredom. It’s instinct to look at someone and see a
breakable thing. It’s down to us to take the glass we were born of and turn it
into steel.” Zaiana flexed her fingers to keep from turning numb. She barely
raised her head but slid her eyes to the door when she heard the keys.
“Can’t you just Shadowport?”
“It’s as if you can read my mind.” Kyleer was in front of her before she
could blink. His shadows surrounded her, caressing her in a way that parted
her lips and drew out a gasp. An alluring darkness wrapped around her—his
darkness, but not the evil kind she was akin to; this one was of awe and
starlight. Her gaze snapped to his, and for a few seconds it was just the two
of them in a beautiful void of shimmering shadow. A dark galaxy where the
stars whorled around them so mesmerizingly she wanted to suspend time
and stay there for any precious seconds longer than what she was granted.
This place he traveled through…it was time and space and infinity,
untouchable by their cruel world. A place she wanted to venture through
without ever letting go of the large hands she gripped so tightly in her
shock. 
Then everything stilled. Too soon. 
Kyleer’s shadows dispersed though her mind, and she tried to cling to
their beauty with unblinking eyes. Then, when the grim walls of a tragically
familiar realm returned, her gaze dropped to his. She fixed him with wonder
as the owner of such a gift she hadn’t known to appreciate in the slightest
until now.
Her crash back to reality was a familiar cold drop. 
Zaiana’s chains rattled as she pulled her hands from his. She scanned
their new surroundings. This place didn’t look much better than her cell
with its bare stone walls, but when she eyed the bathtub, she instantly shot
him a glare. 
“I said no.”
“You’ll freeze.”
 “Did you not hear a word of what I told you? You’ll have to try a
different method.”
“This is not a punishment.”
“It should be,” she snarled. “Does Reylan know how gentle you’ve been
with Rhyenelle’s most prized captive? I know things that could be of great
use to you, things that could perhaps tip the scales of the war after your epic
failure in letting Dakodas ascend. Yet all this time you’ve been toying with
me, offering me a bath, rescuing me from your own soldiers who’ve clearly
had enough of your weakness and just want to do what needs to be done.”
“You want me to hurt you?”
Yes. She did. Because that was better than the repulsive awakening of
something far worse. Feelings she’d buried long ago because they only
served to get one killed. 
“I expected better of you,” she spat. 
“Then I guess we’re both disappointed.”
She didn’t know what he meant by that. Her muscles were so painful in
their tenseness, but the worse of it would pass soon. Gods, she was so damn
cold. 
“What do you want from me, Kyleer?”
He didn’t respond at first even though words seemed to fight to break
through in the flex of his jaw. He stood, pulling a short dagger free to fidget
with as he leaned against the back wall. “I’ll take you back when the water
is cold,” he said blankly. 
Zaiana heaved a long sigh. She had endured many trials and tortures in
her life, yet never before had one person exhausted her so much with such
little effort.  In her shivering state, all she could think about were the
minutes draining the heat from the water just a few feet away. For a second,
imagining those waters called forth a face in her mind, and she snapped her
eyes open against the flashes of memory. It wasn’t often she bathed in the
luxury of hot water—that had always been a product of Maverick’s
Firewielding—and though she would claim to despise it since it came hand-
in-hand with suffering his company, she would never admit the sense of
comfort it provided. 
She wondered what he would be doing right now. With a miserable
twinge she realized she might even be pining for his company, if only for
the familiarity. Until she remembered their parting stare and how dejected
she’d felt when he first left.
 Those thoughts were banished quickly when a beautiful dark fae Spirit
flashed to mind. 
Zaiana rose to her feet, her clanking chains the only sound that
resonated through the room. She paused, grinding her teeth with the dregs
of her defiance, but ultimately…she gave in. “I can’t undress with these
on,” she muttered.
Kyleer slid his eyes to her, trailing her from head to toe, and she hated
that her body shivered in reaction to it. He pushed off the wall, and her
regret grew thick as she watched him stalk toward her. Zaiana had avoided
the bath specifically so he wouldn’t see how punishment had marked her
skin, but it didn’t matter now. Nor would it when he saw it again—every
time she’d been helpless enough to allow those scars. 
“I can’t take them off,” he said, and she might have believed the note of
disturbance in his tone as he glanced at her raw wrists. 
“Then I guess you’ll have to help me.”
There was a shift in his scent. Her scent. She tried to ignore both, but
she couldn’t take her eyes from his. 
Kyleer stepped up to her, their bodies near grazing, and carefully
slipped the heavy, wet cloak from her shoulders. It fell with a slop to the
ground. A jolt like lightning shot through her, making her squeeze her eyes
shut and bow her head against the air that breezed over her exposed back
from the torn clothing. Kyleer’s hands gripped her upper arms as though
she would collapse. After a shuddering exhale, and when the tight coiling in
her abdomen had loosened, she forced her attention back to him. 
His rough fingers trailed over her shoulders, and her brow flinched. He
halted. “I will stop when you say,” he said with a quietness she’d never
heard from him. “I promise you that.”
“It’s fine.”
“Zai.”
She assessed that faint plea in the way he said her name and wondered
what it meant. “I’m fine,” she amended. 
He gave a barely-there nod then began to peel away the cold material
that clung to her. Slowly, never breaking eye contact. It was dangerous how
easily she escaped in those green irises. 
Zaiana stood bare-chested. She wasn’t shy of her nakedness, only
protective of what she’d endured in the skin that saw her still alive
today. She didn’t flinch when he tore the sleeves off one at a time until she
was free of the shredded sweater. 
“Aren’t you going to look?” she tempted. 
His features eased a little to give way to a partial smirk. “You don’t
have anything I haven’t seen before.”
Zaiana let go of a near smile, glad for the lifted tension since she could
hardly stand it. But when his face fell with a thoughtful frown, so did the
upturn of her mouth. 
He stepped back. “I’m sure you can handle the rest.” Kyleer turned
around, and with his back to her, relief weighed her truly.
She hastily peeled off her boots and pants, heading to the water to find it
a milky white that would conceal her body once she was inside. As she
dipped her toes in, the stark contrast of heat against her frozen skin shot
sparks of pain through every nerve. Despite wanting to throw herself in all
at once, she took it slow. Inch by inch she submerged herself, biting her lip,
until her eyes fluttered closed with the most consuming pleasure she’d felt
in so long. 
Zaiana lay with her head propped over the edge and forgot Kyleer’s
presence altogether while she took that moment for herself without apology.
“You got what you wanted,” she drawled over to him. “Now will you tell
me about your fascination with the bath?”
“Not the bath. Your scent.”
“You could have just insulted me until I caved.”
“Allow me to amend—” He moved, but she didn’t twist her head.
Kyleer held something out to her. Soap. “Not your scent. His.”
Zaiana stilled with the loathing he poured into that single word,
knowing exactly who he meant. 
“You’re lucky it’s faint. I had to interrupt Reylan’s visit to you, or he
would have killed you without thinking straight if he detected Maverick on
you. Or perhaps he would have used you far more ruthlessly to force him
here, because what lingers on you is something closer, more intimate.”
“You’re wrong.” 
Kyleer dropped to a crouch, bringing them eye-level. “I could hardly
stand it myself. Being near you fueled my own need to kill you. It was as if
he were right there.”
Her chains lifted out of the water as Zaiana reached for the white soap
bar, but it slipped from his hand just before she could take it. 
 Deliberately. 
She should have predicted the game when she noticed his sleeves were
rolled up to his elbows, showing off beautiful black markings that caught
her intrigue. But not enough to drag out a conversation. Kyleer beat her to
the soap as his hand dipped into the water, and she inhaled sharply at the
first graze of his knuckles against her thigh. 
“Who hurt you, Zai? You talk of the masters…” 
Was this the start of his attempt to draw out information? Seduction
rather than torture. “Many people hurt me,” she got out while tracking the
tingling graze of his fingers near her leg. “So many it would make your
nightmares seem trivial. But it’s just flesh. It means nothing.”
“It means—” 
Zaiana nearly tipped her head back when his hand met her calf. It was a
bold move, daring, yet she couldn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him. The
odd sensation of the round soap bar coupled with the light graze of his
fingertips deepened her breaths.
“It did not break you.” He watched her intently for every reaction to his
touch. 
She wanted to have the strength to shake his confidence. Refuse his
closeness. React far more menacingly than submitting to the desire that
flushed her skin beyond the bath’s heat. The smooth glide of his hand
holding the soap grew an ache between her legs. He continued up, curving
over her bent knee, inching a fraction along her inner thigh. Reason
scattered, protest dissolved, and her lips parted while they held each other’s
eyes with an attention she’d never felt before. Soul-searching. As though
his fingers were merely a distraction while he surged deep into the essence
of who she was; what she was. She wondered if he had answers to the
questions she wanted to know about herself since the world had left her lost
and wandering. 
His hand left her abruptly, and Spirits be damned did it make
disappointment drop through her. Kyleer held up the soap again, but his
hand twisted to show his knuckles instead. For the first time her attention
caught on the long, raised scar across his hand and two crooked fingers.
Whatever torture he’d endured—his hand had been crushed was her guess
—she knew it must have been strung-out and repeated over and over to
have left such permanent damage on a fae. 
 “Who hurt you?” she asked, surprised by her own darkness
rising.  Imagining him in pain, agony, inspired something grim and
unforgiving. But Zaiana couldn’t care about him. When she got her chance
to escape, the monster that lived within her would kill Kyleer if that was
what it took.
“Someone who never got the satisfaction of breaking me either.”
Zaiana didn’t know how she’d allowed this to happen. Here she stood
on common ground with the commander. It was a trap—it had to be. They
had to have known physical torture would be wasted energy on such a
soulless being who’d endured it all before. 
“Would you sit forward for me?” he asked with a gentleness she didn’t
know how to react to. It wasn’t seductive or taunting or anything of
ridicule. 
Her hands gripped the edge of the bath before she could listen to the
protests in her mind out of a curiosity to know what his tender expression
would do if she gave herself to it. Kyleer moved to sit on something behind
him, and Zaiana curled her knees to her chest, fighting against the urge to
lash out, fearing her anger would chase him away. 
“Can I touch you?” 
“You didn’t ask just seconds ago.”
“Can I touch your scars, Zai?”
Her shoulder blades locked and her breaths came hard. She had such a
strong urge to say no, but it battled with a strange desire to say…
“Yes.” It was barely a whisper, as if she hoped he wouldn’t hear her. 
He did, of course. With every inch closer he came her chest rose faster
and her throat tightened. The vibration of his fingers lingered over her
back…
“Wait,” she rushed out. She wasn’t sure why, or what she was thinking.
“Wait.” Only that a panic so foreign and sudden had gripped her entirely
and she didn’t know how else to respond. “Why are you doing this?” That
ugly barrier of self-preservation pinned him as a target; saw cunning in his
kindness. 
“It needs tending to—what those bastards did to you.”
“It’s nothing compared to what you should be doing to me.”
“And nothing compared to what I want to be doing with you.”
She shot him an incredulous look over her shoulder. His mouth only
curled in amusement, and she couldn’t stand the fluttering in her stomach;
the fact her mind paid attention to the slick, long waves of hair that met his
jaw. “Take me back.”
“Your wounds will scar if you don’t let me help you. You’re healing at
the pace of a human with the Niltain Steel.”
“I said take me back,” she snapped. “I can’t stand to be near you. I’m
understanding more why they cast you aside so easily. You’re overbearing,
suffocating. Their slowest method of torture was assigning you to me.”
Her hearing reached out for his heartbeat when she couldn’t see his
face. It pounded hard, strong, but there was always a faint stutter that
echoed with hollowness. Zaiana had read many books on how the heart was
nothing more than an organ to push blood around the body, but she studied
it with a precision no one else did. Each person’s heart spoke more to her
than any outward expression, and with the disruption in Kyleer’s chest, she
wanted to steal the words back. She wouldn’t, as to do so would give him a
weapon. Because maybe she was slipping from her own steel composure.
Maybe…
She cared.
 CHAPTER 41

Tarly

T snow. The kind he could

arly enjoyed the cold—the kind that formed crystal ice and glittering
wrap up warm in but still enjoy the bite against
his cheeks. But being drenched with rain while he trudged over a mile in the
oncoming winter was a miserable kind of cold. 
They made haste into a small inn. Nerida folded her arms around
herself, lips faintly blue and teeth chattering. He figured her small form
took the impact of the weather harder. 
“Did you enjoy the climate of Lakelaria?” Tarly asked curiously as they
made their way to the desk. 
“Very much so. But I would be far better equipped for the temperatures
over there.”
He smiled faintly. “Agreed.”
Behind the reception desk a man reclined lazily, flipping through a
book. 
“How much for two rooms?” Tarly began fishing through his pockets,
though he already knew his coin was sparse. 
The man gave them a quick assessment, as though their appearance
deemed the price. “Two silvers a room,” he grumbled. 
Opening his palm, Tarly cursed internally at the six coppers that equaled
one silver to add to the other he held. Anything Nerida might have carried,
including coin, would be long perished in the cottage fire. 
“We’ll take one room,” she said.
 Tarly laid out the change on the desk. The man gave it a suspicious
once-over, grunted, then went to find a key.
“You can stay here. I have a few coppers to get a drink while you dry
off, then—”
Swiping the key, Nerida pushed him. “Room seventeen.”
Too stunned to do anything but move to her demand, Tarly led the way
up the stairs. The door he stood outside was small, and when Nerida
jammed the key and opened it, Tarly ducked a little to fit through. 
“I mean it, I can—” 
“We’re both too cold for this debate, Sully. And at risk of catching fever
or worse if we don’t dry off and get warm. Trust me, I’ve seen what
becomes of those too stubborn to take care of themselves.”
He watched her unfasten her cloak, which she slung over the small desk
chair she dragged over to the dark fireplace.
“You’re far more clued up on fire-starting than me.”
Tarly relieved himself of the weight of his own cloak before wordlessly
wandering over, crouching and reaching for the logs, which he began to pile
into the grate. “If only you were a Firewielder,” he mused when the silence
began to make him shiver more than the wet clothes. 
Nerida huffed. “Don’t we all wish for our ability to manifest as what
best suits the moment?”
“Those with magick, I suppose.”
“You speak as if you don’t have any.”
As the first sparks caught on the timber and began a blaze, Tarly cast
her a dead look over his shoulder. Or he intended to, but when he spied her
in nothing more than her undergarments, he whipped his head back around. 
“It’s just skin,” she teased. He could almost hear the laughter in her
voice. 
She was not just skin. His mind had captured the enchanting image,
though he tried to expel it out of decency for her. 
“I’m not trying to scandalize you.” She was enjoying this. “It’s safe to
turn around now.”
Tarly stood slowly, turning with rigidity to find her clutching a blanket
around herself. It wasn’t much better when he knew what was just shy of
being released by that hand. 
“You need to do the same, I’m afraid.” The golden glow of the fire
danced off her features. Nerida took two cushions from the bed and walked
past him. They fell to the floor and then she with them, cozying up by the
fire. 
Tarly wanted desperately to strip from the uncomfortably sodden
clothes and join her where she looked so warm and peaceful, her head
tipped back while the heat caressed her skin. He hesitated, knowing the
wound he wouldn’t be able to hide from her if he did, and not needing the
sympathy and bafflement of another healer when she realized there was
nothing that could be done. 
“The longer you stay in those clothes, the higher your chances of losing
functionality of your toes,” Nerida reprimanded. “I won’t look—you have
my word.”
“I’m not shy of you looking,” he grumbled. 
“Finally, you speak.”
“I’m going downstairs—”
“Sully.” The smack of her hand against the wood floor shocked through
him. “I can guarantee you will be suffering by morning if you don’t do as I
say. If it bothers you so much to be close to me I’ll sleep right here. Just
strip and get in the bed.”
Tarly blinked at her. Then he couldn’t help it when, at the same time,
their mouths pulled up and they chuckled. Laughed. He didn’t know why
exactly, only that their situation seemed unbelievable, and maybe they were
delirious from the events that had led up to now. Nerida’s chuckling eased
into a sorrowful frown, and she looked away from him and into the fires.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said gently. 
“Me too.”
Nerida cared deeply about everything. His chest clenched for her pain,
and he decided his refusal only added to her concern. Her healer’s nature
would not let him suffer. 
Tarly took a deep breath then began to undress. He laid out his clothes,
and, true to her word, Nerida never once tore her attention from the fire.
Hugging her knees, she appeared beautiful, lost in thought. He joined her
slowly, dressed only in his undergarments, and his awareness started to ease
with the enveloping warmth that chased away his somber thoughts of the
day and what they’d faced. 
“Where were you headed to, Sully, had you not found your hero
complex in thinking I needed saving?”
 Tarly watched her—he couldn’t help himself. “Nowhere,” he
responded. “And everywhere.”
Nerida nodded. “I traveled for a long time too. When I came to the
mainland, I thought I’d head straight to Fenstead. Maybe it was cowardice
that caused me to wander before I finally settled in a town on the
outskirts.” 
“Why Fenstead?”
Her lips pursed with a contemplative pause. “It sounded wonderful.”
“Is it part of your heritage?” Something about her seemed familiar, and
he was only just realizing this could be why.
She barely shook her head, not offering more. 
“The only time I ever got to travel was during the Great Battles, though
I didn’t venture far,” Tarly confessed. 
Her gaze slid to him, and he stiffened completely, but her sparkling
irises held only sadness and question. Then he tensed when her eyes fell and
her mouth opened on a shallow gasp. As though forgetting how little
clothing she wore, Nerida shuffled over on her knees.
Without the blanket. 
“You should, um—” 
“You were seriously content to suffer rather than say anything to me?” 
Tarly couldn’t respond when all he could think of was her proximity in
the thin cotton corset and short underwear that hardly covered much. 
“I’ve never met someone so stubborn it would literally be the death of
them,” she continued. High on her knees, Nerida assessed his shoulder. The
humming warmth of her body intoxicated him, her skin so smooth it took a
lot of resistance for him not to give in to his impulse to feel her. He turned
his head, occupying his thoughts by studying the old chips along the floor
instead. 
Tarly gritted his teeth at the first touch. Not in pain, but at the foreign
feeling. He couldn’t associate her with the old fae healer who’d tended to
him before, not when Nerida was all but naked and her touch far more
desirable. What arose in him was terrifying. His fist clamped tight against
the instinct to push her away, already seeing the hurt it would cause on her
innocent face. 
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she muttered vacantly.
“What bit you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
 “Try me,” she mused. 
“I don’t want to frighten you.”
Nerida took his chin. The boldness of the move stunned him, and he
peered up into her twinkling gaze. “You can’t scare me, Sully. I’ve
experienced plenty of nightmarish things and read far more.” She let him
go, and a faint purple glow caught his eye, the small essence of magick so
soothing he hadn’t felt it. 
“You read?”
“Don’t most people?”
“Not really. Not beyond what’s needed to see them through a decent
education.”
“I enjoy reading for pleasure, yes.”
Then suddenly he wanted nothing more than for them to reach the Livre
des Verres. To know what books would draw her attention, to see how she
looked while engrossed in a story. A flash of desire he’d long forgotten; a
hopeful pulse. Tarly shook the thought as quickly as it came. 
“What are you doing?” he mumbled instead, eager for sleep to mark the
passing of another night, another day closer to parting ways with her. 
“I’m trying to feel for what’s happening beneath to offer some kind of
diagnosis or treatment. Though it would help if you told me what bit you.”
“It was…a creature.”
“Hmm…unhelpful.”
Tarly stifled his grumble. “Have you heard of the dark fae?”
Nerida’s hands left him, her shock retreat making him guilty. Fear
crossed her expression. “A dark fae did that to you?”
“So you have heard of them.”
She shook her head, and he was about to explain when she said, “I’ve
met them.”
He listened to the increased tempo of her heart. “What do you mean
you’ve met them?” Tarly battled with flashbacks of Lennox. He’d appeared
ordinary, kind, and had lured Tauria right into trusting him, only to turn into
a savage monster like the flip of a switch. A savage monster that knew only
killing; had nearly killed him and might still have that last victory as his
wound had been slowly worsening. The gray color had spread to his
collarbone and down half his bicep. Darker veins protruded, the sight
stomach-churning. One thought had crossed Tarly’s mind to explain what
could be happening—one he hadn’t faced until now.
 “You don’t think I could be…Transitioning, do you?”
That seemed to snap her from her trance. She reached up once more to
continue searching through her magick. “It was a Transitioned that bit
you?”
“Yes. He pretended to be a friend for a long time. We had no idea.”
“We?”
Tarly couldn’t tell Nerida about Tauria. How could he explain his
closeness to the Queen of Fenstead? “A friend.”
They met eyes, understanding written in hers. 
“I know what it’s like to want to remain hidden,” she said softly, as if it
were a slipped confession. 
Nerida was a wonder he hadn’t expected. This bright, caring, wondrous
thing that should never have crossed his dark and hateful path. Though
maybe he could be different. Maybe he could be better. 
“You were running from something,” Tarly observed. “Someone.” He
knew the moment he’d stepped over a boundary he had no right to intrude
upon. The walls that formed clouded the cheer from Nerida’s expression
and made her flinch. 
“It’s spreading like poison.” Nerida diverted the topic, and Tarly
couldn’t be disappointed. She owed him nothing of her past. He silently
reprimanded himself.
“I figured—” He hissed at the sharp pain. It felt like dragging tiny
needles through his blood. 
“Sorry. I wanted to see if it was something I could attempt to extract,
but it’s…it’s merging with you. Not just in your blood but your skin.”
“So I could be—?”
“No, not like that. It’s not changing your matter; it’s killing it.”
Tarly huffed a laugh. He only found her look of bewilderment even
more amusing. “How long then?”
“Why do you do that?” Nerida sat down on her knees, her brow pinched
as she tried to read him, but Tarly knew he was a scrambled mess of a
being. “Why do you make it seem like it would not matter if it were a day
or a decade?”
Her concern warmed his chest. She was so filled with love and care for
others and the world. Which meant she was everything he wasn’t. He asked
again, softly, “How long do I have, Nerida?”
 “I don’t know.” Her voice took on a harsh edge. “It should be spreading
a lot quicker. Maybe you should be on the brink of death by now, yet it
seems you get an extended pass of time. Though it’s clear you don’t want it
thanks to the small essence of healer’s magick in you.”
Tarly’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have magick.”
Nerida scowled, shifting away from him and snatching her blanket. “I
was wondering when you’d open up to me about it, but Gods forbid we
actually have something in common—that would be torturous.” She stood
abruptly. “We should get some proper rest while we can.”
Nerida took her pillows, arranging them on the bed before she lay
down. Tarly didn’t move, eyeing the cushions he had left and figuring the
fire would keep him warm enough without a blanket down here. He shifted
to get comfortable. Many times since he was limited to one side, but even
on his good shoulder he could last no longer than a few minutes pressed
against the hard floor. 
“Neither of us is going to get any sleep with you creaking the
floorboards,” Nerida scolded. 
He lay on his back, still and silent, trying to send his mind elsewhere as
a distraction.
Nerida gave a huff, drawing his eyes up to where she sat, a frown
etching her skin that he found both amusing and adorable. “You are terrible
at reading anything unless it’s spelled out for you.”
He propped himself up on his hands. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“There’s a perfectly good bed to fit two people, and it’s still rather cold
over here.”
Tarly blinked at her, a childish heat rushing over him. “You want me to
sleep with you?”
“Must you make it sound so scandalous?”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t give way to the grin he fought. 
“Though what I will never live down is if you make me insist.”
She had a point. It was just sleep. Though while she claimed the bed fit
two people, as he stood, he knew with his size there wouldn’t be much
room at all left between them. Nerida held the blanket to her chest, their
stares never breaking as he made his way over. The withering thing in his
chest skipped at her look, yet he couldn’t be certain what it was. There was
a change in the atmosphere between them, a flutter he almost missed, but he
could have sworn she was refraining from looking any lower than his face. 
 Tarly sat with his back to her, taking a few steady breaths to calm his
instinct to retreat. He needed to expel these long-dormant feelings that were
stirring before they boiled into a resentment he’d ultimately turn on her. 
“Are you sure?” he asked. One last chance that begged her to say no
while he longed to hear—
“Yes.”
Tarly barely nodded, closing his eyes for a long second. His body
relaxed, and he eased back until he was lying down, trying not to glance her
way. To make his presence smaller, he rolled onto his side away from her.
Nerida was right: the fire had yet to adequately warm the room, and he
tensed against the creeping cold until part of a blanket already warmed and
coated in a floral scent was draped over him. 
“The night would pass faster if we…if we, um—”
For the first time he heard a shyness and turned to find her curled into
her own body heat. He realized what she meant then. Gods above. He had
to take a second to gather his sanity and calm the rage of something so long
forgotten at the idea of her body pressed against his. He wanted to know if
her golden skin felt as soft as it looked. He wanted to hear the sound she
would make as he touched her. Though the dark thoughts convinced him
she would turn away from him. That any touch of his had always been
fleeting. Forgotten. Never treasured. 
Tarly nodded. He couldn’t leave her to shiver.
Nerida shuffled closer slowly, as though any movement could spook
him. He thought she’d feel warm, but her hands were cold, and he clenched
his teeth. She inched closer again, pressing her skin flush to his, and her feet
against his legs were ice. 
“Is this okay?” she whispered, perhaps feeling his tenseness. 
“Is this supposed to benefit us both? You’re damn freezing.”
She giggled softly, the sound easing the awkwardness as she shifted a
little closer into him once more.  Tarly closed his eyes at the contentment
he’d done nothing to deserve, yet it came so easily he allowed himself not
to feel guilty for it for one night.  Her form was small against his back,
tucked in so perfectly, but something about the position wouldn’t settle in
his mind. He felt it was like a rejection to her. 
“We should switch,” he blurted before he could stop himself. “It’ll give
you more heat,” he tried to justify pathetically.
 “You can’t lie on your other shoulder,” she mumbled sleepily. “I’m not
done figuring out what it is and how to treat it, by the way.”
His chest clenched with an unfamiliar feeling. He pushed it aside.
Taking one deep breath to drown out his hesitation, Tarly shifted onto his
back, and Nerida propped herself up in question. Their stare communicated
his suggestion, and he thought he caught the rosy flush of her cheeks. But
she hooked one leg over him, and Spirits be damned, she only straddled him
for a second, but his hands reached out on instinct to aid her, fitting so
effortlessly on her waist that they ignited something that tingled from his
fingertips to his chest. Then she was off him, shuffling down on his other
side when he shifted back. 
Tarly took a second, fascinated by the spilling of her silver-white hair,
before tucking up behind her. She gave a soft sound of sleepy contentment,
and he replayed it many times before his own mind started to drift. Her skin
against his… He wanted to run his hands along her thigh, her hips, her
waist, but he simply draped his arm around her carefully, no more than a
position of comfort. 
He knew she’d fallen asleep by her deep, even breaths. Tarly closed his
eyes, but one thing tormented him, so he whispered knowing she wouldn’t
hear: “You were right. I don’t want it. Time.” He paused, nearly swallowing
the final confession until it slipped free. “But maybe I could.”
 CHAPTER 42

Faythe

F into herself with antheache

aythe awoke to swelling her abdomen. She groaned, curling
intensifying pain. Terrible cramps were usually
something she could handle, yet these were particularly punishing. She had
to wonder if, with all the strengths of becoming fae, this was a particular
downside.
When the sharpness dulled, she finally rolled onto her back. Tipping her
head, she found a glass of water on the nightstand, but it was the sweet
scent drifting across that had her propping herself up. Her eyes widened at
the chocolate chip cookies, and she beamed. There was a note under the
glass, which she read as she drank.

Take two drops of the tonic. Then if you

awake and the bath has chilled, I’m sure you
can handle heating it back up with your
newfound talent.
I will find you later.

Faythe smiled, enjoying the eruption of butterflies instead of the

torturous cramps of her cycle. She wondered how Reylan had known of it
when Faythe had been so caught up she hadn’t kept track of the last one.
One thing was certain: she had skipped months.
As the next painful wave subsided, Faythe could think of nothing more
inviting than a bath. In the washroom, lavender and honey filled her
nostrils. The air embraced her with humidity, and a mound of bubbles
floated atop the water. Dipping her hand in, she surfaced a little heat with
her Firewielding to bring it from warm to hot. Stripping down, she noticed
Reylan had also left fresh linens for her. Faythe’s face crumpled, perhaps
emotionally heightened today, at the gentle gestures he’d made.
After what felt like the longest bath she’d taken in a long time, the tonic
seemed to have dulled the ache of her cramps enough that she could face
the day. Fresh and surprisingly upbeat, she headed out to find Reylan,
intending to thank him. It didn’t take long. Maybe there was some
subconscious force of gravity pulling her toward him that made it too easy.
He was in conversation with another commander, the two of them
walking toward her, but his blue irises slipped to her, never failing to skip a
beat of her heart. When their paths crossed, Reylan spoke his final words
before the other commander nodded, pausing to bow his head to her, and
then left them.
“How are you feeling?” Reylan asked immediately.
A blush crept along her cheeks. “My insides don’t feel like they want to
erupt anymore,” she said. He winced. “Thank you for everything, by the
way. How did you know?”
Reylan scratched the back of his neck. “It’s, uh…there’s been a shift in
your scent for days. I was wondering when you would tell me about it. You
can talk to me about anything—you know that, right?”
She had never seen him flustered like this, and Faythe bit her lip.
Reylan drew a breath watching her mouth. He spared a look around before
his thumb reached to unhook her teeth.
“I know,” she answered quietly, overcome with the rush of lust that
small act invoked, though it switched to irritation when he let go of her
quickly. She took a deep breath to collect herself. “Truthfully, I didn’t
realize. Is there a difference in how often and intense a cycle comes? With
me being fae now, I mean.”
Reylan’s nervous edge returned, and Faythe couldn’t help her smile.
“You don’t know a thing about human cycles, do you?” Faythe
assumed.
 He shrugged. “I haven’t exactly had a reason to. But with the fae—”
“I can take it from here, big cousin,” Livia cooed at Reylan as she
approached, patting his arm as his face dropped to a light scowl.
She cast him a dashing grin over her shoulder as she passed and hooked
her arm around Faythe’s.
Faythe’s mouth opened to protest, having only just met with Reylan, but
his expression softened with a small nod of promise he’d see her later
before Livia spun her away.
“Let me guess: you woke up feeling as if someone was practicing tying
knots with your intestines.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Faythe sighed.
Livia didn’t unhook her arm, and though it was somewhat jarring from
the commander, Faythe found it comforting.
“Yes, the pain is more intense for the fae. But only because our cycles
are mercifully less often. Four times a year for three to five days.”
Faythe could live with that and made a mental note of when next to
expect hers.
Livia pulled Faythe to a stop, sparing a glance back as if to check
Reylan hadn’t followed them. It pulsed trepidation in Faythe.
“I’ve been looking for Evander,” Livia said.
Faythe’s eyes widened. “On your own?”
“Yes. And I’m only telling you because I can’t forget the glimpse of a
figure I saw when we found you in that alley. I thought it was just another
crook you hadn’t gotten to before he could escape, but you spared him for a
reason, didn’t you?”
“Livia, I—”
“Please, Faythe.” Something about the note of fear in Livia’s voice rang
with great urgency.
“I don’t know who it was,” she admitted. “But he spoke as if he knew
me. More than that…it was as if I should know him.”
That seemed to relax her, but Faythe couldn’t ease her own worry for a
second.
“He’s never met you.” Livia seemed to air her thoughts as she folded
her arms.
“Could you show me a memory?” Faythe asked.
Livia shook her head. “Don’t ask me to think of him.”
“You’re already thinking of him,” she tried again softly.
 Vulnerability was not an emotion Livia yielded easily. At watching it
strip back her fierce exterior, Faythe’s heart clenched.
Then Livia reached out a hand, and though both of them knew it wasn’t
needed for Faythe to glimpse her mind, Faythe gave Livia’s palm a
reassuring squeeze.
“I just need to hear his voice,” Faythe said, tunnelling away as if she
were in two places at once staring into the blue of Livia’s eyes.
The commander clutched her tighter with the first echo, but it was
distorted as though underwater. All Faythe would need was one clear line to
confirm or ease both of their fears.
Two voices were in the scene that was nothing more than a blur of
colors. They were shouting, and she could recognize one of them with any
barrier in the way.
Reylan.
Livia’s grip turned painful, subconsciously blocking the memory, but
Faythe fought the resistance.
“You’re doing great,” Faythe said aloud. She didn’t hear and wouldn’t
catch the commander’s response as the scene grew louder.
Almost there…
Then she saw them. Evander and Reylan. Faythe observed them with a
bit of distance from a window, but she strained her fae hearing, honed her
vision, and saw everything in the home clearly.
Reylan’s silver hair was cropped to his shoulders, two braids on either
side, and Faythe almost lost focus and retreated from Livia’s mind
completely at the confusingly familiar sight of both males. Evander had
darker hair and blue eyes, attractive with a vicious edge that erased
anything worth admiring. Just as her silver-haired warrior slammed his
uncle into the wall with a threatening snarl, Faythe was overcome with
waves and waves of terror.
Livia’s terror.
Evander said, “You will regret this, son.”
Faythe caught a flicker of movement at the edge of the window and
found Livia advancing toward them. She was sobbing hard, and Faythe’s
eyes burned to take away her fear, her pain. There was so much of it
coursing through the stunning auburn-haired commander. Yet that wasn’t
who Faythe saw. This was long before she’d claimed that title.
Livia’s red dress was torn and crumpled.
 “Please stop, both of you!” she cried.
Faythe understood her heartbreak. Despite what Evander might have
done, a part of Livia would always ache to see her father harmed.
A new heat over Faythe’s skin started to quell all else. This time, it was
her own emotions taking over. Her breath caught with the realization of
something crucial: she was observing the scene from a particular vantage
point. A tree. Somehow, Faythe knew exactly where she was in this scene,
and panic began to creep over her. Her ability threatened recklessness in its
confusion, becoming an entanglement of two minds recalling different
angles of the same memory.
Faythe tried to pull herself free, but she was locked in, not feeling Livia
anymore when all she knew was herself. Trickles of how she got there;
impossible visions of what she would do next.
“Faythe!”
Drawing a deep breath, Faythe felt as if she were being dragged through
a long void of time. She was on her knees. Planting a hand on the cool
marble confirmed she was back in the present.
“What happened?” Livia pressed when Faythe couldn’t speak.
Her eyes traced the same pattern on the marble only as a way to focus
while she replayed the scene again and again, finding new pieces of
memory that fit before or after, though none of it made full sense.
“I don’t know,” she answered vacantly.
Livia’s terror had been so raw and real that it snapped Faythe back.
Their eyes met, and the open vulnerability in the commander broke
something in her.
“You’re incredible,” Faythe said, though it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever
would be for how much Livia had endured and how bravely she had risen
from it all.
Livia’s brow pinched together as if she wouldn’t allow herself to truly
hear it. They rose together. Faythe didn’t think she would get this moment,
relieved when Livia made the first move to embrace
her. She savored it, closing her eyes. Livia could be tough with her love,
and while Faythe bickered back, she loved every moment they got to spend
together.
Livia pulled back, swiping away an escaped tear. Then, in one deep
inhale, the commander slipped back into her armor.
“Did you hear him?”
 Faythe nodded, and maybe her expression alone spoke everything as
Livia paled, looking away and out of the long window.
“He is really out there,” Livia said.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find him.”
Faythe admired the bravery and sureness in that tone despite Livia
declaring a hunt for her longest nightmare.
“And kill him.”
“I want to help,” Faythe said.
Livia shook her head. “You have so much to do here. It might take some
time to track him down if he’s remained hidden all this time anyway.”
“Will you tell Reylan?”
“Yes. He deserves to know. He won’t like it, but he can’t stop me.”
“Promise me you’ll come to us if you find him.”
Livia eased a hollow smile but gave a nod. “I will.”

Faythe could hardly retain any focus, and even in training she barely found
the energy to lift a blade as the dull aches returned in waves. She’d come
back to bed. The cramps were tolerable enough, but she couldn’t drift off.
Her mind hadn’t let go of the image of Evander. Thoughts of him in the
vision, then the confrontation she was certain was with him in the alley,
kept her wide-awake trying to solve the puzzle of events.
A soft knock sounded, and though she hadn’t detected him sooner, she
knew it belonged to Reylan even before his head of silver hair eased
through the door. With her back to him, Faythe cast him a weak look over
her shoulder as he came around the bed.
“This is bold,” Faythe murmured. “Wouldn’t want people to think
you’re scandalizing me.”
“You’re in pain. This is an exception.”
Reylan sat, leaning down to untie his boots, and Faythe yearned for him.
“Pity exceptions,” she mused. “I’ll take it.”
He huffed, the corner of his mouth tugging as he climbed over, still
dressed and above the covers. She wasn’t about to argue. Instead, she tested
her limits and scooted closer until her head rested in his lap while he sat
against the headboard.
 Reylan’s hand trailed over her arm, dipping to her waist, and Faythe’s
breath caught when his palm flattened over her abdomen. She thought
nothing of the touch until a warmth grew there, traveling deeper as if her
skin were absorbing it, encasing every twinge of the clenching ache until it
was numbed altogether.
Faythe couldn’t help her moan, fully relaxed with his help as she nestled
closer to him.
“I wish you’d come sooner,” she sighed contentedly.
“I thought you would have taken another dose of the tonic.”
“It makes me nauseous—more so than the cramps.”
“I should have sent a healer,” he said, brushing strands of her hair
behind her ear.
The gentle vibration of magick over her stomach along with his touch
invoked such bliss she was torn between sleep and basking in the moment
far longer.
“Instead you stole their ability,” Faythe said, peeking up at him.
His smile down on her burst in her chest.
“I’m merely taking advantage of the opportunity.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Faythe whispered.
Reylan’s fingers began an idle caress her eyes fluttered to.
“Did you get what you needed from Livia?”
Faythe was clouded by the more sinister point of their conversation with
the question. She wondered if the commander had told him yet.
“Yes,” Faythe answered. She was about to leave it there but knew the
question would burn in her mind until she knew. “Did Livia tell you about
—?”
“Evander. Yes.”
He spoke so calmly that anyone else might believe it didn’t faze him.
Faythe’s hand curled around his thigh as she detected the simmering heat of
anger.
“You didn’t kill him.”
“It seems not.”
Then she felt the echoes of his disappointment as if he’d failed.
“You’ve both had all this time to live in peace from him thinking he was
dead. That’s got to count for something,” Faythe said.
He continued combing his fingers through her hair, lost in his own
battle of thoughts she wished she could ease.
 “It does,” he said after a thoughtful pause. “But now neither of us will
rest until he truly is.”
Faythe’s retribution sharpened to a dangerous edge with the face that
taunted at the forefront of her thoughts. She’d killed before, but there were
very few she’d reserved as targets in her mind, unable to rest until they
were shot down.
“We’ll take care of it,” Reylan said gently, as though he could sense her
spike of adrenaline. “We always do.”
Faythe nodded, not pressing the topic further. Right now, she would
give herself over to the safety and bliss of this moment with Reylan, but she
was far from being rested from the growing need to exact her revenge on
Evander.
 CHAPTER 43

Faythe

F she took a step back,tiny

aythe watched the hairs move as if each were a thread of flame. If
it appeared nothing more than a large, still feather.
She’d been studying it, a book full of intrigue and wonderous legends of the
Firebird splayed over her hands.
“She’s real,” Faythe said, thumping the book shut as she felt Agalhor’s
tentative approach. “She’s alive.”
“You’re discovering your senses admirably fast,” he commented. 
Faythe tore her eyes away to track him as he stepped up to her side.
“I’ve always had a challenge hearing things—too many things. In my mind
or otherwise.” 
“I can’t pretend like I know what you’re going through, but your will to
adapt is strong.”
“How can you know that?” It came from her lips like a plea. 
His brow furrowed knowingly. “Because we have all seen it. It’s easy to
forget the leaps we’ve taken when the steps forward become so small. But
never forget you are still moving. You are challenging yourself with every
day you decide to face your reality.”
Faythe was overcome by how much those words resonated within. She
captured them, storing them where all the treasured wisdom from her father
stayed, never forgotten as if his words held magick. No matter how much
time passed, those notes of encouragement would echo again when they
were needed most. 
“I don’t know where Atherius went or why she left after saving me.”
 “It’s a remarkable tale. Albeit very familiar.”
They exchanged a knowing smile. 
“There was little left to lose on that mountain. I wasn’t sure she’d detect
the bloodline so far back, but I can’t explain the language I heard seconds
before making my decision to take that leap.”
“I envy you, Faythe. There is nothing I wouldn’t give to have seen her.
Perhaps I would have heard her too. Though I know I should not envy the
position you were in.”
Faythe couldn’t help her huffed laugh. “No. Though if it weren’t for the
dark fae, I would have more awe than fear of that night.”
His deep inhale was contemplative. “The one we hold below will be
dealt with for what she did to you.”
“She let me go.” Faythe didn’t take her sights from the feather though
she had all of his attention. “Zaiana…she’s powerful. I fought her, and I
know her intentions were to capture me then kill me, but something
changed her mind.”
“Something you believe to be salvation.”
“I don’t know,” Faythe answered honestly. “What I do believe is that the
world is taunting and cruel. There are those who bend to the mold of their
upbringing, and those whose will is to break it.”
Quiet chatter disrupted their moment, and Faythe’s gaze flicked up to
see Jakon and Marlowe returning from their wander around the library.
Marlowe held a book splayed over her hands, engrossed in it, while Jakon’s
arm around her seemed to be subtly steering her on the right path. When she
caught sight of who Faythe was standing beside, Marlowe thumped her
book shut, and both of them offered a short bow to the king, tense with
nerves. 
“I’ve heard much about you, Jakon and Marlowe Kilnight.” Agalhor
greeted them warmly. 
“As have we about you, Your Majesty,” Jakon replied. 
“Rhyenelle is remarkable.” Marlowe’s gaze drifted with wonder,
marveling over the long feather. “I’m sure you’re aware of what this can
do.”
Faythe realized she was speaking to Agalhor.
“I am aware that in our history they have been used to enhance
magick.”
 Marlowe nodded. “I, uh, I…” She seemed to stumble over what she
wanted to add to the conversation, apparently thinking twice about it at the
last second. She and Jakon exchanged a look, and somehow, Faythe read
into it with a flash of memory. 
“Nik’s feather?”
Marlowe’s attention snapped to her, her ocean orbs flicking between
Faythe and Agalhor as though wondering if her knowledge would be safe.
“It was outlawed many millennia ago,” she explained, willing to stop there
should the king show any outrage. 
“Phoenix Blood,” Agalhor offered like a token of reassurance that she
could speak freely of it. 
Faythe’s intrigue was sparked when Marlowe nodded. 
“He owned a much smaller feather, but it was real.”
“Was?” Faythe probed.
“Yes. I harbor some essence of magick and was able to create the
potions. It’s true, everything that they say it can do, and this…” Her hand
traced along the glass case. “It feels powerful. I can only imagine the power
it would grant if used in such a way considering what it did for Nik.”
“What did it do?” Faythe asked.
“His Nightwalking. He gained a conscious ability similar to yours.
When we left him, he still had that advantage, and there’s no telling when it
will wear off.”
Agalhor cut in. “The strength of the potion is not determined by the size
of the feather but the bird it came from. You may feel the one here is more
powerful, but if both feathers come from the same bird, the only difference
lies in how many vials you can produce.”
Faythe’s pulse galloped with wonder and awe at the facts, flashing
images of Atherius in her blazing glory that no longer struck her with fear
but pride. And longing, she realized, deep and fiery in her chest. She
wanted so much to see the great Firebird again.
“This knowledge cannot leave us,” Agalhor said, his tone coated in
command. “No one must find out what this feather can do. In the wrong
hands, it is a weapon beyond our imagination.”
Faythe swallowed hard, instinctively extending her senses with the
unexplainable urge to protect the feather. When she confirmed it was only
the four of them standing in the library, her tension eased.  Jakon and
Marlowe nodded their agreement before offering to escort Faythe back to
her rooms, but she wanted to stay a while longer and knew Reylan would
come for her soon.
Alone again with Agalhor, Faythe’s insecurities began to rush to the
surface. She was all too aware of the impending council meeting mere days
away. 
“What will they think of me?” she asked, not really expecting an answer
to soothe her worries, but in need of any small comfort that could come
from a father, not a king. 
“Whatever you make them believe.”
One sentence, and it was enough. 
“What do you believe?” 
“Exactly what I always have. That your worth is not measured by the
body you inhabit.”
She heard him turn to her, but in her cowardice she couldn’t move;
could only bow her head in thought.
“My dear Faythe, there is no person who can say they understand you,
for what you have been through is your own. No matter their opinion of
how resilient you are, how you embrace this new fate with such awe strikes
me. You do not have to be grateful to have a life that was forced upon you
simply because you live. You do not have to part with what you were to
embrace what you are becoming.”
Her tear fell straight to the ground, one of pure gratitude and liberation.
A large, calloused hand pulled up her chin, and she met eyes with a
father’s warmth. “You care deeply about this, what the council will make of
your right to reign. It shows how much you want this, my dear. It fills me
with a pride I never thought I would have in this life.”
“What if I didn’t want this?” she whispered. 
His smile only widened. “No matter what you choose, you’ll fly with
those wings that have been caged for far too long.”
 CHAPTER 44

Zaiana

T aftermath’of their tolashings.

hey didn t have do anything further for Zaiana to be suffering in the
Her back stung to no end, but worst of all, it
was itchy beyond belief, and she commended the humans a little more for
their endurance while healing. 
With nothing to distract herself from clawing at where she could reach,
she tucked her knees up tight and buried her face into her crossed arms. The
darkness was taunting, an illusion of freedom for the dreams she could
conjure within its depths, living through mind rather than body. It worked
for a time to take her out of that cell, out of her miserable existence
altogether.  She passed the time through many lives, wondering who she
could have been in an alternate world. Yet nothing she thought of seemed
particularly alluring. She didn’t want Nephra’s life or Mordecai’s or
Dakodas’s. On her opposing side, she didn’t want Faythe’s life or Kyleer’s.
She didn’t want her own either. At least not with these phantom chains
anchoring her as someone’s servant. 
In her tiredness and delirium, Zaiana couldn’t fight the thoughts of
Maverick. She wondered again where he was, if he knew of her capture yet,
and what he would do with that knowledge. Trust was not something she
extended often, but she realized in that moment she’d given a lot of it to
him. Zaiana trusted him not to tell the masters when he knew the
punishment it would condemn her to.
Her chest squeezed and her nails dug into her flesh to counter the
yearning that slipped through her weak defenses. For Maverick’s
familiarity. For the part of her that missed his insufferable pestering. For his
touch…
“Go away, Kyleer,” she groaned, not lifting her head, irritated he’d
timed his intrusion just as she was finally drifting off for a moment of
peace. 
“Are you going to let me help you now?”
Zaiana was beyond caring. So damn tired. And cold, she realized with a
painful shudder. Yet her skin was slick as if she’d been running through hot
summer fields. She swallowed, but her throat was like sandpaper.
“You haven’t eaten or drunk anything.”
She heard Kyleer’s voice as distant, underwater. Zaiana lifted her head,
snapping it to him with the intention of a scowl, but the world tilted rapidly.
Bliss and misery weighted her fall. She faintly heard a curse and caught the
blurry sight of smoke and stars before her head met something soft and her
surroundings faded away. 

Zaiana awoke with a gasp. Panic ensnared her, and a cry was smothered by
her clenched teeth as her wrists met the ends of their restraints. Her vision
wouldn’t focus for long, but as she propped herself up from where she’d
lain on her side, her fingers flexed with the surprise of meeting soft sheets
instead of stone.
While trying to orient herself she breathed long and deep. The scent that
coated her called for her to lie back down and feel safe in sleep, but the face
that flashed to mind made her blink her lids, searching and glancing
sideward.
There he was. 
Kyleer sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. He stared silently
into amber flames across the room, but he had to have detected that she was
awake. Zaiana scanned her new surroundings. Instinct had her mapping a
way out, but her curiosity caught on anything that would confirm where she
thought she was. 
Kyleer’s sword was unmistakable on one side of the room beside many
other weapons. Including her own, Nilhlir. She didn’t have it in her to care
that he’d kept possession of it. Clothing lay discarded over an armchair, a
single book sprawled on a table with a piece of parchment as though he’d
been studying it. The room echoed with a humble warmth, nothing lavish or
grand, though she believed his position to be high enough that he could
request any luxury. 
 “I shouldn’t be here.” Her voice came out in an awful croak, and she
coughed. 
“No, you shouldn’t be,” he answered, detached from any emotion. 
“Then why am I?”
A hand dove through his wavy brown hair. He didn’t look at her, as
though her presence in his room could still be denied. “What was I to do
when you’re so damn stubborn you’d rather die than admit you need help?”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
He huffed a laugh so far from humorous. His light shirt exposed every
impressive contour of his back, defined shoulder blades shifting. Kyleer
was the most impressively built of any guard she’d seen. “You’re burning
up. I managed to force you to drink a tonic that will subdue the fever for
now, but it will come back if you don’t get those wounds seen to—the
wounds you’ve been reopening and inviting infection into.”
Gods, she cursed the Niltain steel. 
“You haven’t—” She couldn’t bear to ask, though she noted her black
sweater was still on, along with her pants. No boots, strangely, allowing her
toes to curl in comfort against the material.
“Touched you? No.”
“How did I get here?”
“It wasn’t easy. And if they discover you’re gone then pray to the Spirits
for both of us.”
A dark dread started to rise in her stomach. She couldn’t be here. He
couldn’t be known to have brought her here. She was already set for
punishment, but him…
“Take me back.”
“You won’t last another week down there unless you get the aid you
need,” he gritted. 
“Whether I live or die shouldn’t be of your concern,” she bit back.
His head whirled to her, and she recoiled at the fire blazing in his mossy
irises. “You’re right.” Kyleer’s knee on the bed made her breath hitch. “You
shouldn’t be my concern.” Not removing that smoldering gaze, he crossed
the short distance. Zaiana wasn’t fully aware of how to respond when he
planted his hand by her head, and as he coaxed her to lie down his other
dipped behind her, right between her shoulder blades, igniting sparks where
no wounds were and stopping her back from hitting flush against the
sheets. 
Some strands of his hair fell as he hovered above her. His jaw lined in
shadow made him all the more firm and alluring. But it was those eyes of
passion that pierced through her like always, allowing him to get too close
before any rational thought could push through. 
“You are a fool for bringing me here.” He didn’t even know the danger
he’d unleashed. From here she could easily escape. 
“Yes, I am.”
“You should have left me to suffer.”
“I should have.”
Zaiana ground her teeth against all his agreements. She had to whip
sense into the commander.  Her legs hooked around him, and her knees
clamped tight. Kyleer reacted faster than she anticipated, or she slower than
she usually would in her miserable state. He gripped her chains, pulling her
hands above her head. To keep her from flipping them over, he pressed his
hard body into her.
The gasp he pulled out of her stopped her urge to fight. The warmth of
him, the awareness that to move would be to move against him, froze her
still. Another traitorous thought flashed so quickly—until she incinerated it
in her mind. The bout of desire that wanted it. Him. Wanted to know what
every inch of that broad and powerful form would feel like, skin to skin
against hers. 
“Do what you have to, Kyleer,” she hissed. 
“You’re a wild, obstinate creature.”
“If you don’t get off me, I’ll scream and alert every guard within
earshot.”
He flinched, but his words were almost a dare. “Turn around.”
The low gravel skittered over her skin. When he eased back, letting go
of her wrists, in her fatigue she gave over to his command. She tucked her
hands to her chest as she lay on her stomach, the bed sinking down to ease
the digging of her shackles. 
“You could just remove these and save us both the hassle,” she said,
staring into the tango of fire. 
“I’m a fool for bringing you here, but not that much of a fool.”
 Zaiana would have laughed in mockery of his obliviousness. She could
show him, yet that fight in her dwindled further in his presence when
intrigue had her forgetting, just for a moment, how quickly she could kill
him. 
“I’m going to tear this,” he warned, pausing until he got her response. 
Zaiana only nodded, and despite the notice, her body turned to stone at
the rip of fabric. The breeze rippled across her bare back, causing a shiver.
The tonic he’d given her—or maybe it was the fever—had her eyelids
fluttering against drowsiness. The soft sheets she lay on were like clouds,
but most of all, the scent of pine coaxed her mind to find peace. 
She strained her hearing to decipher what Kyleer was doing. The scrape
of wood signaled a stool being pulled over. He set something on the
nightstand, and from the faint splash she knew it was a basin of water. He
dunked something into it, occupying the stool.
Then stillness. 
“This will hurt,” he said, his voice surprisingly tender. 
“You can’t hurt me, Kyleer.”
She didn’t know why she said that. Her physical pain meant nothing; it
was but a fleeting sensation that would cool and heal. It could mark her
appearance, but the wounds that told of far more eventual stories lived deep
within.
Zaiana braced at the heat closing in against her skin. Her teeth clamped
tight against the superficial sting, but it was his hands she had to focus her
whole mind on to be sure they weren’t hands to hurt, but hands to heal.
She didn’t realize he’d paused, the cloth under his palm still, his
fingertips tingling where they touched. 
“I’m fine,” she whispered, wondering if that was what he was waiting
for. 
He moved with the warm, damp cloth, and awareness snapped her wide-
awake. She needed a distraction. Anything. 
“You have a brother,” she stated more than asked. 
“I have two,” he answered. “One just happens to look far more like
me.”
Zaiana thought on his words. “Why do you regard the general as a
brother if he is not your blood?”
“Blood doesn’t make family.”
 Zaiana’s brow knitted. She had a mind to disagree, but she longed to
hear more of his strange reasons. “What does?”
His hands left her, dipping back into the water, and she looked up on
instinct. Kyleer waited again, and only when her shoulders relaxed did he
continue his gentle strokes. 
“Those who stand by you no matter what. Those you would do
anything, give anything, for. When you’ve been through the Nether with
someone and they’ve seen the worst parts of you yet choose to stay, how
could they be anything less than family?”
Zaiana gave over to the romantic, albeit damning, notion. To care, to
love—they were open weaknesses for any enemy to enjoy. 
“Do you have family, Zai?” 
The switch of topic to herself raised her defenses. She didn’t answer for
a stretch of silence while the nip of her wounds started to fade to a craving
for his touch. 
“We’re taken from our parents the moment we’re born. I do not know
who mine are or if they had other children. I assume not, as it’s rare for any
couple to yearn to go back to each other. Darklings are given to the masters,
where we train to fight for our species one day.”
Kyleer hummed thoughtfully. “Any family not of blood?”
Her instinct was to ridicule the notion. Yet her mind flashed images she
sifted through one by one. Tynan, Kellias, Acelin, Drya, Selain, and Amaya.
They were her soldiers, her close circle of trust and loyalty. She thought
they might be the closest thing to what his kind would call the word she
feared.
Family.
“No,” she answered. 
Kyleer reached up—no cloth, only flesh—and when this featherlight
touch trailed between her shoulders her hands fisted the sheets tightly. “This
is where your wings would be,” he said with an air of wonder.  He didn’t
know what he was doing to her, but if he didn’t stop, he was sure to scent
it. 
“Yes,” she managed to breathe, trying to ignore the pleasure that relaxed
her body, unable to tell him to stop. 
“How do you hide them?”
“With a glamour.”
 “What does it feel like?” He traced the other side, and she bit her
bottom lip to stifle the moan that caressed her throat. 
“It’s like a weight on my shoulders and an itch that grows the longer it’s
held.” Talking was becoming difficult when all she could track were his
fingers. 
“Explains why the wounds affect you to the point of having to claw at
them endlessly.”
“I suppose.”
“Explains why you’re enjoying this so much.” He applied pressure as
though he knew exactly where they would expand.
Dark Spirits be damned, she couldn’t stop the tensing of her muscles,
the parting of her mouth, nor the pinching of her brow. “Don’t flatter
yourself.”
He chuckled. Low and genuine, but with a dark tease that had her
swallowing hard. “Are they sensitive when your wings are exposed?”
Zaiana had nothing to lose by obliging. “No. The glamour isn’t exactly
pleasant. Your hands…” She took a second to breathe through the blissful
torture he was beginning to grasp he could inflict, and she realized then her
error in answering his questions. “It eases the pressure. It’s—”
“Pleasurable?”
Zaiana clamped her mouth against confirming that, but she could feel
his smile.
“Your blood is…”
“Wrong?”
“Beautiful.” 
Zaiana blinked at the fire. “You’re the first to have called it that.”
“It is.”
“You’re supposed to find me monstrous.”
“I do.” A dark change entered his voice.
Zaiana listened to the cloth being returned to the basin, but he didn’t
pull it back out and wring it again. The bed behind her dipped, a large hand
curled over her arm, and Zaiana knew she should push him away, but
instead she rolled to his silent demand, her whole body flush against his. He
encased her with such protection.
“I find you utterly wicked, stunning…”—with each word the low
vibrations inched closer to her neck—“and monstrous.” His hand slipped
over her bare waist.
 Zaiana blamed the tonic, her illness, her wounds—she blamed anything
she could for the responses she gave him that felt so wrong but so right. She
pressed into him tighter when that strong, calloused hand lightly trailed
over her abdomen. 
“Why do I hate you yet cannot resist you?” he groaned into her hair. 
Her hands clutched awkwardly at the blankets in their restraints. His
fingertips traced her skin torturously, causing her to occasionally shift
against him. 
“I’ve heard that before.”
Kyleer stopped moving. She could have bit out a protest, but he reached
to sweep the loose hair from her face, his nose grazing her ear, and her lips
parted with a shiver. 
“I could do very bad things that would mean you’d never compare me
to anyone else who came before me again. And I will, if that’s what it
takes.”
“Not a comparison,” she defended breathlessly. “An observation.”
Kyleer chuckled darkly. “Don’t mistake me for mindless pleasures that
were never enough to make you remember a face or name.”
She couldn’t deny she found his confidence highly alluring. His words
were spoken like a promise, not with the same empty arrogance she’d heard
before. “You don’t know that—”
Kyleer’s other arm dipped under her, giving her a few seconds to object
before he took hold of her breast. Zaiana made a gasping sound, arching
into his play. 
“Just as I thought,” he said, lazily swirling his fingers over her
abdomen. “You fit me so well.”
Her hips undulated in a silent demand. Her brow pinched and her eyes
closed at the tension he built within her—utterly maddening, though this
torture she wanted to prolong. It numbed everything, an ounce of pleasure
in so much bleakness. 
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said with no real protest. 
“It torments you to want this.” He undid the buttons of her pants and a
flutter erupted in her stomach. “I know because nothing has tormented me
like you.” Kyleer hugged her tight.
Overcome with momentary lust and tenderness, Zaiana wanted to
succumb to it all before it was too late. 
 “Say you want this,” he growled, shooting sparks down her spine and
making her spill the response without hesitation. 
“I want this.”
“Thank fuck.”
Kyleer’s hand dipped under her waistband. Her soft moan mixed with
his groan when he found her slick with the need he’d caused between her
legs. 
“You feel better than I could have imagined,” he said sinfully. 
“You’ve thought of me.” Zaiana enjoyed his words, feeling them fueling
her lust as much as his hands. 
“Too damn often. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you, but it’s
more than that. You are far more than that.” A long finger curved into her,
and Zaiana cried out for him. “I could listen to you for hours, days,” he
encouraged, drawing unchecked sounds from her as he slipped in and out of
her slowly before adding a second finger. “How long have you imagined
this? My hands driving your pleasure.”
She wanted to clamp her lips tight against giving him what he wanted,
but it spilled from her mouth as if she were unraveling at his every
command. 
“For a while,” she confessed.  It was all she would give him. She
wouldn’t allow him to know that perhaps a scandalous thought or two had
crossed her mind long before she arrived at the castle. While she’d watched
him over many weeks on his journey to the Niltain Isles and punished her
mind for thinking anything past wanting to kill him. 
“Please.” The word tasted foreign, yet it was all she could say for the
teasing pace that wasn’t nearly enough. Not nearly what either of them
craved. 
“You don’t have to beg for this, Zai. Though it sounds fucking beautiful
when you do.”
Zaiana shifted her legs to give a better angle and her hips met his every
stroke. Kyleer adjusted his position, massaging her breast, pumping into her
hard, and working his thumb over her apex to send her chasing an end that
was so close, and yet she didn’t want to reach it. Didn’t want this moment
of utter bliss to end and reality to ruin it all.
But she couldn’t stop the unstoppable. 
“Ky!” She cried the name on the tip of her tongue. 
Then Zaiana came completely undone.
 Held tight in the arms of her enemy, she shattered. Pieces of her
scattered far and fast, only to snap back together but reformed in a way that
liberated her of any burden, though short-lived just like the bright pulse in
her dead chest. For a second, she thought her heart might be beating. No—
not beating, for it was not whole and strong like Kyleer’s, which thumped
beautifully, wildly, against her back. The movement in her chest was
something like a skitter, but still a treasure she wanted to believe. 
 Kyleer removed himself from her, his breathing rugged as he blew into
her hair, and she shivered. Drowsiness lapped at her, and in the arms of one
so strong and brave and warm she didn’t fight it, though she should.
She didn’t regret it though it was wrong.
He let her go, but Zaiana held his forearm clutched over her chest, her
brow knitted as she nestled her face into the perfect space as though she
could hide there and forget the world. But she knew the pain of her reality
would crash back in soon.
For now, she didn’t want to leave this net that had become something
she’d never felt before so wholly and unquestionably: safe.
 CHAPTER 45

Samara

S crimes she had

he wore a different face walking through the Westland Forest. For her
become the bait. It seemed fair for the price of her life,
yet the terror of who she’d fallen prey to consumed her. 
So still, so silent. 
Her predator could be watching her at this very moment. 
He will find you. 
The instruction was clear, easy. Yet there was nothing clear or easy
about living out the terrifying plan. 
“You came.”
The dark voice stroked her nape from behind, standing every hair on
end and making her step falter, cracking on a branch. He sounded pleased,
and as she braved the will to turn to him, every muscle in her body locked
stiff in anticipation of him seeing right through the trick. 
No description, no preparation or warning, could have been enough to
ease the shock of seeing the high lord in the flesh. Power radiated from him,
yet she couldn’t tell why. He stood so tall, and by the Gods, he was stunning
in a roguish, dangerous kind of way. An older fae, yet in some ways still
youthful, his ink-black hair disheveled around his angular features. A
shadow lined his jaw, and eyes of onyx bore into her with delight and
promise. He had no wings, however, and she was surprised by her own
disappointment that he’d kept them glamoured. 
“Tauria Stagknight.” 
 She swallowed hard. Though it was confirmation of who he saw, she
couldn’t shake the feelings that arrived so unexpectedly. She wanted him to
see the truth. 
No. That would earn her a fate far worse than the one she’d already
condemned herself to. 
Why did she make such foolish choices? Damn her. Damn them. 
“I’m glad you accepted my request to see you.” She spoke confidently,
like a queen. Like the one he expected her to be. 
Her chin she held high as he took slow, deliberate steps closer to her. A
thrill raced through her blood, spiking her pulse. Her terror fizzed to want;
her shyness quelled to confidence. Too easy. It was too easy to fall into the
trap of his dark allurement. 
“I must say, I was surprised to hear of your proposal after all you did.”
His anger seeped through, and that was the first crack in the enchantment
that had started to wash over her. 
“I did what I had to. Becoming dark fae was never part of the deal, nor
would I have agreed to the slaughter of a child.”
“You mistake everything,” he said calmly, with a dark wrath. 
He stopped right before her, their proximity drawing hard breaths she
had to steady. She had to keep her composure and refrain from looking
away. 
“I’m here to make it right,” she said, matching his standoff. 
A dark brow curved, and she was drawn to it. To his face—so close she
wanted to reach up and touch. She shouldn’t. He was the enemy. The
enemy. But perhaps he could save her. 
If she told him, maybe he could want her. 
“Do explain, princess.”
It was then she snapped back. He didn’t see her. He saw a different face
entirely, and that hurt. She hadn’t expected it to hurt when they told her this
fae was a monster. 
“My offer still stands.” Her throat was so dry. She wanted to tell him, to
be seen. But they were counting on her to open this ruse. To test what he
was capable of. 
They didn’t care about her life. No one did. 
“I am still unwed,” she went on, still playing their side though the
darkness was tempting. 
“You are mated,” he countered with no small amount of disgust.
 “A necessary measure to overthrow Varlas.” She spoke evenly. “I
needed communications in High Farrow. Nikalias trusts me. You must see
the advantage in this.”
His hand came up, slipping calloused fingers under her chin, and her
lips parted. “I don’t like to share, Tauria.”
“You wouldn’t have to.”
Not with her. The real her.  She didn’t say it, but it taunted her. It
wouldn’t stop taunting her. 
“He could be listening, watching, right now.” 
Every word of his raced up her spine. “I want to go with you,” she said.
The shock that widened his eyes a fraction he couldn’t have felt often, she
surmised. “Soon. I can’t leave so abruptly, but when I’ve found out all I can
about High Farrow defenses it will be time.” Samara spoke her rehearsed
lines, trying to match the tone, the poise—everything he expected of the
face he saw on her. “Nikalias will have no choice but to bow to us.”
“There is only one way I can trust in your word right now.” His voice
dropped low with a vibration that coiled in her stomach. His fingers on her
chin traced down her neck, cupping her nape, and she soared with an
awakening. She allowed him to decide. She put up no fight against the
space between them that shortened and shortened but not quickly enough.
He watched her every flicker of expression to detect a lie, a hesitation, and
this part she knew she could play expertly. 
She wanted this. Wanted to feel those lips that promised a passion she
was sure would explode with something dark and twisted but all-
consuming. 
When their mouths met softly her eyes slipped closed. Then, without
thinking, she gave over to impulse, hands slipping up his chest, grasping his
exquisite jacket, and she pressed into him with the arm he drew around her
waist. 
Gods, this was wrong. They wouldn’t know how much she enjoyed it.
Though they watched, they’d think it was for show, that she was doing this
for them, yet this was for herself. She didn’t want it to stop, so when he
pulled away abruptly she couldn’t bite back her whimper. 
His eyes bore into her with feral surprise. They searched hers, and she
wished he saw blue instead of hazel; wished he saw blonde instead of dark
hair.
Wished he saw her. 
 Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t form. Not when the shadowy
passion in his eyes could cut to betrayal and humiliation so fast if he knew
the truth. The trick. 
All she would ever be was someone’s ghost. 
Their pawn. 
Their plaything. 
“You have my attention, princess,” he said, his voice delightfully rugged
from her kiss. Her kiss. It couldn’t be denied, and she chose to believe the
feelings she’d stirred in him weren’t solely for the beautiful princess he
saw. 
Her hand reached up, fingertips brushing over the rough surface of his
jaw, and she gave him her best eyes of seduction. “You would do anything
for me?”
These were her words, not words they’d put in her mouth. 
His hand tightening on her erupted a flutter in her stomach. “If you were
mine, there would be no limit to what I would do for you.”
Delight shot through her until she remembered they were planning to
use her only this once. He would never know of her existence; never know
she could have been good for him. The real her, but she could still tell him 
She could tell him. 
Shaking her head against the taunting voice in her mind, she stepped
away. The distance felt cold, lonely, compared to his darkness. “How can I
reach you again?” she asked. 
“You cannot,” he answered, eyes fixed on hers with such admiration she
wanted it to be real. 
She could tell him. 
“I have one question for you, Tauria Stagknight.” Then he was flush
against her body again, his lips leaning down but only grazing hers to ask,
“Would you do anything for me?”
Her heart beat wildly and she was sure he could hear it, feel it, pressed
against him.  It was a given response, yet also her own. Her answer came
from the minds of two people but spilled from only one set of lips. 
“Yes.”
 CHAPTER 46

Tauria

T interaction with Mordecai.still

auria stood deathly high up a tree, overseeing Samara’s
“It’s working,” she said through the bond. 
Nik pressed up against her back where they were balanced precariously
on the same thick branch. He continued teasing her dangerously, his fingers
circling her bodice or slipping into the cut of her gown. Never too far, but
enough to distract her with a gathering need. 
“Too well,” he replied, his tone far from pleased, and as though he had
to be sure she was really within his arms and not Mordecai’s below, he
pressed his lips to her neck. 
“Keep your focus, or this will be over before we achieve anything,” she
scolded, though her body didn’t want him to stop. 
Nik still harbored his heightened Nightwalking ability from the Phoenix
Blood potion, and it had been a highly dangerous and reckless plan to test it
on Mordecai. Tauria didn’t want to care for Samara’s life, but Lycus stood
by ready to act should things take a turn for the worse. 
So far, the high lord was calling her by name, and when he advanced
Tauria detected no suspicion. He stopped near touching her, and though it
was Samara he unknowingly looked down upon, Tauria’s stomach churned
with the thought of how easy it would be to grab his attention if she were
willing to be his. 
When Samara and Mordecai kissed, Nik went utterly taut behind her.
His lips paused on her shoulder, and a possessive anger pricked her skin. 
It took her a moment to realize why. 
 Mordecai believed in every way that it was Tauria he’d kissed, that
she’d willingly kissed him back with such passion, and the thought was
nauseous. Nik had manipulated Mordecai’s mind to see her, smell her,
possibly even taste her. No one could know the intricacies of a kiss with
Tauria better than Nik.
Her fingers interlaced with Nik’s over her hip, and she leaned into him a
little tighter while they continued to watch Samara and Mordecai. Heat
flushed her cheeks at the intimacy, and she wanted to look away, but they
couldn’t risk missing something. They didn’t need for her to go this far, but
Samara was convincing in her desire for him. 
They broke apart, uttering a few more words to each other before
Mordecai walked off. Tauria and Nik stayed still for a while longer as part
of the plan, not wanting to give away their position even to Samara. Lycus
approached cautiously as instructed, and when they were sure the high lord
was long gone, he escorted Samara back to the castle through the secret
tunnels.
To the people, she’d been killed for treason. To them, it was all a part of
their plan when they needed a decoy. Samara had been almost eager to
accept their bargain for her life to be spared, not seeming to care for the
danger that would come in place of her end. 
Nik began to climb down, stopping on each branch to aid Tauria, and
while she found his concern endearing, she was at one with the
height. Adjusting her footing, she leaped when he scaled down again, close
enough to the ground already that she didn’t cause too much of a disruption
as she conjured a gust of her wind to break the fall. She reached out her
arms, gathering the element before pushing down with enough force to land
weightlessly. 
Tauria stood, straightening her clothing as she extended her senses and
scanned around. All clear. Nik thumped down behind her. 
“Must you show off, love?” he said, his words gravelly before his
warmth enveloped her from behind. 
“Always,” she replied, a smile curling her lips. 
Nik groaned in pleasure. His hands on her waist twisted her, and before
she could breathe she was pinned to the tree they’d been spying from. A
primal shadow swallowed the emerald of his eyes as he planted his palm by
her head and brought his body flush against her. 
“He thought it was you,” he mumbled darkly. 
 “That was the plan,” she muttered.
His look held her, claimed her. “He thought he had his hands on you,”
he growled, fingers finding the slit in her dress without breaking eye
contact. “He thought he was kissing you.”
Nik’s mouth came down on hers hard. His palm curved over her
backside and squeezed before sliding back down to hook her thigh around
him. Tauria moaned softly as he pressed himself against her core. All that
separated their skin was the material of his pants, and the buttons hitting her
apex shot sparks of pleasure that had her unashamedly grinding against
him.  His tongue clashed with hers, a feverish demand. She kept her leg
around him when his hand slipped between their bodies instead, knowing
she was bare underneath. The first pass of his fingers through her slickness
tipped her head back. 
“You are mine,” he groaned against her throat. “If anyone dared to lay a
hand on you, I would kill them.”
“I’m yours, Nik,” she panted, aching with emptiness while he teased
her, almost punishing her. “Always yours, and only yours.”
The scrape of his sharp teeth pulled a gasp from her. His tongue traced
his mark, and her knees became weak.
“I need you.”
“I want to taste you here,” he purred, planting his lips where she wanted
him to bite. “But first…” Nik dropped to one knee, adjusting her leg over
his shoulder, and she near climaxed at the sight of him below her. “Here.”
Tauria bit down on her lip hard to suppress the moan that caressed her
throat when his lips, his tongue, his fingers, devoured her. As her hands slid
through his hair, she couldn’t stop her hips from undulating in response to
the assault, chasing and racing and skipping toward a pleasure so all-
consuming. The wholly inappropriate location fueled an impulsive lust.
They were perhaps safe in the dead hour, but this was still a public place,
and there was no telling what human could decide to pass through the
Westland Forest. 
“Does this excite you, love?” Nik pulled away only to sink a finger into
her as he climbed back up her body, planting kisses along her thigh, over
her hip, until he stood working two fingers in and out of her at a slow,
torturous pace. “Imagine the shock of our kingdom finding their king and
queen in such a scandalous, sinful position so openly.” His words vibrated
along her jaw, his hand stroking and stroking, and Tauria was so close but
just out of reach, and he knew it. She felt his smile along her neck. “But you
enjoy that. In fact, I bet you wish someone were watching right now.
Watching what I’m doing to you. You taste incredible, and you feel”—Nik
groaned, curving in deeper, his other hand cupping her breast, which she
wished were bare—“fucking perfect.”
Tauria couldn’t take it anymore. Her hands slipped from their tight grip
in his hair, finding the buttons of his pants, which she fumbled with
clumsily to undo. His hips jerked into her touch when she palmed the length
of his hard arousal. 
Nik’s fingers retreated from her, and she moaned, needing more.
Needing this wild urgency unleashed between them. Hooking his hands
around her thighs, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her hold on him
lined him at her entrance, but he didn’t move. His lips trailed over her chest,
her collar, teasing her to madness over his mark. 
“Nik, please,” she breathed. 
His hips slammed forward suddenly, and that pain shot to pleasure so
fast she had to clutch him tightly with a cry when he stilled within her. 
“I’m going to take you hard and fast right here,” he growled. 
Tauria could barely muster a nod, wanting it so badly with the fullness
he created. “I want it,” she rasped, kissing him once, twice. Trying to
wriggle for some friction, but when his hold tightened, she whimpered. “I
want you. I will always want you.”
“With and without a bond,” he said against her lips, a quiet note of pain
slipping through that caused a sharp stab in her chest. 
Tauria nodded. “With or without a bond, I choose you.”
Nik began a slow thrust, and her brow pinched tightly. “If we do this…”
he whispered, but he stopped himself. 
She kissed him firmly, pouring the absolute ache of her devotion into it.
“I love you,” she said, pressing her lips to his jaw. “I love you.” Down his
neck and his pace picked up. “As eternal as the moon I love you, Nikalias.”
Tauria’s teeth sank into his skin, and Nik slammed into her. The taste of
his blood flowed down her throat, and she was euphoric, greedy for it, the
sensation mingling to shatter the stars within her body one by one, and she
didn’t ever want to stop detonating. 
She pulled her mouth away and soared so far with him, the essence of
what they were entangling her completely. Her head tipped back in utter
bliss, eyes tightly closed as she climbed and climbed toward the peak of a
shattering end with his hard, unrelenting thrusts, not feeling the roughness
of the tree he pinned her against nor caring where they were, who they
were. 
“Gods, you are incredible,” he rasped, the vibrations tingling over his
mark, and she teetered right on the precipice of what he was about to do.
“My queen, my mate. Mine.”  His teeth sinking into her skin made her
clamp her legs around him tightly. His hands squeezed her thighs as he
barreled into his own end. He didn’t stop. Nik pounded into her at a furious
pace that stretched their climax long and far. She trembled helplessly, her
heart racing with adrenaline, every nerve cell touched by his pleasure, and
the slow comedown was otherworldly. 
Nik gave one final thrust before he stilled within her. His teeth left her,
tongue lapping the raw wound tenderly. They panted in each other’s arms,
neither speaking for a suspended moment of ecstasy.
“You are my whole damn world, Tauria Silverknight.”
She shuddered as he slipped from her, not breaking apart when her feet
touched the ground. Nik fastened his pants, but she didn’t want to go back
just yet. 
“I feel like I should be scared of what we’re setting out to do,” she said
quietly, tracing thoughtful fingers over his jaw, his lips. “But I’m not afraid
when I’m with you, even in the face of our worst enemies.”
He took her hand, kissed her palm, and held her with sparkling emeralds
that took her home. “As long as you are with me, I am at peace.”
 CHAPTER 47

Tarly

T that clawed at his ankles.woodland,

arly marched through not registering the snag of branches
He’d left Nerida four hours ago, and though
he shouldn’t be counting, he couldn’t stop. He’d slipped out before the sun
dawned and she awoke. She was safe in that town, could earn provisions by
offering quick work—or be cunning enough to steal. He shook his head
instantly. Her heart wouldn’t allow her to steal, and the fact he felt
confident of that only powered his steps harder. He already knew too much,
felt too much, and couldn’t afford to care for someone who could walk out
of his life as quickly as she came into it.
Just as he was now. 
“Shit.” Tarly paced the same spot as if it would untangle his thoughts.
Or ease the tension of the pull to go back. 
He was a pitiful, spineless coward. Katori whined as if in agreement. 
“Don’t you start,” he grumbled. 
He ran his hand through the lengths of his dark blond hair, in desperate
need of a cut, like Nerida had said.
“Dammit.”
He marched back the way he came, and Katori took off running. He
watched her until she disappeared out of sight and then earshot, not
knowing if she were heading the same way or had simply ventured off for a
while…or for good. 
By the time he made it back to the town it was near twilight again. Tarly
made a mental note to somehow acquire a horse. He rushed into the same
inn, passing the desk and ignoring the man shouting after him as he leaped
up the steps. Tarly burst into the room they’d occupied, knowing it was a
long shot but clinging to the chance she’d still be there. 
She wasn’t. The bed they’d lain in together was empty, no trace they
were ever there now everything had been rearranged for new guests. Tarly
stumbled out of the room, taking a second to picture her face and how
mesmerizing the golden glow of her brown skin was against the flames. He
thought of his skin against hers, and how perfectly she’d fallen asleep
against him. It was all real. 
At the desk the man was seething, but Tarly ignored him. “The fae I was
with—did she say where she was going?”
“You’d best leave and not come back,” the man grumbled. 
Tarly flexed his fist. “I don’t want to threaten you, but I’m running low
on patience.” 
The man took a second to assess if he were any real threat. Tarly was
seconds from drawing a knife to emphasize his urgency. 
“A man was in there having a drink, seemed to recognize her, and she
left with him.”
Tarly’s heart lurched. “Willingly?”
He shrugged. “I guess so.”
He did draw his dagger then, spearing it into the wood. “The seconds of
mine you waste are seconds added if she’s in danger,” he snarled. 
The man’s throat bobbed, the first sign of fear quivering his expression.
“They were chatting about a farmhouse, I believe. Someone ill.”
It wasn’t much to go on, but if she hadn’t been hauled out kicking and
screaming, Tarly clung to the hope she hadn’t been found by the thugs who
were after her. Still, the man’s words enlightened him to the fact people
recognized her here, some of whom even knew of her ability, and he was
wrong: she was not safe in this town. 
Tarly jogged onto the street and tried to catch a scent, but there were too
many. He tried to ask around about a farmhouse, but the reception wasn’t
friendly or helpful. He didn’t stop trying, looking down streets, pushing
through crowds. He didn’t think it could be hard to locate a farm, though
there were several in this town, and he was beginning to itch with urgency. 
Until he spotted something that stopped him in his tracks. Katori sat
patiently in the distance by a narrow street as though waiting for him to
catch up to her. Tarly huffed a laugh as he jogged her way, running a hand
down her neck and allowing her to lead. 
The end of the path opened up to an unmistakably large off-white
building, surrounded by a field only occupied by a couple of grazing cows.
Tarly breathed in the hope that she could be here and hadn’t left this place
too with how long he’d taken to come back. 
He waited after knocking, anxiously flexing his fingers until the door
swung open and a tall man answered with a far from warm welcome. 
“I’m looking for a fae who might have come here with you,” he began. 
The man instantly shook his head. “No one here.”
Tarly slammed his hand against the door he tried to close, and to the
human’s credit, he didn’t balk, only made his frame taller in opposition.
“I’m a friend,” he ground out, though the dominant side to him sneered at
the threat. 
“I said there’s no fae here.”
“Sully?”
Gods, he’d never been so damn glad to hear that stupid name. 
He gave the man a dead look. “Really?”
The human’s jaw locked. 
Only when he caught sight of her white locks did Tarly’s posture relax
from the painful stiffness it had been locked in since early that morning. 
“I thought you left,” she said sheepishly. “I waited—”
“I did leave.” The way she shrank back was a fist to his gut. “But I
came back.”
“Unnecessary of you.” He deserved her cold tone, but damn, if it wasn’t
another gut punch. “You can drop the savior status for someone who needs
it—someone like you. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Do you want me to get rid of him?” the human asked her. 
“I would invite you to try,” Tarly snapped. 
Nerida shot him a warning glare. “No, Derren, this won’t take long,”
she assured him, resting a hand on his arm and stepping around him. 
Tarly didn’t like the bitter thoughts that stirred within him at Derren. 
“Go be by your wife’s side.”
That seemed to switch something, and Derren nodded, but not without
casting Tarly one final threatening look that flared his irritation. 
Alone, she stood cross-armed as though waiting for him to explain, yet
all words abandoned him. He didn’t know what he would say to her when
he caught back up. 
“Are you still planning to head to Olmstone?” he tried lamely. 
“You know I am.”
He swallowed hard. “Short detour?” He gestured to the house behind
them, only making her narrow her eyes. 
“He happened to catch me as I was leaving the inn. His wife is very ill.”
“Will she live?”
“Now she will, yes.”
“That’s goo—”
“I waited for hours,” she cut in, the note of hurt stabbing his chest. “I
thought maybe you went hunting, or to find more provisions, or that you
were an early riser and wanted to enjoy the morning. I should have known
right away you’d simply left since it was your first desire before we got
here. Why pretend any differently?”
“I’m sorry.” It was a pitiful response, but he meant it all the same. 
“I don’t need you to come with m—”
“I want to come with you.” He spilled the confession even to himself.
There was something about her that plagued his thoughts. That someone
with the cure for sickness had somehow become his… He felt the slow
spread of something terrifying, but he craved it. “People who get close to
me…they have a habit of disappearing,” he said. Nerida’s face fell, but
before she could voice the sympathy he couldn’t bear, he rushed out, “But I
realized I don’t need that from you—for you to stick around. I just so
happen to be a great tour guide for your destination.”
Nerida surveyed the area in thought, an adorable sternness creasing her
skin. “Dammit, Sully.” Opening the door, she stepped aside, twisting to
invite him in. “I just need to finish up here.”
 He wandered around, not dropping his edge of caution when she clearly
felt at ease here. Tarly followed her upstairs, where they entered into a
large, sparse room, but his attention was only drawn to the sickly woman in
the bed, Derren sitting by her side with his hands clasping hers. The man
didn’t appear best pleased to see him, but his attention was stolen by
Nerida, who was tending to his wife. 
“We have very little coin to pay you,” Derren admitted guilty. 
Nerida only smiled. “I do not expect payment.”
Tarly wanted to argue that her time and skills were worth something, the
internal debate brought on mostly by the fact they were in desperate need
for their journey. “We’d take a horse,” he interjected before he could stop
himself. 
Nerida shot him daggers he expected, but if she wasn’t willing to take
the credit, he would. 
“We only have one. She is all we have to travel and sell goods.”
“And we have no desire to take that from you,” Nerida said—more to
Tarly than Derren. 
Tarly gave a disgruntled head shake, leaning against the window frame.
“I just need to fetch some water to cool her down with. When the fever is
tame, your wife will recover slowly after a few more days’ bed rest.”
Nerida shot him a warning look. He said nothing but peered out over the
grounds while she slipped out.
Tarly observed the lack of cattle. “Rough season?” He attempted
conversation. 
“Nothing that the likes of you are familiar with,” Derren grumbled. 
He tried to keep his cool. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
“You think a few weeks overdue a haircut and some unwashed clothes
can hide where you come from?”
Every muscle of Tarly’s locked in defense. There was no way this man
could possibly know.
“Although your arrows are made by an unskilled hand, your bow could
fetch a handsome price. You can’t afford craftsmanship and material like
that unless you’re someone with expendable coin.”
It was clear Derren held something of a sour note for the fact, and Tarly
wondered how impoverished they were. He decided not to engage further
with someone who clearly held no interest. It was fine by him—Tarly
preferred his company to be silent if he was forced to endure it anyway. 
He scanned the field. Down the long path, movement caught his
attention, and Tarly straightened with alarm. 
“Who knows she’s here?” he asked without taking his eyes off the
approaching humans. Many of them. 
“No one. Not that I know,” Derren muttered, but something off about
his tone attracted Tarly’s hard look. The human didn’t meet his gaze. 
Could it be possible there was already a price on her head? Money was
a temptress, a betrayer, and the existence of it he knew could turn friend to
foe in desperate times. 
“You have three seconds to tell me,” Tarly snarled. 
 “I have no idea—”
“Two. You won’t like the alternative if you don’t.”
“I-I didn’t think she wouldn’t ask for coin. And we…we need—”
Tarly swore. Already in front of the man, he grabbed him by the collar.
The man’s terror-filled eyes pinned him as though he thought his life would
end in Tarly’s hands. 
“I won’t say a word to her because it would break her heart to hear
someone she thought she knew well enough to extend her kindness to
would sell her out.” He shoved the man, who stumbled into the bedpost.
“But we’re taking the damn horse.”
He was downstairs in a few heartbeats, tracking her to outside, where
she’d just finished filling a bucket from the well. They didn’t have time for
him to explain as the clamor of hooves grew louder. Tarly grabbed her
hand, pulling her along, and the urgency made the bucket slip. He cursed as
it ricocheted off the ground and sloshed water under their feet. 
“What do you think you’re—?”
In the barn, Tarly pushed her against the wall, clamping a hand over her
mouth. Then he hissed, snatching his arm back.
“Did you just bite me?” Tarly stared down at the two puncture wounds
that were already healing in surprise. His wholly inappropriate thoughts
dispersed as he closed his fist, but the lick of her lips and her vacant look
didn’t help them stay away. 
“I suppose I did,” she muttered as if shocked by her own actions. 
The horses outside shuffled to a stop, and Tarly took her hand again,
pressing a finger to his lips as they crouched. They slowly made their way
along the empty stalls until they reached the only one occupied. Tarly
flicked the lock. 
“I said we are not—”
“You seriously have no read on signals, dammit. Keep your voice
down,” Tarly whispered. 
She seemed to read his concern and dipped low, eyes casting cautiously
over the stall while Tarly tentatively grabbed the saddle and slipped it over
the brown horse.
“Who is out there?” 
“Friends of ours,” he said sarcastically, swiftly equipping for a ride. 
“We share friends now? Great.” 
 Tarly’s mouth curled as he braced his hands on her waist.  Her palms
went over his as if to protest.
“We can’t take their only means of transport.”
“He offered when he saw the incoming threat.” Tarly shrugged. As far
as he was concerned, it was the least Derren could offer after what he’d
done. 
Nerida threw suspicion over her shoulder, but he didn’t have time to
persuade her.
“Jump,” he instructed. 
Mercifully, she did as he asked, and with his aid she effortlessly swung
her leg around to sit on top. “I can mount on my own just fine,” she sniped. 
Thrusting one foot in the stirrup, Tarly hoisted himself to slide snugly
behind her. “I don’t doubt it,” he said with a hint of suggestiveness that
surprised even him. 
It was like he could feel her blush. Nerida shifted on the saddle but
immediately seemed to realize that any movement she made was against
him. He internally groaned. He should wish there had been another horse,
yet with how warm and safe she felt against him, he was shamelessly
relieved there wasn’t. 
Tarly guided the horse from the stall, knowing they’d alert the band of
crooks the moment they took off. 
“This seems ridiculous. How could they possibly know? It’s likely just
some acquaintances of—”
With a jerk of his heels, Tarly sent the horse into a canter out of the
barn, taking the back exit that would lead into the woods instead of back
through town. 
“Over there!”
He heard the distant call and pushed the horse faster, knowing those on
horseback would be quick on their trail. At this speed they could cross over
into Olmstone within a day. That fact riddled him with dread and a want to
turn away, but somehow Nerida’s safety had become more important. Even
Nether-bent on visiting the damn library, he couldn’t abandon her now. 
“I think they’ll tire soon once they realize I’m not that special,” Nerida
said, breathless with adrenaline.
Tarly had many protests for that. “I think you underestimate your value.
Whatever they want, they’ve decided you’re the best way to get it.”
 “We know what they want, but there are other Waterwielders. This
seems rather obsessive for one person.” Something in her tone wavered
with fear. A fear of being caught—but he didn’t think it was about her
physical being. He shook the thought to come back to the imminent threat.
“Perhaps. But I assume this trove is somewhere deep for them not to
have found it already. They’ll capture as many as it takes to find one with
the power to reach it.”
In his peripheral, he knew Katori was keeping up with their pace. The
crooks were gaining on them, and Tarly swore. Up ahead he spied a cliff
and couldn’t be certain of the jumping distance to the other side. 
“You need to slow, or the horse won’t have time to stop,” Nerida said,
fear spiking in her voice.
Tarly ignored her. Leaning forward, he pressed them tighter together as
he pushed the beast faster. 
“You don’t know this horse—it might not make that jump!” she called,
anticipating his intention. “Katori won’t make it!”
“She will,” Tarly responded, confident in the wolf far more than the
horse they’d stolen. 
His plan wasn’t so much a plan as it was a complete leap of faith. 
He caught the sound of running water faintly over the pounding of
hooves on the woodland terrain and the adrenaline pulsing in his ears. It
confirmed a ravine below, but not one he thought to be deep enough to save
them should the horse miss the gap. 
Nerida swore this time, colorfully and repeatedly, adjusting herself as if
she’d decided to brace for his reckless suggestion. Not that he’d given her
much choice. “I’m trusting you won’t let me fall,” she grumbled. 
He wasn’t sure what she meant, didn’t have a second to ask, when they
approached the ledge, bracing for the leap that rose a quick dose of fear as
he saw how large the gap was. He calculated, but it was too late. The horse
didn’t hesitate, to his immense relief, but those seconds in the air drummed
with uncertainty. Until they landed, just barely, the horse’s back feet
catching on the ledge spiking his pulse. 
He didn’t have a second to breathe his relief when Nerida pushed up on
the saddle, bracing one knee as she twisted around. In his utter shock,
instinct hooked his arm around her waist. A loud crash of water roared
behind them. Tarly spared one glance back, stunned by the mesmerizing
wall of water she’d erected, and through that rippling veil, the men on
horseback halted, calling out their curses. 
Tarly looked up at Nerida in complete awe, unaware he’d pulled them to
a stop. “Nice trick,” he said. 
Nerida huffed a laugh, though exertion began to tremble through her
braced arms. Tarly didn’t let her go as the horse pressed on, and she didn’t
let that barricade fall until they’d disappeared from out of the bandits’
sights.
 CHAPTER 48

Faythe

F confidence. Fiery
’
aythe didn t glance in the mirror, but the outfit she wore exuded
and bold, the asymmetrical crimson gown embellished
with ornate gold detail squared her shoulders, and in true Rhyenelle style,
her legs in black pants and knee-high boots had freedom of movement from
the lengths behind her. Faythe sat quiet while Gresla braided and pinned her
hair in an elegant fashion. She caught glints of more gold embellishments
before they were slipped behind her head to adorn her pointed ears. The
way they drew attention to them might have been intentional, but Faythe
said nothing. She imagined it all to be beautiful, but more importantly,
powerful. 
When she opened her door, the sight of Reylan posted outside sank in
her stomach. It never got easier to see him there like he had been all week,
waiting to escort her as a mere guard. It churned a sickness she’d been
battling, but now the meeting was here she had a chance to end the
ridiculous formality.
“I wish you wouldn’t demote yourself for me,” Faythe said quietly as
they walked to the grand council room. 
“It’s not like that—”
“You’re Rhyenelle’s leading general. You shouldn’t be made a mockery
of with babysitting duties.” Her tone wasn’t directed at him; these were
remnants of the words she’d lost a lot of sleep over trying to figure out how
this meeting would go, yet she knew nothing could prepare her. Key words
scrambled around in her mind, but no sentences formed articulately enough.
Faythe had been in a mental tug-of-war knowing no amount of finery would
cover up the street garb she grew up in. No amount of time in fae court
would fix her lack of elaborate schooling. Everything she presented herself
as was a lie, and her mind taunted her with the knowledge over and over. 
Reylan hooked her elbow, and as they met eyes, he seemed to read
everything that stormed her mind. “I want to be here. By your side, in
whatever way I can be.”  He drifted his senses down the hall, and Faythe
tried not to let her ire rise. Then, gently, his knuckles tingled featherlight
over her cheek. Though the touch was barely-there, it soothed her
tenseness. “You have no idea how utterly stunning and daringly bold you
look, Faythe.” His hand dropped, but the confidence he instilled she
grasped with everything she was. “I don’t know how this will go, but I’ll be
right here when it’s over.”
“You won’t be inside?”
He shook his head. “You’re meeting with the highest nobles in the
country. It is no place for me. No guards will be inside.”
It was as much a place for him as it was for her. She couldn’t possibly
be the only one to see it. 
“No matter what happens,” he said, but he seemed to think better of
believing his words were safe. He sent the rest to her thoughts instead. “I
love you.”
Gods, she wanted to embrace him so badly in that second she almost
broke. 
“They’re waiting for you,” a guard called from down the hall. 
Her pulse jumped, then scattered, then scrambled to a rhythm she
couldn’t tame. But she nodded, raised her chin, and walked. 
With one deep breath for composure, Faythe rounded into the hall
without a glance back at her silver-haired warrior. Eyes…so many eyes fell
on her in the chamber that was far bigger than High Farrow’s. This wasn’t
the small council; this was the whole council of Rhyenelle, dozens of fae
tracking her every movement. They studied her closely for the first time
since hearing of her existence as a whisper. 
Rhyenelle’s lost heir, flesh and bone before them. 
Agalhor sat at the head, watching her and offering comfort in his small
smile. Sliding her sights to Malin was a mistake; the curve of his mouth
tinged it all with unease in a second.  The silence blared with judgment.
Only the faint click of her shoes disturbed the hush they’d all fallen to the
moment she glided through the doors. The path to the vacant seat on
Agalhor’s right seemed to stretch farther and farther ahead no matter how
many steps she took. Her pulse drifted until it was no more than a faint
reminder to keep breathing. Gravity anchored her—a new gravity that
threatened to sink her deep into the earth, taunting at her that she was
unworthy of walking this land in the crown she sought to wear.
The scrape of a chair rang through Faythe’s racing thoughts. A human
stood for her to take a seat, and when she did, it took everything in Faythe
not to slump with relief that she’d made it. She smiled gratefully to make it
believable that she belonged there.
Agalhor reached over the table, and though it stiffened every muscle to
know all eyes were on them, Faythe lifted her own hand, sliding it into his
upturned palm. He gave a faint squeeze, eyes communicating just what she
needed to hear. 
You belong here. 
“I’m glad you all could join us today on such short notice, as I’m sure
there are many questions regarding the fate of the kingdom and the threat of
the war rising once again.” Agalhor spoke so compellingly, with such
certainty, every piece the leader he embodied.  He let go of Faythe’s hand
and continued to list matters of concern that would be open for deeper
discussion should anyone speak out.
Faythe absorbed every word, studying how he moved, how he pulled all
attention to him so effortlessly, and occasionally she would steal glances
down the table to see that while he spoke, everyone listened. Not simply
because they had to; their faces were etched with admiration, attentive. She
had stood watch over many council meetings in High Farrow, and the
difference here was blaring. Despite all that came with her spymaster
position from Orlon, Faythe was beginning to own every piece of her
experiences, good or evil. Everything came with a lesson, and she was
slowly escaping her cage to embrace it all, use it all, to hopefully one day
become a worthy ruler like her father. 
A lord halfway down the table became the first to speak after the king.
“Your Majesty, I bring forth a concern that has been circling the kingdom
for some time. The moment the princess was announced to be the princess.
You can imagine our shock.”
Faythe knew this was coming, knew the majority of the meeting would
be a blanket of attention on her since she hadn’t faced their questions before
leaving on the quest. 
“And now,” the lord continued, “as fate will have it, upon her return she
has become even more of a…liability.”
The word locked Faythe’s spine. 
Agalhor spoke coolly. “Speak with explanation, Veseron.”
Faythe forced her eyes to the lord, finding him nervously shifting his
gaze from her as she met it. The quick glance he spared Malin put his next
words into clarity. 
“There are many who are concerned about who will be Rhyenelle’s
heir.”
Malin’s fingers traced the etchings of his goblet nonchalantly, but a
barely-there curl twitched one corner of his mouth. 
“Yes, I’m sure you have all been wondering if the line of succession has
changed. I can assure you, it has not.”
Faythe’s heart tumbled from her chest, her skin slick with humiliation.
She had been wrong in his belief in her. But Agalhor continued before she
could spiral too deep. 
“As tradition goes, the crown shall be passed on to the first born. For
some time, we were led to believe that may never happen. Then we were
blessed with a miracle that returned to us not once, but twice. To challenge
that right would be foolish.”
Just like that, panic switched to pride so fast she fought to keep her firm
composure. 
“Faythe.”
Her name was a bell, a symphony, blaring out for all to hear. The king
believed in her without question. Her head tilted, and she looked down the
table at the many wary faces. They didn’t know who she was or what she
was, and it was on her to make them believe she had every right to her seat. 
Faythe swallowed, subtly wet her lips, and took a deep breath to
straighten. “I was sheltered from Rhyenelle for most of my life, but no
more. I came here knowing the name that was attached to mine, but not
with the expectation to have you bow before me because of it. I was but a
stranger in your halls, a human with no experience of what it means to sit
here today.” She took a pause to remember her voice didn’t have to be
quiet. “There is something coming that is bigger than all of us. Some
months ago, I left on a quest to stop it.”
“And you did not succeed,” Malin cut in smoothly. 
 “I did.” Her face twitched in ire, but she would not let him win. “Or I
would not be sitting here today.”
“Your power is volatile,” he went on anyway. “We have all heard of
your personal execution of a fae in the town of Desture during your quest.”
“That fae took a human life.”
“And it was not on your judgment to end his. That is not how it is
done.”
Faythe’s palms tingled with heat, her damned anger slipping as she fell
for his goading. “I did not execute him without fair trial. I fought him in
combat and won.”
“Using mind tricks is not fair trial.”
“As a human against a fae, I would argue it was more than fair.”
“You acted on reckless impulse, and you cannot stand to admit it.”
Malin sat straight, speaking down the table to humiliate her further. “This is
not the kind of heir we can entrust with the safety of the kingdom in light of
what we face. She is impulsive and reckless with a power she cannot
control.”
A rumble vibrated over the table, and Faythe didn’t realize she was the
cause of it until she glanced at her hand resting upon the dark gray and
crimson stone, beholding the glow between her fingers.
Malin only smirked. “You see? There is no telling what she’s capable of
at the slightest provocation. It would be madness to place the fate of the
kingdom in her uncontrolled grip.”
A new voice interjected. “All have been our concerns also.” 
Faythe’s cheeks flushed. She knew it would be no easy task to sit under
scrutiny today and was prepared to face objection, though the images in her
mind of what could be said and how her character could be tested were
nothing compared to sitting in the spotlight of it all. From more angles than
she could count she beheld their nods of agreement. 
“There is also the concern of Faythe’s legitimacy,” another added. 
“Allow me to rest that concern.” Agalhor had taken on a dark edge, and
this was the first time she’d heard him invoke a challenge.  His hand
extended, and a young man eagerly brought over a document. Faythe knew
what it was. “There is no one here who does not remember Lilianna
Aklinsera. But what you do not know is that she was my wife. Her leaving
did not break that.” Agalhor rested the document on the table, inviting
anyone to take it, but no one moved. “Faythe Ashfyre is our legitimate heir
by blood and birthright.”
“In our history, the line of succession has always fallen to the first male
heir,” a lord down the table said. 
Faythe wondered how many people Malin had convinced to sway the
vote in his favor. So far, this was by far the worst remark to surge her anger
and determination and need to let him watch her rise. 
“Let me add, she is my heir by choice.” It was bold of Agalhor to
declare such a thing, deigning Faythe more fit to rule than Malin in front of
the entire council. It may take their agreement to see her into power, but
they trusted their king, respected him, and his judgment bore the respect of
centuries of fair rule and strong leadership. 
The flash that darkened Malin’s hazel eyes spun a dizziness over her. He
pinned her with a quick look of loathing in his embarrassment. “I agree,” he
said. Two words that were so far from liberating when they pierced Faythe
with such purpose and precision. All she could do was prepare for the twist
of the blade. “Faythe in power could be advantageous, as she grants us a
hand to tie that could greatly strengthen the kingdom.”
There it was: her worst dread coming to pass. She’d been a hopeful fool
to believe it was a leash he wouldn’t jump to so quickly. Malin had thought
of every turn this meeting could take and come up with a solution to
triumph every time. 
“I need no tie to strengthen this kingdom.” She spoke calmly, though in
her rising anger she wanted to lash out.  There was a time when instinct
would have come too fast for her to see the mistake and stop it. Yet she was
all too aware of the magick that rejoiced at those impulses. Her rage, her
grief, her irritation—they were fuel that could erupt if she fed them too
much. 
“This opportunity could present itself perfectly,” Malin went on
regardless. “I’m sure you know of Lord Zarrius in High Farrow. He
expressed his interest some time ago in an alliance, and he would make a
highly advantageous match considering his influence in the king’s council
and his wealthy ties to precious trade.” Malin recited it like a speech, and
Faythe knew then this plan had been lingering for some time. 
Malin knew. Knew how much Reylan meant to her—possibly what
bond tied them. This was his most expertly crafted punishment. 
 “Our alliance with High Farrow is as good as forged,” Faythe said, not
backing down. 
“As good as? These are not words you can run a kingdom with.”
“King Nikalias is a dear friend.”
“Again, we cannot trust your word from your time playing spymaster
for his father. Legitimacy means nothing without credibility.”
“And what would make me credible? Being a son, not a daughter?”
“If your intentions were solely fixed on the good of the kingdom, you
would see the prospect of this union could be of great benefit.”
Faythe’s hand flattened on the table—not with great force, but enough
to communicate that she would not balk at his intimidation. “You have not
seen what I have seen. You have not faced the dark fae. You have not faced
death. I have, but not alone. This kingdom doesn’t need forced alliances
that offer nothing beyond appearance. It needs real strength in those who
have fought with steel and will do so again, on the battlefield, for these
people. Those who will stand for what is fair and right, and who always
have and always will put the kingdom first.” She wanted to speak his name
but forced her mind to filter it out, knowing once she did there’d be no
taking back the implication of what was between her and Reylan, and then
they could remove him from his station. 
“It is only forced if you resist,” Malin said, disregarding all else to
continue adding weight to the marriage proposal he’d anchored her to.
“Lord Zarrius will be attending the Comet Ball next month. It would be my
counsel that the princess at least entertain him, and should he come to offer
what could strengthen us in this war, then you have my vote as Rhyenelle’s
heir.”
His vote. Her stomach churned with sickness, more and more as she
gleaned so many faces nodding in approval. She wanted to look at Agalhor
—to beg, to plea, to know if there was a way for him to intervene as the
thought of her courting someone else, never mind the infamous lord,
crawled her skin like a violent betrayal. 
He would have heard it all. Knowing Reylan stood right outside those
doors dropped that guilt further. And Malin knew it too—she could tell by
the wicked gleam twinkling in his eyes as he drank slowly. 
“Very well,” Faythe said, silencing the outbreak of murmurs. “Your
Majesty, if I may say one last thing?”  Faythe didn’t tear her gaze from
Malin to make the request. 
 “Freely,” Agalhor granted. 
She took one deep inhale to find her courage. Bracing her hands on the
table, Faythe stood. Then she trailed her eyes over each and every council
member. “What you think you fear is a woman with power, but what you
truly fear is the acknowledgment that our power already surrounds you. I
may be the only woman at this table, but need I remind you, one of the most
resilient monarchs of our time is Tauria Stagknight? One of the greatest
minds is Marlowe Kilnight. One of our most esteemed commanders is Livia
Arrowood. And one of our most powerful enemies is Zaiana, whom we
keep well-guarded beneath our very feet.” Faythe paused, letting her
message sink into the small minds of those who sided with her cousin. “I
will entertain Lord Zarrius by my will, my way. It will be with the interests
of the kingdom in mind, to find someone who can bring strength and unity,
not a spectacle. And should I see neither of those traits in Lord Zarrius, rest
assured my mission to find it won’t change.”
Silence grew thick for seconds that dragged like minutes. Faythe didn’t
move, and neither did a single soul, but she dared to gauge their
expressions. While none offered warmth or assurance, she also detected
little objection or wariness. 
“Agreed.” Agalhor was first to break the silence. “I think that means we
are done here for now. The matter of this…alliance can be discussed further
privately, unless there is reason to inform the council.”
When no one spoke out again, the king’s nod had chairs scraping back,
and the lords started to leave as the main doors were hauled open. Faythe
couldn’t stop her eyes from darting through the heads to spot his silvery
hair, but Reylan wasn’t outside. Her head felt weighed down. 
“We will want to make an impression with the High Farrow lord,”
Malin sang, watching the backs of the last fleeting bodies.
Faythe’s graze snapped up to him then with the might of her rage. 
“It will not be a great start if he believes your reputation to be…
compromised.”
“That’s not what this is about, and I couldn’t give a damn about that
reputation.” She spoke quietly, aware the doors were open though the last of
the council had gone.
“If I may cut in,” Agalhor said calmly over their feud. “What Malin
suggests is a smart political maneuver.”
 Her gaze snapped to him, and the faint rise of his brow was a reprimand
to listen before she spoke.
“But Faythe is right. This kingdom has always been led by those able to
see strength in the unlikeliest of places. This will be Faythe’s judgment and
choice. No marriage has ever been forced in this name, nor will her claim to
the throne depend on it.”
Faythe could have sagged with relief, but not fully. Though she had the
king’s assurance her hand could not be sold, it didn’t erase the fact marrying
her off was a favorable option to the nobles vouching for Malin’s every
word. 
She wondered with a heavy heart upon leaving the council room if the
other half of her soul would be the price to pay for the crown with two
hands reaching for it.
 CHAPTER 49

Tauria

T stood before beckoned

’
auria couldn t tear her eyes from the note she held. The fire she
to claim it.
“Nik,” she breathed. 
He pressed into her from behind, planting soft lips to her shoulder.
“Love.”
“He wants me by week’s end, or it’s over.”
Nik stiffened, his hands on her waist circling around her tightly. “We
knew this was coming,” he said, but the calmness of his voice released a
shadowy threat.
She did, though it did nothing for the panic that tried to seize her. It
tightened in her throat, convincing her she couldn’t go through with it,
couldn’t lose… 
He spun her around, palm slipping across her cheek to steady her rapid
breaths. “We make sacrifices in order to advance. Lead him into the gambit
we set. But no matter what he believes, you are mine, love.” Nik kissed her
firmly, passionately.
Tauria gripped him, pulled him, gave him everything she was now their
days were numbered. It terrified her what could change. That they could
change. 
A knock on the door of the underground room drew them apart. Despite
expecting them, it was an instant relief when Lycus slipped inside escorting
Samara. 
 Tauria eyed Samara with an edge of caution. She couldn’t quite figure
out the complexity of the former lady’s mind. She didn’t trust her fully, but
she was their only hope. “How are you?” she forced herself to ask, unable
to let go of the small kernel of sympathy she held for Samara over her
resentment. 
“I’m well, Your Majesty.” Samara shifted, casting her eyes to Lycus as
if he were the only one she trusted.
“You put on an excellent performance last week,” Tauria commended,
watching her every flicker of emotion. “You know the kiss was not
necessary, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Yet that part you played excellently, I must say.”
“I-I did what I thought would get his attention.”
“It worked,” Tauria announced, holding up the small parchment. “We
leave in a few days.”
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Lycus interjected. 
Tauria slipped a look to Nik, whose eyes were saddened in agreement. 
“It’s the only way to gain his trust and get him to take us right to the
ruin,” Nik said. 
“And if he doesn’t? What if he takes her somewhere else entirely?” 
Tauria answered. “Then we’d better hope Samara continues to be an
excellent actress to coax the information from him.”
Samara stood a little straighter as though the prospect excited her.
Tauria couldn’t comprehend it when she’d fully expected to feel regret for
using her. 
“You two are willing to go into this no matter what could happen?”
Lycus looked between her and Nik, who gravitated toward her. 
“We don’t need to be reminded,” Nik warned, his hand slipping around
Tauria’s waist as if he wasn’t even aware of it. 
“I’m coming with you.”
“I won’t stop you.”
The two of them shared a nod of respect, though Tauria was riddled
with unease to have them both in potential danger. 
“Zarrius is heading for Rhyenelle. The timing is exactly in our favor,
and they don’t even know it.”
“Where are you hoping he’ll lead you?”
 “To wherever they’re holding the ruin,” Nik said. “To Dakodas if need
be.”
 CHAPTER 50

Faythe

R eylan had lied . 

He wasn’t waiting for her when she left the meeting. He wasn’t at
her rooms. He didn’t meet her for supper. Faythe was overcome with a
restlessness like she’d never felt before. A piece of her felt disconnected
from the rest, and she couldn’t focus. 
“I’m sure he has good reason.” Marlowe’s words weren’t a comfort, but
Faythe appreciated her friends’ company, or she’d be driving herself to
madness with the ugly thoughts that stirred at Reylan’s absence and what it
meant. 
“Likely called to whatever general duties he gets up to,” Jakon offered. 
Faythe stood by the window watching the sunset burst across the sky
with fiery colors. Her foot tapped, and she bit at her fingernails. 
“This Comet Ball, is it a Rhyenelle tradition?” 
She knew Jakon was only trying to distract her, and she obliged because
she needed it. She twisted to where her friends sat across from each other in
the small games room, each holding a fan of cards.
“They call it Matheus’s Comet. It appears every seventy-five years.”
Faythe couldn’t sit still, so she’d opted out of the game, but she floated
around to Marlowe’s side in her curiosity. 
“I for one am very excited to see it. It’s a chance in a lifetime for us.”
Marlowe’s chipper voice was a short-lived brightness, as though she
realized the moment it left her lips the tone was out of place. 
 Faythe flicked her brief attention to Jakon, heart cracking at the quick
flinch of his brow as he reorganized his cards.  None of them knew what
kind of lifespan Marlowe would have, though Faythe intended to find out.
She could only guess the age of Augustine, who’d appeared around forty—
Faythe drew a shallow breath. She was stolen away from the world
around her by a memory. Something that opened answers too incredible to
believe. He was the only one who could confirm the impossible truth, and
Faythe blanched with it. She had to seek him out.
Phoenixfyre. That was what Gus had said when she asked how to find
him again. But how…
“Everything good?” Jakon’s voice tugged on her tether to the present.
Her mind reeled, but to divert, she glanced over at Marlowe’s cards.
“Knight diamond.”
“Hey, no cheating,” Jakon scolded. 
The laugh that escaped Faythe settled a longing in her chest when the
echo died. Things that were once as carefree as their joy now felt like
tokens to be savored. 
“I don’t have to cheat to best you at cards.” She brushed him off. 
He grumbled, choosing his counter move. Marlowe’s soft giggle
fluttered throughout the room. They swapped turns, Faythe the player and
Marlowe obliging her every decision. They laughed, and it was a sound that
defused all burden, leaving them fully in the moment. To remember, just for
a little while, that despite so much change this was who they would always
be. At their core, they were three friends who meant the absolute world to
one another. 
Marlowe set her cards down with the last vibrations of her chuckle
when Jakon folded out. Then reality creeped back so fast it threatened to
snatch the warmth they’d expelled from the room through their games and
jokes. 
“I made something I hope can help you,” Marlowe said, standing. 
Faythe followed Marlowe’s hand as it dipped into the pocket of her
dress. She produced two bracelets, one a little thicker, both adorned with a
stone that seemed to trap shadows within it. 
“It worked for Nik and Tauria—the concealment magick I put in them.
But there was little physical touch that needed to be hidden with them. It
was the bond between them that was successfully cloaked, but they had to
be cautious.”
 Faythe blinked at the silver bands. “You mean…they won’t detect
Reylan’s scent on me?” Hope gave life to her withering heart in its pitiful
state.
Marlowe’s face was both uncertain and hopeful. “That’s the idea. But
like with Nik and Tauria, I would limit how much you share. My magick
isn’t all that powerful. I’m still figuring it out, but—”
Faythe’s hands closed over hers. “It will be enough, and I can’t thank
you enough, truly. You’re utterly brilliant.”
The flush of Marlowe’s cheeks at the compliment was a familiarity
Faythe didn’t realize she’d missed so much. She pulled her friend in for an
embrace. She couldn’t be more grateful to have them both here. After
everything she’d been through, and to find out all they’d faced in their time
apart…
There was no greater gift than right here and right now. 

Night cloaked the sky and the stars had awoken by the time Faythe tore
away from her friends, reluctant to be trailing the halls toward a lonely
destination. Her rooms she could hardly stand to sleep in without him
there. 
Closing her door behind her, Faythe halted, struck utterly still at the tall
figure leaning over her balcony railing. The sight of Reylan raged
conflicting emotions: a pain that swelled and swelled from missing him; an
ugly wrath that felt wrong aimed at him; and the exhaustion of her ache for
him.  She unlocked the balcony doors, yet he didn’t turn to her when she
stepped out. Her jaw locked in disappointment. 
“Is that it then?” She broke the silence at last, watching the muscles in
his shoulders lock. “Someone threats to stand in our way and you just bow
down.”
Reylan straightened, and her breathing came hard, trembling her body
with how foreign her nerves were around him. When he turned, his features
cut hard, but they also weighed heavy as if he’d come from battle. She
couldn’t bear his silence. Faythe continued the outpouring of emotion. 
“You would really let me go so easily? What about—?”
“No,” he said before she could even finish. “I’m doing something
wrong if you haven’t gathered that I can’t let you go. Not for a damned
minute.”
“Then where have you been? You promised…” Her voice wobbled and
she cut off her words, swallowing the growing lump in her throat that
seemed selfish. 
“Faythe,” he breathed her name. The defeat in that tone made her heart
stumble. 
“You heard it all, didn’t you?”
He didn’t need to confirm when the glittering misery in his sapphire
irises ripped through her. Faythe looked over every inch of him. There was
nothing formal in his attire; he only wore a loose shirt and black pants, and
paired with the roughness of his hair she wondered what outlet he’d turned
to with the emotions she could feel the remnants of beating within him. 
“It means nothing,” she whispered, broken by the turmoil she’d caused
him. “Entertaining the lord. It’s just politics.”
“Just politics.” His bitter laugh stung. “Your hand is not a chess piece.”
“Nor will it ever be. You have to trust me.”
“I do. I trust you more than I’ve allowed myself to trust anyone in my
miserable lifetime, Faythe.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what? Without the pretense to cloud over what neither of us wants
to see?” He drove his hand through his silver hair before he gestured at her.
“Look at you, Faythe. I almost went to my knees the moment I saw you
today. So fucking perfect I couldn’t believe I ever thought I could stand by
your side and call myself your equal.”
Faythe’s chest rose and fell deeply. No sorrow or pain; only anger and
incredulity, so she couldn’t take any of it as a compliment. “Don’t do that,”
she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t discredit yourself on words of
bullshit. You are my equal, like it or not, Reylan Arrowood. The fates have
damned you to be.” 
“Damned me?” His sapphire eyes were ablaze, the smile he wore dark.
“Gods, I want to fight with you until it drives me to madness. I want to love
you until it kills me.”
“Then don’t run.”
They stared off, building a charge between them, matching breaths of
anguish in a battle of hearts.
“I knew the consequences of falling in love with you as a human, but I
couldn’t stop. I knew the opposition that would stand in our way if I were in
love with the daughter of a king. Fate is twisted and cruel, pairing us
together with so much to separate us. But I wouldn’t change it. Not for
anything. I don’t want anything as much as I want you. Even if it means I
have to stand by your side and watch you with another, because I can’t
leave you, no matter what it means for me.”
Faythe crossed the few steps to him, trying not to hesitate when he
almost retreated. Reylan opened his mouth to protest, but Faythe took his
hand after dipping hers into her pocket and slipped the metal band around
his wrist.
His eyes met hers with question. 
“I hate everything about it. But now, will you kiss me like neither of us
gives a damn about title? Like we both remember I too came from nothing,
and I was yours long before I was dedicated to this kingdom. Kiss me like
we can stand against it all when the time is right. Like this is what you
want. Loving me is not without challenge, nor question, nor a whole lot of
mess, but Reylan, I choose you, and if you still choose me, then to the
Nether with anyone who opposes that.”
Reylan’s hand curled around her nape, his jaw locked with anguish and
heartache. His fingers wove through her hair and fisted, drawing out a gasp
as he angled her head to lock with his irises of icy flame. He shook his head
in disbelief. “So fucking perfect.”
His mouth crashed to hers with a force that exploded every pent-up
emotion. Not just from that day—maybe it had been building since they
acknowledged this fight would come. Their defiance ignited, fusing a silent
promise until the end of days. 
Reylan’s hands squeezed at her waist, crawled up her spine, and roamed
her body with such reverence she almost lost her mind. Yet Marlowe’s
warning still rang through, and all she could think of then was protecting
him.
Faythe broke their kiss, panting in his tight hold that brought their
bodies flush. 
“We don’t yet know how strong the enchantment is with physical
touch,” she breathed. “Best not test its boundaries too quickly.”
Reylan’s groan pricked her skin, his mouth lingering over her throat to
say, “Best not.” He trailed his breath around her until they’d switched sides,
and Faythe’s eyes fluttered. “As much as I wish to worship you right here,
outside, in every scandalous way, before your kingdom.”
 “Our kingdom,” she corrected, and the notion flared something
powerful and defiant in her chest. 
Reylan released her lust, turning it into something far more tender when
he cupped her cheek. “You make me want, Faythe. Want things I never have
before. To be with you. To be worthy of ruling by your side.” 
“There’s nothing I could want more than you, Reylan.”
His forehead rested against hers, his troubles far from eased. His
demons far from chased. “You handled yourself incredibly in there,” he said
quietly. “Like a true leader.”
“I didn’t think you stayed.”
“Until the very end. You should know that I had every intention of
waiting for you despite how dangerous I felt being mere feet away while
Malin tested you time and time again. I can’t deny I didn’t already know his
proposition was a possibility—only, I didn’t think it would come so soon.
That he would try to scare you from the throne by tying your hand by
obligation.”
“I only said what I had to. I have no plans to truly entertain Zarrius.
There’s more to him you should know, but…” Faythe searched the conflict
in his eyes, her chest aching. “Why did you leave if not from what you
heard?”
Reylan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter right now. I’m only sorry I
wasn’t there for you.”
Faythe’s arms wrapped around him, her cheek pressed to his chest, and
she soothed all the aches of the day with his steady heartbeat. 
“You’re here now.”
 CHAPTER 51

Tarly

T rest, not that it was ofdays,

hey traveled for stopping only when necessary to catch some
any great comfort, nor did it offer any substantial
hours of sleep in his state of alert. They ate whatever berries Nerida found
and deemed safe, but Katori was lacking in her hunting skills, and his
hunger started to grate on his mood. 
That, and Tarly knew he stood on his homeland territory. He couldn’t
help always looking over his shoulder or studying Nerida as if the traitor he
was to Olmstone were branded all over him. He’d abandoned the kingdom
when the worst time had come. He’d run, and with that choice he no longer
deserved the crown he once wore. 
When Nerida slipped one foot into the stirrup, Tarly by default went to
aid her. 
“I don’t need you to help me do everything.” 
The surprised of her words made his hands drop, but his low energy left
him no room to argue. Nerida mounted, and Tarly chose to take the reins
and walk for a while. 
“Your display with the ravine has likely only fueled their hunt. It’s no
small feat to be able to do that,” he all but grumbled. 
“What happened to ‘nice trick’?” 
It was beginning to show he wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of
very little food and rest. He didn’t deign to respond. 
“You know, if this is becoming too much for you—”
“I’m not leaving you.”
 A pause of silence. 
“Get on the horse, Sully.”
“That’s not my name.”
“You’ve still to give me one. Until you do, it stays.”
He took a deep breath to keep from spilling his irrational irritation. Not
toward her—not really. If only they could find a way to get some damn coin
for a decent meal… 
“You’re so Nether-bent on staying with me, yet I hardly know who you
are. How do I know you’re not like them? Luring me to sell me,” she
wondered, though without an ounce of real concern. 
“It does sound tempting right now,” he grumbled. 
“You’re even worse company when you’re hungry,” she muttered back. 
“We’re coming to a small town called Vansire,” Tarly diverted. “You
might not like the idea of theft, but it may be all we have to gain something
of sustenance.”
Nerida hummed. “Don’t do anything rash. I’ve been collecting herbs
and plants I can make into remedies if I find an apothecary that will lend me
a station for an hour and some minor ingredients in exchange for a cut of
the profits.”
In his current state, Tarly didn’t voice that kind of patience might not
sustain him.
“Are we far from Vesmire?” 
The name rang through him, jolting his heart with dread. “No.” Not far
at all. They could be there in a day by foot, then another to the library he
could barely think of without flashes of horrific memory that roused a panic
he tried to ignore. His shoulder subconsciously hitched, the screech of
Lennox as a dark fae echoing in his ears, then a flame that seemed to come
straight from the Nether erupted through his body when Lennox’s teeth
pierced his flesh. 
“Are you all right?”
Nerida’s voice lashed him back to the present. He didn’t realize he’d
stopped walking, and with his hold on the horse, so did she. Tarly shook his
head to dispel the trickle of that haunting memory. Straight ahead down the
hill, the quaint town came into view. 
Tarly still walked beside Nerida on the horse down the stone path that
led into Vansire. Twilight fell, and the streets were lit with an amber glow. 
“We should split, just while you hopefully find your herbal place.”
 Nerida swung her leg around the horse, bracing on his shoulders only
lightly, always aware of his injury, and something about that never failed to
warm him. He guided her down. 
“Apothecary,” Nerida corrected. 
“Right,” he muttered. “I’ll find you in an hour. If anything happens, this
town is small and quiet enough that I should hear if you make a loud
enough commotion.” Tarly began to walk away with the horse. 
“I’m glad you’re here.”
His whole body stiffened with her jarring words. Twisting his head back
to be sure she’d spoken them, he found Nerida fidgeting with her fingers.
“I’m glad not to be alone, I mean.”
Of course, it wasn’t his company in particular that was desirable, but it
didn’t matter. A warmth fluttered through his chest, though all he could give
was a nod and a barely-there smile. 
“One hour,” she repeated, twisting and quickly making off as if nerves
had overcome her. 
Tarly watched after her for a few seconds until she disappeared around a
stone corner. He blinked away the flash of desire to follow her, immediately
feeling like a pining dog. 
Tarly had his own reasons for needing away, and he led the horse to find
it. 

He scanned various streets in search of Nerida. It was a little short of an

hour since they’d parted, but he hadn’t been able to shift the itch since she
left. His concern for her became a new consuming thought, keeping him on
edge and unable to settle unless she were right by him. 
He laughed at himself. It wasn’t as though he’d offered her any
substantial protection considering all that she was capable of. It didn’t
matter. Without realizing, Tarly had promised her every arrow in his quiver,
every punch he could throw—at least until they made it to the library and
he could escort her somewhere he knew she’d be away from potential
danger and out of sight of those who sought her. 
It kept him…wanting. To do something other than watch the sun turn to
the moon without much care about what happened on the land around him. 
 He managed to ask around enough to find what they deemed a close
enough version of an apothecary. Nerida wasn’t there. He became antsy in
his search. Katori whined, taking off, and his hope sparked as the wolf had
led him directly to her once before. Yet the person Tarly caught a flickering
glimpse of instead as she stepped into an establishment… 
Stopped time. 
He halted abruptly, blinking once, twice. Even though she dipped out of
view, his mind captured that image, tormenting him that he was wrong, or
worse…right.
He strained in a physical and mental tug-of-war, his heart pounding,
splitting open a wound that hadn’t fully healed. Tarly stood outside the inn,
wondering what outcome he was hoping for by storming inside, but one
thing was certain. 
He had to know. 
Tarly scanned the occupants furiously, diving deep into his
consciousness that would never erase her scent even after all this time. The
sting of alcohol and the musk of men and fae made that difficult, but he
could find her in any crowd. The edges of her beauty were blurred, but he
would never forget.
When he landed on familiar golden locks from behind, his pulse
stuttered, and the ground was nearly pulled from under him. It didn’t make
sense. He marched for her, ignoring the disgruntled protests as he pushed
through the crowd waiting to be served a drink. He didn’t think about what
he was doing when he hooked her elbow, spinning her around. Tarly had
never tunneled so far from reality than in that second. He locked onto those
eyes, certain he had to be dreaming when the pull into the green of them
stabbed him with a relief so overwhelming it almost brought him to his
knees. 
“Isabelle,” he muttered, blinking many times as though the fae’s
features would change. As if he could be wholly mistaken. So quickly,
relief became dread. Dread became a battering of questions he was certain
to crumble under. But he had to know. “How is this possible?”
Only at seeing the recognition flash in her wide eyes and blanched skin
did the weight of the truth crush him. It was her.
His mate.
“Tarly,” she muttered as though seeing a ghost, though it was she who
was supposed to be dead. She glanced over him slowly, and he could do
nothing but release her as if the sound of her voice were a trick. “What
happened to you?”
Disappointment flooded over him at hearing her first reaction. Not joy
or relief or longing. Not the reunion he’d dreamed of endlessly, a fool’s
fairy tale that he could defy death to see her again. The one wish he held
over all had been answered before him but only impacted him like the day
he found her body. 
Thought he found her body. 
“What happened to me?” he breathed, incredulous. Anger—no, rage—
started to cloud over him while he tried to make sense of it all. He shook his
head. “I organized your funeral,” he said darkly. His eyes pinched closed as
he stumbled a step back, praying in that moment this were a nightmare
because it was wrong. Something was horribly wrong, and the anticipation
of her explanation coiled so tightly in his gut. 
“What’s going on?”
Tarly’s gaze snapped to the voice that joined them. He didn’t think he
could be smacked harder with the unfathomable truth. He recognized the
fae as a guard who’d been close to his father until he deserted his role.
Pieces slid together so fast Tarly couldn’t stop them despite the ribbons that
sliced apart his soul. 
The fae’s hand slipped around Isabelle’s waist, and then it all became
clear. It slammed into him so hard that what little he grappled of his heart
obliterated. 
“You,” Tarly growled, the flash of rage overtaking his vision, and before
he could calculate his actions he’d pinned the bastard to the wall. His fists
connected with his face over and over, unable to stop the unleashing of an
agony so deep it felt like it would kill him if he didn’t release it. 
People were shouting, a clamor ensued, and a few people tried to grab
him, but Tarly didn’t register any of it except his target…until his vision
blurred, his chest heaved, and it took three fae to haul him away from the
ex-guard who lay slumped in a bloodied heap. 
Tarly started to come back into himself, realizing the physical beating
he’d delivered, unlike anything that had ever come from him before. A
violence that wasn’t him. But he was hurting so badly he couldn’t even feel
disgust or shame. He caught his breath, turning his utter heartbreak toward
the one who caused it all. 
 Isabelle clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wet with tears, but they
meant nothing to him. She looked to him as if he were a stranger—a
monstrous one. She looked to him as if he’d shown her every reason why
she’d done what she did to him, and that understanding cleaved through
him, turning his pain to numbness. A painless, worthless, numbness. 
“Was a life with me truly so awful to imagine?” he rasped. Dipping into
his pocket, he produced his mother’s necklace. “So awful that the only way
you thought to get away was by faking your death.” He could hardly stand
the sight of the necklace. All it reminded him of now was the day he picked
it up from the burned remains of an unknown he’d believed to be his mate.
For a second, she showed remorse. But it quickly fell to a pity he
despised more than anything. It risked raising his anger. 
“I didn’t want that life…”
“I would have let you go.” His voice rose again. He shook his head
vacantly before defeat weighed him quiet. “As much as it would have torn
me apart, if that was your wish, I would have let you go.”
“I tried to tell you I wouldn’t fit that role, that royalty was never what I
wanted, but you didn’t listen. You told me we would work it out and the
court would understand, but they would not, Tarly. I was low in station; you
didn’t know what it was like to be the laughingstock of court.”
“I never forgave myself, thinking you’d taken your life because of me.” 
“I’m sorry—”
“The exile?”
She flinched, and Tarly wanted to walk away in fear the dagger lodged
in his heart wasn’t done being twisted. “I went to Keira—”
Tarly raised a hand, slowly clenching it into a fist he dug into his
forehead with his eyes clamped shut. That was all he needed to hear to
figure out the rest on his own. 
“I don’t doubt you loved me, Tarly, but you can’t deny I was also a
defiance in the eyes of your father,” she accused. 
Tarly’s jaw locked, wanting to shout and rage, but as he breathed deep,
he became aware that the entire establishment had hushed at their display. A
few tended to the groaning fae who was slipping in and out of
consciousness from Tarly’s brutality. A few looked at him in fear, awe, and
he realized all at once their conversation had enlightened everyone there to
who he was, shining a spotlight on their prince in a volatile, disgraceful
state.
 “Is it true what they say…?” One brave voice spoke up. “Has the capital
fallen? Are we under the rule of Valgard now?”
Tarly had no answers for their wariness. He stood before them as their
deserted prince, and he couldn’t bear it. A flicker at the window caught his
eye, and the silvery wisps of hair sent his heart tumbling from his chest.
Immediately, he spun for the door to catch Nerida, hoping she hadn’t heard
too much, but he was halted by Isabelle’s call. 
“It’s time, Tarly,” she said quietly. 
He didn’t turn around, but he couldn’t move, hearing only echoes of her
words as if they were underwater and he was drifting. His soul cried out,
scorched with an immeasurable pain, and while it immobilized him, he
accepted it. The scent of her blood drifted to him as the final snap of their
mating bond. His rejection of it singed like flame, cleaving him in half, and
a ringing filled his ears. He tried to stay composed, tried to coat himself
with numbness instead as he took one step forward, but he stumbled. He
couldn’t turn back to see if she was suffering the same. It felt as if a knife
had been lodged in his gut and the pain was spreading like a rapid fever. He
took another step, needing air…needing away. 
Rejected.
It settled easier than he thought, though he supposed it was a concept
he’d come to be acquainted with long before now. Yet the physical effects
were punishing. 
Outside, he gulped the air greedily. It had started to rain, a misty kind
that made visibility foggy, and dampness coated him fast. He had to find
Nerida. Above his exhaustion from such a life-changing severance, he
needed to know what had caused her retreat. He needed to know she was
safe.
Clenching his teeth, he pushed through the weight of feverous magick
and took off running.
 CHAPTER 52

Tauria

H made peace withnever

er heart had weighed so heavy, but it was time. Tauria had
the many ways this first meeting could unfold. At
least, she thought knowing, preparing, could make it easier. 
She had lied to herself all week, holding Nik tighter, using their bond in
every way to leave nothing of it untouched, unexplored. 
The horse she rode cracked the branches scattered across the Dark
Woods of Galmire. Mordecai’s instruction was clear: enter the woods and
he would seek her out. Every hair rose as her eyes darted over the misty
floor, squinting through the darkness. Everything was so deathly still she
couldn’t fathom passing through here unless absolutely necessary. The
sound of her pounding heart canceled out anything else, but she didn’t think
anything pleasant would echo chirps or song through these woods anyway. 
“There you are,” he said, voice distant like a stroke of shadow. “My
princess.” Closer now, and Tauria’s next exhale shuddered from her. 
“Did you doubt I would come?” Tauria answered, not allowing her eyes
to seek him first as the horse pulled to a stop. 
A rumble of dark humor drifted over her. “You think me a fool to trust
you so easily after all you did?”
She couldn’t give in to the snare of fear. 
To be safe, Nik couldn’t help her even through the bond. This part she
had to face entirely alone. To keep her calm, Tauria replayed that morning
over and over. Remembered every treasured feel of her mate and the hours
they’d lost to each other. The promises they’d sealed for each other. 
 Movement caught in her vision, and every muscle locked stiff. 
Sharp talons raced her pulse, almost eye level with her atop the horse.
She’d hoped he would have had them glamoured. The texture up close
reminded her of leather. Thick over the cartilage but with a transparency to
their span, which tucked in tightly. 
“Are you afraid, princess?” 
His question snapped her gaze down to his for the first time. Stark onyx
with a predator’s gleam she would never forget. 
“Intrigued,” she all but whispered.
The curl of his mouth dried out her throat. Then his hands came up,
poised to assist her down from the horse, and she couldn’t refuse. 
Having to lay her hands on him twisted her stomach, and she checked
again and again that her connection to Nik remained impenetrable.
Mordecai took her waist, guiding her down with surprising tenderness, and
when her feet planted on the ground…he didn’t step back. 
She knew the twinkle in his black irises. It was one of prize and
admiration, and she could hardly tame the beast in her chest. Maybe he
stepped closer. Maybe he leaned down a fraction when she wished he
wouldn’t. She’d hoped Samara hadn’t left that much of a lasting impression
with her kiss that he’d immediately crave it again. 
No. No, no, no. 
It could ruin everything if she couldn’t go through with it. 
“You’re really in this with me? There is no going back,” he said with a
gravel that grated her skin with its wrongness. 
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she whispered, playing along. Always with a mask
to wear. 
His knuckles grazed along her cheek, and she turned to stone. She
stopped breathing. “I confess, Tauria Stagknight, I haven’t quite figured out
what it is about you, but I haven’t been able to get you off my mind. Our
reign…would be most legendary.”
Breathe. Just breathe.  She couldn’t allow her empowering vision of
standing by Nik’s side to be tainted by the high lord’s twisted fantasy. “Why
do you think I risked all this?”
That earned her a smile of pride and conquer. Mordecai was winding to
her every word, and she should have been relieved, but all that trembled
beneath the surface was hot and cold dread, so all-consuming the only thing
she could do was hope he couldn’t detect it. 
 His fingers angled her chin, and she could do nothing but answer to his
touch, or everything would crumble in a second. His lips inched closer, and
Gods, she wanted the world to open up beneath her to spare her from such
betrayal. Wrong. It was so, so wrong, and tears pricked her eyes as she tried
to numb herself to the waves of grief that lapped at her. 
“I have many important things to do, Mordecai.”
Tauria gasped at the sensuous voice that had plagued her nightmares.
The shortness of her breath to keep from inhaling the high lord’s scent
didn’t match the skips of her heart. Her balance swayed. Twisting, the face
she expected came into full, fiery clarity against the stark backdrop of the
woods. 
“Marvellas,” Tauria choked. “Why is she here?” 
She knew. Gods, she knew, yet Tauria wished she didn’t. She prayed to
every damn entity that could hear her that she was wrong and the Spirit’s
presence had been lured in for some other purpose. 
Mordecai’s hand on Tauria steered her toward the Great Spirit, who
stood there assessing her, not hiding her boredom. Mordecai’s touch
repulsed Tauria, though she decided she feared Marvellas far more than the
high lord whose direction she wanted to protest. 
“You’ll understand, princess,” he said calmly, but with enough of a
warning that she heard the test, “why this is necessary. You said you would
do anything for me.”
She knew he’d never trust her without this, but she’d spent weeks that
had gone too fast in turmoil, begging everything, anything, that would
listen, but knowing there was no way out of this.
He locked eyes with her when they stopped before Marvellas, and the
chill that seeped into her bones she welcomed, hoping it would numb the
soul-deep agony that was to come. “I don’t like to share, Tauria. Especially
not when it comes to you. So tell me,”—a long, drawn-out pause stretched
between them—“are you willing to sever your bond for me?”
There it was. 
Having recited the million ways this condition would be delivered,
Tauria realized now it didn’t make the blow hit her any less. She couldn’t
breathe—wasn’t sure gravity still held her when a weightless nothing took
over. This Netherworld she was living didn’t seem real. The sacrifice she’d
have to make to advance was second only to her own life. 
A life.
 Faythe had given hers, and at the thought of her undying bravery, Tauria
found solace in the belief that what they would gain was worth far more.
She planned to still have her future with Nik. As long as they lived, that
would never change. 
“Yes.” The word slipped from her lips, but she didn’t hear it. Didn’t feel
it. It went against every instinct screaming and clawing to fight. “Though
are you sure this is what you want?” Her question was delivered with futile,
fleeting hope, but she had to try. “You know it was vital in my
communications with Nik in Olmstone. It could benefit us to have that
insight with this new path.”
“Forgive me, Tauria, but I do not trust that to be true. That Nikalias
would stand by and allow this to happen, and frankly,”—his hold on her
tightened, and a slipped flash of anger lodged a cry in her throat—“I don’t
like to be thought of as a damned fool.”
“As entertaining as this is,” Marvellas drawled, “I don’t have much
patience for your lovers’ spat.” She stalked a little closer, eyes trailing over
Tauria, but her attention was fixed on Mordecai. “I hope you know what
you’re doing,” she continued, and it was then Tauria caught a glimpse of the
dark fae hierarchy. While Mordecai was once a king—and even now
radiated authority and dominance—Marvellas stood above him. In every
way, she outranked him. “Should this turn and you were wrong…”
Marvellas’s head tilted so beautifully, but the threat she delivered in those
molten eyes struck like flame. “You wouldn’t like to feel my wrath.”
“Do it,” Tauria interjected. 
The Spirit’s golden eyes would never fail to rattle her with the images of
her dear friend. Faythe. Tauria straightened with will and confidence. She
had cherished and lost before, had come back from the worst devastations,
and she would survive this.  The world was but a cruel map dotted with
monsters ready to attack. Tauria filled her mind with the treasured
memories of her mate instead. What their bond had brought into their
lives…it was enough. Because what they had forged between them before
knowing of the bond, Tauria knew that was truly unbreakable.
“Very well,” the Spirit sang, the curve of her perfect brow matching her
rouge-painted lips. Her hand rose, and Tauria braced. “I admire your
willingness to part with this, Tauria Stagknight.”
Her eyes burned and she didn’t fight it. A dark touch entered her mind,
stroked a taunting and cruelly painful finger down the tether that ran within
her, and she knew Nik would feel it. However far he stood by…this was it.
Tauria had felt this invasion before, on her knees, clutching Nik tight. She
could have whimpered knowing what Marvellas stood to break. 
With the first sharp tug she did cry out. Mordecai kept her upright
through her need to sink into the earth and have it swallow her whole. She
tried to be brave, but she shattered. Fire tore through her, and the woods
around them tilted. Another tug, and she wondered if the Spirit were
drawing out her torture as a means to get back at her for the mockery she’d
made of them in Olmstone. 
Yet what Marvellas was taking, Tauria planned to get back with a
vengeance so strong it began to quell the scores of pain through her body. 
She plucked and stroked and relished in Tauria’s cries. 
She pulled and pulled and pulled at this precious, living thing within
her, until…
The bond snapped.
A high-pitched ringing filled Tauria’s ears, and her vision exploded into
stars then engulfed her in complete darkness. There were no words to
describe the all-consuming agony that scattered over her skin, scorched fire
through her body, and shattered in her mind. 
She came to slowly. So slowly she couldn’t be certain this wasn’t death
instead. 
Her body trembled, but she couldn’t feel it. Exhaustion swept over her,
and there passed a yearning for the forever embrace of it to take her from
this living nightmare. 
It was gone. 
Tauria searched, but she was hollow. So empty and hollow where there
was once this bright, affirming line of safety and warmth. 
No matter how lost or far…
Gone.
Her tears flowed, but she wasn’t sobbing. 
“It may take time for her to adjust.” Marvellas’s voice sounded
different. It seemed so faraway, yet the tone held a note of sympathy. 
“She will be fine,” Mordecai assured her. 
Tauria tuned out of the rest. She would have sunk to her knees were it
not for the high lord’s hold, but she didn’t have the emotion or strength to
shrug away. It worked better for the guise this way anyway. 
 Gods, she didn’t want to think of how Nik was coping. It brought on a
fresh round of silent tears. 
She heard shuffling but didn’t look up. 
“I imagine I’ll be seeing you again soon, Mordecai. I expect great
progress.”
Marvellas left. Tauria didn’t care either way. 
“I think it will be best if we fly—”
“No.” She found her voice, snapping back into herself enough to
remember the plan. “I need a moment. A day, at least, to rest before you
take me anywhere new. Please.” Tauria was playing on the effects of the
severed bond, hoping there was enough of a shred of humanity within the
high lord that he would grant her this. 
To her immense relief, she caught his nod. Staring at him now, she
couldn’t believe the shift from darkness that almost made him look…
concerned. From all she’d known of him, seen of him, it felt jarring. 
“Very well. We can spend a night in the town if that is your wish.” His
voice became softer, and though it did nothing to ease her hatred for him,
for what he’d taken from her, it placed him in a fleeting new light. “Though
you should know we are not heading anywhere new,” he added as Tauria
slipped her foot into the stirrup and his hands caught her waist. “I plan to
oversee how Olmstone fares. I thought you might like to revisit.”
She couldn’t hide the surprise she bore down on him from atop the
horse. Balancing between a numb confusion and trying to stay present in
the aftermath of what still tore through her, she tried to remember she had to
find out all she could.
“When you left there…” Her breaths became short. “Did you meet with
Dakodas? I’m sure that triumph must have compensated for Marvellas’s
loss in Olmstone.”
He walked casually beside her, heading back toward the town. “We did.
The Spirit of Death is rather…unpredictable.”
“You have two ruins then. A great advantage.”
“One ruin,” he corrected easily. She wanted to be thrilled with the
knowledge, but her obliterated heart could do nothing but store it
indifferently. 
“Has Marvellas not retrieved hers?” Tauria tested. 
“Why would she? It is safely guarded in her temple.”
“What does she plan to do with them?”
 “Destroy one and perhaps find a way to weaponize the others.”
“Destroy?” Tauria’s mind rang with alarm for the fact she didn’t
expect. 
“I assume the heir hopes to collect them to open the Spirit portal and
send her creator back.” His dark eyes shifted to her, apparently disappointed
she hadn’t already concluded this. “Break one, break that ever being a
possibility.”
Dear Gods. 
“Marvellas can’t be killed by mortal means,” Tauria thought out loud,
sliding the horrifying pieces together.
There would be no way to stop her. 
“This is her realm,” Mordecai said coolly. “It has been for some time.”
“Are you happy to be a pawn in it?”
His laugh became genuine. Tauria didn’t want to keep seeing these
notes of him, of a real person, when he was nothing more than a monster.
“When Marvellas brought me back, I thought I’d have my chance at
revenge. Tell me, Tauria, do you know much of the history of the Dark
Age?”
A fever swept her skin, but the chill to her bones only came from the
reminder of who Mordecai was. An evil force from another time.
Resurrected when she couldn’t be sure what that meant and if it changed
anything of the dark fae he was before. 
“You sought to overthrow the fae rulers when they took a stand against
your desire to have the dark fae granted the law to feed on human blood,”
she said carefully. 
“If only it were that simple,” he mused. “I suppose they would have
erased from history the fact that humans came to us. Wanted us to feed. You
see, there’s a certain pleasure to it, though I will admit it had the effect in
some to inspire a dangerous craving, and that was what sparked the war. At
that time, the Transitioned did not exist. We never had a desire to dabble in
such dark, forbidden magick. That was all Marvellas, yet I was the key. My
blood.”
 Kill Mordecai, stop the Transitions. 
Tauria could have gasped with the enlightenment, but she kept her face
neutral. It was all becoming too much with the storm that raged within her.
She needed rest. She needed Nik. Tauria grappled to hold on. 
 “I fought for the dark fae, for their right not to be seen as monsters
when it was the humans who were weak. I will admit, things spiraled into
far more than we could have prepared for. I stood against the fae rulers, yes,
only because they never saw us as like them. My people were evil, heartless
beings. They refused to accept us on the mainland. They cut off trades.”
“You proved them right.” Tauria let the accusation slip, unable to stand
the thought of the carnage that unfolded. 
“I proved to them,” he said sharply, “that if you’re going to paint by
your own assumptions, you’d best be prepared to face the monster you
created.”
His narrative did something. Lit a match to show a new side to the
painting the world had so far only perceived in one way. 
“Now,” she dared to ask, “what do you fight for?”
“The same,” he answered simply. “Though something unexpected
happened. Someone.”
From his tone, the way his words drifted afar, Tauria knew he was
picturing them. “A former lover?” she tried. 
“Not quite.”
She was glad her sacrifice seemed to have staked in him enough trust to
open up a fraction. She’d stolen everything to wield as a weapon, unable to
forgive what she’d lost.
“Though one might say the product of such a…relation.”
It hit so overwhelmingly that her grip tightened on the reins. One palm
splayed against the horse when the dip of its walk added to the sway of
knowledge. She couldn’t believe it.
“You have a child.”
 CHAPTER 53

Zaiana

Z gone completely. She didn’t

aiana awoke against the familiar firmness of stone, though he wasn’t
move. Curled on the ground, her lids slid
open to meet bleak gray. She lay still, breathing in both torture and longing
with Kyleer’s scent on the fabric wrapped around her. A simple black cloak,
but she knew it to be his.
Her back felt soothed and dressed, but that wasn’t what kept her down.
Zaiana was drowning. Just for a moment she suffocated slowly in the
aftermath of him. In a few seconds she would entomb it all. Last night, what
he did, what she wanted more of. Even now. Something she’d never been
prepared for…was stumbling in her own plan. Harboring a growing
fondness for the mark she’d set out to kill. 
 Gods, if any of her kin could glimpse her traitorous mind, she would
deserve the punishment for her weakness. 
“Do you regret it?”
The quietness of Kyleer’s voice was so unlike him it created a sharpness
in her gut. Zaiana had trained all her life to lure victims to her web, to kill
and not to feel, to hurt and not to think. Emotions in others were a weapon
for her to use, and her own a weakness. 
“I could have killed you,” she said finally, embracing the ice that froze
over whatever he’d thawed.
“No, you couldn’t have.”
Zaiana chuckled, a breathy sound lacking any humor. She pushed
herself up. “They’ll punish you if they find out.”
 “Is that your concern?”
“No. To be honest, I rather hope they do.”
“Do you regret it, Zai?”
“Yes,” she snapped. The wince it earned from him struck like a knife.
Just as well she’d learned to endure deep wounds as a sting. “As should
you.”
“I can’t.”
“Remember what I am, what I’ve done. Hate me like you should,
Kyleer.”
“I do. I hate you so damn much for making me want you. You’re in my
head too often. It’s infuriating.” 
“Then stop.”
“I. Can’t.”
Zaiana stepped up close to the bars, charging the anguish that radiated
between them. “I’ll make it easy for you, Kyleer. This can never happen.
I’ve killed many people. I am not good like you or them. I never will be.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care—”
“I don’t believe you because you let her go.”
Zaiana’s breath drew short. “I would have killed Faythe—”
“Not her.”
A twist tightened in her abdomen. She shook her head. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”
Kyleer stepped closer too. His hands curled around the bar, looking
down at her as though his answer were written over every inch of her. Like
he could see things no one ever had before without even trying. “I wonder if
you will chase this time…” He recited her words from the rooftop.
“Because I didn’t the first time we came face-to-face, and you darted away
before we had the chance to cross swords.”
She gave him nothing. 
“It was your scent at first, but maybe something more. I recognized it
even before you intercepted us on the mountains. Yet it was your eyes that
made me realize right then why you were familiar.” Kyleer reached a hand
through the iron bars that separated them. His fingers hesitated, but when
she didn’t move, they curled under her chin.
She’d never been held, entranced, by such a stare, and she wanted to
slap sense into herself for allowing his touch. 
 “That day in Fenstead, I saw Tauria Stagknight and her guards head
down an alley. I cut through the battlefield just to be sure she’d escaped as
that was the only thing that mattered when it became clear the kingdom was
all but taken. When I ran into that street and saw the guards were dead, I
was ready to fight you, whatever it took. Then you turned to me, yet you
didn’t attack. I might not have been able to identify you from that day,
except in your curiosity you tilted your head just enough for me to glimpse
the most magnificent irises I’d ever seen.”
He searched her eyes for a long moment, but she couldn’t decipher his
torment.
“I hadn’t forgotten them for a damn day since, and then there you were.
Those eyes. Pupils eclipsing blazing amethyst suns. A vibrant core of
purple striking enough to hypnotize long enough for such a beautiful
creature to kill if glimpsed without caution.”
No one had ever paid such deep attention to her. What stole her breath
completely was how long he’d held onto that note of her without ever
knowing who she was. It was unfamiliar, this feeling. Like someone was
carving out the dead weight in her chest. Like air would only come easily if
she allowed herself to surrender to his romantic words. 
He could not become her weakness. 
“Did you remember me when we came face-to-face on that mountain
edge?”
There was something odd in his tone, as if disappointment would follow
with the wrong answer. It was also his eyes…the reason why she’d never
been able to let go of a yearning for forests, an inclination to lay down her
weapons and surrender to their peaceful nature. Those features, that body—
they radiated with a protective pull that was hard to resist. 
“No,” she breathed.  It wasn’t a lie. Though he would never know
familiarity drew her to him like a moth resisting a flame. His eyes flexed
with a rejection she braced for, but in the way it flashed by and his
expression firmed, being a ghost, forgettable—it was not an unfamiliar
concept to him. For a second she wanted to take it back, if only to see what
light would flare at hearing the words…
I remember you.
Zaiana’s senses snapped back to her all at once, the brutality of her past
sealing her lips against any flicker of kindness that had condemned her
before. She took a step forward until their bodies were almost flush, only
the thick iron between them. “No one will believe you.”
Kyleer chuckled. Dark and smooth, and she hated it. Hated it. Because
it had become a sound she craved. 
“I have no one I wish to convince of it.”
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
He dragged his hand up her nape before fisting her hair. The surprise of
it parted her lips, which were angled so perfectly to his she felt the end of
his harsh breaths. His green eyes were livid but filled with a wild passion,
and she wanted to feel the snap of the control he held onto. 
“Because frankly, I don’t give a damn about what they would think of
this.”
Her breath had never stuttered so hard to a racing, building thrill. It was
ludicrous given where they were and who they were. Zaiana had seduced
males before—she could allure them with little effort—but this…it felt
different. It was both a terrible, terrible ache and a raw fury waiting to
erupt, near maddening to think of what could be unleashed between them.
So wrong, but that only built on the desire. 
Against all that screamed for her to tear out his heart before it could
awaken something in her cold, dark chest, Zaiana spilled her reckless
words. “About what?”
The spark in his eye was a hunger that struck. Hard.  Kyleer’s mouth
crashed to hers and she answered to it, damning to the Nether the bars that
kept them from colliding in a way that would have been angry and ugly but
blissful all the same. 
There was little way they could move to the demands of their bodies.
Kyleer’s hand around her waist crushed her against the metal poles just as
he pressed himself to them. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she
moaned, the flame igniting raw and furiously. It sparked in her chest to
make her feel alive, shooting a vibrant light in her mind against a
permanent shroud of bleakness, lifting every burden and transgression just
for a single moment in time she simply…forgot. She craved more. Needed
more. Zaiana wondered why he didn’t Shadowport to put them both out of
their misery.
When Kyleer pulled away abruptly, her mind whirled in a daze,
scrambling to try to piece back together who she was. “I should have done
that last night,” he said thickly. 
 Then he released her, and all she could do was curl her fingers tighter
around the iron, gathering her breath with bewilderment. He walked away,
and her forehead met the cold metal, her eyes slipping closed. She tried to
expel him from her thoughts, but all they replayed was that kiss. The taste
of him…smoky and earthy. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Yet the
conflict began that she couldn’t have this; couldn’t want this.
Because if she did…she was sure to fall.
 CHAPTER 54

Faythe

“D ancing .”
Faythe’s voice echoed spectacularly through the ballroom so huge
she felt no more than a speck on the intricate pattern painted on the marble.
And the magnificent paintings and sculptures. Even the piano and small
ensemble of instruments on a dais seemed so far away. 
“I didn’t want to stir your nerves until it was absolutely necessary,”
Reylan said beside her. 
Faythe looked up at him with question, but another voice bounded
through the space. 
“Our princess will be opening the ball with a dance, and I truly can’t
wait for that entertainment.” Izaiah beamed wide as he strolled into the hall,
Kyleer close behind him. 
When his words registered, her head snapped back to Reylan. “No, I’m
not,” she rushed out. 
He winced at her reaction. “I could try to get you out of it, but there
would be speculation. It would have been Malin, but since you’re to be
Rhyenelle’s heir…I can’t deny it would be advantageous exposure.”
Faythe mulled over the concept. It made sense, and at the thought of
giving her cousin what was clearly supposed to be an honor, she wiped her
protest.
The only thing was…Faythe was a horrible dancer. 
“Hence the lessons,” Reylan teased, reading the slipped thought, or
maybe the daunting notion was written all over her face with the thought of
so many eyes on her, being unable to rely on guidance over a missed step. 
“You’re going to teach me?” 
His small smile fluttered in her chest. “Would you want me to?”
Yes. Without hesitation she wanted that. The memory of their dance in
High Farrow became preciously guarded in her mind. Faythe didn’t have
much experience with fae dancing. The grandeur of their parties, the way
they moved and feasted and enjoyed the night to a scale that was
overwhelming to her simple human mind. 
A hand grabbed hers, and Faythe yelped in surprise when she was spun
then pulled into a tall, slender body. Blinking, she stared into Izaiah’s eyes,
which sparkled with mischief. “I think you’ll find me more favorable than
these two brutes in this particular skill,” he said.
“You enjoy it,” Faythe observed. Izaiah’s enthusiasm was a natural balm
to her erratic nerves. 
“So might you if you learn to see you’re already great at it. Just let go of
the sword.”
She had never thought of it that way, but reflecting on the routines
Reylan had shown her many times, the poise Kyleer had instilled in from
her archery, removing the weapons started to give it all a new meaning. A
boost of confidence that she wasn’t a complete novice if she could simply
translate the movements she knew already. 
“Dancing is lighter, however.” His arm around her waist turned them
both then tightened as he dipped low with her. In fright, Faythe lashed out,
thinking she would fall. “Let go of the defense that’s keeping you stiff.
You’re not fighting against someone; think of this like fighting with them
instead. Trust, don’t oppose.”
Light piano music began to weave through the hall. Faythe’s attention
traveled—and Izaiah straightened with her—to find Reylan watching them
both while he played softly.
“You don’t take your eyes off your partner.” Izaiah didn’t allow her a
moment to bask in the beautiful sight of the general, sending her twirling
with a hand above her head once again. As he brought her flush to him
Faythe stumbled off-balance. 
“This is going to take some work,” he mused. 
“You said I should already be good at it,” she grumbled, pushing away
from him. 
His chuckle pulled at her own mouth. 
 “Tuning your movements to be eloquent enough that you’re not looking
like a stiff board out there will take some work,” he amended. 
“Thanks for the confidence boost.”
The playing stopped, and Faythe caught the hum of words being
exchanged to find a young fae had approached Reylan. The general’s gaze
flashed up, looking past Faythe, who felt compelled to follow it. Livia stood
by the doors dressed in her combat suit, which hugged every beautiful
curve, though Faythe couldn’t admire her for long when something about
her poise and the restlessness of her hands over her buckles gave off an
unusual anxiety. Faythe fought the urge to find out if she’d gathered any
leads on Evander, but it was Reylan she sought alone.
Reylan passed her, and Faythe called with a surge of panic he left
without a word, “Is everything okay?”
He paused as if only just remembering the rest of them. His hard
features smoothed out as he twisted back to her. A mask, she thought. “I’ll
find you later,” he promised.
Her gut churned, twisting to pain when she realized for the first time she
couldn’t trust those words. Or at least, her “later” had become a far smaller
measure of time than his. It had become clear how differently they lived
their lives within the castle walls, and Faythe often wished to be back out
on their wandering days. To continue to pretend that she wasn’t preparing to
see an end. 
“To let you both know,” Izaiah cut in before Reylan could leave, “your
scent is still on her, but it’s faint. I think as long as you continue to be
cautious, no one will suspect anything more than what would linger from
your position as her guard.”
Her guard. She couldn’t accept that no matter how many times she
heard it. Faythe studied the ground, and though she felt his hesitation,
Reylan’s steps away sank her mood. She caught him chatting to Livia
quietly before they both disappeared without so much as a glance back. 
“Now, we have much to teach you and only a month, give or take, in
which to do so.” Izaiah perked up, trying to erase the somber drop in
mood. Faythe appreciated the effort, but her anchor was cast for that day. 
She met eyes with Kyleer, who stood cross-armed with a knowing
smile. 
“I have to leave you as well, I’m afraid,” he announced. 
 That piqued her attention. “Have you found out anything more with
Zaiana?”
He looked between her and Izaiah, his gaze so fleeting she wondered
what it meant. 
“Nothing of importance—right, brother?” Izaiah said.
Faythe couldn’t decipher his tone, but Kyleer’s eyes turned to daggers at
Izaiah, who merely scoffed. 
Kyleer had kept his distance since entering the hall. Faythe hadn’t
questioned why until she began to feel a deeper kind of separation. A
defense, perhaps, although she didn’t know why, and with everything that
swirled her mind with her new status and what it meant, she wondered…did
Kyleer feel his relationship with her had become too personal to be
appropriate?
“Some rogue soldiers tried to extract information without authority,” he
informed her. “It’s set us back. She’s healing from the wounds, but at the
pace of a mortal.”
“How do you plan to get her to talk?”
“He has his ways, it seems,” Izaiah commented. 
Kyleer shot him a warning look. “We’re still figuring her out. Physical
torture won’t work on her.”
“It might if—”
“She’s been through it all.”
Faythe recoiled at the bite in his tone. Kyleer seemed to register his
error as his arms dropped when Izaiah took a step closer to her. 
“Careful where you entangle yourself when it affects us all.”
Kyleer’s jaw flexed as though he wanted to argue with his brother, but
ultimately, his gaze softened as it fell back to Faythe. “I only mean she has
felt torture not even our methods have inflicted. She’s been raised by it.
Physical harm will not get her to talk, and our soldiers only made us look
pathetic to her and proved what she’s been led to believe: that we hate her
kind for their blood and heritage, nothing more.”
Faythe thought for a moment. As much as it roused a fear to pull up the
memory, she thought of their wings, their silver blood, and even the black
blood she had seen spilled. Faythe thought of how they’d only managed to
capture Zaiana because of her sacrifice for her companions. She even
thought of Maverick, how everything he did was wicked and merciless, and
how he would kill Faythe again if given the chance, but…it was for her. For
Zaiana. She couldn’t help but draw the conclusion. 
The dark fae were taught to be monsters, but they were not entirely
monstrous.
“We need to switch tactics,” she thought out loud. 
“I’m trying to learn what I ca—”
“Right down to anatomy,” Izaiah interjected.
“But it’s taking time,” Kyleer finished, ignoring his brother. 
Faythe shook her head to focus since she couldn’t juggle their tension.
“We don’t have time. We have no idea when they plan to strike, and who
knows what Marvellas is planning now?” Faythe wasn’t in the mood for
dancing but would trudge through this lesson. Everything had to form a part
of a bigger plan, and the wheels of her mind were turning. Too much time
had passed, and her fear grew with each passing day they made no
advancement. 
“I’ll speak with her soon,” she said. Zaiana was the only lead they had,
and the task was either to outsmart—something she held little confidence in
—or gain the trust of their deadliest foe. 

After her dance lesson, Faythe couldn’t face her lonely rooms. She found
Jakon and Marlowe but didn’t want to interrupt their peaceful walk through
the gardens.  So she wandered with no destination in mind until what she
found had her staring at the most triumphant sight. Her awe planted her
before the stairs that led to the biggest throne she’d ever seen. The dais
stretched to nearly the full width of the great hall, many dark stone steps
leading up to what she knew to be a throne, but not in the traditional sense
she imagined. This one appeared to grow from the ground beneath it. Dark
stone, except the seat held a familiar crimson sheen.
Fyrestone. 
“Daunting, isn’t it?” 
Malin’s voice appeared behind her like a snake. It slivered up her spine
to lock in her shoulders. 
“Not my description, no,” she answered calmly. 
It wasn’t a lie. Faythe had been marveling at its power and beauty,
playing with the thought of not staring at it, but from it. She had thought
that would flood her with insecurity, but Faythe found the notion
surprisingly exciting.
Malin entered her peripheral, stopping so close it rattled her nerves. “I
didn’t expect to find you wandering alone. Without one of your dogs at
least.”
“Do you call all your respected commanders that?”
“Only those who turn weak in the presence of a pretty face.”
Faythe couldn’t stop her huffed laugh. 
“Amusing, is it?”
“Yes,” she said, still not engaging eye contact. “You continue to
underestimate me, Malin.”
“Your confidence has grown. I like that.”
“Is there a reason you sought me out? Other than your insecurity.”
Faythe breathed through the quick flash that rippled over her. Malin’s rage
she could feel without even a glance, as hot as it was icy. Maybe it wasn’t
wise to rile him, yet she was beyond being silent when she knew how
cunning he was willing to be for the throne.
“The confidence I admire. The arrogance…it doesn’t suit you, Faythe.”
She didn’t believe for a second there was anything he admired about
her. “You say that as if I could give a damn about what you think.”
His chuckle vibrated, darkly smooth. “You want the throne? Go ahead.
Take it.”
Faythe studied how the stone had been carved into a Phoenix’s head at
the top; how the craftsmanship was both harsh and soft, curling stone
feathers embracing the illusion of wings around the back. Her feet moved
while her mind drifted, forgetting her cousin, forgetting the room, as she
simply marveled at the power that called to her.
As she ascended the steps her heartbeat slowed until she was standing
right before the mighty Fyrestone Throne. She didn’t stop, drifting around
the chair to discover what she’d believed to find from the jagged sculpture
she glimpsed below. The back of the carved-out chair brought the entire
image of the Firebird to life. Not smoothly carved; this was harsh and
angular, adding a lethal edge to the depiction. Sharp rock spilled out from
behind like the unraveling of its tail feathers Faythe had seen before in real,
fiery life.
Finishing a full lap, she reached out a hand. The stone emitted a faint
warmth while the daylight glittered its crimson hue. Then she spoke to
Malin, who still watched her from below, answering his attempt to shake
her nerve.
“I already have.”
They locked eyes. A challenge. A defiance. A fight that was far from
over. 
“I trust you two are getting along.” 
Agalhor’s interruption drew both of their attention, dispersing the
tension as if it were their secret battle.
“Of course,” Malin said sweetly, hands clasped behind his back. “We
were just discussing the history of Rhyenelle’s legendary throne. It seems
our princess has much to learn. We should see to it that daily lessons are put
in place. Along with etiquette that could use some work for the upcoming
celebrations.”
Faythe only heard each suggestion as more opportunity to overwhelm
her, and more time spent apart from Reylan. But she could do nothing but
agree with him if she were to ever live up to the standards of fae royalty. 
“It could be advantageous for you, Faythe. Should you so desire.” 
Agalhor stopped below the steps, and Faythe’s palms clammed up as
she realized she stood above him. She wondered if he thought anything of
it. 
“I had similar thoughts myself,” she agreed. 
She hadn’t, and she cursed herself for it. 
Agalhor reached out a hand to Malin’s shoulder. Nothing but a father’s
love warmed his face, but Faythe jolted at the touch, assessing if it was just
her opposition toward her cousin that made her see Malin’s smile as hiding
a cool hatred. “She could learn a lot from you, son. You should tell her of
your time spent in Lakelaria in your second century. It is a magnificent
great island indeed, and we were once close allies before the tragedy that
befell the queen.”
His mention of the kingdom sparked a distant memory. Of the child the
queen had lost, whom Nik had once told her about. Malin’s jaw twitched.
His shoulders moved like his fists, which flexed behind his back, and she
could only pin it down to his lack of desire for the bonding time her father
encouraged. Faythe couldn’t stand the hope he expressed, knowing it would
never be true. Even if she were to rule and Malin stayed in council, she
didn’t believe her cousin would ever let go of his resentment enough to find
love for her.
 “I look forward to teaching her all I know,” Malin responded tightly.
Agalhor didn’t feel the lie, but Faythe turned cold with it. “I have things I
must see to,” he announced, offering a small dip of his head in farewell
before flashing Faythe a final daring look before he left. 
Only then did Agalhor climb the steps to stand level with her, assessing
the grand throne. “I’ll admit I haven’t sat in it much. It’s horribly
uncomfortable.”
Faythe gave a soft laugh. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was crafted by Matheus with the help of Atherius.”
Faythe’s head snapped to him, heart skipping a beat at the mention.
“Atherius was in this hall?”
The vibrations of the king’s chuckles tingled through her fingertips.
“You have seen her—how do you suppose she would have roamed our halls
with her size?”
Faythe’s cheeks flushed, but her mouth curved with the tease. 
The singing of steel echoed, drawing her eyes to the most magnificent
blade. The cross guard fanned like two golden wings, and its pommel shone
with a brilliant eye-shaped ruby. He held it out to her, and Faythe gawked at
him in surprise. 
“The Ember Sword belonged to Matheus,” he explained. 
Faythe’s palms went slick at the thought of holding such an ancient
sword, but at the king’s eager look, she reached out a shaky hand. Testing
the weight, she found it was heavier than her own. Faythe ran her attention
along the metal—no ordinary steel, nor Niltain. “Fyrestone?” she pondered,
admiring the catch of crimson against the dark metal. 
“Yes, but there’s something you should know about how Phoenixes use
their fire.” Agalhor paused, and Faythe read that he was extending his
senses to be sure no ears picked up on their conversation. “The mountains
that surround us are indeed torched crimson from the Phoenixes that flew
across them for centuries. But those bonded with a Phoenix shared more
than a telepathic connection. It is said that the fae were able to manipulate
Phoenixfyre, but only if it was willingly lent by their bonded, making them
lethal partners in any attack. But there was one way to permanently brand
something with the power of a Phoenix.”  His shoulders squared, attention
flicking between her and the sword. “What you hold is a sword from the
embers of Phoenixfyre. Not just touched to give it color like this throne; it
is a weapon said to be able to defeat any foe.”
   Her mouth fell open in astonishment as she realized she could be
holding the single most valuable weapon on the continent. But when Faythe
looked down she drew out a gasp, stumbling back and almost dropping the
sword. Her wrist tingled, warmth expelling from the bright flame on her
amulet over each finger, bringing to life again the stone in the sword. 
“A Phoenix has two eyes,” Agalhor said, entranced. 
“Did you know this whole time?” Faythe breathed, unable to tear her
gaze from the twin flares. 
“Yes. The Eyes of the Phoenix will always find each other.”
Faythe’s face crumpled she was so overcome with that measure of
safety he’d placed on her if she were ever lost. 
“You used it, didn’t you? On your quest…there was a moment the stone
in the sword flared to life. Gods above, I almost sent warriors after you in
my fear for what it could mean. At first it echoed like fear, hot and blazing,
but then it reduced, and while this may sound like madness to anyone else, I
can’t explain how I knew your fear had switched to acceptance. That you
no longer used the eye as a defense but as a merging.”
Agalhor was right. To explain all he eerily knew through the twin eye
would seem impossible. 
“I’m glad,” Faythe choked. She had nothing more to explain how
grateful she was. Her nose stung with the realization he’d been there with
her to face the Firebird. That in some ways he had taken that leap too, and
maybe the echo of his belief had come through enough to give her that
bravery in that moment. 
“I haven’t told anyone this, Faythe.” Agalhor’s voice dropped quiet with
an emotion she couldn’t place. “Having you here put so many things into
perspective for me. You have liberated me, so to speak. It is my hope to step
out of power as soon as you are ready. Maybe in a few decades, maybe in a
century. It will seem long to you at first, but not with the many years you
have ahead of you now, and I want to be able to watch you grow. To see
you sit upon this throne.” 
Faythe blinked to push back the prickling in her eyes. The notion
daunted her, but the pride he coated her with made it insignificant. Her
acceptance left her parted lips so quietly but surely. 
“I want that too.”
 CHAPTER 55

Tauria

I alone. She couldn’t

t took some persuading, but Mordecai agreed to give her the night
be certain if he were occupying another room or
standing by somewhere close to ensure she didn’t have any alternate plan
despite sacrificing her bond. 
She had barely moved in hours. She sat on the edge of the feeble bed at
the inn until the hour she was to slip out. Tauria didn’t feel anything. Her
body became vacant. Everything was too quiet, yet some part of her mind
clung to the denial. She kept searching for him within, waiting for the pull
that she would answer to, waiting to hear the song of his voice to soothe the
terror. 
Too quiet. 
Tauria bounced to her feet. It was a little earlier than they had planned,
but she couldn’t wait here any longer, or she was sure to succumb to her
anxiety and implode. She had to see him. Feel him. Smell him. When all
that assurance had been robbed from her, she had to hear from him that it
would all be okay. 
Slipping cautiously from the room, she knew the hallway was
abandoned from extending her senses. She hoped they were already at their
meeting point, and maybe there would be some part of her mate that would
detect her sooner than expected. Her eyes burned, air restricted. 
Tauria pulled up her hood as she exited the inn and took off in a hurry
while keeping to the shadows. Her adrenaline pushed her forward—perhaps
not as stealthy and aware in her desperation. Past the tree line she dipped
into the woods. Trees surrounded her, and she searched between them
frantically. Her senses felt filled with cotton. She couldn’t feel him, couldn’t
reach him, and the world was spinning and spinning, and she almost
collapsed in defeat, until… 
She stumbled to a halt when she saw him right ahead. Her chest rose
and fell deeply with her inability to know what he felt, what he thought.
Lycus stood nearby with Samara, but she barely registered their presence. 
Tauria broke first, tripping over branches, and she came apart the
moment his arms wrapped around her. She shook with sobs, struggling to
breathe his scent but needing it so badly. Her hands fisted his cloak, his
jacket, while one arm hugged her around the waist and other hand cupped
her nape. 
“I’ve got you, love,” he mumbled softly. “I’ve always got you.”
“Did you feel it?” Tauria whispered against him. 
He turned stiff beneath her as his hand stroked her hair. “I feel you,” he
said. “It changes nothing.”
“It’s gone,” she whimpered, suddenly wondering if it had been worth it.
What had they been thinking?
Nik pulled her back just enough to search her eyes. “I need to go place
the compulsion in Mordecai’s mind,” he said, and she knew this. “We need
to leave you here for a moment. Will you be okay, love?”
Tauria wanted to clutch him tighter, wanted to say no, but she couldn’t.
She simply nodded, swallowing the lump of grief that threatened to
consume her. 
Nik led her over to a large tree, one that created a cozy alcove with the
thick base of its roots. His hands didn’t leave her for a second as he helped
her down. He unclasped his cloak although she already had one and draped
it around her shoulders, and it was only then Tauria realized she was
shivering. 
His palm cupped her cheek, and despite everything Nik smiled softly,
planting a tender kiss to her lips that erupted the first warmth in her chest
since the bond was broken. 
“I’ll be right back. But call and I will hear you still. I will come.”
All she could muster was a nod while inside she begged him to stay, but
Nik stood.
Then he was gone. 
Minutes tormented her as hours. Or days. Or weeks. Tauria sat huddled
against the tree, not feeling present at all anymore. She hugged Nik’s cloak
tight, breathing the scent of him deeply to at least remember she was alive. 
They had been preparing for this for weeks, had come to peace in
knowing they could offer this sacrifice to gain an advantage in the war.
They all had a role to play, and this was bigger than them. 
It didn’t make the void feel any less like it had cleaved from her very
being, a piece of her forever lost. 
Tauria felt him first. Gods, she was so glad to be able to detect his
essence from a small distance as if their bond were now an echo. Still, she
couldn’t move. 
Nik sat beside her. He wordlessly drew an arm around her, and she
shuffled until he cradled her to his chest. She tuned in to the strong, hard
beat of his heart, taking this moment of bliss when her troubles seemed
insignificant in his arms. 
“I love you,” he said quietly. 
Three words that shattered and reformed her world as if she were
hearing them for the first time. She buried her face into his chest; he pressed
his lips to her head. 
“And I choose you, Tauria. I chose you long before we ever got to claim
the bond. It changes nothing, not a single thing, about my feelings. You
know that, right?”
Tauria did. Because she’d always known what lived in her heart, and his
heart was one and the same. For each other, for the world they wanted to
build around them, there had never been a doubt about what they shared. 
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m glad you found me on the rooftop the night
we met. I don’t think I’ve ever told you…I planned to evade as much of the
Solstice Ball as possible. I was up there because people kept escorting me
back to the ballroom when I stepped out to find a moment. Then I saw you,
and after that short encounter I hoped you’d find me inside. I wanted to
annoy the Nether out of you because I hated that you made me want to be
there.” Her head tilted back, meeting emeralds that sparkled against the
tendrils of moonlight filtering through the canopy. Her hand slipped up his
chest, and her exhale stuttered. She still felt the electrifying sensation
brushing the skin of his neck. “You left the next day, and you took a piece
of me with you. The jeweled comb, yes, but also something deeper that you
haven’t let go of since. I never want it back. It’s yours. I am eternally
yours.”
Nik leaned his mouth to hers. Sparks ignited with that kiss. Everything
she knew, but more. A promise forged between them that they were an
unstoppable team and this could not destroy what was bonded to them truer
than magick. 
Her fingers grazed his collar, a sudden anticipation making her shift
onto his lap. A pulse of fear drummed in her chest as she pulled back the
material.  Breath whooshed from her. She hadn’t thought to check herself,
but Tauria’s mating mark still remained on his skin. 
“How?” she wondered out loud, brow pinching now it blared before her
with defiance. She was so damn happy to see it, even if it could fade with
time, that a huff of laughter escaped her. Nik smiled at the sound, and she
couldn’t stop. Her laughter soon turned to a wave of exhaustion, and he
cupped her cheek. 
“Because what we have is something even Marvellas can’t break.” As if
he wanted to be sure, Nik’s touch shivered along her skin, drawing back the
folds of the cloaks to see his mark there.
Tauria grinned, and with it, she broke from the cloud of sorrow. They
were going to be okay. 
“Did everything work with the compulsion and Lycus’s story?” she
asked. 
Nik idly combed through the lengths of her deep brown hair. “I believe
so. He seemed hesitant with Lycus joining us, but Samara is quite
persuasive in this role. I can’t decide if that’s a relief or a concern.”
“Concern?”
“That her allegiance could be swayed. I spent a lot of time with her. She
has a very troubled mind from Zarrius’s manipulation of her, and I can’t
deny I played a secondary role in it.”
“You did what you had to. And she tried to kill you.”
“Maybe I deserved it,” he chuckled.
Tauria shot him a flat look. 
“Having Lycus now means they’ll travel by land. I worried we’d need to
exert ourselves to keep up if he chose to fly with Samara. I can’t say how
long the compulsion will hold, so it’s best to keep a check on it daily in case
his mind starts to rebel.”
 “Did you bring the other Phoenix Blood potion?” She had to check as
this would all be over if he lost the ability to infiltrate Mordecai’s mind. 
He nodded. “I’m surprised it’s held for this long, but while it was heavy
and confusing at first, I quite like it.”
Then he was within her mind, and she almost whimpered.
“It can be as if we never lost anything.”
Tauria hadn’t thought of that. While it wasn’t as personal and sure as
their bond, he could still speak with her in her mind. 
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes, love. Always.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her
cheek. “I promise you, the bond that matters most, the one that was
threaded the moment I found you and has been sewn into every piece of
what I am since…it is unbreakable.”
 CHAPTER 56

Zaiana

K As they walked
’ a word when he came to her cell. Neither did she.
yleer didn t speak
the grim cellblock passageways she couldn’t untangle
the knot in her stomach. No guards were around; he’d come alone. He held
her arm to guide her. Zaiana’s mind raced with multiple possibilities of
where he could be leading her that required he give the guards leave,
though his march expelled anything of pleasant nature. 
They came to a door she recognized, and while she was used to being
routinely dragged to far more torturous places, it seemed her vulnerability
had begun to slip in front of the commander. She hesitated with her footing
but tried to keep walking in the hope he wouldn’t notice, although Kyleer
pulled her to a stop with him.
For the first time, an emotion flexed on his firm features. Disturbance.
Maybe even understanding. “They’re not going to hurt you,” he said, voice
so low she almost missed it. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Especially not
like that again.”
“I don’t care.”
He gave a short nod as though hearing something else entirely. Then he
opened the door, and who greeted them within was far from whom she’d
been expecting. The click of the door sealed them in. Zaiana couldn’t help
it: through the awkward stillness, she chuckled. 
Reylan stood, hand poised on his blade, close to Faythe by a bench on
the other side of the small room. Izaiah lingered against a wall, but out of
them all, he pinned Zaiana with the coldest eyes. Then she noticed two
humans she’d never seen before. The man folded the blonde woman into
him a fraction tighter as Zaiana’s fleeting attention passed over them.
Amusing. 
“You really must be running out of options to have come here yourself,”
Zaiana taunted Faythe. 
“We’ve barely started with you,” Izaiah uttered darkly. 
“You shouldn’t have come,” Kyleer said to him. 
Izaiah huffed a laugh, pushing off the wall. “I had to see the witch for
myself.”
Zaiana’s fingertips pricked with the insult. “You’ve seen me. Now what,
would you like a show?”
He stalked toward her with an aggression she thought looked misplaced
on his tall, impeccable frame. Out of all of them, Izaiah was the least fitting
in this grim setting. “You’re good at those, aren’t you?”
It all made sense then. Zaiana found herself sparing a glance at Reylan,
confirming what she believed since she was still breathing. Izaiah knew
about Kyleer’s transgressions with her, and while Reylan looked to be
puzzling over their tension, she knew it was only a matter of time before he
understood too. 
“Unchain me and find out.”
His smile only grew, and she cursed that it caused Kyleer to step closer
to her. “I think the chains are part of the appeal—right, brother?”
They stared off, the heat in the room rising, or perhaps it was just her
skin that flushed with Izaiah’s boldness.
“Leave,” Kyleer said. One word delivered so icily she knew it was over.
There would be no end to Reylan’s speculation now that they were done
here. 
Zaiana blinked at her wave of dizziness as Izaiah smirked, flashing her
his attention for a fleeting moment—a warning—before he left. She
shouldn’t care about the petty arguments they might have had or what the
repercussions would be for Kyleer. Yet her throat began to tighten as
something twisting and nauseous filled her stomach. A hand grazed her
back, but Zaiana jerked away from it. It was as if a jolt of her lightning had
snapped all sense back into her at once. 
“Why am I here?” she demanded. 
Faythe and Reylan were still confused over Kyleer, but her voice
seemed to draw them out of their thoughts too. Wood scraped across wood,
and what Zaiana beheld on the table straightened her posture with disbelief.
She found herself unable to tear away as she muttered, “You are all damn
fools for flaunting that in front of me.”
Faythe only shrugged, taking up a lean against the bench, fingers idly
tracing the ancient markings. “I want to know how you can wield it.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
“I have plenty.”
“No, you don’t. You’re desperate, and this is your last resort.” Zaiana
looked over them as though waiting for the punchline. They remained firm-
faced, and she huffed a laugh with the shake of her head. “Best get me into
those bonds again, Commander.”
Zaiana didn’t look to the wall the shackles hung from. Didn’t drop her
gaze to the spot on the floor where she’d hung at the soldiers’ mercy. Didn’t
glance at Kyleer for his reaction. 
“We’re not going to waste energy on that,” Reylan said. 
“Then why are we all here? Should I expect a damn tea party?”
Faythe ignored her. “Dakodas can’t wield her ruin. Neither can
Marvellas. So they trained you to do it… How many others?” 
“Aren’t you powerful enough on your own now?”
Her silence grew Zaiana’s smile. 
“You can’t even control that, can you? Yourself.”
Faythe reached out a hand, and the cobalt flame from the torch against
the wall snuffed out, cloaking them all in darkness before it reignited in her
palm. 
“Nice trick.”
“I’m not one thing. But slowly, I will control it all.” 
“Perhaps…” Zaiana watched Faythe return the fire, trying not to give
feeling to the thoughts of a certain dark fae the blue flame stirred. “But like
I said, you don’t have time.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A warning.”
“So you know what Dakodas and Marvellas are planning.”
“Do you really think I would tell you?”
Their standoff was somewhat thrilling. Zaiana couldn’t deny that
remembering her fight with Faythe made her want a rematch now to test
what she might be capable of. 
“Zai.” 
 Her stomach sank with the soft tone in which he spoke her name in
front of the others. She swallowed hard, trying to salvage what she could to
convince them the complete opposite of all he was exposing. 
He added first, “You don’t want her to get the information the other
way.”
It dawned on her then. Zaiana hadn’t prepared for this. Through her
reckless planning Faythe hadn’t been here, with no sure timeline for when
or if she would return. The one with the greatest weapon in the whole
damned castle, and Zaiana couldn’t be sure of the strength of her powers
now. 
“You’ll do it anyway,” she accused, a fear rising that she wasn’t
accustomed to. Didn’t know a way out from. 
“It is not my desire to infiltrate your mind,” Faythe said. “But I will.”
Zaiana’s mind had been well-guarded over centuries, but she knew her
weaknesses. The Niltain Steel could have an effect on her mental barriers,
and she wasn’t sure of Faythe’s strength. If it wasn’t enough… A stiff chill
rattled her bones at the thought of the Temple Ruin, which remained
concealed for now. 
“It took me centuries to wield the ruin, and it was not without a
suffering you couldn’t imagine,” Zaiana bit out. “There were many times I
nearly didn’t survive. They wouldn’t have cared. It’s as if it sets you on fire
from the inside out, but worst of all, it is a fire of your own making. Fire
you should be able to control, yet it devours you instead. It is the worst
torture, and if you want my advice, I’d learn to win this war without it.”
“That’s not an option if they have others who can wield the ruins they
have—”
“There’s only me. Many tried and their lives were forfeited on as little
as the first attempt. Some made it close to being able to master it, but
ultimately, magick won.”
“So what makes you different?”
Zaiana breathed a long sigh. “I guess you could say the Gods are having
a wicked time with my eternal torment.”
“Where is Marvellas keeping hers?” Faythe diverted the topic.
“I do not know.”
Her eyes flexed with impatience. “Where is Marvellas?”
“You’ll have to be more specific with your questions, Your Highness.
She is but a fable to me.”
 “You expect me to believe she’s controlled the dark fae and never
shown herself?”
“How do you think she managed to reduce her existence to a fairy tale?”
Zaiana shook her head at their lack of common sense. “One with that much
determination doesn’t go making herself known even to her allies. Until the
time is right.”
“Now.” The blonde human spoke, her voice too soft, too delicate, for
their hostile company, though she wore her confidence well. “Marvellas is
making herself known now. She openly exposed herself to us, and to Nik
and Tauria.”
“It seems your hourglass is running out of sand. She’ll be coming for
you with more determination than ever, Faythe Ashfyre.”
“Where’s Maverick?”
The death promise in those two words dropped all warmth out of the
room. Zaiana dared to give the general her attention, refraining from
reacting. 
“I would not know.”
He ground his teeth, and Zaiana braced herself. “You know more than
you’re letting on.”
“You’re not asking the right questions,” she sang.
“Faythe.” Reylan’s fists trembled with restraint. 
Faythe deliberated the question in his tone while Zaiana assessed the
exchange. 
“You can’t take her power to enter my mind,” she concluded, skipping
with triumph that she was learning more of them than they were of her.
That lethal stare from the general eased all at once when it slid down to
Faythe. “I’ll do it—I just need you to give me it.”
“I’ve answered all your questions,” Zaiana defended, a cruel slither of
fear taking over.
Though it was not enough. Of course they would never trust her. 
“I can’t take that chance,” Faythe said, and she felt her test the barrier of
her mind. “As you said, we don’t have time.”
The pressure increased, and Zaiana knew then that while she could hold
it off, in her weakened state Faythe would break through with enough force.
Panic wasn’t an emotion she juggled well. She didn’t feel it often enough to
know how to manage it. Or at least she hadn’t in a long time. 
 Zaiana stumbled back, caught by a firm force. “I’ll tell you what you
want to know,” she breathed. 
Faythe couldn’t get inside. It was the one torture she could not stand,
the invasion of everything dark and ugly and unforgivable.  Zaiana wasn’t
afraid to admit those things, wasn’t even scared of Faythe seeing what made
her a dark force. It was her memories, those locked away even from herself,
that Zaiana was terrified for her to be able to unlock. Maybe she wouldn’t
even realize—not until it was too late and they were both standing there in
the face of all she couldn’t be seen to be. 
“Stop,” she tried. Her eyes clamped shut as she focused everything she
had left to keep that barrier firm, but Faythe’s power pushed stronger, more
than any other she’d felt before. “Stop.”
“Faythe, she said she’d tell you.” Kyleer’s voice became distant, but it
vibrated at her back. 
“Stay out of this, Ky,” Reylan commanded. 
Breathing came in short gasps. An arm folded around her as she
doubled over, dizzy with the mental toll it took to keep that block firm. 
“I’ll only see what I need to.”
Faythe’s voice in her mind only signaled she was winning.  Zaiana
couldn’t bite back the single breathy whimper that escaped her lips. She
didn’t care how feeble she would seem to them, only that the one place she
had left was about to be infiltrated and there would be nowhere left to go.
No place safe for her childish thoughts, her dark thoughts, her lonely, pitiful
thoughts. Her mind was a cage, as cruel as it was kind, but it was safe. The
only part of her left untouched, unmoved, uninfluenced. 
Voices chatted, maybe shouted. Zaiana wasn’t wholly present in the
room anymore as Faythe finally cracked through the barrier of her mind.
Instead, she was falling. She wanted to be anywhere but here, in her own
mind. Zaiana wanted out of there if she was to be forced to endure another
mind combing through the wickedness of all she was inside. 
All at once the pressure eased, just before Faythe took her opening.
Zaiana breathed hard, slammed her walls back up, and slowly came around
to her surroundings. Kyleer was holding her tightly, but they’d both fallen
to their knees. 
No one spoke for a long moment while her dazed mind cleared. Her
eyelids stung from tiredness and weakness and the realization of all she’d
let slip before the enemy she couldn’t bring herself to look at. She focused
only on the cracked gray stone, feeling at one with it. Broken, only an
illusion of strength, when all it would take was one strike for her to never
be the same again. 
Footsteps shuffled then halted. 
“I said we’ll find it another way.” Faythe’s command was firm. 
Kyleer should have let her go. Zaiana should have shrugged him off.
Yet she could do nothing but succumb to her weakness in that moment. It
wasn’t a lack of physical strength that kept her from killing them all right
now; it was that her mind embraced a numbness that made her forget about
her will to escape. She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of their boots
against stone, the creak of the door hinges, and then silence. 
“What happened?” Kyleer asked softly. She couldn’t bear his tenderness
—not when she knew he would suffer for it later. 
Her dry lips cracked open. “Take me back.”
 CHAPTER 57

Tarly

H restricted in his astightif throat.

is boots felt they were filled with stones. His breaths were
Not even the chill of the misty rain could
cool the heat of his skin. Footsteps—no, too many, too light. Paws caught
up to him. Katori ran ahead, and he followed the beast, trusting this time it
would be Nerida. He pushed the confrontation behind him while all he
could focus on was finding her, at least to simply explain. 
Tarly could have collapsed when he spied her hair through the staggered
trees. The silvery sight of it had become a beacon of relief. He called her
name, but she didn’t falter her hurried pace. In his weakened state and with
a drumming filling his ears, he couldn’t be certain it left his lips with the
velocity he intended. He recited it in his mind as though it would build
enough tension to push past his choking airways. 
“Nerida!”
She had to have heard him. He blinked the mist from his eyes, catching
her pace as it slowed, and only with reluctance did she stop to let Katori
catch up to her first. Tarly came to a stop a few paces away, bracing on his
knees for stability. Nerida whirled to him. Her face seemed momentarily
blank, but it morphed to surprise and then concern as she saw the state of
him, but she stayed back.
“Tarly,” she uttered, and despite everything, he enjoyed the sound of his
real name coming from her lips. “Tarly Wolverlon, I presume. That’s why
you wouldn’t tell me.”
 He knew she would guess. If she hadn’t heard Isabelle, Nerida was too
smart and well-read not to put the pieces together at hearing such a well-
known name. 
“I can explain,” he rasped.
She shook her head, and urgency caused him to straighten. “I don’t need
you to. But I think it’s best we go our separate ways. The library isn’t far
from here.”
His brow furrowed as he contemplated her response. She didn’t display
the anger or outrage or disgust he thought she would. Nerida seemed…
wary. 
“It means nothing,” he tried. “I’m not that person anymore. I turned my
back on them like a coward, and I’ve accepted I have no right to that name
anymore.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
“What does that mean?” He took a step toward her, but she retreated a
step in response, angling her body as if she would take off any second.
“Please.” The plea slipped from his mouth before he could swallow it.
Her features creased, and he couldn’t bear the conflict. Tarly realized
his error. Like a rough dislodging of the dagger Isabelle had submerged into
him and twisted, he understood. 
He couldn’t make that mistake again. 
“Go,” he said.
Nerida didn’t move. It was in her nature to care, but he wouldn’t allow
another person to feel trapped with him.
“Be safe, Nerida.”
Tarly turned away, shuffling his steps and feeling as if he were trudging
through a sinking swamp. He listened to her stillness for minutes until she
turned too, and the realization they would be going their separate ways
made him tunnel into despair.
He didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care if the darkness that called to him
now was final, when existing had become too much for him to bear. 

He remembered finding a shallow cave for shelter. Remembered his fire

dying out but being unable, uncaring enough, to find the strength to ignite it
again. He remembered instead curling into himself against the chill,
deciding this pitiful end seemed fitting for the little he had lived.
In reflection, Tarly could think of nothing he had left to make him want
to keep suffering for. He hadn’t had anything for some time, yet he kept on
waking to the demand of dawn that urged him to keep trying. But trying had
become exhausting. Trying had become wandering. Trying became never
achieving but never failing either.
Trying was just…existing.
Tarly thought of Opal, his sister, who was a bright light he vowed to
keep from the plague of his gray cloud whatever it took. He feared it was a
force that, once touched, seized, controlled, and doused the world bleak.
Opal saw in color and vibrancy, and it was for her he kept answering the
sunrise. Yet now she was safe and away from him. At least, that was all he
could tell himself to keep from being consumed by the guilt he’d had to
leave her with Keira and hope they made it to the farmhouse he’d sent them
to. 
Warmth slowly returned to him. Tarly no longer shivered; he lay back,
feeling slightly more comfortable. He wasn’t sure how much time passed.
Hours, likely days. Possibly weeks. His consciousness drifted in and out
endlessly. 
When a loud crack jolted him awake, he drew a long breath that felt as
if it had sat in his throat for too long. Clarity came to him enough that he
was able to distinguish the flickering amber flame against stone. Something
was cushioned under his head, which lolled to find the fire blazing.
“Don’t move too fast—” 
The voice alerting him to another presence made him wince, contrary to
the command. Tarly blinked a few times, his vision tilted, and all he could
think upon witnessing the silvery locks and glowing skin was angel. 
She came fully into focus, and he stared long enough to believe she was
real… 
Nerida was here. 
“You left,” he said, scrambling to remember something he might have
missed. 
“So did you,” she answered, tending to something on her knees. “I
guess we’re even.”
Tarly pushed up, wincing. Nerida paused her work, her expression
concerned, fearful, hesitant to speak, but he waited patiently. 
 “I need you to know I understand what it’s like to want to remain
hidden. To be someone else. It’s not your secrecy that made me try to walk
away, Tarly.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s the problem,” she confessed, brow creasing with a sadness so
disturbing to him. “I’ve wandered many places for many years on my own.
I’ve made friends, but they can never stay. I’ve lived in houses, but never a
home.” 
Tarly started to realize what she was trying to explain. “Nerida isn’t
your real name,” he said carefully. 
The confirmation came in the way she fidgeted with her fingers in her
lap. “It’s one of them.” 
Tarly was overcome with an unexpected pride that she found she could
trust him enough to share something so closely guarded. He wondered how
many others, if any, knew. 
“But if you need to know more, I can’t stay.”
“I don’t,” he said quickly. Against all that felt heavy and aching still, he
sat up, a hand propping him up from behind. “I don’t need to know
anything. I’m not leaving you. But if you must leave me, I won’t stop you.”
Nerida smiled, but it was barely-there. She finished with what she was
working on. 
“Remove your shirt,” she instructed quietly, looking away for him to do
so. 
He had questions, but he was too tired to ask them. Tarly turned toward
the fire, teeth clenching against stiff, sore muscles as he folded out of his
shirt, realizing Nerida had somehow managed to remove his cloak and he’d
been lying on it. 
“What happened back there?” She closed in, the echo of her presence
tingling over him. “Your fever came out of nowhere. You’ve been in and
out of consciousness for days.”
Tarly turned hollow with the fresh memory she inspired. He thought
he’d feel a deeper heartache or longing, but all he embraced was closure.
He wasn’t wanted by his mate—a fact he could do nothing but accept when
it would not change. As much as he loved her and believed a part of her
loved him back, it was not enough. 
“You didn’t hear it all?” he asked.
 Soft hands touched his shoulder, making his breath hitch with the
coolness she spread there. “I was too afraid after hearing your name. I-I left
as soon as I concluded the family name that went with it.”
“She was my mate.”
Nerida halted spreading the salve she’d made. “Was?”
It was a careful question, one she wouldn’t press to know the answer to,
but Tarly didn’t have anything to hide. 
“She rejected the bond right there, but she decided I wasn’t her life
match long ago. I didn’t believe she was still alive.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “Magick doesn’t always think of the
heart in its will to find a comparable match. It can overlook many things.”
“Have you met—” Tarly halted, thinking better of the personal question
he had no right to ask. He heard her nervous swallow and accepted it wasn’t
a topic she wished to discuss. Though it riddled him with a desire to
know…
“I didn’t realize the effects of a rejected bond,” she diverted sadly. 
Tarly glanced vacantly into the fire. Hearing the confirmation that
Nerida hadn’t experienced it before was a relief, for it was misery he’d
suffered, and he’d never wish the same on her. Though it inspired a selfish,
entitled thought. 
He huffed a dry laugh. “Imagine being punished for not being wanted.”
Tarly pulled his mother’s necklace from his pocket. “She faked her death to
escape me and left this on the remains of someone I’ll never know.”
He thought he felt ripples of anger and sorrow, but that didn’t seem right
coming from her. 
“That’s cruel and wrong, and you did not deserve that.”
It wasn’t the response he expected. Tarly could hardly stand the sight of
the pendant dangling in his grasp, only seeing rejection reflecting over it. In
an impulsive rage he went to toss it into the fire, but Nerida’s small hand
wrapped around his wrist. Their eyes met, so close as she leaned over that
they shared breath. 
Until she tore her gaze from him to fix it on the necklace.
“A healer’s charm. You can only get these from the academy on
Lakelaria’s capital, Alandra. The color of the stone changes depending on
what stage of training has been completed. Amethyst is the first.”
While Nerida admired the pendant, Tarly admired her. The way she
spoke like a song, the wonder smooth on her features. He was so grateful
for the small tale he’d never heard before.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It was my mother’s,” he admitted. “It feels tainted now. She told me to
give it to someone who would protect it. I failed her by giving it to someone
who disregarded it to trick me.”
Nerida didn’t speak. He watched her pinched face, thoughtful as she
stared at the dangling pendant. Tarly’s anger fell. He retracted his arm, and
she let go of her soft grip on him.
“Do you have one?” he asked.
 Nerida shuffled back. “I did.”
“What happened to it?”
“It was taken from me before my final exam. Broken in front of me.
And that night I left.”
Tarly felt an unexplainable wash of dread, a creeping heat of rage.
“Who did that to you?”
Nerida shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You matter,” he said before he could stop himself. 
Large hazel eyes glittered with an ache he knew, a longing he felt. It
was so brief he didn’t know if it came from his own feelings or if he drew
them from hers.
“Here.” He extended the charm to her. 
Nerida shook her head sharply. “I can’t possibly take that.”
“I want you to.” It was all he could do when he could think of no one
else deserving of it. His only regret…was that he hadn’t met Nerida first.
He couldn’t stop the flashes of what could have been had they known each
other long ago. It hit him so surely, so heartbreakingly, with guilt to think
she’d made more of an imprint on him in their short time than Isabelle had
in centuries. 
Tarly dropped his graze with self-resentment. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t
worthy of either. He lowered his hand, but a softness encased it. 
“Are you sure?” she asked quietly. 
He nodded without hesitation.
A faint spark lit in his stomach when she took it from him. He watched
in utter fascination as the amethyst color began to swirl, changing, until it
stilled to a beautiful emerald green. 
“I didn’t think it would do that considering my abandonment of the
academy.”
 “Maybe it knows you did what you had to do.”
Tarly was slowly beginning to read between the lines of her story, but he
would be patient. “Would you?”
Nerida extended it back to him, and he read the signal, but his pulse
skittered. She turned, holding the clasp to him behind her nape, and he took
it slowly. Maybe purposefully.
Shifting until he felt her warmth, he secured the necklace, but his
fingers lingered desirous at the feel of her bare skin. Tarly subconsciously
swept the few strands of hair she’d missed. He wanted to lay his lips on her
back, her shoulder, her neck… Gods, he’d never wanted to know what a
person would feel like, taste like, so badly. It was all that clouded his
senses. 
Her head turned, breathing shallow. She said softly, “You didn’t deserve
that torment.”
Tarly eased away from her.
When she turned and he saw the pendant resting against her smooth
brown skin, liberation overcame him. He didn’t deserve to think it, feel it,
as he’d given the necklace away before, but in Nerida’s possession…it
lifted a burden to know it was unquestionably safe with her. 
“You don’t know me. What court is like—”
“I know escaping by whatever means can seem like the only option,”
she cut in firmly. “I don’t believe for a second you would have forced her to
stay had she spoken her mind.”
“Maybe not with chains and threats—”
Nerida’s wince halted him as if he’d slammed into stone. 
He couldn’t resist. “Has someone—?”
“We should go back for the horse. We could be at the library before
evening tomorrow.” She cut him off, taking a deep breath and busying
herself with the few items she had.
Something dangerous stirred within him. Her flinch replayed in his
mind, over and over, and he wanted to know. Who, when, where? He
wanted to see if they’d left marks on her wrists he hadn’t noticed before. He
should have paid her more attention, as she deserved.
He realized it wasn’t a story to drag from her, and though it took effort
to cool his wrath and he was far from letting it go, he could wait to hear
what had caused that disturbance. Then he’d make sure it could never draw
terror from her again. 
 “I sold the horse,” he said, needing a distraction. 
“If you’d found me first, I could have told you I got decent coin in
exchange for my skills.”
“I didn’t trade for coin.” Tarly’s nerves made him shift before he could
meet her question. Momentarily, he sank in thinking he’d lost what he was
looking for. Until he found the small satchel next to where he lay. “You
didn’t look inside?”
“It’s not mine.”
Anxiously, he reached for it, scratching the back of his neck as he
passed it to her. “It is.”
Tarly had to turn from her, focusing on the heat from the fire, which he
raised his palms to, itching to take it back when he couldn’t be sure why.
Only that he felt foolish.  He listened to her open it, finding out what was
within, and wordlessly she examined it. Tarly’s tense muscles only
tightened more without knowing what she made of it. If it was even close to
what she needed. 
“You didn’t have to,” she said quietly, the emotion in her voice aching
in him. 
“They seemed important,” he muttered. “The ones you lost.” He didn’t
turn back, knowing she was examining the pouch of small bottles, each
with their own slot so she could see them all clearly. 
A scent drifted to him that straightened his spine. He inhaled again to be
sure. Salt. Her tears… He didn’t know what to do, what could have inspired
them, and suddenly an awful twisting clenched his gut and he had to look at
her. 
“I didn’t mean to remind you of—”
“It’s not that,” she said quickly, wiping her face and plastering on a new
expression. “It doesn’t matter.”
Of course it matters, he wanted to say. Yet Nerida didn’t seem willing to
talk. Her fingers lingered over a pair of silver scissors, and the upturning of
her mouth eased his quick drop of heaviness. 
“We can cut that hair of yours before people think this cave is your
dwelling place.”
Tarly couldn’t help but match her teasing and surrendered to her,
allowing her to do what she wanted. He couldn’t deny the length now
touching his shoulders had become burdensome to maintain. “As you
wish,” he grumbled, but in truth he was grateful. More for the spark of
excitement it brought out in her as she slid the scissors free and reached for
a waterskin she must have picked up in town.
“Tip your head back,” she instructed. 
The cool water running over his hair made him shudder with a chill. He
straightened again, and the first feel of her fingers combing over his scalp
was bliss. Her hands anywhere always seemed to relax him, but this… She
massaged from his roots to his ends several times, and the sensation
quickened his breathing, feeling like something intimate. Then she began to
cut. 
“You don’t have to answer,” she began, searching for something to fill
the silence, “but what happened to bring you out here? I heard your father
was ruling well. Olmstone has stood for some time with the help of its allies
in Rhyenelle.”
Tarly thought about whether he should share what he knew with her.
Not out of fear of her knowing his past, his family, but because of
something far worse. He couldn’t stand the thought of any tie to him putting
her in danger. 
“Nothing is always as it seems,” he offered. “My father was a broken
male. He had been for some time after losing my mother. He lost his way
long ago and became easy to manipulate. Nerida—”
She paused at hearing her name, and what rose within him was
desperation.
“After the library, after we part, you should deny you ever met me. I
don’t know what is left of the court since Nik and Tauria left. I abandoned
them all like a coward only to see my sister to safety. I can’t be sure if
they’re seeking me still, and it’s safer if you forget me.”
Nerida didn’t answer for a long time. Didn’t resume her cutting. “Tauria
Stagknight?”
He almost twisted to see if the disbelief in her tone was reflected on her
face, but she reached for his hair as if to distract him from the fact she’d
backtracked to the name at all. 
“You did what you had to do,” she said. “Is your sister safe?”
The question made his thoughts drift to her. Knowing he couldn’t give a
sure answer rained down on him like failure. “I hope so,” he said, more to
himself, with a note of yearning. If Nerida wasn’t going to double back to
the one who’d caught her intrigue, Tarly was. “You said you lived in
Fenstead for some time—did you meet Tauria?”
 She seemed to debate her answer. Shuffling around him, cutting hair
that fell around his face. He only held faith she knew what she was doing.
“Of course not,” she settled on. “I glimpsed her a few times from afar like
everyone else, I’m sure.”
The brush-off felt deliberate. She was withholding something. 
“Did you…have something with her?” Nerida hedged. 
“Yes. Though not really in the way you’re thinking.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Nerida came to his side,
fingers working delicately through his hair. Tarly managed to steal a few
glances, only struck now with clarity about why she’d never felt like a
perfect stranger. 
“You remind me of her,” he said thoughtfully, hoping she wouldn’t take
it the wrong way.
“I can’t see why,” Nerida huffed, shuffling a little away from him. 
“I think it was your eyes at first,” he went on.
“They’re a common color.”
He wanted to object that they were the exact same hue of hazel, darker
than his, but with warm tendrils when they caught the light. Like now. He
couldn’t help but fixate on them as she circled him to stop right in front of
him, high on her knees, assessing and combing and cutting his hair, which
felt so much lighter and tamer already. 
“Then it was your determination and bravery. You two could storm
together, wind and water.”
Nerida pretended not to take his words too seriously, but faint flickers
around her eyes and the quirk of her mouth told him she enjoyed the
thought. “Did you have feelings for her?”
“I wanted to,” he confessed, earning a pinch of her brow. “Her heart
always belonged to another, and mine… I could never have loved her like
she deserved.”
  Nerida’s hands combed through his hair slowly, admiring her work
before her gaze dropped to his. 
“Why do you think that?”
He could hardly breathe with her position. “I don’t have that kind of
love to give. Not anymore.”
Nerida lowered, her fingers still lingering at the back of his head, and
his pulse beat hard. “I don’t believe that,” she said, hushed and wondering. 
 The impulse to touch her flexed his fingers against the stone, a rush of
desire to draw his arm around her and pull her so close it frightened him. 
“Why?” The question slipped out as barely a breath. Perhaps he
wondered what she saw that he couldn’t feel within. 
“Because that’s too easy,” she said, her gaze holding him still. “That
allows the ones who’ve hurt us to win. I can’t accept that. Time won’t
forget—or heal. We have to do that for ourselves. It may be the hardest
thing we have to face, but if you still have a will to try…it’s not the end for
you.”
A will to try. 
Tarly’s chest gave a full beat, a thump of warm enlightenment that
lingered in his pulse, fleeting but there.
A will. 
He did touch her then—had to—slowly, from her waist, and when her
lips parted but she didn’t retreat, he curved his hand around her. Their faces
inched closer, and he held his breath. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered
about the feel of her lips, and fear erased in at the closeness of her. He felt
the tightening of her fingers in his hair, the way she seemed to give over to
the gravity that pulled them together in that moment…
Until it stopped as if a wall had slammed between them. Nerida turned
rigid the moment his arm curled all the way around her, and he was so close
to bringing their bodies flush together and surrendering to the unexplainable
current that grew. 
“I can’t,” she said with a note of pain like she was denying herself what
she wanted. Nerida pulled away, and the fire couldn’t replace the loss of her
warmth that ran far below the surface.
Tarly threw his guard up, realizing his foolishness to make an advance
on someone he couldn’t get attached to anyway. He shuffled away to seek
more distance, overcome with suffocation and a need to be alone. 
“I’m—”
“I don’t need your pity, Nerida. I don’t need you to try to replace
something I just lost,” he said darkly. The words burned like acid, and he
knew she didn’t deserve them, but he had no other way to set the boundary
that would keep them from feelings that could break them both.
 CHAPTER 58

Reylan

R a response after escorting

eylan marched the halls after leaving the cells, barely able to muster
Faythe to her rooms with a promise he
wouldn’t be long. He had one thing on his reeling mind that wouldn’t settle
after the confrontation below. 
Kyleer came into view down the next hall, and Reylan’s eyes flashed at
the sight of him. This was after all who he’d been on the hunt for. His
brother seemed to brace for his wrath, flinching when Reylan took him by
the jacket and slammed him to the wall. 
“I thought I could trust you,” he snarled low. 
Kyleer pushed him away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your games with her end now. This infatuation ends now.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Kyleer matched his
dominance with a dangerous, palpable energy, and there was no telling what
they would do. Reylan had fought him before, not always in training. They
were brothers in all ways except by blood, and that came with challenging
each other when it was called for. It could get messy and ugly, and the
victor usually depended on who was more pissed off. 
“After all she did, all Maverick did, how could you betray Faythe like
that?”
“Zaiana isn’t Maverick.”
Reylan laughed, the sound cold and dark, as he dove a hand through his
hair. He could barely stand to look Kyleer. “They are dark fae. The enemy
who seeks to destroy us all and is preparing to strike this very moment. I
didn’t believe you’d ever let beauty cloud your judgment. A prisoner is still
a prisoner.”
“You’re wrong. I’m getting through to her more than those damn
soldiers could by whipping her—more than you could by forcing
yourselves into her mind.”
“There is no mercy for those like her.”
“You’re only proving her right in painting her a monster just by her
blood.”
Reylan’s fist slammed into the wall, splitting the stone. “There is no
mercy because she harmed Faythe,” he seethed. “She would have killed her,
and you’re a damn fool if you think she wouldn’t try again given the
chance. And let me be clear to you, Kyleer: she will not get the chance to be
free around her.”
“I would have thought you of all people should believe in second
chances. The will to change, brother.”
Reylan’s breathing came hard. He had to close his eyes to block out his
implication. He battled memories that flooded to the surface at those words,
unable to silence them now Kyleer had pinned him with the dark notes of
his past. 
“You would liken me to her?” he asked with a chilling calm. “To
them?” He couldn’t help it. There was no looking at Zaiana without seeing
Maverick, and it took physical restraint every day not to do something
impulsive with her in reach. To draw Maverick here in the hopes she was
important enough to him, or perhaps his torment would relent enough if he
only killed her for now. 
“You know I would never betray Faythe,” Kyleer said carefully. “I need
you to trust me. Please.”
Reylan’s eyes scrunched with a plea so rare it struck him to realize how
deeply Kyleer felt about this. “You care for her.” 
“I can’t explain it,” he confessed. “But I would never trust her if I
believed she was capable of killing Faythe.”
“She is more than capable.”
“Willing then. I cannot convince you with mere words; I only beg for
time. Let me try to get through to her. Think about it, Reylan. With Zaiana
on our side…it would change the tide of this battle completely. Think about
what she knows, who might answer a call to join her. Those leading the
dark fae…I believe to be her enemies too. She’s smart. Too smart—”
 “Yet you cannot see her playing you right into a game you will lose,
Ky.”
“You’re hardly the one to preach on this,” he snapped.
Reylan was so damn close to losing his temper, and his fist trembled at
Kyleer’s tone.
“Let me continue to handle this. That’s all I ask.”
Reylan couldn’t stand his hopeful words, his hidden message that the
king could not know since his wrath could be far worse than Reylan’s. 
Izaiah interrupted with a slow approach. “So we all stand by on the
sidelines and watch you court the prisoner in the hopes you can make a
dead heart beat?”
Kyleer’s fists tightened, and while Reylan took no pleasure in having
Izaiah side with him, it was a relief to know he wasn’t totally biased in his
opinions where Faythe was concerned. 
“It’s not like that,” Kyleer growled. 
“Oh?” Izaiah strolled nonchalantly, hands in his pockets. “She’s all over
you, brother. You couldn’t hide that kind of entangled scent even by rolling
in the stables.” Then Izaiah’s expression released its accusation. “Tell me
it’s just lust. That I could understand. Tell me you don’t truly feel for her.”
“You think I didn’t notice how often you visited the cells before we had
her? Even now, your absence hasn’t gone unnoticed,” Kyleer snapped. 
Reylan studied the tightening of his lips, the trembling of his poise. It
was so unlike Kyleer to lash out at his younger brother that he braced to
step between them. 
“If you’re going to accuse me of something, say it outright, Ky,” Izaiah
challenged. 
“Let’s just say you checked up far less on the darkling.”
“She was hardly a threat.”
“You mean she hardly held the appeal of Tynan.”
Izaiah stepped up to Kyleer, and while Reylan was ready to grapple with
them both if needed, he stayed back. 
“At least I knew where to draw the line and not fall for a pretty face.”
“Stop this,” Reylan cut in, his mind finally clearing to see the
wrongness of the tension between the three of them and where it had come
from. “If we let this continue then they win without having to do a damn
thing,” he hissed. He ran a hand over his face in exasperation. “We need to
know more about the ruin, how it can be wielded. Faythe seems to think we
need all of them to send Marvellas back to wherever in the Netherworld she
came from. Faythe fears them because they speak to her, and reaching for
their power could destroy the damn world if she doesn’t know how to
control them first.” 
He couldn’t believe he was about to turn his back on the trap he feared
his brother was falling into. Agalhor couldn’t find out, or Reylan knew the
punishment that might befall him would be out of his hands completely. 
“You have to be discreet with however you go about it. I don’t like it, I
don’t agree with it, and we are running out of time. If you can’t get
anything of use from her in a week, we do this my way,” Reylan decided.
Then, when his anger cooled, all he could surface was his concern. “But
you need to be careful. She’s cunning, smart. She lures people in to get
what she wants, and I can’t stand by and watch you fall victim too.”
“I’m not a victim,” Kyleer defended. “I don’t care for your opinion of
her. She spared Faythe’s life—don’t forget that.”
Reylan risked unleashing his barrel of rage upon Kyleer. Anger that had
built from the moment he returned with Faythe. Resentment and anguish
and a pitiful yearning. For everything she was—stunning, powerful, royal;
everything he couldn’t consider himself worthy of matching. He’d heard the
council all but agree she was a prize too high for someone like him. She
deserved a lord or a prince, or anyone of wealth and status. He had nothing.
Nothing to offer her but his heart, which he feared wasn’t enough. 
“One week,” he uttered, and he couldn’t look at Kyleer again before
storming away. 

Reylan hesitated outside Faythe’s room, battling the sense to stay away
from intimate contact but raging with the need to see her. Bracing a hand on
the frame, he lost his fight and knocked.
Barely a heartbeat passed before the door swung open. Her lips parted
to speak, but Reylan broke. His mouth claimed hers, and the soft noise of
surprise only caused him to hook his hands under her thighs and find the
nearest wall, where he pressed into her, unable to get close enough, taste
enough, feel enough. It was inexplicably maddening. The eternal flame he
held for her blazed into an untamed inferno. 
 It took everything in him to pull away before he snapped and buried his
scent into her. He leaned his forehead into her collar while both their chests
heaved with his unexpected assault. Her fingers relaxed their tight grip in
his hair. 
“What was that for?” she asked through a delightful breathlessness. 
“For everything, Faythe,” he answered quietly. “For existing.”
Her huffed laugh didn’t just flutter his chest; it fucking ached. He didn’t
want it to ever stop hurting, this reminder of how alive he felt with her.
“I should exist more often.”
His mouth curled faintly before his brow pinched and he squeezed her
thighs. “I want to sink my teeth into this pretty throat of yours so badly it’s
torture.”
Her legs clamped around him tighter, and he groaned. “I want that too.”
“Why did you stop? In the cells, after all she did to you…why offer her
mercy?” Reylan searched those glittering amber eyes as he made it to the
bed and sat, keeping her straddling his lap. He couldn’t ease this tightening
in his gut and wanted to know how she had it in her to be merciful even to
those who’d wronged her and would do so again. 
“You didn’t feel her terror,” Faythe tried to explain. 
“She didn’t care for yours. Or for any of your weaknesses on that
battlefield when she hurt you over and over as a dark fae against a
human.” And he hadn’t been there. His eyes pinched closed but opened to
her palm sliding along his jaw. 
“We can’t pass judgment based on a past that has wronged us. We judge
the now based on what we see and what we can change for the future.”
Gods, she was brilliant. And fair and kind and strong. Not afraid of
darkness, but never consumed by it. He loved her so fiercely he was
terrified she might be a dream he would awaken from. 
“Zaiana spared my life, and I have to believe it was from some part of
her that cared. She can’t see it, or maybe she does and that was what caused
her fear of me being in her mind. She’s of a different world that has taught
her empathy is wrong, that her life depends on conformity and terror, so it is
what she embodies.”
Reylan stroked her thighs, peering up with awe as she spoke, choosing
to see deeper into a person, not judge from the surface. It made him recall
his own liberation with her patience and love. 
 “Her thoughts, infiltrating her mind, it felt as cold and full of fear as
death.”
“You are too good for this world, Faythe Ashfyre. Certainly too good
for me.”
“That’s not true. Not even for a second.”
“I would have done it,” he confessed. “Despite her fear, even if she’d
begged, I would have infiltrated her mind.” Shame wrecked him to know it
went against her compassion. His heart could never match his mate’s—an
incompatibility that terrified him. 
“I wouldn’t have blamed you for it,” she said at last. 
“Don’t bend your morals for me. I can’t bear it.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you because if she’d harmed you, nearly killed
you… I’m not as good as you think I am, Reylan.”
Then it became as clear as if the world had opened before him. Faythe
was his balance and his light, and in that moment, he chose to believe,
accept…that she was his equal.
 CHAPTER 59

Tarly

T hardly luxurious.
he inn they stopped at to get a hot meal and bed for the night was
The front room was filled mostly with men and fae
males. Tarly couldn’t tear his eyes from them all. His fists flexed as he
stood awaiting drinks at the bar while Nerida sat oblivious to their
attention. He swiped the tankards with little more than a grumble of thanks
and slapped down a copper. 
Tarly set one of the drinks down in front of Nerida before sliding in
opposite her, trying to keep from shooting a warning look at the group
eyeing them the most.  He took big gulps in silence, not meeting Nerida’s
gaze either. They’d engaged in very little conversation since the cave. 
“So sullen,” she muttered under her breath. 
Tarly’s jaw worked. He slid his gaze to her for the first time but knew
she was preoccupied with the small bottles in her pouch. 
“You picked a good selection, by the way.”
“It was the shopkeeper.”
“Except many of them are exactly what I had before.”
“Happy coincidence.”
Her shoulders slouched with the glare she cast him. “Do you ever accept
thanks?”
“You didn’t say thanks.”
“Credit then.”
“They’re bottles of herbs and tonics. Hardly a diamond necklace.”
“They mean more to me than that.”
 They stared off, their conversation ridiculous even for children, never
mind full-grown fae. 
“You’re welcome,” he grumbled reluctantly. 
Her response was only to roll her eyes. A couple of times now he’d
noticed her gaze wandering to a group of fae males in the corner, and it
stirred his ire every time though he had no right to feel it.
Their meals were brought to them. Two vegetable broths. 
“You can eat meat in front of me,” she commented, stirring her bowl.
“I know.”
They ate in silence. The warmth that filled his insides was bliss
compared to the bitter night they’d come in here to escape. Between
mouthfuls, Nerida’s attention kept wandering.
“Do they interest you?” Tarly snapped before he could stop himself. “If
you desire company in your bed tonight, I won’t stop you.”
Nerida set down her bread harshly. “Is that what’s been making you so
grumpy?”
“I am not.”
Nerida leaned over the table to hiss, “Do you really think so lowly of
me?”
His jaw flexed, then he dropped his gaze to his empty bowl. “No,” he
admitted. 
“You haven’t been listening to their conversation. They’ve been talking
of Hyla’s Cave.” 
Tarly was instantly alert. “Then we should get the Nether out of here
lest they happen to be thugs who’d hand you over for coin should they put
two and two together and realize what you are.”
Nerida scowled, standing abruptly. “I just want to find out what they
know of it.”
His hand lashed out to hers as she moved away. “Are you out of your
damned mind?”
She twitched under his hold, but something stopped her from ripping it
away. She leaned down close—too close. Tarly almost leaned back. “Unless
you want them to believe I’m very much available, be nice.” 
Tarly swallowed hard from her low tone, caught completely off-guard.
“Why does it matter about the cave?”
Nerida leaned back. “I’m curious.” She brushed him off. 
 Tarly wanted to press, believing she was withholding something, but
she pushed away from the table and made her way over. He swore under his
breath, going after her in a heartbeat, and he flared at the many sets of eyes
that pinned her as she approached. 
“What can we do for a pretty thing like you?” one male drawled. 
Tarly became tense in his efforts not to lash out. 
“I heard you talking about Hyla’s Cave. It grabbed my interest. Mind if
we join you?” 
The male with rugged brown hair took a long inhale from a pipe. Smoke
billowed around his assessing gaze, which landed on Tarly, itching every
inch of his skin.
“You, we wouldn’t mind. He, on the other hand, is killing the
atmosphere with his presence.” He leaned his forearms on the table. “What
is your name?”
“Anna,” Nerida answered without missing a beat. “You’ll have to
excuse my husband’s temperament.” 
Tarly could have choked. Her hand curled around his forearm, and the
unexpected lie stunned him for a moment. The males set suspicious eyes on
him, expectant.
Meeting Nerida’s gaze, he read the prompt and reluctantly cleared his
throat. “Sully,” he offered, and he swore he felt Nerida’s amusement. 
With a single nod, the other three males shuffled to make room for
them. 
“The name’s Yakquard,” the male said, leaning back casually. “And
what is it about the cave that interests you, if I may ask, milady?”
“I am no lady,” Nerida said humbly. “I wondered what you knew of it.
We had an unfortunate run-in with some human sailors who were not so…
kind on the matter. They seek it out.”
His dark brow curved. “Ah yes, so I’ve heard. It is what we were
discussing.”
“For Seanna’s Song.”
Tarly eyed Nerida carefully, wanting to ask what caught her intrigue
now when she’d been so convincing in her belief it was merely a fable. 
“That is what they say.”
“It’s a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands.” 
This caught Yakquard’s attention. He bore intense eyes on her,
suspicious. “What do you know of it?”
 Tarly had to admit he wondered this too. 
“How did people learn of the song?”
“You didn’t answer my question, princess.”
Nerida startled at the title, seeming to level Yakquard with her own
caution. “Never mind,” she said and rose from her chair. 
“You’re from Lakelaria.” Yakquard reeled her attention back. 
It worked to snap her gaze to him, and Tarly stood too with a protective
flare. “Keep your voice down,” he warned. 
It earned him a goading smile. “Why so secretive? You came over to
me, remember.”
“I’m not from anywhere,” Nerida defended. 
“Let’s go.” Tarly went to steer her away from them. 
“Not even the best Waterwielder could reach that cave. They are fools
to try.”
Tarly swore internally as they gripped Nerida’s curiosity once again. Yet
she didn’t engage; she only pondered the information before she walked
away.  He swept one last look over the small gathering, assessing if they
were a threat should they decide to come after Nerida, who was making
herself an intriguing target. 
He caught up to her, hooking his arm through hers before she made for
the stairs. She yelped in protest as he led them outside instead. 
“We paid for a night,” she objected when they emerged onto the street. 
Tarly reached for her hood, but Nerida snatched it from him to fix it
herself. He pulled up his own just as Katori came pattering up beside them.
“Not anymore,” he grumbled. “I won’t risk them cornering you wanting to
find out more.”
“They seemed harmless.”
“So is a knife for as long as it’s sheathed.”
They marched in silence for a long stretch before breaking through the
tree line of a small woods. He only hoped it wouldn’t be long before they
found an adequate shelter or softer ground to rest upon. 
“Why the interest in Hyla’s Cave?” Tarly demanded. “Since you’re set
on nearly outing yourself over it.”
“The song—it’s too great a weapon if it falls into the wrong hands.
They gave me what I needed. It must be deep enough to be safe for good.”
“What kind of weapon?”
 “Do you know nothing of the sirens? They are not a myth, Tarly. Many
millennia ago, they were powerful creatures of the sea with the
Shapeshifting ability to walk on land. But it’s said their bloodline can be
found in some fae from when they used their song to lure in lovers—some
with solely wicked intent, to feed and drown and take their riches. As a
result, there became a race once known as hybrid sirens.”
Tarly became surprisingly enraptured in the tale. “What happened to
them?”
“The War of the Black Sea. Sailors fought back for the many lives
they’d lost. And in truth, no one really knows. Perhaps they do still exist
somewhere no one can reach. All that’s left to our knowledge is that most
diluted bloodlines reside in Lakelaria. As for the song, it’s a weapon of
persuasion. The beholder need only speak and their enchantment washes
over a person. There’s no trace, no magick to burn out. You wouldn’t feel it
like an attack.”
The thought shook him to his core. “Just as well it’s within untouchable
depths then.” When she didn’t respond, he cast her a look. “It is beyond
reach like they said, isn’t it?”
“Unless they find someone who can breathe underwater.”
Tarly blanched, and Nerida huffed a laugh.
“I’m fairly certain there’s no one alive with enough siren blood to have
that ability.”
She didn’t meet his eye again as she trudged forward. He watched her
for a few seconds, until her face lit up and he followed her gaze to a shallow
cave beside a running stream. As she rushed ahead, Tarly slowed his pace,
bending to retrieve what logs he could for a fire to last the night. Katori
chased after her, and he watched with utter fascination as she played with
the stream as though it relaxed her to use the ability that lived within. 
Nerida’s soft laughter fluttered through the night while Katori leaped to
catch her floating water. Tarly didn’t realize he’d stopped looking for wood.
Stopped walking. Stopped thinking of anything but how innocent and
perfect she appeared in the moonlight. 
He didn’t want this. Someone to care for who would leave a new
permanent scar when she left. They always left. Tarly wasn’t certain how
much more he could suffer, and he wondered with a despairing thought
what would end him first. 
 The poison that placed his life on borrowed time, or the impact from the
fall he could not stop.
 CHAPTER 60

Faythe

“I said three steps left, not two.”

Izaiah’s exasperated command echoed through the ballroom,
cutting through Faythe and Reylan’s chuckles. She’d miscounted, stepped
on his foot, and would have gone tumbling were it not for his save. 
“Seriously, a whole week and you’re still like a newborn lamb.”
Reylan’s eyes only sparkled with amusement, and she was glad for his
being there when duty usually pulled him away. 
“General Reylan.”
The smooth, irritating voice stood the hairs on her arms. Malin strolled
into the room with a cool arrogance and glee, causing Reylan to release her,
his whole body going taut. 
“I didn’t expect you to be one to offer yourself up for a dance so
eagerly,” he commented, his accusation lingering: Malin knew he was only
doing so for Faythe’s sake. 
“I have to observe what I need to correct,” Izaiah said with enough of a
challenge that Faythe tensed. “It took some forcing, but since he’s here as
her guard anyway.”
“About that,” Malin sang. “I came to inform you of a post needing your
attention for the next few weeks.”
Reylan crossed his arms. “There are plenty of commanders to oversee
postings.”
“Yes, but there has been a particular setback in one of the outskirt
towns. The leading commander there demands you attend, and as you’re
our top general, I think our king would agree.”
Faythe watched Reylan’s jaw flex. He wanted to protest but knew it
would be wasted breath. Faythe knew it wasn’t a coincidence. This was her
cousin’s newest wedge between them. 
“I will speak with him,” Reylan responded coldly. 
“It is rather urgent, especially with the impending threats. We cannot
afford for weaknesses not to be dealt with.”
Reylan’s fists tightened, and she sent her assurance to him silently
within. It eased her own discomfort to watch it deflate the rigid posture he’d
adopted since Malin set foot in the hall. He met her eye, and Faythe offered
a small smile of understanding with her nod. Then he was following her
cousin from the ballroom. 
“I can’t stand him,” Izaiah muttered under his breath. 
“I never would have guessed,” Faythe grumbled. 
He took her hand, giving no warning before he twirled her and pulled
her to him. “Let’s get you moving before that sulk sets in.”
“I don’t sulk.”
Izaiah chuckled. “It’s like being around a puppy-dog.”
Faythe gaped at him then snapped her mouth shut at the amusement
lighting up his face. “Just teach me more of the damn dance.”
 CHAPTER 61

Tarly

T he great library Livre des Verres remained closed off. 

Nerida didn’t question Tarly’s hesitation. Maybe she hadn’t picked
up on his anxiety at all as they stood in a dark alleyway spying on the
patrols keeping anyone from gaining access. There were fae…and dark fae.
Tarly was riddled with memories from the last time he saw them, attendees
of both his wedding and funeral, which he and Tauria had narrowly
escaped. 
The city seemed functional at least. Less bustling, though he supposed
the new invading force kept the people in hiding. But he was more than
relieved to see the city full mostly of Olmstone citizens, that they hadn’t all
been slaughtered or forced out by the dark fae.
Nerida pulled down her hood, looking over herself and adjusting her
clothing. 
“What are you doing?” he questioned. 
“I’m going to distract them while you find a way in,” she said simply. 
Her flat tone didn’t sit well with him, along with the way she could
barely hold his eye. They’d traveled for the past day in near silence, but part
of him believed it was better this way. 
“That’s not happening,” he said firmly. 
She cut him a look that said, “Try to stop me.” His only response was to
hook his arm around her waist on impulse when she almost stepped out
from their cover. Her gaze snapped to his, and she glared up at him. It was
hard to fight his smile. 
 “How exactly do you plan to do that?”
“Charm,” she bit out. “Something you clearly lack, so no, our roles
cannot switch.”
Tarly scoffed. “I can be charming.”
“To anything other than people, perhaps.”
His eyes rolled as he released her. “Then how do you plan to get
inside?”
“You’ll have to trust me on that one.”
“Not good enough.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
The tension between them pulsed with frustration and anguish—so
much that he risked breaking. He only sighed, crossing his arms and leaning
back against the wall. 
“Besides, we can’t take our chances with you being noticed, or they’ll
come for you.”
“If anything goes wrong, if anyone lays a hand on you, call out
immediately.” He cast his gaze down into the darkness.
Nerida hesitated only for a moment, but then he listened to her leave
without another word. As soon as he lost the sound of her steps, he took off
to find her.  He watched as she pulled down the bodice of her dress once
more, and though he had no right to the emotion, knowing how she planned
to charm the male guards angered him enough to clench his fists and jaw,
and he had to refrain from going against her plan. 
Every nerve strained when their eyes landed on her. She appeared lost.
Innocent but flirtatious. Her fingers ran through her silvery tresses, and he
wanted it to be him. His hand; his attention. The guards were drawn to her
like moths to a flame. She was exquisite. Her brown skin glowed in the
sunlight, her hair shimmered, and he imagined her large doe eyes would be
working wonders on the males who forgot their duties to admire her. 
Tarly scowled, cursing as he couldn’t waste her efforts, much as he
wanted to turn their attention to anything but her. He dipped out of cover
and darted across the street in the shade, scaling the rooftops and spying an
open window. It had been shattered. Phantom pain pulsed in his shoulder
while he crouched, and he tried hard not to let his mind go back to the
consuming terror of hearing the library shatter knowing he’d left Tauria
there. 
Shaking his head, he slipped inside. 
 He couldn’t believe what had become of the legendary space as he
wandered through it slowly. The library had always been quiet, but this
silence was one of desolation and lost hope. What was once a sanctuary of
safety had now been defiled. His quiver of arrows and the few daggers
weighed him down like rocks, and he muttered a silent prayer to be forgiven
for bringing the weapons here. 
At the balcony, he glanced down at the glass sundial glittering
mesmerizingly in the light, then he cast his eyes up to see the true sky
beaming down. 
The creak of a large door snapped his attention. Tarly reached for a
knife, but the flicker of white made him sag with relief. 
“They let you walk right in?” he grumbled incredulously. 
Nerida shrugged. “They seemed nice.”
“I’m sure they did.”
“Which is more than I can say about you.”
Tarly clenched his jaw, but Nerida was already walking away, brushing
him off as if she couldn’t get rid of him soon enough. 
“I told them I knew what I was looking for and wouldn’t be long,” she
said over her shoulder, marching through the aisles. 
Nerida must not have noticed the missing dome roof from outside. Her
steps halted abruptly at a large serration of glass lying in her path, and she
immediately looked up to find where it came from. “What happened here?”
she breathed, a hand reaching to her chest with true heartache. 
Tarly wasn’t sure how to explain it all. “Tauria’s a Windbreaker,” he
stated, thinking that was ample enough information to explain how. 
Nerida snapped her gaze to his. The knowledge didn’t seem new to her.
Her expression flexed with awe and fear, maybe concern. “Why would she
do this?”
“She was under attack.” He hitched his shoulder subconsciously. “By
the same dark fae who condemned me.”
Her attention fell briefly to his wound with a pinched brow. “She was
not bitten?” 
Tarly found her worry for Tauria endearing. “She is well.”
That eased her soft face, but her attention lingered on him as though she
wanted to speak but held her breath. 
Tarly saved her from trying, diverting the topic with, “What are you
hoping to find here?”
 Nerida gave a thoughtful scan of the library. “I’m looking for a
particular book, but now I need another as well.” She took off again, and
Tarly followed. “We’re going to find a cure for you.”
He huffed a short laugh. “Don’t waste your time. Get what you came
for. I’ll be okay.”
“You won’t.”
“It’s not your concern—”
“You are,” she snapped. 
Tarly halted, but she kept going. Pain stilled his steps as he wondered
why. What he’d done to have her still wanting to help him. Wanting to save
what didn’t want to be saved. At least…he hadn’t wanted to be saved
before.
“Did you come here often?” she called, snapping him from his moment
of tunneling thought.  Her voice traveled distant all the way across the
balcony. 
“Yes,” he admitted. 
She met his eye across the long expanse, leaning her hands on the
railing. “What kind of books do you like to read, Tarly Wolverlon?”
The way she used his full name, the slight tilt of her head—Nerida’s
curiosity about him was something he wasn’t used to. He scratched the back
of his neck, heat flushing in as he wondered if there was a wrong answer.
One she might mock or disagree with, likely not on purpose, but he couldn’t
help his anxiety for her opinion. 
His reservation got the better of him, and he said instead, “Medicine and
Healing is this way.”
After climbing two staircases, Tarly halted and muttered a curse.
“Tauria?” Nerida concluded as she crept up behind him. “Must have
been some fight.”
Of course she would have collapsed the entire row they needed. 
“You might want to inform your guard friends you could be a while
longer,” he grumbled, walking over to the nearest fallen bookcase. 
“Are you jealous?” she said, skipping around to his other side as Tarly
braced to push the heavy shelving back upright. 
“Of what?”
“That I find five minutes of their company more pleasant than an hour
of yours.”
 He sliced her with a look, and her only response was to settle into a firm
crouch. Without a word, they erected the bookcase with great difficulty, and
it gave a resounding thump as it found its balance. 
“Then perhaps you should invite them to search with you.” Tarly began
snatching books, placing them in no particular order back onto the shelves
but checking each one first to decide if it could be of use to her. 
“Of course, you can’t be jealous,” she quipped, shelving books in the
same manner. “When you make it your mission to have everyone dislike
you, and you them.”
He paused to glance her way, thinking over her words, which he knew
to be true. Yet he couldn’t imagine any other place he’d rather be in that
moment. Even the solitude he often sought because nothing could hurt him
there.
Before Nerida could catch him staring, he busied himself in the
mountain of books. “You’re right,” he said. “This has been a rather
torturous expedition, having enjoyed my weeks spent gaining distance only
to end up right back here.”
“I insisted time and time again, yet you still followed.”
“What else was I to do?”
“Let me go.”
Tarly didn’t let her see the breath he didn’t fully inhale. “We’ll be
relieved of each other soon,” he muttered, not lingering on the feeling that
twisted within him at that realization. 
Nerida didn’t speak again, though he itched for it. They lost themselves
in placing back books and scanning titles, and maybe he didn’t particularly
rush the task, knowing it would only make the moments in her company
speed by faster. 

Near an hour into their silent sorting, the main library door groaned. Tarly
straightened in defense, shifting in front of Nerida. Her hand curled around
his bicep. Meeting eyes with him, she pressed a finger to her lips and
pushed him sideward. 
“It’s the guard from outside,” she whispered. “Don’t let him sense you.”
Protest rooted him, but with her second shove of urgency, and detecting
the presence inching closer, he made himself scarce. 
 “Ah, there you are,” the male chirped. 
Tarly shook his head with an inward groan at his overly bright tone.
Two balconies up seemed sufficient enough distance for the guard to be too
enthralled by Nerida to notice him spying on them. 
“I’ve been trying to find my books, but as it seems, the section I need
faced the worst damage,” she explained sweetly.
“I can help you,” he offered. 
Tarly’s fingers flexed with ire. He wondered how long he’d have to stay
here and witness this. 
“No, that’s all right. I should be done in another hour if you can allow
me the time.”
He didn’t expect her to refuse the company she claimed to be better than
his. He’d been prepared to get comfortable and tolerate them from afar. 
“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be alone. It’s criminal.”
“I quite like being alone.” She brushed him off, trying to busy herself
sifting through fallen piles. “It leaves room for thought.”
“Indeed. I was left alone on patrol for ten minutes on my own, and all I
could think about was you.”
Nerida laughed, and Tarly’s ire dissipated entirely. He watched how her
laughter lit such brightness on her face. She showed teeth with a full grin.
He studied how she tucked a front curl behind her ear that never belonged
in her braids. 
“You needn’t flatter me,” she said, rose coloring her brown skin. 
“It’s just my truth.”
Tarly wanted to take his insufferable words and shove them back down
the guard’s throat.  Closing his eyes, he shook his head against the petty
violence he wasn’t so accustomed to. Not for this. Nerida had every reason
to entertain the guard’s advances, and it was not for Tarly to intervene. He
tried to engross himself in a book—a romance he hadn’t intended to pick
up, but it was the first he happened to reach for. It was the last thing he
wanted to read about.
They continued chatting below, and at last the guard toned down his
poetry.  Every smile he drew from her, every flutter of laughter, hollowed
Tarly’s chest. As Nerida stood, the guard stepped close to her, and it had
Tarly closing the book he’d been using as a prop and straightening up. She
took a step back, but he followed it. Tarly’s fists clenched. And when the
guard raised a hand, he didn’t watch it meet her waist because he was
already moving. 
Damning the secret. 
Damning the world. 
Damning himself for caring. 
“I think her signal to keep your distance was pretty clear.” Tarly didn’t
recognize his own tone as he approached.
The guard shifted in defense, but Tarly was already upon him, grabbing
his collar and slamming him into the bookcase that threatened to topple
again.
“Allow me to add to it.”
“Sully,” Nerida warned. 
That name fluttered a beat of his heart in the way one could hate
something but still find an odd comfort in its familiar touch. 
“Y-you’re not supposed to be in here,” the guard stuttered. He seemed
completely harmless, yet it didn’t lessen Tarly’s distaste. 
“Only pretty things, isn’t that right?” he snarled. 
“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know she was taken—”
“I’m not,” Nerida interjected firmly, but her hard gaze was fixed on
Tarly. 
He released the guard, driving a hand through his hair as they stared
off. 
“Do I know you?”
Tarly’s jaw worked at the question. “Doubtful,” he answered. Yet he slid
his attention to gauge if the guard believed him. He swore under his breath
at the widening eyes of recognition as the guard pieced together who he
was. 
“Y-Your Highness, we thought you were dead.”
Tarly took no pleasure in what he had to do. He didn’t waste a second
debating the move when the guard could go scuttling off to warn the new
leaders. His fist connected with the guard’s face. 
Nerida gasped. “You didn’t have to do that!” She rushed over to the
fallen fae, immediately flipping open her satchel to retrieve her pouch.
Tarly watched him as a new shame rose, his irrational irritation calming
when he realized she was right. He thought if the guard were to warn the
others to seek him out, it could put Nerida in danger too. Yet she was safe
here from his threats…as long as she wasn’t with him. 
 Taking a few paces back, he fell into a numb detachment as he muttered
that he’d find her outside. He needed air. To figure out the mess of his head,
which had become so wild and tangled he didn’t know what had come over
him. Why he felt this way. 
Night had fallen, and he pulled up the hood of his cloak for more cover
and bowed his head. A familiar whine followed by the pattering of paws
drew his gaze up enough to find Katori. A relief since he’d wondered where
she’d run off to. 
As he reached down to run a hand over her fur, something cold and
harsh lashed around his wrist. The assailants who caught him off-guard had
completely managed to clamp his other wrist before he could strike, and
then they were bound behind him.
Magestone.
His strength and speed were diminished in an instant. Adrenaline
pumped through his veins with an urge to fight—not for himself when all
he could think of was what would happen if they went for Nerida too. 
As the world faded to black when something was thrown over his head,
his chest ached that should he not return, it would be easy for her to believe
he’d left her for good this time.
 CHAPTER 62

Faythe

F tedious dance lesson. She’d

aythe glided through the halls next to Izaiah after yet another long,
almost learned all the steps, but putting
them into practice was a whole other learning curve. 
Their idle chatter was interrupted when she picked up on murmuring
voices. They exchanged a look, brows furrowing at the odd sound of a
gathering. At the couple of small gasps, her heart picked up, along with
their pace to find the source. Faythe listened to their tones—mostly
whispers, but they were of shock, concern, and they had her jogging in
anticipation of where they led. 
By the time Faythe spied the cluster of bodies all the way down the
hallway of Phoenix paintings, her pulse was filling her ears. Part of her
wanted to run the opposite way with the fear coursing through her body.
She had to see it, thinking the gathering of horror was far too excessive for
what she anticipated to find as the source of the scandal.
She was about to start pushing through when a loud order from Izaiah
had the people glancing back, and they began to ease away with small bows
as she passed. Faythe couldn’t pay them any attention. They parted too
slowly, but when the bodies were no longer in the way she saw it. 
Faythe stumbled to a halt in the great library, eyes fixed, knowing
Agalhor stood by, but she couldn’t look away from the glass case. 
Empty. Her stomach knotted in guilt.
Though the shattered glass case and stolen feather wasn’t what crawled
time.
 It was the scent that caught her senses, licking a cold dread down her
spine. The metallic tang of blood tainted the air, and it was only then she
noticed the splattering on the marble around the pedestal, and her eyes
dropped to find the body.
The white robes of the library scholar stained the marble a ghastly
crimson as if the banner of Rhyenelle slung around his waist had bled all
over him.
He wasn’t the only one.
Faythe’s eyes darted around the space on their own search, finding
another, then another, then she stopped counting in her shock. She didn’t
hear sound but felt strong hands grip her arms, a tall force stepping into
view to prevent her from seeing more. 
“You should not see this.” Her father spoke with concern. “Take her
away.”
She recognized Izaiah responding, but she planted her feet against his
hand as it hooked around her elbow. “What happened?” she asked in a
ghostly whisper.  She met his hazel eyes and saw the cut of rage and
calculation before it eased just enough to express sympathy at whatever he
read on her expression. 
“We will find out. Don’t fear, Faythe. There will be no measure of
protection spared for you and your friends until I find the monster who did
this.”
Faythe’s balance threatened to fail her. Izaiah might have anticipated it;
his arm circled around her waist, and she didn’t fight his gentle pull this
time as he tore her away from the massacre. 
In her dread and horror she spiraled fast. Her skin flushed hot, sending
sparks across her arms. Denial for what she saw only churned her sickness.
Then a spear of panic.

“No leads?”
Faythe paced the floor of the games room, finding it had become a
regular hangout spot for them to find a distraction. Yet Faythe could never
concentrate on the games they played. 
“Nothing,” Faythe muttered to Jakon.
 It had been a couple of days, and she’d hardly been able to sit still—or
eat or dance or anything. It wasn’t just the rippling dark aftermath of the
library horror; Reylan had been absent, still away on post. 
“He should return tonight, but I have a feeling it’s just to check back in
before he’ll be called out again.” Izaiah seemed to read her thoughts.
She couldn’t feel pitiful in her pining when she yearned for him now
more than ever. Antsy with a confession that threatened to crumble her, and
he was the only one she wanted to confide in. Faythe only gave Izaiah a
grateful nod. 
“Check,” Izaiah said with triumph.
Faythe’s attention fell to the chessboard between him and Reuben. 
“You’ve been absent too,” Faythe muttered carefully to her friend. 
Reuben flashed her an empty look and shrugged. “I’ve been admiring
the human towns, actually. They remind me of home.”
That made her stomach clench, but she forced a smile. 
Jakon squeezed her arm. “Is there anything we can do?”
Faythe blew out a breath. “Stay safe and alert. We have no idea if they
could strike again, or if they’re long gone if that’s all they came for.”
“Why kill all those scholars?”
“It would have been no easy feat to steal it,” Izaiah answered. “The
scholars swore an oath to that library to protect everything within it. Maybe
they fought, or maybe the murderer only thought to leave no possible
witness.”
The unsettling feeling in her stomach rose. She swallowed the rising
burn in her tight throat.
“They had to have had inside help,” Jakon pondered.
“It would seem so,” Izaiah said.
The fact lingered in the air like a chilling embrace. They were
wandering the halls not knowing whose hands wore the blood of the
massacre. She looked down at her own before clamping her fists tight and
pacing over to the window.
Marlowe sat silently on the window seat looking outside. She had yet to
offer any smile or words and had been quiet all week. 
“We will find them,” Faythe said as she approached.
Marlowe jerked from her thoughts when Faythe touched her shoulder.
“You are safe here.”
Marlowe offered a hollow smile. “I know.”
 Yet Faythe wasn’t convinced. Marlowe’s complexion had always been
like smooth porcelain, yet the paleness accompanied dark circles around her
eyes now, making her appear sickly. “You haven’t…seen anything?” she
asked tentatively.  She didn’t want to believe her friend was capable of
withholding anything that could help them catch the traitors, yet she hated
the kernel of doubt. 
Marlowe fidgeted with her skirts. Faythe’s pulse skipped, and she held
her breath, until Marlowe shook her head and the anticipation fell to…
disappointment. Perhaps it was only her fear and desperation that roused an
ugly accusation, making her want to ask again and give her another chance
if she were withholding something. As her mouth opened, Jakon sat, taking
Marlowe’s hands. 
“She’s just not been feeling well,” he insisted, reading her intentions. 
Faythe nodded and in her concern lay a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“You should see a healer.”
Marlowe only nodded with a forced smile.
“Reylan should be here.” She echoed her frustrations out loud to divert
the topic. “With this type of threat, should he not?” Her gaze pinned Izaiah
as the one who likely knew most about his situation. The most convenient
of timing to keep him away from her—and away from the crime scene. She
eyed the pieces on the chessboard, watching Izaiah take Reuben’s knight
and in turn lose a pawn. Then another. The whole time, Izaiah strategically
maneuvered his players around the king, and Reuben came to the mercy of
Izaiah’s bishop, which had slipped through his defenses in his distraction.
Then something in Faythe snapped like an icicle. 
“Where are you going?” Izaiah demanded, chair scraping back. 
She didn’t answer, storming from the room. Her mind raged, collecting
a storm of feelings that mixed with her perhaps outlandish thoughts, but
they all circled back to one person. One who wanted power—who wanted
her gone—and there was no telling what he would do, or who he would use,
to achieve it. 
A form closed around her to block her path. There was no kindness in
her eyes as they pinned Izaiah. 
“Get out of my way,” she demanded as calmly as she could. 
“I know what you’re thinking, and let me tell you, there is no taking
back such an accusation to someone so powerful.”
 “He’s nothing but a coward,” she hissed as though her mind had already
pegged him as the culprit. 
Izaiah surveyed the hall. Pulling on the handle behind her, he pushed
Faythe into the small room without leaving her time to utter a protest.
“Listen to me, Faythe. You don’t know what game you’re playing if you go
toe to toe with Malin Ashfyre. You think you know him, you think you’ve
seen what influence he holds, but you have not. If you accuse him of this,
you’ll start a fire that only sets you aflame. I hate to say this, but you are
still being tested. You haven’t been here long, and if it becomes your words
against his, I promise you right now, you will lose.”
Faythe closed her eyes, pacing away from him with the sting of the
truth. It didn’t matter what she thought, and perhaps she was being quick to
accuse with her personal feelings, though she couldn’t shake the feeling he
was the one with most to gain. 
“Kyleer is taking over the investigation. You’re right, Reylan would be
useful here, but we also can’t afford to have weaknesses anywhere with
what could be coming.”
They shared a look, a cold sense of foreboding echoing between them,
and Faythe shuddered. She didn’t know what was coming, only that it was
dark and deadly.
And they were not ready.
 CHAPTER 63

Zaiana

O itched her skindidabout

nly at night her mind feel peace. She wasn’t sure what it was that
the daytime, as though it were a spotlight to all
she should be doing, and the night eased the guilt with the promise a new
day would come to try again.
But now, even the night didn’t feel safe. Zaiana couldn’t settle her
unease that to sleep was to risk her mind falling prey to the Nightwalkers.
What roused her resentment was that she couldn’t be sure if they’d already
tried and left her forever unknowing.
“I killed my own father.” 
Zaiana wondered when Kyleer would speak, but his first words were
wholly unexpected since he’d halted outside her cell minutes ago. She
didn’t drop her eyes from where she’d been mapping constellations with her
back to him. 
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“He’s not the only one I’ve killed. Not even close. Nor will he be the
last.”
Her curiosity got the better of her. She turned to try to get a better
understanding of why he thought to share the grim revelation. 
“If you want to trade body counts, just say so.”
His seriousness eased just a little.
“I’ll have you beat,” she added.
Shadows surrounded her, phantom hands taking her shackled wrists and
pinning them above her head. Kyleer forced her back to meet the wall. He
stood right in front of her, peering down with moss-green irises slowly
devoured by black.
“You once asked if I could do anything else with my shadows.” His
voice lowered to a seductive murmur. Real skin grazed her chin to tilt back
her head, but an arm of featherlight darkness coiled around her thigh.
“Many things that would have you forgetting any count but one. How many
times I could make you call out for me.”
She fell for it—only for a fleeting second before she yanked her hands
down, free from the shadows that yielded easily. “What is this?” she hissed,
pushing his chest when she couldn’t stand the stab of hurt. “They know
what we’ve done and still they send you here. Use that against me—is that
what this is? It meant nothing to me, Kyleer. You mean nothing to me.”
He planted his hand by her head. “The night my mother disappeared my
father needed someone to blame, and believed I knew where she had gone,
that I had somehow helped her. Three fae held me down while he crushed
my hand repeatedly, letting me heal enough before he did again for my
confession.”
Zaiana twisted her head, knowing it would be that hand by her—the one
with a deep scar and two crooked fingers.
“I think he started to believe I had no idea where she went, yet he
laughed at my pain. They all laughed every time Izaiah begged them to
stop, and I think they kept going for their own sadistic pleasure.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because this world is full of monsters. In the fae, in the humans, and in
the dark fae. You—” He shook his head, pushing off the wall and stepping
back. “You’re using it as a mask.”
Zaiana smiled cruelly. “Only a mad fae would wake up in a nightmare
and see a dream.”
“You’re not a dream, Zai,” he said, his expression falling, just for a
second. “You’re my beautiful nightmare.”
“I’m not your anything.”
“My most recurring, taunting, punishing—” With each word Kyleer’s
face inched closer. Her back curved when his hand trailed around her, never
breaking that searing gaze. “Beautiful nightmare.” His fingers stroked down
the right path where her wing would be, offering enough pressure her lips
parted and the sensation weakened her knees. 
 “Why don’t you stop wasting both our time and ask what you came here
to find out?” she demanded, cursing her breathlessness from his seductive
distraction. 
Kyleer took a long breath before he backed away, and she shuddered in
the absence of his warmth. “Dakodas has her ruin, but what about
Marvellas?”
“Did you not hear when I said? The Great Spirit did not make her
appearance known to us.”
“I did. But surely to learn to wield one they would school you about all
three—what they could do and where they are.”
“I assume your Phoenix Queen already knows where her ancestor’s
temple lies. Get better with your questions, Ky. Boredom has a habit of
raising my reluctance to talk.”
Something caused a tug of his mouth, which he quickly fought as he
paced the floor. 
“What?” she ground out. 
“I like it when you call me that.”
“Think nothing of it.”
He continued to push back a smirk, though, telling her he was thinking
too much of it, and she cursed herself for the slipup.
“Did you know Aurialis’s was missing?”
Zaiana’s lips firmed. She wondered how much information she could
share with him to make them believe she was being cooperative, but never
enough to give them any kind of advantage. “I knew the twisted King of
High Farrow was looking for it, yes. He had the help of dark fae soldiers
with the ability to glamour.”
“Does Marvellas know we have it?”
“Anyone with a connection to that damn thing knows that now.” 
Maybe she’d slipped up too much, but she was incredulous to hear how
completely oblivious they were in this war.
“What do you mean?”
“When the ruins are used, anyone who has wielded them before or has a
Spiritual bloodline connection to them can feel their power. Maybe only a
distant echo that would be hard to pinpoint. For me, I could have come for
your precious queen that day in High Farrow. The surge of power she
awoke from that thing… I didn’t know it was her, of course. I figured
they’d found it and Marvellas had some other poor soul trained to wield
them since she cannot do so herself. You can imagine my surprise to learn
of the impossible human heir, and my absolute thrill to be placed on her
trail.”
“Was she there?” Kyleer’s note of fear was unexpected. “On the
mountain edge, you used the ruin. Was Marvellas watching the whole
time?”
Zaiana hadn’t considered this, and his enlightenment to the possibility
furrowed her brow. “Would it matter if she were?”
“Yes. It’s an unfair advantage to learn an opponent’s style before a
fight.”
Zaiana shook her head with a smile that lacked any humor. “This is no
fight, Kyleer. You have no idea what you stand against.”
“I think she fears more now what could stand against her.”
She didn’t know why she was rooting for their victory. She admired
those who stood brave enough to fight for what they believed in, and she
supposed Faythe had become a new threat. Who was Zaiana to know if her
powers could match the Great Spirit she descended from?
“I don’t know if Marvellas has others who can wield the ruin, but I
know it was important to her. Assuming the masters are her puppets, as they
so kindly volunteered to exact the brutal lessons.”
“So you’re important to her.”
Zaiana shrugged. “She could train another. Believe me, there is no
sentiment, no special chosen one. There is no one coming for me if you
think you can use me.”
“I wouldn’t want you going anywhere near those bastards again.”
“Don’t do that.” The words slipped through her lips without thought. 
“Do what?”
“Care.”
“Because it frightens you?”
“Hardly.”
“It frightens you to feel anything with warmth,” he continued anyway.
“When it can touch the scars no one sees.”
“I feel nothing for you, Kyleer.”
“Maybe you need a reminder of just how you felt me the other night.”
“Lust is a natural craving; it meant nothing.”
He flinched, and maybe for a split second she wanted to take her words
back. She wouldn’t, not when it was already a weapon being wielded
against her.
She never should have let him touch her.
“If you think you can hurt me with that, you can’t. You’re a wicked,
cold thing. I haven’t made the mistake of feeling anything of value for you
either.”
Never before had words pierced her like a blade. She remained
outwardly like stone, but within…those words stung, triggering a violent
defense she risked unleashing on him. “I don’t come from your romantic
world of lovestruck mates and happy endings,” she spat. 
That seemed to strike something within him, tensing his broad shoulders
and clenching his fists. 
“Neither do I.”
“Must be hard,” she went on despite the voice that rebelled against her
ugly words that tasted like acid. She knew they would hurt him. “Watching
those around you fall in love, devoted to one another in their perfect mating.
I pity the one who’s bonded to you.”
“She’s dead.”
Just like that, Zaiana was overcome with a new darkness she’d never
felt before. It clouded her like sorrow, thick in her lungs, and she wished it
were enough to stop the next words she knew would seal his hatred of her.
“Seems to me she’s free.”
Kyleer’s lips thinned. She wanted him to shout at her, lash out, do
something other than stare at her with eyes of hurt that blinked to nothing.
Absolutely nothing. 
“You can’t hurt me with that either,” Kyleer said without an ounce of
emotion, though she knew it was a lie. “She didn’t choose me. She never
would have even if she lived.”
“I thought fae mates always chose each other.”
“You thought wrong.”
Kyleer turned to leave, and something like regret made her stumble a
step after him. 
“Did you choose her?”
He Shadowported through the bars. “I never got the time to decide that.
Maybe I would have, or maybe I would have set her free from such a
torturous existence to be bound by my side.” He walked away, and the call
came quicker than she could stop it.
“Ky.” 
 He didn’t turn to her.
Zaiana breathed hard, warring with herself, not knowing what she
wanted to say—only that she didn’t want him to leave. Not really. Not with
what she said to him as the last thing he heard. 
I didn’t mean it. It was there—right there—yet four words became
gripped by one: weak. The pulse of it was so strong and tormenting it
formed shadows to tighten her throat against setting her regret free. The
chant of her mind overpowered her will to take back her hateful remarks.
She wasn’t worth his feelings. So Zaiana only closed her eyes, shrinking
back into the wall as she listened to his footsteps echoing away until silence
swept in once more.
 CHAPTER 64

Nikalias

T and Tauria. Hetravel

wo weeks of had turned out to be something of a holiday for Nik
watched her with a smile of awe as she packed away
their supplies once again while he tended to their horse. Despite what
they’d had to give up to fool Mordecai, the time they got to spend away
from court together to simply be had become a treasure.  They’d laughed.
Gods, he couldn’t remember the last time they’d laughed so much. Finding
streams to bathe in and fooling around like childhood days. The nights they
stayed up mapping stars together when sleep didn’t feel necessary. 
“We should be stepping onto Olmstone territory in a few days.” Tauria’s
voice echoed over to him, a hint of sadness in it. 
“What concerns you?”
Her hazel eyes flicked to his, and when she noticed he’d been standing
by admiring her, her adorable scowl made his lips tug upward. She stormed
over, shoving the pack into his arms, and Nik chuckled as he secured it to
the horse. 
“I hope Tarly made it out,” she admitted quietly. 
Nik finished securing the last buckle, and what he wouldn’t admit was
that for everything he’d done for Tauria, and how they’d bonded, he hoped
the bastard lived. 
“We have to keep believing he fled with his sister, and that he took her
to safety and stayed there too.”
Tauria nodded, but it was hollow.
 Nik pulled her to him. “It’s time to catch up with them again,” he
mumbled, kissing her forehead. 
They stayed as far away as they could, but it was essential for them to
catch up every day so Nik could keep checking the mind compulsion was
holding. He aided Tauria atop the horse before sliding in behind her. He had
no complaints that it was logical to only acquire one horse so they’d have
less to hide and would make the least amount of noise. In fact, their hours
on horseback tucked tightly together had also become a comfort, and often
arousing. 
“Samara and I will have to switch back in Olmstone,” Tauria said, and
every muscle in Nik’s body tensed. “You can’t fool that many minds, and
we can’t be certain Varlas isn’t still a puppet king.”
He kissed her shoulder, her neck, breathing in her scent with the
protective, primal need that coursed through him. “I don’t like it,” he
murmured against her skin. “If he lays a hand on you, I can’t promise I
won’t kill him.”
“He won’t hurt me,” she assured him. 
“Any hand, Tauria,” Nik clarified, his own slipping around her waist. 
“Seems a little dramatic.” 
“I think it’s reasonable.”
Nik’s teeth scraped along her neck. 
“Don’t,” she breathed, the scent of her lust filling his nostrils, contrary
to her word. “We won’t catch up to them in any good time if you do that.”
He wanted to bite with such a feverish desire, but instead he grinned at
her scolding, pressing his lips to her one last time before easing away. After
a few beats of silence, he said, “You really think Mordecai has a child?” He
couldn’t picture him as a doting father figure. And if Tauria was right, Nik
almost pitied the poor soul. 
“He wouldn’t confirm with words, but I swear the answer was there.
There’s no telling if it’s a son or a daughter, or if they plan to fight this war
with him, or if he’s protecting them.”
Nik mulled over the concept. “We need to learn more about him. His
history, who he was before. It might give us some clues.”
“Perhaps. We need to know if whatever happened to him to make him
come back could have transferred to his offspring.”
“So far, he seems perfectly ordinary. Powerless, even, to what you and I
can do.”
 “He’s Marvellas’s puppet. Just like her, he plans to have all of us. She
can’t rule a whole continent herself; she wants us to keep our thrones, but
by her lead as high queen. It was once a known concept, only the seven
rulers were in agreement.”
Nik listened in awe while Tauria explained from her readings about
Stenna’s Fall and the siren ruler. The history was remarkable, and he found
himself wondering what changed: where she had gone, or did she perhaps
simply have no heir to succeed her? Not a high queen to overrule, but one
to keep the peace and maintain communications throughout all kingdoms. 
He didn’t believe for a second that Marvellas planned to rule so fair and
merciful. 
“It’s a weakness, and we need to find it.”
“We’re talking about another person, Nik, not a thing to exploit.”
“If they’re anything like their father, I’m not pinning them as human.”
“If we were all judged by our parents’ actions, the cycle would never
break.”
Nik drew in a deep breath, his fingers trailing up and down her arm not
of conscious effort. He adored Tauria for her fair judgment, for being his
better half in every way. 
“You’re right, love,” he mumbled, squeezing her waist. “You’re always
right.”

Nik leaned cautiously against a tree trunk, keeping far enough away to
evade fae detection, but close enough he could slip into the high lord’s
mind.  He couldn’t deny the thrill of the ability, and while thinking of
Faythe’s absence made his fists clench, he found himself projecting back
into their early days of discovering what impossibility lay within her.
Using what he believed was a close match to her conscious ability, he
relived the guidance he’d tried to project to her, now translating it for
himself, and those memories were a bright joy to reflect on.  Gods, he
missed her. He didn’t expect to, not so deeply, yet he couldn’t shake the fear
he was missing out on so much his dear friend had been through. In some
ways, he’d abandoned her when he’d once been her first call for help. 
Hands slipped around him from behind, and Tauria’s enveloping
warmth, her scent, relaxed his tense poise completely. 
 “Everything okay?”
He caught the projection of her thought, not daring to speak aloud with
their proximity to Mordecai.
Nik observed the three of them. Lycus was helping Samara pack up
their few belongings. Mordecai wasn’t paying them any attention at all, his
back turned to them to gaze through the trees. He only slipped into the high
lord’s mind to write the compulsion. Nik wasn’t confident enough in his
ability to shift Mordecai’s thoughts without detection, and now was far
from the time to test it out. 
The idea became a dark temptation. He wondered if he could get the
answers to his lingering questions if he only dared reach. A part of him was
horrified at his desire to peer into private thoughts, and it became a new
twist of guilt to think Faythe harbored a far purer conscience than him. 
“He doesn’t seem suspicious. I believe the compulsion is still working,”
Nik answered, trying to keep his focus when Tauria’s cheek pressed to his
and her hands caressed his front. 
Dipping into Lycus’s mind, Nik checked in with him. 
“How are you holding up?” he teased, already feeling the ripples of his
displeasure. 
The general gave a quick glance in no particular direction when he
couldn’t see Nik’s position. “If you want to compel him to see me and take
my place instead, I won’t object.”
Nik suppressed a smirk. “He doesn’t look to be that intrusive,” he
observed.
Mordecai hadn’t moved a fraction. 
“I can’t decide if that’s a concern or a relief,” Lycus admitted. “He’s
been…kind to her. It’s unnerving.”
Nik’s fingers laced through Tauria’s subconsciously. He cooled his
wrath to ask,  “How is Samara holding up? Has he been physical with
her?”
“She’s well. Surprisingly at ease. Though Mordecai hasn’t interacted
with her through much more than courtesy. Perhaps it’s my being here that
has him holding back. He has even less interest in engaging with me.”
Mordecai didn’t care to expend the energy to get to know Tauria’s
closest general. Nik supposed he didn’t have to when his method of
leadership was to inspire fear, not love. 
 “Tauria will be taking her place in a few days when we reach Olmstone
borders.” 
Lycus’s protective flare didn’t need to be spoken. Nik felt it too, and his
thumb brushed her soft skin. He was barely able to think of her being within
the monster’s reach.
“With my life, she’ll be safe,” the general promised. 
Nik hadn’t had the luxury of time to get to know Lycus, but his fierce
loyalty and friendship with Tauria he didn’t doubt for a second. There was
no one else he trusted more to protect her.
She hugged him tighter, sending her thoughts to him. “I can’t bear the
silence,” she admitted quietly. 
Nik’s chest fucking ached. Hands joined with hers, he kissed her palm.
He felt the same when their severed line of communication left a separation
within. Though it wasn’t needed, they had grown to cherish the luxury, and
it would take time to adjust. 
He turned to her, hand cupping her nape. “I’m right here, love,” he said
to her mind. “All seems well. Let’s enjoy the next few days together. Just
you and me.”
 CHAPTER 65

Tarly

T exactly which route

he bag over his head seemed wholly unnecessary when he knew
they’d taken to lead him to the castle. Though he
was confused as to why his assailants used the hidden passageway through
the stables. 
He stayed silent. There was no point in trying to fight them with his
senses dulled, though he calculated there were only four of them. They
spoke nothing of another captive, and no one had intercepted them.
All Tarly could do was pray they hadn’t seen Nerida with him.
They were trailing toward the castle now, but still he could tell they
were taking the least used hallways, pausing and checking as if all five of
them were sneaking around. They entered a small council chamber, and
without warning, the bag was pulled from his head roughly. 
Tarly blinked to adjust to the luminance, and as he was about to glare at
his assailant, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He was stunned into
place by the person he saw looking out the window, giving Tarly his back.
Though the sight of his wears, and the colorful beads woven into his hair to
match… 
“So you triumphed,” Tarly commented.  His wrists were unbound, and
he hissed, rubbing the red abrasions the Magestone had caused.
Panting caught his attention, and he caught Katori’s—
No, it wasn’t her. The spot of brown in one eye told him the wolf must
be Asari. 
 “Not quite,” Chief Zainaid said, his voice as calm and powerful as Tarly
remembered. “A strategic compromise, for now, to have them believe we
are on their side.”
By “them,” Tarly concluded he meant the dark fae who had destroyed
his kingdom, killed his mother, and likely his father. 
“You’re a traitor.”
“I am not your enemy, Tarly Wolverlon. Apologies for the method of
bringing you here, but there is a lot you are to catch up on before you lay
your accusations.”
“So are you the king now?” 
“No,” he said simply, hands clasped behind his back as he came around
the desk. “You are.”
That froze him. He wanted to shake his head, but the outright denial he
feared in front of the Stone Men. “I turned my back on them.” Tarly eased
his protest another way. His cowardice would be nothing when he would
become no one once again. 
“Yet here you are,” Zainaid said calmly.
“Not by choice.”
“Then why did you return?”
His question relieved one concern that had been crawling under his
skin. They couldn’t know about Nerida or they would have asked about
her. 
“What happened to my father?” Tarly asked instead. He wasn’t sure he
wanted to know the exact details. He had mourned his death long ago, yet
the confirmation that he no longer lived as a tormented mind residing in a
hollow title, that he was finally at peace, felt like closure.
What he wasn’t prepared for was the confirmation he still lived. 
“He is detained in the cells far below.”
Tarly snapped a dark look at Zainaid. “You sold him out to take your
place here—is that it?”
“I did what I had to.” The chief’s voice rose for the first time, making
Tarly back down as he saw the difficult choice he’d had to make. “The dark
fae have numbers we can’t comprehend. If we had fought them that day you
fled, we would have lost. They would have wrecked the city, killing every
innocent just as a punishment.”
“So instead you chose to side with them.”
 “Varlas is a broken male. He has been for a long time—I think you
know this.” He took Tarly’s silence and the guilt that weighted his posture
as confirmation. “In Marvellas’s eyes he failed her. She was supposed to
have all four of you in her dark fae army. You, Nikalias, Tauria, and even
your sister. You would have kept your kingdoms but been entirely at her
command, and there’s something powerful about royal blood that makes the
strongest of dark fae, or so she claims. Varlas was detained by her
command, and by our negotiation he is never to be freed.”
“Why are you telling me all this if you risk her wrath?”
“I tell you because despite all we yield to her outwardly, we are still
working against her in this war. What she sees is necessary for a fair and
strong continent…it is unfathomable.”
Tarly had never thought to wonder what the Spirit hoped to achieve in
her reign. What change she deemed necessary. He became riddled with
foreboding, needing to know but not believing he was prepared to. “What
does she want?”
“To eradicate weakness.”
He tried to work the cogs of his brain to conclude what that meant. The
answer was too many things. From what little he knew of the Spirit, one
thing was clear, and that was the value she placed on abilities and power. 
“I might be on her list to eradicate then,” he pondered. There was
nothing about him that could be of use to her. 
“I don’t entirely doubt that, but I believe you would be another stage in
her plans.” Zainaid began a thoughtful pace to a bookcase. “The thing about
ambition, it is never-ending. You reach one goal, there will always be
another. Something bigger, better. Every triumph becomes a stepping stone
to an infinity of dreams and desires. Ambition can create the greatest
leaders, both good and evil.”
“How do I know you’re not working for her now, bringing me here in
the hopes I’ll sit upon that throne as her unwitting puppet?”
“You will not sit upon that throne, for you are right: that is exactly what
you would become. If she knew I had you, believe me, your days as fae
would be numbered. A full moon is approaching.”
Tarly was about to ask how he’d known where he was, but his answer
came padding into the room. Brilliant white fur and pure silver eyes. He
could hardly contain his glare. 
 “I will admit I never held the greatest respect for Varlas. He ignored
many of my urgent requests to negotiate the matter that sees both of us
short. There is a great mass of land that remains neutral territory, and I
wished to come to some agreement we could use.” When Zainaid turned to
face him, Tarly subconsciously straightened. “But we are not our ancestors.
What I saw in you that day we lost I believe could be a worthy ruler. It is
not my desire to sit on Olmstone’s throne.”
“I ran,” Tarly admitted, unable to accept the notion. 
“You saved Tauria in your own ways. Then you left to save your sister,
did you not?” 
He gritted his teeth. He didn’t need praise, nor for his cowardly actions
to be warped into heroism. He decided right then what he needed to do. 
“Opal is safe, and should I find your men to be trustworthy and your
loyalty true, then I will tell you of her location so you might send
protection. She is the one who needs to be guarded. Opal Wolverlon, when
the time is right and she is of age, should be the one to rule Olmstone.” It
filled his chest with pride to imagine it. Her big heart and bright nature
would make this kingdom flourish, restoring its values better than he ever
could. 
“You would relinquish your claim?” Zainaid asked carefully. 
“Yes,” he said with confidence. “I will work with you to keep this
kingdom from collapse, even if it means I am not here. This war and its
threats are far bigger than a single kingdom, and it is time we start seeking
alliances and information to strike in the way she will least expect. Opal
will be kept safe and away until Marvellas is defeated.”
Chief Zainaid wore an expression that caused a pinch in his chest.
Human, yet it was with a father’s pride that he looked upon Tarly now. He
had so long forgotten the feeling of that look.
“I knew I was right in what I saw,” he muttered, more to himself than to
anyone. “Our visions for this kingdom align, Tarly. In the meantime, what
will you do that could help if you’re not here?”
Tarly took a deep breath. His mind rose with a dormant sense of
determination and something he had let go of ever having again. Purpose.
He thought of Nerida and how her path had crossed with his on her way to
aid the one with the best chance of taking down Marvellas. 
Her heir. 
 Tarly struggled to picture the human girl he’d barely taken note of other
than finding her integration into Orlon’s court at the king’s meetings
bizarre. He couldn’t comprehend she was the one who’d been sitting there
with the most power all along. But he believed in Nerida, who’d risked the
journey here to find information for her, and for that reason, Tarly knew
what he had to do and where they would be heading. 
“The Heir of Marvellas lives,” he explained vacantly, trying to fit
together what pieces he could. “I think my path leads to her, and she’s the
key to ending it all.”
“I have heard of such fable, though I did not know a true heir lives
again.”
“Again?”
Zainaid nodded. “There was one other long ago, back when the conflicts
started, but though a true heir, they were not the one the prophets spoke off.
They disappeared without a trace.”
In that moment Tarly felt sorrow for the human woman with the fate of
the world on her shoulders. Yet she wouldn’t do it alone—that he was sure
of. 
“Stay the night. It is dark, and rainfall has begun. I will advise you not
to leave your rooms when you’re escorted to them. Some dark fae reside in
the castle, and if news of you gets to Marvellas, your plan is over before it
can begin.”
Tarly wanted to argue, but as he stared at the darkening sky and the first
droplets hitting the window, he knew he wouldn’t find Nerida until
morning. She had some coin, and he could only hope she hadn’t ventured
too far away yet thinking he’d abandoned her. Though Tarly knew he
wouldn’t achieve much rest that night.
 CHAPTER 66

Faythe

T table. The exact table

wo candles were all that illuminated the parchments spread around the
her mother had stood at countless times trying to
figure out how to break the time curse and be with her father. Faythe had
spent a long night pacing with a stormy mind, ignoring the churn of her
stomach at the thought of visiting the library and eluding the guards posted
outside her room. She’d had to influence their thoughts to wander
elsewhere while she studied. 
Faythe couldn’t shake the feeling she was missing something. She
pulled out the note from her mother’s pocket watch, along with one she had
yet to open, and laid them on the table. 
“Three watches,” she pondered out loud.
Suddenly, Faythe was awash with dread at the trickle of memory she
had recklessly given one away. She’d watched it ripple into the mirror, and
there was no telling where she’d sent it. What realm or time. 
What if she had given away a key piece of information they needed? 
There was no use in pondering that now. She shook her head against the
self-doubt. Faythe had no blacksmithing tools to unscrew the backs.
Perhaps she could wait until morning and ask Marlowe… But in her
frustration, she cared too little to preserve them.
Picking up both watches, the force of her anger surfaced to her palms,
and the glass cracked and shattered, cutting her hand, but she kept
squeezing until the metal bent and distorted. Her hand trembled and her
eyes burned hot, for her mother’s watch had been destroyed by her touch. It
was all she had left of her, but it no longer felt like a sentiment, only a
curse. 
Her hands glowed brighter, and Faythe closed her eyes. Tears fell. Her
palms burned hot, a mix of the blood trickling through the gaps of her
fingers and her magick, which tingled with a familiar sweet essence. The
solid objects she gripped slowly turned to dust, and she looked down to
watch the last of them disperse as glittering particles.
Then she drew her magick back all at once, not moving with fear she
was right. But she was too exhausted by all the heavy emotions that had
been relentless since her return to Rhyenelle to muster any excitement or
relief when all that remained in her possession was one folded parchment. 
She set it on the table to prevent it from becoming any more
bloodsoaked. Faythe examined her injuries, finding the symbols in bloodied
stripes, and part of her yearned for them to heal. 
Her eyes were closed with the pain that was a fuel for her frustration
when his voice interrupted through the dark.
“It’s past midnight.” 
Faythe didn’t look at Reylan as he strolled into the library. 
“I waited for you this evening when they said you would be back
tonight,” she muttered, flipping a page of her book. 
“I only just arrived.”
All she could muster was a nod, hardly able to look at him, though it
was tearing her apart.
“You shouldn’t be wandering the castle alone right now, especially not
in the dead of night.”
“You heard what happened then.”
“The same day, yes.”
“So it was not of your concern then; it should not be now.”
Reylan’s hand planted firmly on the pages before she could turn
another. “You think I’ve rested a damn second since I heard of it? Knowing
how far away I was and that I couldn’t leave without exposing my only
reason was you. You were safe within more than capable hands in their
eyes.” His hand took her chin, forcing her to look at him, and she broke. 
“I hate this,” she whispered. Her lips tightened, disappointed in herself
that she was crumbling. “I hate that you have to be some forbidden secret. I
needed you all this time. I don’t blame you, never, but I can’t stop
wondering if this is all too much. That I was a fool to believe I could return
and wear this mask of bravery when I don’t know what I’m doing, only
trying to lead with what is expected of me. I thought I could be strong, but
it hurts, Reylan.”
His expression eased from firm, cut lines to share her grief in an instant.
He caught her hands, upturning them to find the cuts had healed and the
blood had dried. He pressed his lips to one before drawing her arms around
his neck. Faythe pushed up on her toes for that embrace, burying her face
into his neck, and just like that, the weight of the world lifted for however
short a time before she crashed back to a cruel reality.
Yet she knew these moments could carry her through. 
“I hurt with you,” he mumbled into her. 
Gods, she knew he did. Knowing she was powerless to end it for them
both had wrecked her for weeks, and if it were as easy as breaking the bond,
perhaps she would have let him go. But Reylan was entangled so deeply it
was its own bond—not one of magick, but heart. 
He let her go too soon. Always too soon. 
“What did you hope to find here tonight?” he asked, not dropping his
arm from around her as he leaned into the desk with the other. 
The small comfort burst in her chest, giving her the motivation to face
what she’d set out to discover. “When we were in one of the towns, I came
across an abandoned shop.” Faythe skipped past the scene that played out
with perfect haunting clarity since she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t all a
hallucination. “I found a watch identical to my mother’s, but with
Marvellas’s mark on the back. I…I gave it away. But then Nerida gave me
the final watch with Dakodas’s mark.”
“And where is it now?”
Faythe winced, and Reylan read her answer in the subconscious flex of
her hands. Unexpectedly, he huffed a laugh, leaning in to drop a kiss on her
shoulder. 
“You’re becoming rather destructive, you know.”
“That amuses you?”
“It thrills me.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Not when I’m thinking of other ways that destructive, wild, beautiful
anger could be unleashed.” 
Desire crept with heat along her collar at the low gravel tone he spoke
in. To distract herself from his enticement, she held up the folded
parchment. “This was inside, just like in my mother’s.”
He took it tentatively, and Faythe laid out the translated version of
Marlowe’s. “You have the temple locations… What are you expecting to be
within this?”
“I’m not sure, but we likely won’t be able to read it right now anyway.
It took Marlowe weeks to translate the first.”
“I’m beginning to think all bad things come in threes,” Reylan
muttered. 
Faythe watched him begin to carefully unfold the parchment. Her pulse
drummed, fingers trembling to get it over with and discover what was
within. She breathed hard when it was fully open, and she watched his
confusion before he laid it down.
“An image,” Faythe pondered, squinting at the lines. 
What he presented before her was a puzzle complete, yet her mind
scattered with its pieces, struggling to know why it looked familiar but
different. The lines crossed over each other in a beautiful symbol, three
striking through the emblem and circumference by a shape with seven sides
that had words of another language down each one. Then she doubled back.
Symbols…
All three of them overlapped. 
“The Spirit Symbols,” Reylan concluded at the same time as she did. 
Faythe nodded vacantly. “What does it mean?” she wondered aloud.
Faythe had seen them many times. She wore them. Yet she had never seen
this merged version. 
Reylan’s hand smoothed down her nape, but before he could respond he
stepped away from her completely. Faythe felt it then, the distant approach
of someone, and she would never get used to the hollowing of her stomach
as if their closeness were a scandal.
Kyleer jogged into the library, his expression horror-struck, but his
shoulders slumped with relief when he caught sight of her.
“What’s wrong?” Reylan marched to him, slipping into honed focus at
Kyleer’s alarm.
“Gods above, when I saw—” He shook his head, his breathing labored.
Faythe’s skin crawled with a thousand needles. She’d never seen him
look so ghostly.
“Your room, Faythe. When I found it wrecked I feared the worst. And
your handmaiden. The guard has been alerted, and the castle’s being put
under lockdown.”
Faythe swayed a step back before a strong arm hooked around her.
“Gresla?” Her thoughts flashed from one conclusion to another. Why would
she have been there so late?
Kyleer’s silence dragged her eyes to him in the hope his mouth would
spill the assurance she needed. He said nothing. He didn’t need to when his
eyes communicated her worst fear.
“No…”
Faythe took off running.
Voices called after her, but the pounding in her ears, the whip of the air,
drowned them out. She sprinted through the halls as if she could reverse the
past, refusing to believe the nightmare Kyleer had painted.
Until it came alive right in front of her.
Faythe didn’t feel tethered to her own body. She blinked hard, but when
the scene didn’t change she closed her eyes, searching desperately for her
Nightwalking ability because this was sure to be a terror of her own wicked
mind.
But the body was real.
Her lids sliding open released her tears freely. Gresla’s form lay deathly
still, facedown, without care. Crimson pooled from beneath her. All at once,
the reality lashed her without mercy.
Faythe would never see those motherly eyes again. Never feel the warm
embrace or hear her tender laughter, and Faythe sobbed. Never again would
she call her by title, and all those times she’d cringed she wished she could
take back now and tell Gresla how much it meant to her that she believed
Faythe deserved to be here.
Gresla was gone.
“Come with me, Faythe.” Reylan’s gentle coaxing sounded out as if he
were above water. She didn’t know when she’d doubled over until all that
held her from falling were his arms.
The room had been wrecked, and Faythe saw the box she’d kept it in
sprawled on the bed.
They’d found it.
“It’s my fault,” she croaked.
Reylan twisted her, holding her tightly against his chest while she
thrashed to unleash the retribution that bubbled dangerously inside. “It’s
not.”
 Faythe stopped struggling, clutching his clothing desperately instead as
her grief switched her emotions so fast she began to feel lightheaded. “I
didn’t mean for any of them to get hurt. I didn’t hurt them.”
Reylan took some of her pain. And while she deserved to feel every
ounce as though it could kill her, Faythe accepted the assistance of his
calming presence to speak.
“It was me,” she confessed. “I stole the Phoenix feather. And what was
left of it…that is what they came for tonight. I didn’t hurt anyone in the
library, only sent them to unconsciousness… I didn’t—” She choked.
Reylan took her face, his eyes calculating but remaining soft to her.
It didn’t matter that Faythe wasn’t the one to wield the knife; every
death since she stole the feather was on her shoulders.
“Listen to me,” Reylan said firmly, his thumbs brushing her tears. “If
that’s what they came for, they would have gotten it in the library first, and
they would have killed for it anyway.”
It didn’t ease her shame, but her heart hollowed, unable to argue.
“I need you to tell me why.”
She owed him that, but she needed to be anywhere but in this room.
With her cleaved heart she was seconds away from turning around and
falling by Gresla’s side.
“I heard the commotion.”
That voice flipped something in her. Her vision was stolen by a flare of
white in an instant. A need for revenge surged her movements, and she felt
for the hilt of the dagger at her thigh. The slam of the wall rippled faintly
through the heat that pumped her blood fast. Only when her arm was pinned
across Malin’s chest and the tip of her blade was touching his throat did she
realize what she’d done.
“What did you do with it?”
“I could put you on trial for this.”
“Go ahead,” she dared, past any logical reason.
“Faythe, this isn’t the way,” Reylan said calmly.
“This is my way.”
“No, it’s not.”
She didn’t want to direct her reckless anger at him, but she couldn’t help
his intervention feeling like a betrayal.
“You should listen to him.” The slight curl of her cousin’s mouth
triggered her need for violence.
 Reylan and Kyleer shifted when her blade moved, resting now along his
skin.
“This does nothing but condemn you,” Kyleer reasoned.
Her teeth gritted so hard they could break, her tight fist trembling as she
battled with the strong desire to end her cousin right now. She had no proof
of his responsibility, but she couldn’t unsee him as the culprit. Perhaps in
her own hatred she needed to pin the blame.
With a cry of anguish, Faythe’s blade nicked his throat as she backed
away. Malin’s smirk fell to darkness as he raised a hand to the mild cut.
“How can you expect to run a kingdom with such unhinged emotions
and brash reactions?” he sneered.
Faythe didn’t care. She could hardly stand to look at him while the
blade still dangled in her grasp. Reylan’s hand went over it gently, and
Faythe didn’t protest as he led her from the room.
Out in the hall, her adrenaline slowly dwindled. Her steps moved her
vacant body, but the reality of her situation anchored her as heartache made
her numb.

Her emotions had exhausted her completely. She lay tucked up in the corner
of the library on one of the plush seats. They’d come back here because
Faythe knew sleep wouldn’t call to her for the rest of the night.
“I needed it to send a message. From the knowledge I found in some
texts, I thought if it truly was from Atherius I could use it with my bond to
her.” Faythe held no emotion as she recited the truth.
“We can discuss this tomorrow,” Reylan offered for the second time.
She only shook her head.
“Why didn’t you ask Agalhor for it?” Kyleer spoke.
“He wouldn’t have simply given it to me. Something so ancient and
guarded doesn’t belong in the hands of someone barely making herself
worthy here,” Faythe said. “Maybe he would have believed me, but I knew
with what I needed I couldn’t return it—not all of it. I thought one day I’d
be able to tell him, maybe replace it with a new one. I don’t know.” She
buried her face into her hands at hearing her selfishness aloud. No matter
how important she thought it was, too many lives had been taken since the
act.
 Reylan halted his worried pacing. He strode for her, crouching, and took
her tilted chin, which weighed so heavy she could hardly look up. “I need
you to stop these harmful thoughts. No death is on your conscience.”
Faythe didn’t bother to argue. His jaw worked knowing he couldn’t
persuade her.
“There was an attempt on the feather before you,” Kyleer said. “Just tell
her.” He directed the last part to Reylan.
Faythe broke from her slump, finding strength in her limp bones.
Reylan’s look confirmed the news, but her adrenaline spiked to hear it.
“They killed two of the library masters weeks ago but didn’t get further
before the alarm was raised and guards swarmed. It’s the closest anyone has
ever come to infiltrating the library, whether for the feather or some other
valuable things that are kept here. This library is well-guarded and has a
strong defense protocol. I’m sorry I kept it from you. It didn’t feel worth
your worry as they didn’t succeed.” He took her hand. His thumb tracing
her skin brought warmth to their chill. “So you see they would have killed
them all to get to it regardless. I assume now that when they discovered
someone had beaten them to it…well, they’re savage beasts anyway.”
“I left them vulnerable,” Faythe muttered. “I left them unconscious.”
Reylan sat beside her, and she couldn’t reject his comfort when he
pulled her into his side. “What did you achieve with it?” he asked—an
attempt to sway the conversation, but it only swept her with more shame.
His hand ran over her arm as though he could feel it too.
“I was testing if I could extract the Phoenixfyre from it.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.” Though she begged for him not to ask more. “All that was left
was half the feather. In the wrong hands…”
“We’re straining every resource to track them down,” Kyleer assured
her.
Faythe was so tired she let her head fall, resting it contentedly between
Reylan’s neck and shoulder. His scent soothed her enough to find just a
moment of peace from her aching heart. His fingers weaving through her
hair and stroking along her nape offered the final push for her to give
herself over to mournful exhaustion.
 CHAPTER 67

Tauria

T he time had come for the switch. 

Tauria’s fear coursed cold through her body. She was unable to be
still. For a fleeting moment she was glad Nik couldn’t sense her distress so
easily, until she remembered the permanence of that severed connection. 
“You don’t have to do this, love.” His gentle voice pulled her from her
reeling thoughts. Her gaze shifted to him, emeralds sparking with ache and
concern. “We can find another way.”
Tauria knew that despite the danger, the fight that would erupt if she
succumbed to her cowardice, Nik would face it all gladly if that were her
choice. 
It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Even within Olmstone’s castle she still had
vengeance left unsettled. She wondered if Varlas was still alive, and worse,
what she would do to him should she discover he still ruled with cruelty by
Marvellas’s will. 
“I can do this,” she told him, stepping up to savor every second she
could be wrapped up in his safety, 
“I know you can,” he said, kissing her firmly. 
Twilight fell around them, and by nightfall Samara would slip away and
Tauria would truly be the one in the high lord’s company. 
Nik’s hand took her wrist, and Tauria felt the weight of the silver band
before he slipped it on. She stared down at the familiar concealment
bracelet, hating the very sight of it while the feel of it itched her skin. 
 “Me too.” Nik agreed with her thoughts. His fingers tipped her chin up.
“The show goes on. But no matter what, you are mine, and I am yours.”
“Yes,” she breathed, and she fell into him completely, needing nothing
more than to be held by him right until the very last moment. 

Parting with Nik was never going to be easy. Even without a mating bond,
still something strained inside with every measure of distance.  She saw
Lycus sitting up by a tree and headed straight for him, yet a shadow caught
in her eye just as the general rose. 
“When we arrive in Olmstone city, I trust you’ll have many questions
about how it came to be after you made your grand exit.”
Tauria shivered at the dark, bitter notes of the high lord’s voice. “Is
Valgard in power?” she asked confidently, as if to portray she would be glad
if it were true. 
“Valgard,” he mused, and she caught the silhouette of him easing out
from the tree he’d been leaning against. The firelight and sin contoured his
expression. “Tell me, do the people fear less to name a kingdom as the
villain?”
“It was they who invaded. Wearing your crest.”
“Yet now you know better. You know things aren’t always what they
seem.” He stalked to her, hands clasped behind his back, making him taller
and all the more intimidating. “Have you ever been across the sea, Tauria?” 
He knew she hadn’t, so she didn’t respond. 
“What if I told you to kill your enemy Valgard would be to slaughter
darklings? Mothers, siblings, those who work and live in peace. You might
find”—he halted close to her, and Lycus shifted with the proximity, but
Mordecai paid him no attention—“our species aren’t all that different.”
Tauria’s pulse thrummed, praying he wouldn’t touch her. Hoping this
wouldn’t be the time he decided to reveal his affection for her in front of
Lycus. 
“You have a son,” Tauria blurted as the first thing to rush to mind,
desperate to disperse the tension that radiated from him. 
Mordecai’s eyes narrowed, and she thought her rib cage might break
from the beast within that struck hard between his longing and threatening
looks. His emotions could switch so fast she teetered on a knife’s edge with
anticipation. 
“Why so certain a son?”
She wasn’t, but he’d fueled her suspicions.
“Do you protect them?” she asked. 
“They are perfectly capable of protecting themselves.” His head canted
in curiosity. “You need not worry about it. I can assure you they are
certainly old enough not to need my attention. Not that I gave them any
throughout their upbringing.” 
“You didn’t raise them,” she probed, testing dangerous waters—but
while he was willing, she had to try.
“I almost killed them.”
Her heart finally stilled.
Mordecai studied her reaction, and something made him decide to
continue. “I had no desire or sentiment for a child. When the dark fae I had
relations with came to me with the claim the child was mine, I killed her.
The notion was ludicrous, and I don’t like to be made a fool of. I could have
simply given the child to the masters to be like all other darklings, passed
over to be raised as soldiers for this war, but I was enraged at the mockery. I
shouldn’t be able to produce an heir.”
“Because of what you are?”
“What am I?”
It was a test. Or a longing for the answer. Tauria wasn’t sure what she
read in his dark eyes that seemed to hope she knew…because he didn’t. 
“Your heir…you let them live,” she sidetracked again, not knowing
when she became enraptured enough by the tale to forget about Lycus’s
presence completely. “Why?”
“It all changed when they looked at me. I didn’t see the eyes of a
darkling with no telling what could become of them. I saw what could only
be an interference from the Gods themselves. I knew then I wasn’t brought
back simply for Marvellas’s bidding; I had created a legacy for the realm.”
Tauria couldn’t imagine the poor child…
She shook the thought. No, Mordecai had confirmed they were not
young, though she could only guess what that meant to him. The way the
high lord spoke of them offered nothing of a father’s love, and she pitied
the soul. Yet more so, Tauria feared what this meant. If they were powerful
and could prove to be a great weapon against them in the way he described
with admiration… 
Her racing thoughts held her in such a tight grip she didn’t realize
Mordecai had stepped closer and reached his hand up, slowly cupping her
cheek. He angled his head to her, and before she knew what she was doing,
her palm was pressed to his chest. Tauria breathed hard through the flash of
darkness at her rejection, scrambling to recover. 
“I can’t yet,” she rushed out. “I need time to recover. I can’t explain
how it feels…the severed bond. I want you, but I’m confused, and I can’t
—”
He cut off her ramblings by taking her chin instead with a gentle hold
she didn’t expect. “I can wait,” he said, and she believed him. 
Until something snapped in him. So suddenly Tauria choked on a gasp,
hands gripping the one he lashed around her throat. 
Steel sang as Lycus armed himself. “Release her,” he warned with a
snarl.
Mordecai didn’t flinch, holding her with emotionless eyes and a silence
that pierced her. He searched as if the betrayal she harbored would speak to
him against her will. 
“He has three seconds to let you go before I damn the plan to the
Nether and rip out his throat.” 
Nik’s threat didn’t help. She’d hoped he would have backtracked with
Samara to a safe distance by now. She should have known he wouldn’t have
left her with the high lord so soon. 
“Two.”
“If I find out you have tricked me, princess,” Mordecai finally said,
“don’t make the mistake of believing I won’t end you and your mate and
lay to waste both your kingdoms.”
“One.”
The high lord let go, stepping away, and she doubled over. Immediately,
Lycus’s arms were around her and she leaned into his safety. 
Tauria found the rage to shoot a glare at Mordecai and realized she’d
almost listened to the small voice in her heart that wanted to see better in
him. Some shred of humanity.
She should have known no tale or time could erase blood from the
hands that bathed in it.
 CHAPTER 68

Faythe

D tethered themselves to her

eath never became easier to welcome. The names
soul, never to be forgotten.
of her losses

Gresla’s funeral blurred past three days after her death. That morning,
Faythe wasn’t able to pay any attention to the young handmaiden who
arrived at her new rooms ready to take her place.
What did change was the aftermath of grief. With her mother’s death,
her child-self had become broken and hollow, wandering and lost, even
when she was found. With Caius, she’d been vacant for weeks, showing up
for the people around her and acting as if life were okay when she would
have sacrificed hers for the guard to live. With Gresla, Faythe became
detached in her denial, but acceptance was beginning to creep in much
faster.
There were no safe corners in this war, no exceptions. All Faythe could
do now was grieve and use her vengeance to drive her forward.
She didn’t change out of her black gown. Reylan hadn’t left her side,
and for once she hadn’t sought solitude. They’d wasted too much time. He
spoke over their measures of defense with Kyleer while Faythe lost herself
in thoughts of the parchments they hadn’t been able to examine for long
when Gresla was first discovered.
In her curiosity, she touched her fingers to two pieces of parchment: the
untranslated text from her mother’s watch, and the new piece. Her palm
tingled, trickling a warmth right to her fingertips. She watched in awe as a
gold dust dispersed, shooting along the broken line. She no longer feared
the small doses of magick she tested. A few heartbeats passed and her
fingers lifted. The light died out, and the paper became whole again. 
“How did you do that?” Kyleer asked through a breath of wonder,
lifting the parchment. 
Reylan’s hand slipped across her back, his eyes speaking of pride and
joy. The soft curl of his mouth fluttered her stomach. 
“I’m trying to use small amounts of this…other magick as and when I
can. I’ll need it to fight Marvellas, I believe.”
“One day at a time,” Reylan assured her, his thumb brushing over the
symbol in her palm. “It’s beautiful.”
“Can I take this?” Kyleer interrupted, frowning at his hands. 
“I was going to ask Marlowe to translate the new words.”
“I think we have someone who can do that far faster.” Kyleer passed a
look between her and Reylan, and Faythe concluded his meaning before he
explained himself. “I recognize some of these markings from trying to
decipher a particular word from a particularly stubborn dark fae.”

Zaiana’s expression twinkled with glee when they all came to stand outside
her cell. Even Reuben had insisted on visiting the dark fae, and Faythe
figured the more allies who heard the information she sought to gain, the
more successful they’d be. 
“I’m flattered you all thought to check in,” Zaiana drawled.
“Does this mean anything to you?” Faythe held the parchment through
the bars, not in the mood to dance around what she wanted. 
Zaiana sat casually against the back wall, her legs crossed, arms limp.
She didn’t appear frightening at all, yet Faythe wouldn’t let her guard down
for a second. The dark fae’s head tipped back, brow curving in amusement,
but Faythe saw it: the recognition that sparked like a candle in her chest.
“So you’ve come for bedtime stories.”
“We’ll get comfortable,” Izaiah chimed in, leaning cross-armed against
the bars. “Start talking.”
When ire flexed around Zaiana’s eyes, Faythe wondered if it was a bad
idea to allow Izaiah to come given their obvious hostility for each other.
“Why would I do that?” Zaiana challenged him. 
“Because you want to live.”
 “Your words, not mine.”
“Izaiah,” Kyleer cut in hard. 
“Fill me in later.” Izaiah pushed upright, not looking at any of them as
he left the cells. 
Faythe shook her head at the conflict, needing to let it lie for now
though it stirred questions. They had a task to do. 
Kyleer took a nervous breath. Nervous. Faythe watched him carefully as
he approached the cell and his gaze eased to something softer than his
brother had offered—something far more…personal. On instinct, Faythe
flashed a look up to Reylan, and though he didn’t move an inch, her
confirmation was there. 
“We don’t need your help,” Kyleer said. “Marlowe has translated this
ancient language before, and she could do it again. But you know this
language, don’t you?” 
Faythe passed the paper into his outstretched hand, observing how
differently Zaiana bore her attention on him. She was still reserved, always
aware of the many others lingering around, but to him, her mask slipped
just enough to rest the games and let them see she was deliberating his
every word. 
“Nilhlir.” Kyleer spoke quietly. “It comes from this tongue.”
“So you’re not dim-witted.”
“I’m insulted you ever thought I was.”
The shadow of a smile appeared—not on her mouth, but in her eyes—
before Zaiana glanced over at the rest of them. Faythe stiffened, thinking
the reminder of their presence would seal her lips. 
Zaiana assessed Reuben and Marlowe, and perhaps Jakon by her side.
“Are you sure you have the right company for this?”
Something eerie crawled up Faythe’s nape as she read the warning, but
she wasn’t sure what it meant. She extended her senses for a quiet minute to
be certain there were no guards within the block and no bodies lingering
within earshot outside the dainty window. 
“I’m sure,” Faythe said, though the words tasted like the opposite. 
Zaiana didn’t voice the rest of her accusation, simply giving a shrug and
shuffling awkwardly with her hands bound to her knees. “Does anyone have
chalk? Or a willingness to lend their blood. The medium is not important.”
Kyleer muttered that he would fetch it, not leaving them a second to
respond before he disappeared in shadow. His ability would never cease to
amaze Faythe. 
“You said it took you over a century to master the ruin.” Faythe filled
the silence. She didn’t hope to interrogate Zaiana, nor was she holding out
hope for an answer. Only out of fear did she speak to the one person she
knew had experience with what lay ahead. “What if I don’t have that time?
Not even close.”
“You won’t like my answer.” It was a small relief that Zaiana had
deigned to answer at all, but her tone held an apology, whether the dark fae
realized it or not. 
“I wasn’t expecting to,” Faythe mused. 
A rare line of connection ran between them, fast, and then it dispersed
like a falling ember. 
“I don’t know what kind of power you harbor now, Faythe Ashfyre.
Maybe you have it in you to wield the ruins; maybe you could join the
ruins…but you will not survive it.”
Reylan’s hand on her waist didn’t ease the stiffening of her body. It was
a natural response, though her mind stilled with the answer that on some
level she had known. Had even come to terms with. Zaiana’s confirmation
didn’t raise dread or fear or doom. Faythe knew her second chance hadn’t
been granted in aid of a happy ending; it was a weapon to free many others. 
Zaiana’s attention fell to Reylan’s hand, and she gave him a look Faythe
couldn’t decipher before her attention drifted to nothing. “Perhaps between
you there could be a chance, or maybe it will kill you both.”
Her gut twisted to pain, in protest of something not yet in motion. It
rocked through her hard, but the appearance of starry shadows within the
cell snapped her mouth shut. 
Kyleer came into full form, crouched low and close, holding out the
shard of white chalk to Zaiana. Though he had watched over her as their
captive for months, Faythe tensed at their proximity, not believing for a
second Zaiana was incapable of harming him greatly even with the
restraints. 
The dark fae took the offering, quickly dropping eye contact with a deep
breath. Kyleer didn’t retreat from the cell. 
“I’m surprised none of you could identify the Mark of the Seven Gods,”
she sighed as though schooling them like children who should know
better. Her amethyst gaze flashed up to Marlowe in particular, but her friend
yielded no reaction.
 Her firm expression was unlike her, but given their company, Faythe
understood.
Zaiana tried to suppress a smile. “Where do you think the Spirits came
from?” she went on, leaning forward to begin her drawing. Faythe almost
felt bad for her momentarily, wincing as she maneuvered within her
restraints. Zaiana drew a circle. “Aurialis.” Then a downward pointing
triangle within it. “Marvellas.” Over that, her semicircle created a fallen
crescent moon. “Dakodas.” Zaiana struck three lines through the combined
symbol. “Three Spirits to balance the realm.” She huffed a mocking laugh.
“Or so they thought.” 
She didn’t stop there, marking side after side around the circle, and
Faythe glanced down at the parchment in her hands to find the dark fae was
drawing the same symbol without reference. It rattled a chill to wonder how
many steps they still had to take to catch up to their enemy’s knowledge,
and what else they could still be in the dark about. 
“Seven sides, seven Gods,” Zaiana said, leaning back on her knees to
admire her handiwork. 
Jakon spoke up. “Where are they now? If what you say is true, they
created the Spirits to protect us. Why not step in when they’ve gone against
them?” 
“The Gods have many realms. Or perhaps they are aware but have been
blocked from their own creations. You would be wise not to underestimate
what Marvellas is capable of in her desire to claim this one as her own. Do
you even know what that means? You seek to stop a foe whose end game
you do not understand.”
“And I suppose you do,” Reylan said irritably. 
A gleam flashed in her eyes with the hint of a goading smile, and Faythe
figured Zaiana found entertainment in riling Reylan up. “I might.”
Reylan cast his gaze to the cell roof as if to yell at those very Gods and
ask, “Why me?” Faythe tried to suppress her own amusement, sending him
a piece of her within to soothe his sharp ire. 
“She wants to rule the seven kingdoms,” Kyleer tried. 
Zaiana almost seemed disappointed by his conclusion. “Nothing is ever
as simple as that. Even if that were true, for what means? By what cause?
You are all content to see a villain because it opposes your order.”
“She wanted to turn Nik and Tauria into dark fae—is that her goal? To
have the world Transitioned?” Jakon asked.
 Zaiana’s chuckles vibrated chillingly through the space. “A very flawed
assumption if that any of you have the wits about you to think logically,”
she bit out, growing impatient. 
“The Transitioned dark fae are volatile, bloodthirsty…” Reylan was
calculating, sifting his thoughts down to Faythe. “The creature in High
Farrow’s underground and those we faced in the town.”
Faythe nodded at the grim memory, airing her conclusion to Zaiana.
“Some can be Transitioned beyond being anything of humanity.”
“Yes,” Zaiana confirmed. “There are many who lose their minds during
it. It’s obvious, and they’re separated from those who still have the wits to
be trained. But the others…they’re kept alive, and it’s a slow deterioration
from there. They don’t feel pain, they don’t die easily, and they don’t have
any thoughts but one: their thirst for blood.”
The air pricked with ice. Flashbacks to being hunted by one of those
beasts, their short battle against a dozen, and what Zaiana described made
Faythe’s pulse quicken at the idea of a whole battlefield full of them.
“Are there many?” she dared to ask. 
A long, frightening pause came. 
“Yes.”
Faythe swayed a little, forgetting Reylan’s touch until the squeeze of his
hand on her waist dragged her back to the present. 
“The Seven Gods.” Marlowe uttered her first words. “Tell them.”
Zaiana hooked a brow at Faythe’s friend while Faythe tried not to pay
attention to the sickness rising in her gut at what Marlowe could have
already known. She tried to understand that with her gift she couldn’t
always tell them, yet it stabbed like betrayal. 
“It can’t be easy knowing your friend could hold the answers that made
you desperate enough to come to me instead,” Zaiana taunted. 
That only twisted her gut tighter with the need to defend. But Faythe
couldn’t deny she’d thought the same, even if fleeting, in her will to believe
Marlowe wouldn’t put any of them in danger regardless of the balance and
order she held a duty to keep. 
“I don’t know everything,” Marlowe was quick to say. “Only pieces.
The Gods created the Spirits, yes, but they didn’t entirely abandon the realm
when in their image they created the Mortal Gods. Things don’t come to me
as clearly as that. I piece them together as I learn new things, so consider
this my reaching the end of your explanations just a little quicker than the
rest.”
Relief and pride lifted Faythe’s unease all at once with Marlowe’s
confident explanation. To her surprise, Zaiana grinned, showing those
pointed canines Faythe had seen before, and considering they used those
canines to feed off humans, she wondered if Zaiana couldn’t retract them or
simply didn’t want to. She shuddered at the reminder, but it also offered her
the realization Zaiana didn’t depend on feeding off humans to exist. She’d
seemed perfectly healthy in the months she’d been without human blood.
Faythe was…hopeful.
“This is where the story gets long. You might want to get comfortable.”
Zaiana paused, contemplated, then said, “I want cake.”
Everyone was stunned by the request. Faythe wasn’t sure if it was
because it was so completely random or the fact it painted the dark fae in a
normality that felt jarring. 
“Why is that so surprising?” she asked, offended, glancing at everyone’s
bewildered looks. “The food is rather bland, and I’ve been stuck down here
for an ungodly amount of time.”
Reylan crossed his arms as he said, “I’m waiting for you to request it’s
frosted with the chef’s blood.”
Zaiana shot him a flat look. “Chocolate will suffice.” 
“It’s yours,” Kyleer responded, fighting a smile. “Anything else?”
Their gazes met, and along with their proximity, for a split second
Faythe fought the urge to look away. It clicked then with blazing clarity as
she stared at them, skipping a beat of her heart and canceling out any
kindness she might have felt toward the dark fae. Her need to protect
Kyleer pulsed so strongly her fists flexed. 
“Don’t do anything reckless,” Reylan said gently to her mind. 
“You knew?” she accused. 
It was so obvious she wanted to slap herself. Kyleer’s odd behavior;
Izaiah’s hostility. Faythe cursed herself repeatedly for being so distracted
not to have seen it sooner. The feelings he had grown for the enemy. 
“Not for long, but it is not for us to stop.”
“She’s using him.” 
Faythe had to focus not to let her anger show, or it would start as a
blaring beacon in her palms. Reylan’s caress stroked her senses. It helped,
but a new wall of suspicion had built when she might have been softening
to Zaiana. 
 The scraping against stone distracted her from that surge of emotion.
Faythe watched as Zaiana translated the first word, again without needing
to refer to the parchment. Along the first slanted side of the polygon she
wrote: “Strength.”
“When the Gods made this realm, there was no reason for them to stay,
and they quickly grew bored. It took all seven of them to create the Spirits
to balance the species and guard the realm, or so they thought. But Gods are
fickle beings, always believing they can trump each other, so the Spirits
were not enough. They agreed that while the Spirits would remain as
guardians of the world, they would each create their own being to roam the
lands in flesh. Demetris, the God of Strength, believed the world could be
saved through honor and sacrifice. He created the first Mortal God in his
image, a fae he named after himself, as did they all in their arrogance.” 
She swirled the letters of the next word down the vertical edge:
“Wisdom.”
“Erosen was next, the God of Wisdom. He believed the world could be
balanced with patience and forward thinking. Again, his creation was fae.”
Faythe became wholly entranced by the tale, feeling it sink deeper than
her own understanding of history, trying to open a door she didn’t hold the
key to. 
“Iyana, the Goddess of Knowledge”—Zaiana scribed the word—“was
the first to choose a human creation. She believed in fairness and that power
was not in the body but the mind. The God of Courage, Helios, was said to
have had a certain adoration for Iyana’s ways, and so he too chose a human
form to embody him, believing bravery and willpower no matter the odds
were what the land needed, and that their humans would prove that.”
With three sides left, no one else uttered a word, all eyes transfixed on
Zaiana’s drawing, hypnotized by the way she spoke. 
“Fedara, the Goddess of Resilience, is a personal favorite.” Zaiana
mused at the word. “They often overlooked her values. Maybe some
thought them weak. Though the lands would not be as vibrant and full of
life as they continue to be without her vision that peace and forgiveness
would settle the lands. It was her fae creation that began the order that
would make peace flow between the kingdoms.” 
 Faythe listened to every word about the Gods feeling like she knew
them, or like they had always been a part of her. 
“Kitana, the Goddess of Darkness and Light, was the only one to go
against the others, creating her image as dark fae. She was considered an
untrustworthy God—only to the others who misunderstood one with a will
to do whatever was necessary, even if morally gray. Her love could be
harsh, but she believed in the will to bend—to use darkness if needed—but
she was not cruel.”
Faythe found herself agreeing with Zaiana though she wouldn’t speak
it. She allowed her to finish her final word. 
“At the top of the pinwheel we circle back to Lasenna, the Goddess of
Power. The Gods might like to pretend they are equal, but I believe even
they knew Lasenna had more power than them. They respected her because
she did not abuse that fact, though she could have. It was within her
capabilities to go against them all if she wished. But she believed in
selflessness to balance the power she had, and she might have chosen a
human image were it able to contain what she gave them. But power is
often angry and dangerous and unpredictable.”
Her silence vibrated, forming many strings of thought from everything
Zaiana shared, but Faythe couldn’t focus. Didn’t yet know what it all meant
and how the new knowledge could help them. 
“What happened to the Mortal Gods?” Kyleer asked at last. 
Zaiana gave a shrug that said her next words were guesswork. “This
was the Dawn of Ungardia. My guess? They lived and died in any regular
fae and human lifespan.”
“Their descendants…could they hold the same power still?” Reylan
quizzed. 
“Doubtful through such a diluted bloodline. We’re talking many
millennia.”
“Unless the True Gods have found a way to intervene again.”
Marlowe’s voice held a familiar hopeful note as though she’d found another
piece to the endless unformed puzzles of her mind. “There’s a prophesy,
isn’t there? One Marvellas knows about, and which mentions the Seven
Mortal Gods. I think I’ve seen pieces of it.” Her expression pinched in
confusion as she tried to scramble for answers she only harbored in halves. 
“I don’t know of the prophesy,” Zaiana admitted, and Faythe believed
her words to be genuine. “But I know you’re important to her, Faythe. I
thought that was only because you were her heir.” Zaiana dropped her
chalk, sitting back against the wall. “Perhaps you have a bigger advantage
than you know. One that Marvellas may discover first and eradicate if
you’re not smart enough. From today’s observations, I can’t say I’m
hopeful for you.”
Faythe would have rolled her eyes at the gibe, but Zaiana was right:
they were thinking of battle and war and weapons when they could be
overlooking something crucial, only to be found in books, not steel. “The
last line,” she said, examining the four words left underneath the image. 
“Fesia omarte, Fesia lasera.” Zaiana recited them with a beautiful
eloquence. 
But it was Kyleer who translated the message. “Fall one, fall all.”
 CHAPTER 69

Faythe

F she was becoming surer

aythe had alteredmany minds this night to slip out of the city. While
of taking short-term memory, she quickened
Kali’s pace out of fear any one of them could slip through and alert the
others to her absence
She had no choice but to risk it.
They rode hard, slowing to a walk as they came to the closest small
town just outside the capital city. Faythe wasted no time in securing Kali
and heading into the quaint inn. There was no guarantee her plan had
worked, nor that her message had been received. It had been a desperate
shot in the dark, and her heart pounded furiously that it could have been for
nothing and it was all her fault what happened to the masters of the library.
Her pulse stuck in her throat when she entered and paused in the
archway leading into the main room.
There he was.
And from the full tankard and neatly placed fan of cards, it seemed he
had been waiting for her just as she hoped.
She slid onto the bench. He kept his hat tilted down, attention only on
his ale and preparing the game. She breathed heavily, everything she
wanted to confront him with crashing to surface.
Faythe began with, “How old are you?”
That earned a deep inhale from him, right before his head straightened,
and Faythe was met with familiar ocean eyes around the sailor’s aged skin.
“I think the question is, how old are you, Faythe Ashfyre?”
 Augustine opened with tricks. She knew he would, yet it ground her
irritation.
“Twenty,” she said through gritted teeth.
“What is a physical body…to a soul?” His gaze fell pointedly to the
hand of cards she hadn’t touched.
“I didn’t come here to play.”
“I’m impressed you figured out how to send a Fyre Message for us to be
here at all.”
It was all she’d stolen the feather for. She’d discovered she could
harness the small embers and write her words with their flame before they
took the form of a small Phoenix and soared from her window. Yet her awe
and triumph at the revelation had long since turned to a nightmare of gut-
wrenching guilt.
“When you live within the castle of the Phoenix kingdom, there’s bound
to be text on the Firebirds not found elsewhere.”
“Indeed, and you took my hint to call to me. I am flattered.”
“Gus.” Her palm met the table, allowing her emotions to slip around her
magick. The cards caught in a shallow flame until they disappeared as
nothing more than gold dust.
He observed her spectacle with wonder. “Fascinating, all you have
become. Perhaps your fate is more kind than cruel after all.”
Her fist balled. “You knew.” It came out as a whisper as the pain that
shot through her stole all else.
Only then did he set down his hand, and his look fell with sympathy.
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“What would I have said? What could I have possibly told you that
would have been believable? No. It was not for me to speak. Nor did I truly
believe we would be able to now, but I am glad.”
Her eyes stung, threatening to blur her vision. “All this time. How could
I not have known?” Piece by piece she was breaking down, and she had no
one to turn to.
“You have gained far more than you lost. Her means will be to your
ultimate advantage. The companions you have this time, the power you
wield… I do make light of all you have been through, but I trust in the order
of events that have led us here. You must too.”
Faythe shook her head, not having full clarity about what he meant. It
was becoming an eternal headache. “I don’t know what to do,” she
confessed. “I don’t know everything. I can’t be certain I ever will.”
“You have to,” he said. His voice was firm, but his heart opened up to
her, and that…the familiarity of it, made her bury her face in her hands. Gus
was not one to offer comfort in an embrace. “You have been through a lot.
So much more than any soul should. I don’t hold the answers you seek,
though I truly wish I did. But the very fact you’re here gives me hope you
will figure it out. All I do know is there will come a time that will test your
will to remember.”
Faythe had never thought of it that way. Did she want it? Or would the
truth expose her to merciless wounds that would never heal for all she’d
done? All she’d failed.
“Marvellas had a son. Do you know if the message was received?”
A son.
The knowledge didn’t slam into her like it should. Instead, it tempted
her to a void in her mind Faythe feared more than anything, for it attacked
her with words, images, and impossible truths. She avoided touching that
part of herself all together. But this…
“No,” she said, placing deep attention on the chipped wooden table as
she thought. Taken right back to the abandoned shop and the Dresair she
faced. “But perhaps it will be now.”
Gus raised his tankard a fraction before taking a long drink. “Let us
hope you are heard.”
She hadn’t recognized the item then, but now it flared a new beacon of
hope from long ago. Faythe’s leg bounced along with her mind, which
reeled over a war that was not new, only a continuation. Not lost, only
dormant.
“He does not know?”
Gus wasn’t really asking. Knowing who he meant in the switch of
conversation, Faythe turned rigid. Her pulse pounded furiously, and her
throat tightened with so much grief and guilt that breathing became
difficult.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because what do I have but broken fragments of an unfathomable
truth?” She took a long, shuddering breath. The most prominent reason
squeezed her chest so tight her heart verged on eruption. “And because I’m
afraid he will never forgive me.”
 She felt the silence like judgment.
“After all this time, perhaps he already has.”
He said it to ease her burden, but Faythe’s sorrow only weighed heavier.
Gus had all but answered her question on his lifespan by being here at all,
bringing to mind another reason she sought the knowledge, and she looked
up. There was no easy way to say it, but Faythe couldn’t harbor this secret
she owed them both.
“You have a daughter.”
Gus flinched, taken aback as he leaned away. “You are confused.”
“I’m not. Her name is Marlowe Kilnight and she’s an oracle.”
His eyes closed as if it would stop him from hearing anything more.
Faythe’s gut twisted.
“That’s not possible.”
“The woman who abandoned you in Farrowhold—she didn’t do so
because she fell out of love. She was protecting her child.”
“From me?”
His anger made her flinch, unused to seeing it on his usual jester’s face.
“From a life of uncertainty at sea,” she explained calmly. “She’s the
smartest person I know. Kind and brilliant, and she looks—”
“Stop.”
Faythe frowned. “You should meet her.”
“I won’t.” He met eyes with her then, delivering a warning in his cold
stare. “Have you told her?” he asked in a warning tone.
“No.”
“Don’t.”
“She deserves to know.”
“What good will it do her?”
Faythe realized then. “You don’t want to know her?”
He didn’t answer, which flared Faythe’s anger in defense of Marlowe.
Her friend deserved so much better.
She rose, staring down at Gus as she tried to surface her thoughts. “I
won’t say anything, for it is not my place, but I think it would be cruel to
rob her of the truth. She is kind and gentle and sees only the good in people.
She believes herself to be an orphan. Not long ago did the man she thought
to be her father die, and he was good. But you are her father, another oracle,
and she has been so lost trying to find her own way with her power.”
 His expression became hard to read. The peppering of hair along his jaw
shifted, his ocean eyes conflicted, but he didn’t yield. “She would be better
off without me.”
“So her mother thought. I guess she was right.”
That earned her a look of resentment. Though Faythe didn’t balk as he
rose, the wooden thump of his missing leg ringing like a bell through her.
She blurted her sudden thought. “You were there. You lost your leg
fighting.”
“Why did you come, Faythe?”
“To know that I’m not losing my damn mind.”
The tension that had risen between them eased all at once. Faythe’s face
crumpled when his expression switched to one of mutual longing. She
moved before she could stop herself, knowing his embrace would be stiff
and feeble but needing to feel it anyway.
He wrapped one of his arms around her.
“She deserves to know,” Faythe whispered against him. “It’s never too
late.”
It would offer Marlowe nothing but confusion and heartache if Faythe
told her about her birth father knowing he held no desire to meet her. She
left the decision with Gus and prayed his heart could open for a daughter.
Faythe knew from finding her own father that lost time didn’t matter so
much as what could be gained.
“She is your friend?”
Faythe moved with the rumble of his chest, and the fact he’d asked
anything about Marlowe gave her small hope. Stepping away, she nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then she is in good company.” Those words dropped her spirit, but
Gus’s lips tugged upward with a small, fatherly smile. “My promise to you
remains unbroken. I will always answer your call. I hope you find yourself
as who you want to be above all else.”
PART III
 CHAPTER 70

Reylan

T around him became

he moment he knew where she’d gone he was sprinting. The people
blurs of color, their terrified cries drowned out by
the pulse in his ears. She’d lied. His soul cried out with peril. He wouldn’t
survive it. Without her, he didn’t want another breath in this world.
In the Nether in which he was living he couldn’t push his legs fast
enough through the winding streets. The chaos around him obstructed his
path to her, creating a surge of rage. He could destroy the world in his
wrath.
When the horizon broke, he was forced to halt, breath heaving from him
as he scanned the masses of allies and foes on the battlefield.
The name he wanted to scream became entangled with another. He
clamped his eyes shut to block out the movement of bodies. Confusion
rocked him; he should know which name to call. He searched for her
another way, hoping there’d be something within that he could still follow
to get to her.
Reylan freed his blade, knowing he’d torn flesh in his determination,
but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t stop. Cutting through enemies as if every
one of them sought to stop him from reaching her, unable to falter for a
second when he felt her.
So close. He was so damn close to her.
Fire tore from his chest, and in that second, he felt what it was truly like
to have the world around him stop. He saw her as she stumbled back. Two
arrows were protruding from her abdomen, and he raced for her. One arm
caught her fall while the other lashed out for the third arrow about to strike
her. Reylan snapped it in his palm, finding the archer, and with an agonizing
battle cry, he reached into their mind and commanded a sharp twist to snap
their neck.
It did nothing to alleviate the freezing grip of something more
consuming than terror, more frightening than any living person should ever
experience. Reylan lowered to the ground with her slowly, cradling her
while he assessed her wounds.
“You’re okay,” he said vacantly, sheer panic erasing the fighting around
him and stealing time, gravity, and all things as he accepted reality. “I’m
here. You’re okay.” He smoothed back the sweat-slicked lengths of her
chestnut-brown hair.
“You’re not supposed to—” Her breath caught, golden eyes casting to
the stars, and the agony in them tightened his arms around her. “You
weren’t supposed to be here.”
“That’s a ridiculous notion,” he brushed off. He felt every second of her
faltering and begged each one to slow. Her eyes slipped to his, filled with
pain and fatigue.
“Don’t you dare,” he breathed.
“Lie with me, please.”
He fought her. Gods, he fought that hold with everything he was. His
vision blurred her beautiful face, battleworn and tired but still so damn
perfect. He wanted to map every inch like he’d done so a thousand times;
like he planned to a thousand more.
“All I want…is for you to lie with me.”

Reylan shot upright, registering the pressure straddling him but somehow
knowing it was salvation, not a threat. His breathing came hard and fast, but
he clutched Faythe tight, filling his senses with her scent while their hearts
pounded against each other. Her arm encircled his shoulders, and the slow
stroke of her fingers through his hair slowly brought him back from the
terror from which he’d emerged.
“It was just a dream,” she soothed.
Reylan’s hands slipped up her back, over the silk of her nightgown, to
feel her skin while his forehead remained against her neck. “It didn’t feel
like a dream,” he whispered. He couldn’t explain it any further. How could
he when what he witnessed didn’t make sense? It was too sure, the soul-
tearing feelings too raw, to be a vision, though he wished he could stop the
shattering in his chest with the belief that was all it was when it haunted
him like a memory. Like those he had of Farrah.
“I’m sorry if I woke you.” He found the will to pull back just enough to
see her face, but those glittering amber eyes flashed with the horror of his
nightmare. He cupped her cheek, blinking it away to remember she was
safe in his hold.
“I felt you,” she said, brow pinching in disturbance. “You can tell me
about it.”
He shook his head, coaxing her mouth down to his with a surge of need.
The softness of her lips, the taste of her, wrapped him in a blissful reality he
calmed to. With an arm around her, he guided her down until she was lying
beneath him. They broke apart, and while the moon flooded over her
features he mapped every part of her, still battling the rise of panic from his
dream.
“It seems neither of us sleep well when we’re apart,” she said, tracing
idle fingers over his chest.
He took her hand, planting a kiss within her palm before lying next to
her. “It seems so.”
Faythe wiggled in close. The warmth, the beat of her heart—everything
about her fucking ached, and he needed the pain of it.
“Promise me something, Faythe,” he blurted.
“Of course.”
“I don’t ever want to forget.”
She angled her head back, and he almost missed the quickened tempo of
her pulse. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I know you could do it—take my memory far more
effectively with the full power you have now. And that terrifies me more
than following you to death.”
Faythe shuffled away from him, and he propped himself up when she
slipped out of bed. “I should go back to my room.” She twisted her bracelet.
“We shouldn’t push it, remember.”
“Don’t leave.”
“I’m sorry.” She took a few backward steps as if she might change her
mind. Then the shake of her head sank his gut before she turned and slipped
out of the room.
Reylan stood watching after the ghost of her presence, resisting the urge
to go after her. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing his hours of rest
were over for the night.
 CHAPTER 71

Faythe

F that stretched like a month

aythe was enduring her most tedious time in Rhyenelle so far: a week
with its endless classes. In the mornings
she’d be chauffeured by Izaiah to his dance class, which was becoming
more like a military drill, and later the same day she’d suffer through
teachings on the royal lineage and Rhyenelle’s traditions. The times she was
passed off to a new tutor for etiquette lessons tugged on the grief in her
heart for Gresla. The same happened when the new young handmaiden
tended to her daily instead of Gresla with her bright warmth. A day didn’t
pass without her guilt slicing deeper.
Reylan was often called away by Livia—something she yearned to ask
about while her concern for Livia tracking Evander grew. If it wasn’t his
cousin absorbing his attention, apparently what carried him away for days
at a time was the civil unrest in the outposts. She only caught short
moments with him which meant they’d hardly spoken since her guilty exit
from his room, and she didn’t know what to say to him.
Faythe was heading to meet Izaiah first thing that morning. Two guards
trailed her at all times, and though she felt it excessive, she hadn’t fought
her father’s concern, knowing the threat could still be lingering. As they
passed a slightly ajar door, her attention was drawn to the voices within, but
she intended to pass by…until a familiar blond head caught her eye. What
rang alarm bells more was his company.
Whatever reason Malin Ashfyre had for cornering Reuben could not be
good.
 “I hope you know exactly what you’re do—”
Faythe burst through the doors, and her friend jumped back in fright.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She directed her hostility at her
cousin.  Sparing Reuben a quick assessment, she found no evidence of
physical harm, only blanched skin. Faythe could almost see him trembling.
Her rage pulsed as she wondered what Malin could have said to him. 
“Just chatting. Right, Reu?” Malin chirped.
Before his hand could land on her friend’s shoulder, Faythe reacted. Her
hand rose as though her grip were real, and Malin’s teeth gritted with the
circle of blue flame that wrapped around his wrist. “Touch him and I make
it burn.”
“It’s fine, Faythe. We just happened to run into each other,” Reuben said
calmly. 
Her eyes narrowed at the switch from frightened to looking at her as if
this were a common occurrence. 
“I heard of your little fire tricks,” Malin chided, admiring the cobalt
flame.
Faythe wondered where or how he’d heard of them considering she’d
only shown very few. She stalked toward him, and it was as if all she could
feel were the words she never got to say to him after witnessing the library
scene. Looking at him, she saw someone capable of it all. Perhaps not the
murders, but the orchestration. 
“Go, Reuben,” she said without taking her eyes from Malin. 
He hesitated as though looking for some other signal but left before she
had to ask again.
Faythe’s fire extinguished as she came to stand before her cousin. 
“Something on your mind, princess?” he asked with smooth
enticement. 
“Where were you during the library killings?”
A calm darkness passed over his face. “Are you sure you want to go
there?”
Faythe retreated when he stepped closer, the challenge so palpable she
choked under it.
“Where were you, Faythe?”
She swallowed hard. “With Izaiah.”
“What a scare you must have had to find your rooms destroyed and your
handmaiden slain. Nothing missing?”
 Faythe’s back met the wall, but her vision flashed with the sinister prod.
“If I find out you had anything to do with it—”
“You’ll what, Faythe? You threatened me once without merit—do it
again and you’ll find games with me become snares, and you—”
Faythe batted his hand away before it could graze her chin, throwing the
heat of her fury into their stare down.
“You make it so easy to set them I’m almost becoming bored.”
“Why do you hate me so?”
The skin around his eyes flexed. “Wouldn’t anyone hate a stone in their
shoe, a weed on their path, a thorn in their side? You are nothing more than
a court jester with eyes on a crown that will crush you. Might you see I’m
saving you from your own overambition?”
She couldn’t deny she fought the stumble of her mind as it tried to agree
with a voice that had shrunk but would never fully leave her.
“Ah, there you are.”
Izaiah had perfect timing; Faythe was close to allowing her razor-sharp
emotions to win. He stood in the doorway, beckoning with a hand.
“Come, both of you.”
“Both?” they said simultaneously. 
Izaiah shifted a look between them, and Faythe bit down on her cheek. 
“Yes, both. We’re taking classes in the training room today.”
Faythe perked up at that, even enjoying the passing thought of getting to
unleash her aggravation for her cousin through a blade. 
“I’m afraid I won’t be of much aid in that respect,” Malin declined. 
“Oh, I only need something to piss Faythe off,” Izaiah chuckled, eyes
twinkling with mischief. “Your face on the sidelines will do the trick.”

Izaiah was right. 

Every time she heard an insufferable comment from her cousin or even
glanced his way, it was an effort to stifle her magick and only focus on
combat.  Kyleer joined them and became her sparring partner while Izaiah
observed and directed, though she was yet to see how this translated to her
dance. 
“It’s not too late to hand over the duty of opening the Comet Ball to me,
you know,” Malin offered, horribly sweet. “Exerting all this effort for a
mere dance is laughable.”
Faythe twisted around Kyleer’s vertical swipe. “The only thing that’ll
be laughable is when I trip you from across the hall.” With magick, she was
confident she could figure it out. 
Malin tsked. “Childish antics.”
Lumarias clanked with Kyleer’s mighty blade, crying a high-pitched
noise as it slid off it, and she ducked to avoid his next attack. 
“You bring out the best in me.”
“Keep focus on him, Faythe,” Izaiah chimed in. “Dance with his
movements, not in fear of them.”
“That makes no sense,” Faythe panted, but she didn’t stop. 
“Swords down,” Izaiah instructed. “That was just to let out your
frustrations; now we channel them. Dancing is just like swordplay. That
adrenaline you feel, you need it for this dance. It’s not slow. You can’t rely
on the lord to guide you. In fact, it’s more of a female lead.”
That only rattled her nerves. Malin smirked as she passed over her
blade. 
“Do you remember the steps to Kallsan Seven?” Kyleer asked. 
“Of course she does.” 
Faythe gasped with a thrill at Reylan’s voice behind her, but she fought
the impulse to meet him. He seemed to notice her hesitation, and she traced
the symbol in her palm instead.
“No swords. Let’s see the routine then.” Izaiah’s instruction saved the
tense silence. “General, want to have a try?”
Faythe’s pulse jumped, both glad and nervous when Reylan accepted
the offer, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He sent to her
mind, “Do you really remember this routine, or did I give you too much
credit?”
She met his sapphire stare, and so easily the tension between them
dissolved. She almost shook her head for the anxiety she’d succumbed to
more and more with each passing day. “I guess we’ll see.”
“I won’t go easy.”
“I’d be insulted if you did.”
Their eyes spoke to one another, and it was a delight to watch the
sparkle in his. 
“You’ve never done this without your sword,” he pointed out. 
“I’m particularly looking forward to it.”
 He caught her meaning. “You are a taunting, beautiful thing.”
“I’ve missed you.” It slipped out, and she only wished they were alone
for her to express how much. 
“Stances,” Kyleer cut in.
Faythe saw the look he spared Malin. How reckless they were to be
speaking in their minds around him, knowing it could give away too
much. She tried not to let it dull her mood, taking up a stance that felt both
odd but weightlessly pleasing without her sword. She admired how Reylan
appeared poised to ask her to dance, and it almost made her falter to wonder
if they would get that chance. If it would ever be appropriate.
She was beginning to despise that word. 
Reylan moved first, and Faythe answered to it. He went slowly so they
could adjust to each other without a blade, and though she were a leaf and
he the wind that guided her, they danced. Faythe lunged softly under his
arm, twisting around, and their backs grazed. Her hands still moved, and
her phantom steel sang the melody she timed her steps to. 
“You are mesmerizing,” Reylan said in her mind. 
She ducked, she spun, she stepped, and soon they picked up pace,
Faythe dancing on a slow crescendo that harmonized with him. At the speed
of combat the room faded to a blur, leaving nothing but him and her and
this passion that ignited between them. Her only wish was that it was a
dance floor; the only thing she yearned for was his touch. 
They stopped moving and Faythe gathered breath. Her brow pinched
with the desire to embrace him.
The slow clap that came from one side pricked Faythe’s skin with hot
annoyance. Malin didn’t smile with his applause, and she read it more as a
warning. His eyes said, “I’m onto you.” 
“Just like that, the duckling becomes a swan,” Izaiah fawned. 
“I thought I was a lamb on ice,” Faythe grumbled. 
Izaiah only waved her off. “That right there is exactly the kind of
balance and passion you need for the Comet Dance. Bravo for pulling it out
of her, General. Nice try, Kyleer.”
Faythe chuckled at his brother’s disgruntled sound, glad for the lift in
mood, and most of all grateful for the vote of confidence that she was
getting somewhere.
“It’s a shame you might miss it,” Malin drawled, sauntering over with a
hand stuffed in his pocket. 
 Faythe frowned, looking around to see which of them he meant, but one
glance at Reylan’s hard expression outed him. “You said you’d be there.”
Her voice fell from an accusation to a plea. 
“I’m only back for two nights. Then I’ll be overseeing the final
adjustment to a new defense in the outskirt post,” he explained. “I hope to
make it back in time.”
“But we know the journey itself is long, and in the past, this would have
been the perfect excuse for you to avoid such a party, General.” Malin’s
lingering accusation wasn’t subtle as he went to leave. “How times have
changed… Oh, I almost forgot.” As he spun back on his heel, Malin’s smile
made Faythe’s skin crawl. “Lord Zarrius should be arriving tomorrow.
You’ll be glad for the chance to practice with your true partner before
you’re performing before hundreds come the end of the week.”
Faythe had never felt such a desire to attack someone with their back
turned.  But all those motions soon fell away when a hand snaked around
her abdomen as soon as he was out of sight, and she sank blissfully into the
force that enveloped her from behind. Reylan’s lips touched her head. 
“He’s not worth your energy,” he said softly. 
“I’ve never liked him,” Kyleer said, staring vacantly after her cousin’s
ghost. “But I can’t shake the feeling something is off about his arrogance.”
“It’s rising because he thinks he can scare Faythe from the throne,”
Izaiah commented. 
“That’s always been true. I can’t put my finger on it, but this lord…you
have to be cautious with,” Kyleer said.
“I’ve heard a lot about him from Jakon and Marlowe. His allegiance is
to himself,” Faythe grumbled.
“And that is the kind who will switch sides depending on whose ship is
sinking fastest,” Kyleer added. 
“Which can change in a heartbeat,” Reylan said. “We need to learn him
before he learns you.”
“I only remember him briefly from High Farrow. His mind I was
ordered not to search. Orlon said he was one of the very few he trusted
completely, and I wasn’t going to argue with having one less head to
infiltrate when I could hardly stand what I was doing.” 
Reylan’s arm tightened around her a fraction at hearing of her past
though he already knew it all.  He said to her thoughts, “Never again will
you be used by anyone. Your power, your choice. On my life, you will
always be free.”
 CHAPTER 72

Tarly

H feelings in his chest.

is hand reached out, finding the softest skin that ignited strange new
His fingers slipped through hers, not caring how
she’d found him or why she was lying with him, only that she was here, and
he could rest easy now. She shuffled closer, diffusing a scent of cinnamon
and lilies, which he breathed in deeply. 
“Why did you leave me?” she whispered. 
“I didn’t mean to.”
Tarly’s lids slipped open to a breeze of cold reality. He lay alone in his
dark room, seeming to have drifted into near sleep, but the thoughts of
Nerida, where she was and if she was safe, kept him awake. 
Turning out of bed, he threw on a shirt, some pants, and his boots.
Katori whined in protest, but he didn’t listen. One thing was tormenting him
beyond reason, and he couldn’t leave without facing his demon. His mind
would never relent with the lingering unknown. 
Stealthily as a ghost, Tarly took every hidden passageway and dark spot
he knew to move around the castle. In his lonely days, all he’d had was time
to map and explore and wonder if the structure would ever offer anything
new no matter how many times he ventured it. Two guards were posted at
the cell entrance. Dark fae. He should have known it wouldn’t be so simple
to get through here. He knew of another entrance—one he’d used to keep
check on Lycus while he was imprisoned. 
Slipping through the narrow stone passageway, he came out on the other
side. It was only a short walk before Tarly saw him. 
 He hadn’t known what he’d feel upon seeing his father, yet the male
who was curled into himself in the far corner didn’t inspire any emotion
other than the same pity Tarly would feel for a stranger. 
“Hello, Father.” He barely got the words out through his bone-dry
throat. 
Varlas lifted his head, and those hazel eyes he thought he knew were
already dead. The torture his father had to endure now was simply to live—
something Tarly didn’t expect to resonate so deeply. 
“Why did you come here?” His father’s voice was distorted, a lifeless
croak. “To bask in my conquer?”
“This was never what I wanted,” Tarly defended. 
Varlas gave a cruel chuckle. “Go now. Be king, my son.”
His mocking tone didn’t heat Tarly with rage; it stabbed mercilessly as
if he’d had the confirmation he anticipated already. A harsh closure that he
was not loved nor wanted by Varlas. Not anymore.
“Did you ever care for me…after she was gone?”
With the cold and heavy silence that followed, Tarly braced himself
thinking he’d never get his answer. But then Varlas spoke, head resting
against the abrasive stone. He could hardly stand to look at him. 
“I tried,” he said, so distant like a ghost, “but I could not. You look just
like her. Your face, your eyes. Even in your spirit you always took after her
more. Every time I looked at you, all I could see was my failure in letting
her die. She would never return to me, and I didn’t deserve to have you as a
gift, so you became my punishment. This is not what you want to hear, but
it is my truth and all I can give you.”
“I was your son.” Tarly broke, squeezing the word through clenched
teeth. His eyes burned, but he forced the threatening tears back. “You knew
Isabelle wanted to flee. You helped her and watched me believe she was
dead. How could you? Knowing what the loss of a mate meant, how could
you?” A cold tremble shook through him. His throat constricted tightly. 
“Things changed when Marvellas came to me. She offered something
she now denies me: a chance to forget. I wasn’t opposed to the idea of
becoming dark fae when she made it sound like a new beginning. I
wouldn’t remember your mother; I wouldn’t remember my torn soul. And
perhaps you and I would have bonded anew. I might have been able to give
Keira more affection, and Opal. It was for you all that I did this.”
“None of us would have wanted that. To become monsters.”
 “I didn’t see it that way, nor do I now.”
“You’re a spineless coward,” Tarly seethed, though it tore agony
through him. 
“Perhaps. But son, I have no regrets.”
He couldn’t bear it. “I’m not your son. Not anymore. You are nothing to
me, and my one wish…” His chest rose and fell deeply, but he was unable
to stop the horrific words when he’d felt them for so long. “I wish it were
you who died, not her.”
Tarly’s violent tremors knew no outlet as he stormed from the cells, not
knowing how to cope, nor having anyone to hold him in his anguish. He
thought this time the internal gray cloud might kill him.
The last splinter to break him down came from his father’s final
whisper. 
“So do I.”

The rain answered his anguish. It suffocated his cries, which had been
unlocked from a tomb he permanently strained against. His loss, his grief,
everything he was and wasn’t—it all came pouring out of him as
aggressively as the hard pelt of water. 
Tarly Wolverlon hadn’t cried in so long he didn’t know how to stop. He
perched on the familiar rooftop he’d sat on with Tauria before, his knees
tucked up and his head buried in his hands, while a tempest more violent
than the weather unleashed from him. He cried in mourning for his mother
all over again. He apologized for failing her and for allowing himself to
succumb to this numb existence with a father who didn’t want him,
knowing she would have encouraged his heart to love, and for him to
follow his desires wherever they led him. Since her death he had become
the opposite. The hurt in his chest hadn’t stopped expanding until he’d
learned to live on shallow breaths. A bleak cloud of misery followed him,
and every time it released its rain he wondered if this was the moment he
would finally drown. 
Tarly didn’t feel the punishing rainfall drenching his feeble clothing, nor
the bitter whistle of the wintry wind. No pain was sharp enough to counter
what cleaved within. Old wounds tore open, and he bled freely. 
 He’d thought he wanted to remain up high and alone, releasing it all in
solitude with the taunt there was only one way to end the pain. He rocked
against the whispers, not knowing why he even held a protest to them when
he had nothing to want from this cruel, lonely world. 
Until now.
He thought he felt her, though his mind taunted she wasn’t real, merely
another mode of torment to shackle him to this hollow existence. Tarly
shook his head, his hands fisting tighter in his hair. “You’re not here,” he
whispered to himself.
The echoes of her eased in closer, and Tarly squeezed his eyes shut. She
would leave as soon as she saw him. The real him. This pitiful, worthless
state. To love him would be like stepping under his blanket of misery.
He couldn’t stop shaking. Not when she came so close it would’ve been
foolish to deny her. He didn’t know how or why, but acknowledging her
presence broke some other wall, this time one of relief and gratitude, so
fleeting and easily devoured by his agony. Tarly didn’t want her to see him
like this. He couldn’t look at her and didn’t have the strength to cast her
away and save her from the entanglement of his messed-up existence. 
Nerida’s hands touched him, shooting warmth through his cold
detachment.  Perhaps she was just another figment of his desperate
loneliness. He’d fallen from a height this time and none of this was real.
Still, he clung to the hope of her and didn’t protest when her palm slipped
through his hair, grazing his tightly fisted fingers. Her other hand curled
around his knee, and she tucked him in close. So close it obliterated his
chest. Nerida slipped through the numbness that coated his body, this real,
sure, beautiful thing, and he didn’t know why or what he’d done to deserve
her. But this token of salvation… 
He craved it with every fiber of his being.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m here, Tarly. I’m here, and
you’re not alone anymore.”
Then he shattered from the inside out, releasing his tight grip on his hair
only to wrap his arms around her waist where she kneeled beside him. He
half-expected to meet air, so when she pressed into him like solid assurance,
it was all he could do from holding her securely as if she’d vanish any
second.
Tarly had long succumbed to being a prisoner of his mind, but she’d
crafted a door and become the key. Maybe it was selfish of him to want her
guidance as he took those first steps out to discover what lay beyond, but
his hand climbed her back, his forehead pressed to her chest, and all she did
was hold him back. No one had held him at all in so long he’d forgotten the
feeling of peace, and Nerida…she was more than that. 
She was absolution. 
He didn’t know how she’d gotten here or why she’d sought him out on
the rooftop in such dangerous weather, but he was grateful for her. Gods, to
have had someone so angelic come into his life and turn his greatest fear on
its head…he was lucky. Because now what he feared the most was that she
too would leave him too.
But here she was.
And with Nerida at his side, the darkness of his eternal cloud began to
lighten. Just enough for him to remember he was still alive, and he wanted
to be.
 CHAPTER 73

Zaiana

“E verything is in place .” 

Zaiana was beginning to despise the cool arrogance of the voice.
She didn’t turn toward it, staring at the crystal-blue sky instead. Her time
here was nearly up, and while that should be a relief and triumph, the
creeping countdown that would split open an event for history lingered cold
death. This wasn’t her plan, and she never could have predicted her perfect
opening would come from the inside. 
“Be ready. And don’t lose focus or gain mercy for them now.” 
Zaiana flexed her fists to stop the prickling of her fingers at the subtle
insult. She wanted to kill him. Despite being an ally, she wouldn’t trust
someone so slimy for a second. “Remember who you’re speaking to,” she
warned him calmly. “You’re not exactly the exception for mercy.”
“Don’t threaten the one who got you an out.”
Zaiana’s laughter was a wicked, haughty sound. “Your arrogance will be
the death of you. I would delight in it myself, but I have a feeling it will
come about in a far more entertaining way.”
“You’re a fickle witch.”
She leaned her head against the stone with a smile. “Your fear cloaks
you thicker with each visit.”
“Remember our deal, Zaiana. You are to kill him first. Then, when you
have your freedom, take to the rooftops.”
When he left, her false smile fell and her forced confidence dissipated.
Zaiana dug her forehead into the gritty stone, her fingers biting into it too,
eyes scrunching against the sting, but it was not enough. 
Not enough to quell the sickness. Not enough to silence her thoughts.
Not enough pain to counter what tore and scratched and clawed in protest at
words that would not stop repeating. A simple command that was once easy
to fulfill, sometimes a dark pleasure. She didn’t know how she’d allowed
this one time to become a countdown she dreaded seeing the end of. An
hourglass, and she wanted to shovel the sand back until she ached, if only to
prolong the inevitable. 
You are to kill him.
 CHAPTER 74

Reylan

R anticipation. The Kingthe

eylan lingered by side of the room, on a razor’s edge with
of Rhyenelle stood unyielding and with a nerve-
wrecking palpable energy. When Kyleer arrived, Reylan could barely look
at him knowing what was coming. 
“What’s going on?” he asked, flashing a look at Reylan for an answer,
but he didn’t give any hint. 
“Kyleer Galentithe, you’ve been one of my most trusted commanders
for a long time. You have always served me well and with great loyalty.”
The churning in Reylan’s gut wouldn’t stop knowing the accusation that
was about to come Kyleer’s way from his brother, though Reylan was not
responsible for the king’s intel this time. 
“What is this about?” Kyleer’s frown was etched with defensiveness. 
“I didn’t task you with the role of overseeing the prisoner; you
volunteered. I thought nothing of it. After all, an esteemed commander such
as yourself would know enough about the importance of his station never to
risk it.”
“Of course,” Kyleer edged cautiously. 
“Yet someone cares for her enough to have supplied her with a tonic
that would prevent me from Nightwalking through her.”
Reylan pinched his eyes closed, having not figured out himself how
Agalhor knew when it should have been obvious. Yet he didn’t think Kyleer
would be so careless.
 “We’re finding out things from her—it is not necessary,” Kyleer
defended. 
Never before had Reylan wanted to shrink so far from confrontation he
was merely spectating. Agalhor had come to him to question, and Reylan
was still suffering with the guilt of being torn between them. 
“That is not a judgment for you to pass.” Agalhor kept a cold, calm tone
that was more terrifying than a rise in volume. 
“Have you spoken to Faythe? She agreed—”
Agalhor broke composure then, his large hand slamming onto the table
beside him. Even Reylan flared at her mention. “You do not bring her into
this!” Agalhor shifted his warning to both of them. “She does not hear of it.
Nor when that tonic running through the captive’s system leaves and I do
Nightwalk to find out what she knows.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Kyleer danced on the edge of punishment. 
“Ky, we can’t take any chances,” Reylan tried, though the commander’s
glare only darkened on him. Reylan had to remember Kyleer’s feelings had
driven him to this recklessness, but his dominant side crawled with an itch
to respond, not back down. 
“She will tell you anything if infiltrating her mind is the alternative. Just
ask her,” Kyleer pleaded. 
“As Reylan said, it is not a chance I am willing to take. Let me warn
you, if this were anyone else, they would have been exiled for treason.” 
That lingering threat seemed to dawn on Kyleer only for a second
before his defiance returned, and Reylan prayed to the damned Spirits at
seeing his look. 
“I offer you this pass and ask that this stays between us, but make no
mistake, Kyleer: I will not forget this lapse of judgment. You are not
permitted to see her again, and depending on what I find, she may be out of
your sight and mind soon.”
“You can’t do this,” Kyleer protested.
Reylan didn’t have a second to brace for the fury when the king moved,
pinning Kyleer to the wall with a physical anger he so rarely saw. 
“You put this kingdom at risk—the Heir of Rhyenelle at risk. Your
leniency with the dark fae affects us all, and this ends now. I’m going to
choose to believe she is nothing more than a masterful seductress to have
blinded you to turn your back on the good of this kingdom. Or tell me now
that is not true, but be prepared to face the full weight of my punishment.”
 They stared off, the dominance and anger and even heartbreak so thick
Reylan wished to be anywhere else. He felt for his brother, but more so, he
couldn’t help but side with the king’s logic when there was no telling what
the dark fae’s true intentions could be. He expected better from Kyleer. 
To Reylan’s immense relief, despite the anguish contorting his
expression, Kyleer seemed to find a shred of sense and didn’t respond. 
Agalhor released him. “Faythe doesn’t hear about this.” He repeated his
last warning to them both before he made to leave. 
“We’ve always valued fair trial and interrogation,” Kyleer called out.
Reylan could have strangled him to keep his mouth shut. 
“She harmed my daughter, Kyleer. She threatens this kingdom as a
leader to one of the biggest threats the continent has ever seen. Sometimes
our values must bend no matter how harsh. For the safety of my people, I
will not apologize.”
As the king left, Reylan braced for the redirection of Kyleer’s unsated
rage.
“You told him?” Kyleer seethed.
“No,” he ground out. “It’s not hard to fit the pieces together, Ky. I didn’t
know he even attempted the Nightwalking, but I can’t say I’m not glad for
it.”
Kyleer advanced forward a step. Reylan didn’t take kindly to the threat. 
“Do we need to take this to the training room?” 
Kyleer’s jaw worked. “That might not be a bad idea.”

It had been too long since he’d challenged his brother at full force in a
sparring session. With Kyleer’s added anger, Reylan’s determination not to
be bested brought out a laser focus.
“You’ve lost your touch,” Reylan chanted, knowing Kyleer was far
from releasing even half the pent-up aggression he needed to calm. 
“You’re asking for injury,” Kyleer bit back. 
They removed their sweat-drenched shirts, but the air offered little
breeze over their tattooed skin in their blurred movements. Reylan
chuckled, knowing the heat would be a violent trigger to amplify the
ferocity of Kyleer’s attacks. 
 Izaiah’s low whistle sounded behind them. Kyleer lost focus for a split
second, and Reylan took the opening to land a punch to his gut, throwing
out a hand to connect his palm to his shoulder, which twisted him off-
balance enough for Reylan to hook his leg and send him crashing to his
back. Reylan gave a slow grin at the victory, having felt Faythe’s presence
approaching minutes ago. He twisted to her and Izaiah and cursed his error.
He should have known Kyleer’s dirty tactics would come out in his anger.
Reylan’s feet were kicked out from under him, slamming him down
beside Kyleer, where his groan of pain turned to laughter. Kyleer straddled
him, landing a decent punch to his jaw before Reylan raised his arms,
letting him hit out some frustration before his own fist connected with
Kyleer’s face, then his abdomen, forcing him off. 
“Are they always this violent?” 
Reylan heard Faythe’s question and switched positions. His knee dug
between Kyleer’s shoulder blades, and he took a second to confirm his
victory before pushing off him.
“Hmm,” Izaiah assessed. “I would say yes, though I detect some
heightened aggression here.”
Kyleer rolled onto his back. Reylan extended a hand in offering, but he
only batted it away, staying down to gather breath.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so exerted,” Faythe commented. 
“That sounds like a hint, General,”  Izaiah added, mischief lifting the
corner of his mouth. 
Reylan swiped up his shirt, using it to wipe his face. As he ran a hand
through his slick hair, Faythe’s gaze traveling over him riled up some
primal satisfaction. 
“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, this is nothing compared to
the energy I’ll exert with you.”
Gold eyes flicked to his. “I hope that’s a promise.”
Reylan almost groaned. Five words, and they were utter torture. 
“Someone want to tell me what’s got Ky so worked up?” Izaiah crossed
his arms. “Or shall I go with my best assumption that it has striking purple
eyes and little bat wings?”
“They’re not little,” Faythe interjected. “In fact, they’re quite
impressive.”
Reylan would always admire Faythe for her ability to see the good in a
situation; her will to see the best in people.  Izaiah simply waved her off,
keeping his distaste, which Reylan could relate to, only out of protection for
their brother. Kyleer had been through too much. The loss of a mate was
unfathomable to Reylan, though the thought of losing Faythe was a fear
worse than death. Their circumstances may be different, but he would be
damned if he stood by and watched Kyleer’s fractured heart get shattered in
the clutches of a dark fae who only sought personal gain from it.
“We hate to bring somewhat begrudging news…” Jakon’s voice came as
a surprise. He wandered into the space with Marlowe. “We picked up on the
murmurs Lord Zarrius has arrived.”
Reylan flared with resentment at the mention. He didn’t remember the
lord from during his time in High Farrow, but he didn’t need the image of
his face for violent thoughts to stir about the purpose of his visit. His
attention landed immediately on Faythe, and he sank at the tenseness of her
poise knowing there was no way he could help her. 
“I suppose the king will be hosting a supper for him,” Izaiah grumbled. 
“Yes,” Faythe confirmed. It was the first Reylan had heard of it, but not
a surprise. “I believe it’s a small gathering, just as a welcome.” Her hesitant
attention switched to him. “You don’t have to be there.”
Because there was no place at the table for him, he knew. Faythe
couldn’t hold his eye through her discomfort at the situation. 
“I want to be,” he assured her, though it did nothing to lift her spirits. 
It wasn’t a lie. If he had the chance to even ease her nerves a little, he
would suffer through the lord’s attention on her enough to listen to their
proposals regarding her hand in marriage. It twisted his gut to no end, but
for her, he would endure it.
 CHAPTER 75

Faythe

F from her the moment

aythe was the last to arrive at the dining hall. Reylan moved away
they came into view, and Faythe’s attention pinned
Zarrius like a target on instinct. She wanted to feel like the predator, but the
closer she got, the more his smile edged on glee, making her shrink as his
prey. 
“We were waiting for you, my dear.” Agalhor spoke warmly. 
She could only muster a smile, finding all words she’d tried to recite to
make her appear confident or changed were lodged in her tightening airway.
Sinking into her seat, she felt the eyes of two vultures opposite her.
Malin and Zarrius.
Seeing the lord threatened to strip all she’d built within herself and take
her right back to being the helpless, terrified human moved by the hands of
an evil king. Zarrius was no different as one of Orlon’s most trusted
advisors. 
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Faythe Ashfyre.” His voice grated
through her, the sensation offset by Reylan’s presence behind her, and she
couldn’t be more glad for his being here. “I must say, this change you’ve
adopted as fae…you are most exquisite. And quite an extraordinary thing.”
He was almost off to a good start, until he’d wrecked it all by exposing that
he thought of her as a prize rather than a person. 
“You’ll forgive me—I can’t say I remember much of you,” Faythe said,
innocent and sweet. 
 Malin sliced her with a warning look. She paid him no attention.
Though what she couldn’t shake was her realization that the two males
before her were eerily similar. Not in appearance, but with their matching
cunning auras. Their expressions, mannerisms… Faythe didn’t trust the lord
for a second. But she would play along, give them what they wanted, then
find her own way to turn down everything they thought was best for the
kingdom with her as their pawn. 
“I was Orlon’s—”
“Yes, I remember,” she cut in, feeling the snap of eyes and the rising
tension. “Orlon was very specific about which minds I should leave
unchecked. He trusted you greatly.”
That seemed to recover his ego, and he curled a smile that was all
satisfaction. “As Nikalias does now.”
Faythe could have choked on the wine she brought to her lips. It was
astonishing how believable he thought that to be. Maybe he was more of a
fool than Faythe thought, having bought into Nik’s ploy to subdue him. 
Last night, she’d Nightwalked to him once again. Only for a short time
so as not to risk losing control again, but it was enough time to confirm
Lord Zarrius had limited days from his attempts on Nik’s life and the threat
on Tauria’s. It made sense he would seek a crown this way after the
spectacular collapse of his plans this past summer. 
“This could be a great binding of two kingdoms,” Malin said. 
With barely any conversation had, Faythe was ready to retire from the
guise of their supper. “Zarrius, you will know of my close relationship with
King Nikalias,” she tested.
“Yes, I do believe he mentioned you two bonded during your time in
High Farrow.”
Faythe didn’t pour triumph into her smile, but her gaze slid to Malin,
who knew what she was onto. 
“A friendship is not a binding alliance,” her cousin said with an
irritation only heard by her. 
“It is of my understanding that some of the truest alliances of our
history lived long and prospered on nothing more than friendship and trust.
Was it not out of friendship with the King of Fenstead that you opened the
borders to and housed their citizens, Your Majesty?”
“I was close with him, yes,” Agalhor confirmed, slipping a hint of
approval. 
 “With no written treaty or agreement that forced your hand?”
“No. The King of Fenstead was a great ally I never once questioned. He
is still tragically missed to this day.”
“And if Tauria Stagknight should ask for aid in reclaiming Fenstead?”
Faythe’s chest was pounding, feeling this move on her chessboard would be
the one to trigger the hatred Malin tried to keep from his exterior. 
“If the plan for such a movement had promising odds, I would answer
her call.”
That was all Faythe needed to hear.
“Before I am even in power, I have an established relationship of this
kind with both the King of High Farrow and the Queen of Fenstead. If you
do not believe me, I invite you to ask them yourself.” Faythe turned her
attention to the lord, momentarily chilled that once again it was like staring
into the same detached eyes, only these ones with a different color: a bleak
gray. “I appreciate you coming all this way, Lord Zarrius, and I assure you
it is not in vain. I only point out that marriage isn’t the only way to secure
prospects, and one might argue I have earned my right to choose.”
“You have always been free to choose, Faythe.” Malin’s tone took on a
cheerful note that always hid a sly plan. “But who you do choose reflects on
us all.”
“And what about a mate?”
The room stilled all at once. She couldn’t see him, but she felt the
ripples of Reylan’s unease. Yet Faythe couldn’t get one hopeful thing Nik
had enlightened her to out of her mind. 
She added, “Ungardian law states there is no better ruler to succeed a
fallen monarch than a mate.”
“Something you wish to share, Faythe?” Malin challenged. 
Her eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t implicate Reylan in this mess until
she was certain it wouldn’t backfire on them both. 
“She is right,” Agalhor interrupted casually. 
“You still have a duty to this kingdom as its heir,” Malin said. “To
marry below station could create discourse.”
Faythe ground her teeth. “Station shouldn’t matter more than the will to
protect this kingdom.”
“Placing a commoner by your side would tarnish the Ashfyre name,”
her cousin insisted.
“More than I already have?”
 “No one has claimed you have.”
Except you, she thought, not forgetting how clearly he’d made his
feelings known in that carriage ride many months ago. “I crossed kingdoms
to be here. I changed to be here. Despite everything, I have earned my right
to be here. Whomever I place by my side will be someone who shows their
dedication through action, not title.”
Faythe knew she’d drawn attention to Reylan with her words, unable to
stop the rising need to defend him without saying his name. Awareness at
her back made her twist her head, only to catch the last glimpse of silver
hair before Reylan left the room inconspicuously. 
Her gut twisted and her heart withered as she wondered if she’d said too
much. He didn’t want this—the war with lords, the politics, the crown.
Faythe realized in that moment she’d never asked him how he felt about it
all; had never given him the chance to back away from what would come of
her exposing who he was to her and who he could become to the people. 
“As Faythe has said,” Agalhor said to calm the tension she’d stirred,
“though no marriage is arranged, the prospects are open. I hope you look
forward to our Comet Ball, Lord Zarrius.”
“Very much so,” Zarrius said with a tightness that could have been
down to her making him an awkward spare part in minutes. Though Faythe
didn’t take him for one to give up so easily on a vision that could still
transpire in his favor. 
She tuned out of conversation then, wanting to go after the general with
her heavy heart. She tried to ignore Malin’s stare but gave in, meeting his
cool, loathing look that spoke of nothing but accusation.
If it meant sparing Reylan from this battle, maybe Faythe would lay
down her protest. 

It didn’t take long to track Reylan down. He hadn’t gone far, and in her
turmoil, she didn’t think before barging into the drawing room. His
conversation with Livia halted, the cool, calculating lines of his face
smoothing out instantly. It only wrecked her further that it seemed he
wanted to conceal his feelings. 
“I’ll leave you two,” Livia announced, her voice stripped of its usual
cheerfulness. 
 Faythe noticed she still wore her black combat suit, best suited for
incognito work. “Have you found any leads?” she asked as Livia went to
pass. 
Livia hesitated, but her face displayed a distress that left Faythe feeling
guilty for being so caught up in her problems here that she hadn’t followed
up with her sooner on Evander. “I’ve been tracking the Raider activity. I
haven’t found him yet, still only whispers,” Livia answered briefly. 
Faythe wanted to press for more, but Livia spared a look to Reylan as
though handing over the task of explaining. 
“I’m worried about you,” Faythe blurted. There were so many people
she was concerned about that Faythe felt as though she were failing them
all. 
“Don’t be,” Livia assured her, resting a hand on Faythe’s arm. “I can
look out for myself.”
“That’s not the point,” Faythe argued.
“She’s telling the truth,” Reylan interjected. “But I’ll explain more.”
Faythe nodded at him and exchanged a small smile with Livia, almost
feeling the pull of an embrace, but the commander brushed by her before
they could yield to it. 
Turning to Reylan broke Faythe’s frenzied thoughts. “I’m sorry.” This
seemed to surprise him. “I shouldn’t have said all those things in there
without considering how you felt about all this. The role of being with me
would take—”
“Faythe.” He took her face after a careful scan behind him, keeping his
voice low. “Do you think I haven’t considered all that?”
The sharp edges of her panic smoothed out. “You left, and I thought…”
She wanted to slap herself for the conclusions she’d jumped to. 
“I saw Livia by the doors. It seemed important.”
Faythe rubbed at her temples, the constant doubt and mental tug-of-war
starting to exhaust her. 
“I’ve never wanted power,” he said. “Never seen myself fit enough to
help rule a kingdom. It still seems a ridiculous notion, but I’ve always
known what being with you means. I don’t choose a crown, but I choose
you, Faythe. Every damn time, no matter what.” 
She leaned into his palm, letting his thumb brush her cheek. “You
already do help run this kingdom. You don’t get half the credit you deserve,
Reylan—least of all from yourself.”
 He smiled in appreciation, though not agreement. 
“You leave tomorrow?”  Somehow, she hoped plans might have
changed, but his nod made her shoulders slump.
Reylan tipped her chin back, lips pursing as if he were debating his next
words, but he spilled them into her mind nonetheless. 
“I want to show you something.”
 CHAPTER 76

Tarly

T hall while Nerida washed

arly closed the door to his rooms behind him after bathing across the
up in his rooms. He slung on low sleep pants
and lit a fire while she finished up. In the mirror, he checked over his
wound, wincing at the ghastly sight of the blackening skin and protruding
veins. He caught her in the reflection wearing only a short cotton robe, her
wet silver hair hanging free of the braids that usually kept it half back. Her
brow pinched as she fixed her concerned gaze on his shoulder. 
“Do you really want to know,” she whispered, “how long I predict
before it reaches your heart? And from then…I can’t be certain.”
Tarly gave a small smile. “No,” he said honestly. “I can’t enjoy a
moment of life if I know the countdown.”
“You want to enjoy life?” she said as though she believed the opposite
to be true. 
He thought for a second, but now she’d seen him at his most vulnerable
and still stood before him, he feared less about sharing the inside of himself.
“Before the Great Battles, losing my mother, and what happened with
Isabelle, I did enjoy life. Now every day there’s a fleeting moment of want
that quickly becomes an impossible feat. I guess I was just waiting for it all
to be over.” 
She fiddled idly with her sleeve, traveling elsewhere for a second, and
he wanted to know what troubled her. Wanted to erase it all so she might
laugh for him instead. 
 Nerida wiped all sorrow from her face, perking up as she went into the
dining area. “I brought what books I could find. After you left, I made sure
the guard you harmed would suffer nothing more than a nasty headache
when he awoke.”
“How did you know where I was?”
Her gaze met his with a smile. “Katori wanted me to follow something,
and in the stables I picked up on your scent. I met Chief Zainaid first. He
told me where your rooms were.”
“You didn’t think I’d left you?”
“It never crossed my mind, no.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Intensity shot between them—or at least, it did through him—but
Nerida’s attention caught on something else, and her expression lit up as she
skipped around the table. “You had it this whole time?” she said, pushing
off several small books until the large tome revealed itself. 
Tarly shivered involuntarily at the sight of it. “The Book of Enoch?”
“Yes!”
“Tauria was supposed to take it with her before the events that
unfolded,” he offered. 
“What did she hope to gain from it?”
“Information on the dark fae, I suppose. Anything that could give us an
advantage.”
Nerida hummed as she heaved open the heavy book. “I’m hoping so
too. This is not just a book on the dark fae, but a book on all species. I’m
also thinking there could be something on what Marvellas is. I want to
know exactly how the Transition works.”
Tarly marveled at how engrossed in the text she became. 
“I read a tale once, about a goddess who had forsaken her duty to walk a
realm of mortal beings for a human she’d fallen in love with. But it was a
trick. She was romanced and convinced to give up everything only to
become a slave to their creations.”
That piqued his interest, and he leaned his hands on the table.
“Creations?”
“Humans into fae. It required her blood. I thought it all to be a fable, for
it was told as a work of fiction, but what if all great tales are inspired by
some note of history?”
 “It’s possible. But Marvellas has been raising an army of dark fae.”
“That’s what puzzles me. I think she chose the dark fae to create
creatures that would be bound to her. They’re not like the Born. The
Transitioned are more like demons with a lifelong thirst for human blood.
But I think some can find salvation if they can control it.”
“You sound like you hold hope for them,” Tarly observed. Admirably,
as she couldn’t help her nature. 
“I have seen it,” she admitted. “Both the Born and Transitioned. They’re
led to believe they’re far more wicked, but in truth…they feel just like you
or me; they just won’t admit it because of how they’ve been raised. Nature
versus nurture, so to speak.”
Tarly bounced his thoughts. “So you think this book you read could be
about Marvellas.”
“It’s plausible. If her blood creates fae of humans…whose blood is
creating the dark fae?”
A nagging idea formed in his mind, as if the answer should be there yet
he couldn’t draw it.
Nerida thumped the book shut. “We’ll need to take it with us when we
leave.”
Us. Such a simple word, but it was inclusion. 
His chest tightened. Maybe she wouldn’t realize she’d included him in
her plan; her journey. 
Nerida’s eyes briefly flashed over the table. “At least now I have a
pretty good idea of what you like to read,” she teased. Then, smiling to
herself, she found distraction enough to hold up one of his books.
“Gasteria?”
Tarly crossed his arms. “She’s very well-known and an excellent
writer.”
“I know. Also known for her enthralling romances.”
“Those are never the focus of the plot.”
Nerida grinned, and then there it was: her light laughter fluttered
through the room. It only lasted seconds as her gaze met his, but he
captured it, stored it. Tarly moved as if gravity were directing him, without
breaking their stare. Around the table until there was only a torturous slither
of space, a noticeable cool breeze between them. Her head angled to his,
and she didn’t move away. 
“Why did you come find me on the rooftop?” he asked quietly.
 Her large eyes fluttered with sorrow. “It felt like you needed someone,”
she said, equally as hushed.
“Is that part of your healing capabilities?” he pondered. “Being able to
feel others.”
“Not really. I got to your rooms, I saw the balcony doors wide-open,
and Katori was whining, restless, and there was a brief moment when I
believed you’d…I mean, I thought you might have—”
Guilt washed over him at her quickening pulse as he realized what the
scene and his absence could have implied. 
“I looked down first. Tarly, I don’t know what I would have done. I’ve
never felt this before, and it terrifies me.” Nerida backed herself against the
desk, hands curling around it as though her confession would make her flee
now it was out. 
Tarly could hardly move, though he wanted to close that distance. “Me
too,” he whispered. He took the one tentative step toward her. “Just tell me
if this is too much, angel.”
He’d thought it the moment he saw her in the woodland clearing. How
the sun shone its glittering rays through her silver hair, reflected in her large
hazel eyes, and glowed against her golden-brown skin. Nerida was angelic
in every sense of the word. 
Her lips parted, and he was drawn to them with an overwhelming burst
of need. Slowly, in case she desired distance at any second, his hand rose to
her cheek. Sparks ignited as he felt her skin beneath his palm, traveling to
erupt his pulse. Her chest rose and fell deeply, nervous, but he remained as
slow and patient as she needed. 
“I really want to kiss you,” he said, his voice no more than a quiet
gravel. 
Her brown eyes flashed to his mouth, to his gaze, as though restraining
herself. “I want that too.”
He was seconds from becoming completely and wholly undone by her.
The sensation was so effortless it was madness. 
Tarly’s other hand cupped her cheek, and when her fingers grazed his
bare abdomen he had to stifle a groan. Inch by torturous inch he leaned
down to meet her, then something seemed to blissfully snap as she pushed
up on her toes to close that distance herself. 
When their mouths met, it became an explosion of color in his
monochrome world. They moved against each other, their bodies answering
to each other so seamlessly, obsessively. Their lips and tongues clashed as
they lost themselves to desire as if neither of them had felt its true effects in
so long that it was breaking them. He craved more of the taste of her;
wanted to leave no inch of her untouched by him. With her soft moan,
Tarly’s hands dropped, and he leaned in to scatter the books from the table
before hoisting her onto it. The feel of her thighs around him could have
made him lose it right there, seconds from climbing onto the table with her.
His lips met her jaw, her neck. 
“Tarly…”
His name as her breathless plea made him tighten his grip on her with a
growl of satisfaction.  It became hers, his real name, for there was no one
else he wanted to hear it from. No one else who could make it sound like a
new breath of air. It was hers to scream and call out, and he would answer
to it. In pleasure, while arguing, to tease. He enjoyed it too much, needed to
hear it again and again. It became a token of being alive. A reminder of
being wanted. 
He breathed her in deeply, needing to fill his senses with every note of
her scent to memorize it, but something sparked within. A flickering
beacon. Itching at a recognition that he couldn’t think to make sense of
until… 
Tarly pulled back abruptly. They breathed hard, but he couldn’t ease his
look of bewilderment. Utter disbelief at first, but complete confusion when
it dawned. The reason why since the moment he’d met her she seemed so
familiar to him. It snapped through him like he’d always held the piece, just
shy of finding its place.
“You’re—”
She reached over his mouth to halt him. Her brow pinched with her eyes
as she straightened, not pushing him away but trailing her fingers over his
lips before bringing them to rest on his collar. “I hoped you wouldn’t
realize,” she whispered, barely able to meet his eye as though she thought
he’d retreat immediately. “But if you need an explanation, this has to end. It
is not knowledge that should be free when it could hurt someone.”
“Hurt someone?” he repeated, incredulous. He backed away despite the
flinch of hurt in her eye. “How is this even possible?”
Tarly didn’t want to believe he was staring at a stranger all over again
with the knowledge that flooded his mind. History, tales…his mind
searched and plucked but came up blank for answers, yet his senses
couldn’t erase what blared right before him. A scent that made every
outward piece of her so damned obvious he wanted to slap himself for not
seeing it sooner.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why? This isn’t just about you.”
“It is,” she snapped, slipping from the table. “Because I’m the only one
who’s had to live with it my entire life.” Her voice broke, and so did every
argument from him that formed in defense of someone else. “You see, I am
the shield to the harm it could cause. Only I bear the burden, so long as it
remains unheard.”
He was wrong to have seen one so bright with sunshine and think her
immune to becoming overcast. Tarly thought her rays of light could pierce
through anything, but right now…he couldn’t fathom the sorrowful story
behind her spirited will.
“I don’t understand.” He shook his head, eyes turning pleading. “It
changes nothing of what I feel for you, but I can’t simply forget this.”
“I tried to walk away.” Her voice rose, but it cleaved through him to
watch her tears glitter. “I’ve walked away so many times, but with you I
couldn’t. Every time I wanted you to keep following, and when you
didn’t…I turned back.” A tear fell, and his knees could have followed. “I’ve
never turned back before.”
“You wanted away from me the moment you knew who I was. You
didn’t want to get too close to me…” he realized. “You knew I’d figure it
out.”
They matched tense, hard breaths for a long stretch of silence that
allowed him to ponder. 
“What changed your mind?” he asked.
“I’m so tired, Tarly.” Nerida paced to the wall. Her back slumped
against it, head tipped to the celling as though she were asking the Gods,
“Why this cruel hand?” “I’m so, so tired of moving. I’ve never felt at home.
I’ve never fully known who I am. I might never, and I’m also afraid.”
He approached, but she didn’t track him. “You didn’t answer my
question,” he said quietly. Tarly slid down the wall slowly, and he cast the
same question to the answerless sky.
“You feel…” Nerida barely whispered, but she paused.
Tarly resonated with the way her words failed her. Perhaps they lingered
on the surface, cried out in her chest, or ached in her throat. He’d read many
wonders of the world, both in fiction and in history, and he knew words
could devour parts of a person more furiously, irretrievably, than any
weapon, and time was a wicked accomplice. While flesh would heal, words
could condemn for a lifetime.
She went on quietly. “You feel like a place worth coming back to. So I
did.”
His existence exploded, only to mend slowly but with a new clarity,
wrapped in pieces of her. Whatever was to come, Tarly would be dedicated
to her. He’d never felt like this before, and it shook his world with so much
confusion he didn’t know what it meant. 
What she meant.
She’d stumbled onto his path, and now he couldn’t picture the road
ahead should she stray from it. 
He turned his head, and so did she. They sat there on the ground near
touching. He had to touch her to be sure she was real when this gift seemed
too perfect to be true. His arm slipped around her, and when Nerida’s body
eased into his side, she rested her head on his shoulder. Nothing had ever
felt so complete.
This current between them became undeniably strong. It was a cruel
taunt in his mind and a wicked torment in his soul that cried one word. One
impossible phrase. 
Mate.
Why couldn’t it have been her when this need for her came stronger
than anything he’d ever felt before?
“You feel like home too, angel,” he said at last. With hesitation in case
she retreated, Tarly took her hand. He studied her beautiful brown skin
against the tanned complexion of his, slipped their fingers through each
other’s, and his brow pinched. “You matter to me—more than I expected. I
didn’t know I was still capable of feeling like this. But you deserve far more
than the affections of a fractured soul.”
Her hand squeezed his. “I’m fractured too.”
Tarly gently rested his head atop hers and their silence became
liberating. He wondered with a flicker of longing if the cracks in their
existence could somehow align. If two unlikely halves could forge
something whole. Perfectly imperfect. 
“We should get some sleep,” Tarly said softly.  He didn’t wait for an
answer and stood, taking both her hands to pull her up too. Then he
watched as she slipped under the covers, which he pulled back for her,
unable to place the emotions that washed over him to see her there.  This
bed that hadn’t known a long, restful slumber. That had felt the claws of his
night terrors and the restlessness of his conscious mind. Now it didn’t seem
like a place of torment with her in it, but it coaxed him in.
Tarly had the urge to say, “I don’t know how many months or weeks or
days I have left. But until you say otherwise, I’m not going anywhere.”
Nerida’s eyes creased as she shuffled down, laying her head softly on
the pillow, her silver hair spilling over it. “Years,” she said quietly. “Like it
or not, I’m going to make sure you have so many years, Tarly Wolverlon.”
Tarly had long believed the seeds of his life were always destined to
grow weeds. He’d tried to find beauty in the times a flower would sprout,
but they were always a guise, not anything real. A momentary deceit. Then
she had come, the first sure bloom of such vibrancy and hope, and he
knew… 
It was worth suffering the lifeless seasons for this one true flower. 
Tarly shifted before he lost himself again. “You can sleep here. I’ll take
the room across the hall.” He released the covers when her soft hand closed
over his. 
“Stay.”
One word…like an arrow that struck him, only to wrap him entirely
with something he didn’t know he yearned for.  Stay. A desire for his
company. In those seconds, he realized it had been so long since someone
wanted him enough to ask for more. It terrified him. He had an urge to deny
and flee and turn into the ice that kept him from feeling so it could never
hurt. She could walk away at any moment, and he would let her go even
though her imprint would forever mark him. And this truth he knew about
her wouldn’t stop rattling through his mind, and he needed a silent space to
try to comprehend it.
“Not tonight,” he said. 
He hated himself with every step away he took for having killed that
one treasured word with two. He’d already gone too far, and regret creeped
in that he should never have kissed her. This line they’d met on balanced at
a height that could shatter them both in the fall.
 CHAPTER 77

Reylan

A fingers from finding

ny time he was confident the halls were clear, he couldn’t stop his
Faythe’s. Her presence was an energy that vibrated
through him; a sharp current that was thrilling, but also calming. He
couldn’t help his need to touch her.
He led her up several flights of stairs, and to his surprise, she remained
silent, asking no question of where he was taking her though her nature had
always been curious. That fact gripped his heart and squeezed. 
They came to a familiar narrow, winding staircase, and the nerves that
had been itching since they left the drawing room raked at his skin. This
section of the castle remained deserted, unguarded, when there was little of
any importance this way.
Reylan halted below the stairs. 
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice so soft the melody of it soothed
his anxiety. 
He brushed away a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid.
“I’ve missed you.”
The corners of her mouth upturned, never failing to stop time. He took
her hand fully and led the way up the spiral stairs. As he fetched a key from
his pocket, all reservation left him. He twisted the lock, and though it was
once a space that had only known one face, he pulled Faythe inside. 
It had been some time since he’d slept in this room, but it was his
sanctuary for many decades. It wasn’t much, the room small, but the tower
was peaceful. Setting the key on a chest of drawers, he turned to watch
Faythe carefully, heartbeat picking up an uneven tempo as he wondered
about her thoughts as she scanned the room. 
She moved slowly as though not wanting to miss an inch, examining
everything with careful attention, running her delicate fingers along some of
the furniture until she stood by the bay window overlooking the city. She
didn’t utter a word. 
“I’ve never brought anyone up here before,” he said quietly. 
“Kyleer and Izaiah?”
He shook his head. “No one.”
Faythe’s brow pinched, but he couldn’t read her sadness. Reylan almost
winced at it, watching her scan the made bed thoughtfully, then the few
items littering the table by the small fire pit. Nothing lavish—not like the
rooms she slept in down below. Nothing compared to what she deserved. 
“You could have any room you desire in this castle,” she hushed out
with some emotion he couldn’t decipher, but it tugged within. 
“I liked it up here,” he explained, taking slow steps until he joined her,
looking out from one of the highest vantage points of Ellium. “It’s
peaceful.”
“Beautiful,” she whispered. 
Reylan tried so hard to keep his hands off her, to refrain from pulling
her into him as it was the only time he’d ever felt such happiness. He had
pitiful willpower. She cast those glittering amber eyes to him, and he lost
his fight. 
Taking her hand, Reylan gravitated toward an old dresser. He paused,
wondering if this was foolish, but he unlatched the small box anyway and
dipped his hand inside. He didn’t look at her eyes, only at her fingers, and
simply the idea of it adorning her hand flared something within him.
He had to make it real.
Her breath hitched when he slipped the ring onto her center finger. He
couldn’t settle on what raced his heart at seeing the two delicate golden
butterfly wings and the white opal center against her skin. Frustration
rushed in as something blared so strongly right in front of him, but he could
only see through frosted glass.
Faythe slipped her hand out of his, and he met her look in fear he’d
overstepped. “I can’t take this.” Her wide eyes spoke something like panic.
Reylan eased his fingers through hers as if she’d move to snatch the ring
off. “Please,” he said.
 “Why?” Her eyes glistened.
“Because for the longest time it has felt lost.” He brought their hands to
his chest, taking a step closer to brush his palm across her face. “And with
you, I am found.”
He couldn’t bear her pain, which inspired the notion it was a mistake to
give it to her—but selfishly, nothing had ever felt so freeing. Her gaze fixed
on their joined hands, on the ring, and as Faythe broke into a sob, Reylan’s
brow pinched tight with regret.
“I’m sorry—”
She shook her head, closing her eyes, and his thumb brushed away the
tear that fell. Faythe said nothing, and while he wished for her words, he
wouldn’t push for acceptance.
Reylan led her over to the window instead. Sitting, he twisted sideward,
bending a knee, and Faythe tucked herself in close, her back flush to his
front. They sat in silence for a few blissful minutes, his fingers idly tracing
the golden markings on her arm, leaving it for Faythe to speak. Even if she
chose not to again that night, he was at peace watching the sky welcome
nightfall wrapped in her presence.
“Why did you move from this place?” Her voice wasn’t whole, and the
hollow notes unsettled him.
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“You moved across the hall as soon as we got back from High Farrow.”
Reylan titled her chin until she was peering up at him. Faythe tried to
blink back the sheen that coated her eyes. “I loved you long before then.”
He kissed her once, but as he pulled back, he couldn’t tell what made her
gaze drop. “What’s the matter?”
Faythe subconsciously fiddled with the ring, and Reylan couldn’t help
but study what seemed a natural habit. Her change of mood since she’d left
his room without an explanation had kept him on edge, only with agony she
could be keeping something from him. Maybe she had doubts about him.
Perhaps bringing her here had only added to them. He was a general with
no one to care what he did or where he stayed. No wealth to offer—nothing
but himself. And she was a princess with the weight of an entire court on
her shoulders. He wished he could take that burden, share it, and there was
a moment when he believed he could…until the council meeting. Hearing it
all dawned on him a new clarity, and now it seemed laughable to present
him as a favorable match.
 Yet he couldn’t let her go. 
“I have to tell you something,” Faythe said quietly. 
“You can tell me anything.”
She leaned away, twisting to sit sideward over his lap. His arm curled
around her bent knees. With a long breath, she asked, “What did Farrah
look like?”
It was the last thing he expected. Reylan took her hand, curious as to
why she wanted to know as he watched sorrow and fear clash in her amber
irises. “Blonde,” he told her. “The kind like pale gold. Clear blue eyes. She
was small in form, so delicate I thought I could break her with one wrong
move.”
Faythe nodded with a sad smile.
“Why do you ask?” 
  She almost looked away, but Reylan caught her chin, not wanting to
miss a flicker of what troubled her. “I visited the memorial you gave her in
Fenher,” she confessed. “I-I should have asked if you would be okay with it
or waited for you, but we were there, and I saw the memorial field, and I—”
“Faythe,” he cut her off. He pulled her hand, and she shuffled over until
she was sitting sideways on his lap. “It makes me happy you did. That you
wanted to.” 
“It’s perfect for her, where it is,” she said. 
He squeezed her thigh with gratitude.
“I hope we can go back together.”
He smiled. “I’d like that.”
For a long moment of silence all they did was watch the city in perfect
contentment. Reylan knew he could spend hours like this and feel not a
second of time had been wasted. He stroked her skin, her hair, marveling
over every touch he would never get enough of. 
“Has Livia really not found anything more about Evander?” Faythe
asked quietly.
Reylan took a deep breath. He had no reason to hide anything from her.
“We knew he would be hard to find if he’s remained a shadow this long.
He rarely uses that name, and Nessair likely would have met his end by my
uncle for letting it slip in his arrogance when he thought he had you
trapped.” He didn’t want to doubt Faythe for a second, but in attempt to
ease both their minds, he said, “Perhaps there’s someone imitating him. He
was a legacy to those crooks. I didn’t think anyone could survive what I did
to him.”
“I hope so,” Faythe said, barely a whisper that told him she didn’t
believe that.
There came tension of guilt that seized him with the ripples of Faythe’s
fear she tried to suppress. For a moment he wondered if it was in fear of
him. Horror as he remembered that fact of his past. Regret that she’d ever
thought it was something she could accept.
Faythe lifted her head to hold his eyes with such conviction it
hypnotized him. “Not even for a moment,” she said, quiet but firm. Reylan
realized he must have opened his thoughts for her to catch them. “Not even
for a second have I ever feared you or your past or what you’re capable of.
What I fear…” She paused. “Is myself. For the worse things I could be
capable of if he is alive.”
Gods, the agony in his chest could kill him. 
“We don’t know that yet. The state I left him in…I didn’t believe
anyone could have survived that, and if he did, his revenge has been
building for a long time. All I can think about is there is only one way to
hurt me, Faythe.” Reylan stared into her eyes, his weakness and his
strength. “You.”
To his surprise, she gave off nothing of shadowy dread or horror or
anything that indicated she was afraid. Faythe’s fingers slipped through his
hair, and he relaxed with the pleasure of it. He studied her features:
thoughtful, but strong and confident. 
“If he’s alive, he’d better hope to never cross my path. Seeking me to
get to you would be the end of all that time spent building retribution. A
waste, really.”
Reylan’s pride exploded with his utter incredulity at the beauty of her
dark side. Though the thought of her and Evander ever coming face-to-face
had become a new terror at the forefront of his mind, he blessed the Spirits
for a mate who was growing into such confident skin. He was continuously
in awe of her, undeserving, but damn, if he couldn’t stop being a selfish
bastard and just enjoy every piece of her. 
“I want to spend the night with you,” he blurted before he could rethink
for her best interests. “If I’m going to miss how exquisite you look at the
Comet Ball, I want you for one whole night. Tell me no. Tell me it’s
reckless and it could risk the spell on these damn bracelets right when it
matters the most.” His hands slipped up her waist in anticipation with her
long, searching pause. 
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I want that more than anything.” She angled
her head to kiss him, and he almost erupted, wanting to take her right then.
Everything about her should be a temptation out of reach, yet here she was,
wanting him as much he wanted her. Nothing in this world was ever easily
gained or there for the taking; it had been a fight, a will, a demand to keep
striving.
For her, he would never stop. 
“We could stay here,” she said, pulling away. 
Reylan shook his head. “There’s no washroom.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do,” he said softly, wanting to give her the world. “We can come here
again. Anytime you want to escape or see the city as high up as possible.
Here, maybe we can forget and just be.”
“I like the sound of that,” she agreed. “Thank you for showing me this
piece of you.”
“There’s no part of me that isn’t yours now, Faythe.”
 CHAPTER 78

Faythe

F was just’ a mirror. Just a damn

aythe s pulse quickened her breath as she stood there in her robe. It
reflection. She hadn’t glanced at herself
since her world was shattered and reformed. Not once in months had she
looked at her new powerful body, her delicate pointed ears. Faythe was
riddled with nausea and unease to finally confront her fear. 
Reylan was preparing for bed in the washroom, and in her moment of
alone time, she wanted to face it. Face herself. It seemed ridiculous, and
she’d tormented for months over why she found it so difficult to look in the
mirror. As if seeing what she was would change who she was. 
Faythe wasn’t afraid of seeing what she had lost. She was afraid
because she had never felt more alive. In this body that was strong and
powerful. And she enjoyed it. Was it a betrayal to her human heart? To want
everything that came with being fae. To feel free and powerful. 
But she was also frightened to face the woman who’d died long ago and
see that no amount of power or strength or goodness would pull her from
her own shadow’s grasp. It was determined to hold her to her failures. 
With a deep inhale she moved toward it, but Faythe’s eyes clamped shut
instantly. When she knew she was standing right in front of her reflection,
she paused. Just to breathe and remember that no matter what she saw, she
was Faythe Ashfyre. As human, as fae, as both. She had lived and fought to
be here. She had loved and lost to survive. She would fight and rise to
reign.
With a flare of defiance, her head straightened, and her eyes slid open. 
 Faythe’s chest rose and fell deeply with the drumming of her heart. Her
mouth parted as she stared and stared at herself. Her eyes burned, but she
didn’t blink. 
She looked just as she did before—except more.
One face, one soul, but two stories to tell.
As fae, her hair was waved like silk, no dull snapped ends. Her features
were sharper, skin so smooth and free of imperfections. Faythe looked to
her pointed ears, but while she expected to feel horror, all that struck her
was awe. As if she were only now realizing…
This was who she was always meant to be. 
This body was always hers. It changed nothing but gave her the means
to fight a fairer battle.
Then her eyes trailed to her hands, and she twisted her palms to see the
gold Spirit symbols within them, attached to a vine of another language that
led to someplace she still didn’t know. Her robe covered her arms where it
snaked around them and past her shoulders. 
In her focus, Faythe didn’t hear Reylan emerge from the washroom, but
she caught the flicker of movement in the mirror. He was still, his stare hard
to decipher. His bare chest was so glorious her eyes couldn’t refrain from
trailing down his sculptured abdomen. Every impressive contour of the
warrior’s tanned skin was highlighted beautifully by the warm glow of
candlelight. They watched each other through the reflection as he took slow
steps toward her, a hunger darkening his sapphire irises that flushed her
body with heat. 
Her eyes fluttered on a sharp inhale when his body pressed against her
from behind, his breath caressing her from her temple down her neck as she
inclined her head a fraction. Slowly, Reylan’s hands trailed over her waist,
and the eye contact they shared was an electrifying challenge. He
torturously undid the tie of her cotton robe, and Faythe’s breathing stuttered
with her rising lust. His fingers slid into the folds, moving up until he
reached her shoulders in a slow, entrancing seduction. She said nothing
when he paused—an opening for her to object—and then with purposeful
attention slid the robe from her. 
Reylan didn’t suppress his groan. His eyes closed for a long second
upon first glance, when the material came away and dropped from his grip,
exposing what she wore underneath.  His voice was pure traveling gravel
then as he leaned his mouth to her ear, drinking in every inch of her skin
that tingled under his stare. “You’re going to be the end of me, Faythe
Ashfyre. But what a blissful end it will be.”
Faythe stood in a similar crimson-and-gold lace underset to the one
she’d once spotted and teased him about in the outer city Sloan Market.
“It’s not the same one,” she said. Her breath hitched when his hand grazed
her abdomen. Reylan pressed her tighter to him, and she felt his desire at
her back heating her core. 
“No. It’s so much better.” He pressed his mouth to her neck, and Faythe
bit her lip to suppress the noise that caressed her throat. “Don’t do that,” he
mumbled, his fingers trailing over her ribs, shooting sensations straight to
her breasts, which were torturously caged behind lace. It was an effort not
to come undone in his arms. “I want to hear you. Every sound I can draw
from you. Gods, Faythe, you are the most exquisite thing to have ever
lived.” His eyes once again locked with hers in the mirror as his lips grazed
the point of her ear, and she moaned softly with the blissful torment. “As
human, you could have brought a man to his knees. As fae, you could make
the world bow before you.”
Faythe tried to twist around, but his grip tightened. Reylan’s slow smile
skipped a beat of her heart, sending a tremor down her spine that rattled her
whole body. “Please,” she breathed, holding his gaze as it devoured her
whole. 
That smile stretched to a grin. “I want you to watch as I worship you,
Faythe. I want you to see that as human and as fae, every inch of you is
perfect.” His hands trailed over her arms, fingers tracing that ancient vine of
script. His gentle grip at her shoulders guided her to turn. Her hands met
with his firm abdomen, sparking a heat that raced from her fingertips. Her
eyes stayed fixed on the impressive contours of him, soaking in every inch
as her hands trailed upward. Over his chest, marking every scar she
remembered. Reylan’s breathing came hard, his heartbeat picking up a
delightful tempo at her touch. 
Then sapphire met gold, blazing like fire and ice. Reylan claimed her
entirely with that gaze. His attention flashed back to the mirror, and when
Faythe glanced over her shoulder a short gasp left her. The two vines on her
arms met in the middle, and Reylan’s fingers traced down her spine where
all three Spirit symbols adorned her shoulder blades, wrapped in a design so
beautiful it quelled her horror at seeing the markings. 
 “Exquisite.”  Reylan’s other hand lifted to her chin, guiding her face
back around. “Powerful.” He closed that distance inch by torturous inch.
“Mine.”
A desirous tremble shook her, the inexplicable need for him sending her
to desperation. 
“I need you to tell me to stop, or I’m seconds away from damning
everything this night.”
There was nothing Reylan seemed to value more than his honor and
loyalty. Except her. Faythe knew what she should say. For both of them, it
was best they kept apart—at least until after the ball when they could figure
out something to keep the lord and Malin at bay. But thinking of them only
roused her defiance. Everything she wanted was right here. Everything they
deserved after all they’d been through. 
“Kiss me, Reylan.”
He needed nothing more.
Faythe unraveled the moment he crashed his lips to hers. A soft moan
left her at the glorious friction of their bare skin, and Faythe strained on her
toes to match his ferocity in the way he claimed her mouth. Her hands slid
up, but he caught her wrists before she could tangle her fingers in his
hair. Reylan pulled out of the kiss abruptly, his eyes so dark they devoured
the sapphire, so wild her whole body shivered.
Without warning, he spun her back around to face their reflection, but
he didn’t waste a second before his hands were upon her. They dominated
her waist, and Faythe could do nothing but lean against him, one of her
hands reaching up to his nape, needing something to grasp so she wouldn’t
give in to her weakened knees. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she
moaned louder when he massaged her breast over the red lace, his gaze
turning primal as he watched her come undone for him—watched
everything he was doing to her that clouded the room with both their
desires. 
“Look at you,” Reylan admired, his voice near unrecognizable in his
lust. His other hand reached lower. “You feel incredible.” 
Faythe’s back arched, and she failed to bite back her noises when he
reached her apex over her underwear. His fingers only teased and massaged,
a wicked torture. Watching his hands on her, roaming and mapping and
igniting—it was an unraveling she’d never felt before, like he was
determined to leave no inch of her untouched by him that night. 
 His lips grazed her shoulder, pressing once to her throat. “You have no
idea how glad I am to see that creature’s bite gone, so that someday you
will only wear mine.”
Faythe noticed then how the skin had healed completely from the unruly
scar. She shuddered with the memory of the gruesome dark fae attack. Her
eyes pricked, overwhelmingly relieved. The thought of his mark there
sparked such primal need, and a hopeful promise for their future.
Reylan moved around in front of her, his gaze holding her submission,
reading it. Without breaking that intense stare, he reached down. Faythe’s
arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist—a
position that was quickly becoming a favorite as she flashed the thought of
him taking her this way.  He walked past the bed, though not toward any
wall to fulfill her fantasy. Reylan headed instead into the next room, and a
wild thrill shot straight to her core when she realized his destination without
looking. 
Faythe sucked in a sharp breath when her skin met with the cold bite of
the grand piano. He released her with deliberate slowness. 
“Lie back for me, Faythe,” he said, so quiet, but with a lustful command
that pricked her skin. 
She obeyed. Palms against the smooth, polished wood, Faythe shifted
herself before reclining. On her elbows she paused, but as she read Reylan’s
dark look, another shallow gasp left her when her shoulders touched the
cold. It arched her back, and she turned her head to watch Reylan begin to
stalk around the piano, the hunger in his eyes devouring every piece of her
with his slow walk. The reaction she invoked became utterly empowering.
There were no lit candles in here; only the moonlight flooding through the
balcony doors illuminated her spread out for him. 
“Nothing comes close to this,” he said.
Faythe had seen him lost to lust and claimed by love before, but this…
She couldn’t place the emotion in his voice, nor what was etched in his
attentive look. Something more enchanting than awe, deeper than adoration.
It skipped her pulse and raced her blood. 
“No sight or sound or feeling,” he continued. Reylan let go of a long
breath and came around the piano until she couldn’t incline her head to see
him anymore without moving her body. “Nothing compares to you,
Faythe.” His breath whispered across her ear as he planted his hands by her
head and leaned in close. “Fuck, I love you more fiercely than I thought
any person could be capable of.” 
Faythe’s eyes fluttered closed when his lips pressed to her bare
shoulder. She almost twisted, needing to touch him back, to show him how
much he meant to her. His hand ran along her throat, tilting her head back to
look at him upside down. 
“Stay as you are,” he commanded, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
Her chest was bursting, needing some outlet, but Reylan knew there
were more ways to convey his feelings.  She listened, knowing his
intentions. Behind her, she heard him sit on the bench and fold back the
piano’s cover. The pause of silence as she held her breath for the music he
would flood the room with drifted her burdens afar. Then he began to play,
and the sting behind her eyes reminded her how deeply she had longed to
hear this again.
Faythe let her head fall back as she stared out through the glass doors,
fixing her sights on the starry night sky while Reylan swept them away in
song. A gentle melody, but it wove around her heart with a calming promise
she couldn’t explain. Soundless tears slipped down for the precious memory
of when she’d first heard him play. He’d lain so much bare for her without
knowing she was becoming completely and wholly his all over again. That
night when she was nothing more than a human consumed by fear and
overwhelmed by power—not within, but in title. Before she knew just how
deep and binding their bond was.
Now so much was different, and it struck Faythe with freedom to realize
she didn’t miss who she was. She’d spent so much time doubting she could
accept herself, but now she wasn’t just going to embrace it; she would rise
to it. As the Heir of Rhyenelle—as someone who held enough power to
stop Marvellas—she was ready for it all. And it hadn’t been without Reylan
taking every uncertain and dark step with her that she’d gotten here.
Faythe’s hands ran over her navel, feeling the song shimmer over her,
and she gave herself to it completely. One hand dipped lower, and she
closed her eyes, tipping her head back as her body bowed off the piano. Not
through lust; Faythe was so entranced by his song that touched her body
with stars. 
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. 
“It’s yours.”
 Faythe couldn’t fight the need to see him. The moon rays highlighted
every contour of his battle form, his tattoos catching mesmerizingly in their
glow. He didn’t miss a note as he met her gaze through long, dark lashes. 
“You wrote that for me?” 
The song tapered off gently, the last note settling in her heart. Reylan’s
fingers stayed poised on the keys until the final echo of that note faded
completely. Then he slowly closed the cover, never once breaking eye
contact. “I missed you,” he said in answer. His fingers combed through her
hair. 
Her voice lowered with the emotion that burned in her throat. “Can you
play it again?” 
“As many times as you want me to. Until you hear it even when you’re
far and you remember I’m yours.”
Faythe swallowed hard, wondering how she’d ever convey how much it
meant to her. Everything he’d done for her. Words weren’t nearly enough.
The ache that swelled in her chest was a welcome pain. Real and all for
him.
“Come here,” Reylan said softly.
Pulling herself up, Faythe slid around on the smooth piano surface and
shuffled over until her legs eased down in front of him. Reylan’s hands
wrapped around her calves, and he set her feet on the cover while she
reclined, bracing on her palms. He watched her while his touch traveled
higher.
Faythe let go of all her shyness at the way he devoured her with a mere
look. He stood carefully, propping one knee on the bench as he leaned into
her. Faythe’s breath hitched as she thought he was going to kiss her, but he
halted, and her lips tingled with the near touch of his while his fingers
grazed along her thighs, racing heat between her legs. 
“I wish I could taste you in more ways than one tonight.” His gaze
flashed briefly to her neck, the implication surging her lust. She wanted it
so badly—for him to mark her. As her teeth pinched her lips at the thought,
she stifled her shock. She had yet to get used to the reaction. Tasting him
back…it was a desire that was so new and wild. 
Reylan’s fingers hooking under the band of her underwear drew a sharp
breath. “I still plan to fulfill my first promise. Do you remember?” 
Reading his movements, Faythe lifted her hips and let him drag the
material away, the cool air against her slickness giving away how easily she
came alive at his words and torturous grazing touches. He guided her legs
farther apart, his breath continuing to blow across her jaw, and her head
tipped back with an ache for him to relieve the tightening of her core. 
“Do you remember, Faythe?”
“Yes,” she rasped. His touch ignited up over her ribs, and with little
effort he maneuvered the fastens between her breasts, which she’d fidgeted
with for so long to figure out how to secure them. “You’ve done that
before,” she observed. 
His pupils devoured most of the sapphire as the material came away to
expose her completely. “Never,” he admitted.
Then his mouth descended on her. 
Faythe’s fingers wove through his hair, tightening when his assault
amplified, and she pushed her chest into it. His arm circled her back, taking
her weight then lowering her until she was flush against the piano once
more. Teeth nipped at her peaked breasts. Her legs wrapped around him,
and soon she was shamelessly grinding against him, desperate for any
friction below. 
He grabbed her wrist, slipping the bracelet from her before reaching for
his own. “Tonight you are mine,” he growled. “I want to scent every piece
of me on you.”
The bracelets ricocheted off the ground where he tossed them, a
liberating sound.
“Yours,” she breathed.
Reylan kissed her ribs, down to her navel. Her hands slipped through
his silver locks, desperate to guide him right where she wanted him. 
“Look how ready you are for me.”
He didn’t lick; he devoured. Faythe cried out, her back arching off the
piano when he didn’t tease or go slow or tender. Instead, he alternated
between sucking her hard and giving long laps of his tongue, which he’d
dip inside her, deeper than she imagined. Faythe saw stars. Her fingers
fisted his hair. When she couldn’t stop her hips from undulating, Reylan
slipped two fingers into her, knowing she was beyond needing to adjust. 
“Come for me, Faythe,” he groaned, the vibrations of it sending her
right over the edge.  Reylan continued to work her precisely while she
trembled violently, slowing his strokes before removing his fingers to
continue to devour her whole.
 Constellations broke and stitched themselves back together again.  She
came down from the high of it breathing heavily, fingers easing out of his
hair, and she wondered if her tight hold had been painful in her lack of
awareness. 
“Stay right there,” Reylan commanded, his voice pure, thick lust. 
Faythe didn’t think she was capable of doing much else. She submitted
easily to everything he—they—desired. 
Reylan braced a knee on the piano cover, and in a few short seconds he
was hovering over her. One hand planted on the black polish while with the
other he held himself at her entrance—but he paused, glancing up to catch
her eye. Faythe answered by running her hands up his chest with a barely-
there nod, nails scraping just enough that his neck tensed with pleasure. 
“I need you.”
He plunged into her in one long glide, straight to the hilt, then he
stopped with a groan that shivered over every inch of her. It made her tip
her head back on a deep inhale of absolute bliss at the fullness she felt,
which she’d been craving from him for a lifetime.  It shot through her far
more powerfully than before, consuming her entirely. In this new body it
was like experiencing him all over again, a changed range of desire that
drew out a wild, feverish need.
“Do it,” she panted, knowing what he was refraining from. “I want it,
Reylan. Hard.”
He swore and adjusted his position, one hand hooking under her thigh to
lift her. Then he let go. She let go. Reylan drove into her endlessly, and she
could do nothing but cry out for him—clawing his skin, gripping the piano
edge, not knowing what to do with her hands when she was splayed so
completely at his merciless assault. 
She was so lost in the moment she never wanted to see an end, so when
he pulled out her eyes snapped open at the abruptness. Faythe had never felt
more torched alive, buzzing with exhilaration for what he would do next.
She wanted to explore with him, thinking they could do this a million times
and it would never be the same. She craved his touch, his taste, his scent—
everything that had become a map with infinite paths but always ended at
the same destination.
Reylan’s chest rose and fell deeply as he looked over her, claiming
every inch of her with those blazing sapphires. “No amount of you will ever
be enough,” he rasped. He took her hand, helping her to sit as she felt so
heavy and light at the same time. “Even buried inside of you doesn’t feel
close enough.”
Faythe’s arms circled around his neck, their lips near grazing as he lifted
her. Turning, he sat on the piano bench, spreading Faythe’s thighs over his.
His hands roamed over her sweat-slicked skin. Her brow pinched with the
waves of adoration he peered up at her with. It was all she could do to keep
from bringing her mouth firmly to his.
“I can’t stop needing you,” Faythe said. “Not now, not in any lifetime. I
am yours no matter what.”
Reylan’s head angled to meet her, and Faythe moaned with the trace of
his tongue up the column of her neck. “Take what you want, Faythe,” he
said, words like embers shooting over her skin. 
For the first time, she hesitated. “I’ve never done this before,” she
confessed. This position, relying on her to satisfy them both. 
His forehead pressed into her shoulder, and she thought that fact
aroused something in him. That he was her first for this too. She treasured
the knowledge like it was everything. 
“You know there’s nothing you could do wrong, right?” he ground out,
hands adjusting her hips. 
Like a magnet she answered to his touch, beginning a slow, torturous
slide along his length. Faythe bit her lip as the shoots of pleasure hit her
apex, but it wasn’t enough. 
“Hands here,” he whispered, guiding her wrists until her palms were
splayed over the cover behind him. Instinctively, Faythe lifted herself just
enough for Reylan to position himself for her. “Brace, then take what you
want.”
  Her thighs sank back down, the new angle hitting deeper than she
expected. With the need to feel it again and again, her pleasure drove her
movements. Relaxing his light hold, he submitted to her entirely, tipping his
head back against the piano, eyes closed in a state of bliss invoked by her.
She wanted to capture the sight of him, godly and utterly mesmerizing. His
face glistened against the moonlight, brow pinched tightly while short, fast
breaths shot through his parted mouth. 
Her pace turned demanding; a race toward pleasure that tingled through
her.
“Just like that,” he rasped, head lifting to watch where they joined.
“Gods, you have no idea how much torture it’s been waiting this long to
fuck you again.”
As much as her body begged to reach the ending that came so close, her
mind didn’t want that yet. It was Faythe’s turn to stop. Slipping off him, she
shuddered. She’d surprised herself with the idea, but she wanted to sate her
need to have him in every way she craved.
Reylan rested there like a perfect sculpture, and her thoughts
rejoiced. My mate. It was all she could hear with euphoric pride.  Neither
time nor distance could change that. Not their greatest foe, nor their most
perilous conflict.
Not even death could keep them apart.
His eyes met hers with fiery question. She only dropped to her knees
before him. 
“Faythe…” Her name left him on a breath. 
“You said to take what I want.” Her pulse skipped, hand curling around
his length.
Reylan’s jaw flexed with her long, tight strokes.  His hand came up to
her face, thumb tracing along her bottom lip before pressing lightly, and she
opened her mouth, flicking her tongue over the tip and drawing out his low
groan. Then he straightened and stood, fingers angling her head back before
trailing down her neck. 
“This is what you want?” 
Faythe nodded, swallowing hard at the darkening look in his eyes. 
“Open and relax your throat for me.”
Faythe tried to do as he asked, bracing her hands on his thighs and
allowing him to guide himself into her mouth. He went slow, easing in inch
by inch, and Faythe only focused on her breathing—on not allowing the
size of him to rouse her panic. She had done this before, but it was short,
and that had been with her fear setting a limit. She trusted Reylan and
wanted to experience him fully unleashed in every way. Teasing him herself
—it pushed boundaries that thrilled her to explore. 
Tenderly, he brushed away her hair before holding it back. Faythe
flashed her eyes up then, and he watched her with a glaze of amazement.
“Perfect,” he ground out. 
He began a slow thrust, and Faythe adjusted to the foreign sensation so
deep in her throat. When she showed no protest, his pace quickened, and
soon, Faythe was matching him, answering to him. She enjoyed every
second, the sounds of pleasure it brought from him, the flex of him, feeling
her own arousal climbing and climbing but just lacking.
“You feel incredible in every damn way.”
His approval only tightened her legs, and she could have whimpered
with the height of need. 
Reylan pulled out with such a loud growl she thought he might be close
to spilling himself but wanted to prologue their desires after they’d been
denied each other for so long. She took a second, hands braced on her
knees, to gather her breath, grappling with the threads of need that
untangled all at once. Him inside her, his mouth over her, his hands
exploring her… 
“I need you,” was all she could get out, wondering how it could ever be
enough. Knowing it wouldn’t ever be. 
This need for him was eternal. And insatiable. 
Breath left her when she was scooped up and cradled against Reylan.
Her head leaned against him while he carried her. She was lain upon soft
sheets, and the comfort brought on a sleepy kind of lust. 
“I’m a selfish bastard for this,” he said, his hand slipping over her side,
kneading her breast, before settling over her collarbone. “The thought of his
hands on you has been driving me wild, Faythe.”
“It means nothing.” Her hand fisted his hair. “But you mean everything,
Reylan.”
He groaned when she brought her lips to his. Faythe’s mouth opened on
a silent cry when his hand slipped between her thighs.
“I want you to think of me when you’re with him,” he growled, picking
up the pace as he circled her apex, and all she could do was writhe beneath
him. “Think of how you feel when I’m inside you. That’s it, Faythe.”
She came loudly—an eruption from nowhere when she’d been teetering
on the edge for such a short time. As she trembled with the aftershocks, she
knew this wasn’t the end, nor did she want it to be despite her heavy
eyelids. 
“One more time for me. Can you do that?” he whispered over her skin.
Her eyes remained closed, but she nodded. 
She would do anything for him. 
“Turn around.”
Faythe rolled onto her hands and knees, a new thrill sparking through
her with clear awakening at the position. She felt him behind her, but he
didn’t enter her yet. Instead, he leaned over her, every touch he made so
slow and with such attention—over her breast, up her chest, curling lightly
around her throat, and then he guided her up until, on their knees, her back
was flush with his front. 
It was then she discovered a new favorite, giddy with electricity at the
intimate hold. He slipped inside slowly, and her brow pinched, back arching
to give him a better angle on instinct. 
“No one could fit you as perfectly as I do.”
“No one,” she echoed. 
He answered by pulling back nearly all the way before plunging in with
a punishing thrust. Faythe repeated the words: No one else. Over and over,
each time he gave her what she craved, until he set a pace and all she could
do was claw at his forearm holding her upright, the sound of their skin
meeting mixed with the cries that came from her unchecked and the primal
groans he let out that shot straight between her legs. His fingers rubbing
circles over her apex was the final push, and Faythe erupted. From the
inside out she ignited. Her magick entwined with his and her golden tattoos
glowed as she finally reached the pinnacle of absolution. 
Reylan came with a roar and one final mighty thrust that dropped them
both to their hands and knees, panting hard, skin to skin, slicked in the
aftermath of a bliss unlike anything she’d experienced before. His harsh
breaths blew her hair, and her head angled to look at him. 
“You were really holding back before,” Faythe rasped. “In the waterfall
cave.”
Reylan breathed a laugh. “You were far more breakable then. Trust that
this is not the limit of what I’ve thought about doing with you. Not even
close. But tonight, you surprised me in more ways. It thrills me to no end,
Faythe.”
She shuddered with the scandalous thoughts he stirred in her. Most
prominently, his teeth in her—marking her. He pulled away, and her body
tensed with the breeze. She slowly lowered herself until she was lying
contentedly on her stomach.
Reylan was silent for long enough that she eventually peered down at
him. He stood at the end of the bed, a blanket in one hand, but he remained
still. 
“You are a Goddess, Faythe Ashfyre.” 
She smiled for him. “Come here,” she said sleepily. 
 Reylan dipped onto the bed, dropping the soft material over her as he
came to lay beside her. Faythe lifted up just enough to fold herself into the
perfect space between his neck and shoulder. 
“The dance with the lord means nothing. It’s only a means of satisfying
them for now,” she mumbled, needing to be sure he knew it again and
again. “But I wish it were you.”
Reylan kissed the top of her head. “It would not be to their pleasure to
see a general leading their princess.”
“You are more than that,” she said quietly. “So much more.”
He didn’t respond, but she felt the echoes of his gratitude. 
Faythe was distracted by the dip in her stomach. “You hate dancing.”
“I do, but it doesn’t feel like a tedious routine with you. It feels like
what we just did—intimate. A moment when the world fades and the
barriers fall. That first time in High Farrow, I would have danced with you
that whole night if you’d asked.”
The memory flared in her chest with a wave of emotion. Her fingers
idly traced the tattoos on his chest as she remembered what it felt like—the
moment the realization locked in her heart that there was no letting him go. 
Faythe lifted herself up onto her elbow, watching her fingers trailing
over his markings. One set called her, hypnotizing her with the pattern she
traced over and over, until she stopped. Her lips parted. She couldn’t unsee
it. No longer a decoration, but a phrase her mind translated so suddenly her
eyes pricked.
“You said these were memories of your parents,” Faythe said vacantly.
Reylan frowned. “They are.”
Most of them, Faythe thought. All except this one, yet he wouldn’t
know.
He remained confused by her interest, but Faythe only smiled, leaning
down to kiss him. A soft moan escaped her when his hand hooked her
thigh, pulling her over him completely without breaking them apart.
“I don’t think we’re done here,” he muttered huskily.
“I hoped not.” Her desire ignited all over again with every hard inch of
him beneath her.
As she glanced once more at her favorite marking on him, Faythe
scanned his beautiful face. “No matter how long it takes, or what name, or
what title, I will find you endlessly, Reylan Arrowood. If you only
remember one thing, always remember that is my promise.”
 CHAPTER 79

Zaiana

H that cracked andopen,

er eyes flew yet Zaiana froze with panic upon meeting a storm
whorled around her. She was awake, or at least she felt
conscious, yet…something wasn’t right.
Scrambling to her feet, she swayed, disoriented, but gravity didn’t
weigh the same here.  This place was sorrow and anguish, a pure, dark
energy, allowing little light through with the black clouds that raged,
making hairs fly across her vision when she tried to squint to find
something solid.
She wanted out.
More than anything, and her hands clamped over her ears and her eyes
scrunched as though blocking it all out would take her back the bleak cell
she was certain she fell asleep in. This place taunted, choking her lungs
with misery. Hatred—so much self-hatred—and she realized at once… 
This place was her. 
“Zaiana Silverfair.” A dominant male voice echoed through the whip of
wind. It rang with a distant familiarity until she pinned a face to it seconds
before he emerged across the void. 
King Agalhor Ashfyre of Rhyenelle. 
Her knees became weak, threatening to make her bow before him as the
realization of what he was doing finally dawned. The violation that stripped
away the last piece of herself she had left. 
“I didn’t expect you to be able to awaken here. At least not as surely as
you are,” he observed. “Like a Nightwalker.”
 Zaiana tried to focus and push him out, but a heavy weight as sure as
her Niltain steel clamped around her mind. He seized control of her entirely,
his power slamming over her leaving no room for her to mistake she was at
his mercy within her own mind. She knew Agalhor Ashfyre to be legendary
in his Nightwalking ability, and this helpless terror drowned her with an
unfamiliarity that stung her eyes. 
“Please,” she whimpered pathetically. She had nothing left. 
“Did my daughter beg when you tried to take her life?” he taunted. 
Zaiana hung her head, but that wasn’t a submission he accepted, and he
commanded her gaze back to him. She clenched her teeth, managing to bite
her nails into her palms to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. Her
rage pulsed so tangibly she thought it could break his spell. She felt him
push back to fight her. 
“You can’t say you didn’t expect this,” he went on. “You could hold the
answers to everything, and once I have them, I will end your miserable
existence. Isn’t that what you truly want?” He stalked around her, observing
every vulnerable inch and reading her far deeper than anyone had before.
Seeing everything ugly and twisted she was within. “I feel you, Zaiana—
your true desires—and I may even pity you. Is it not a mercy for me to end
this storm?”  He looked around the whirling mass of her subconscious.
Lightning cracked ferociously while the black clouds raged. Maybe she
agreed on some level, and he knew it. 
Faythe had lied. 
She had retreated like a coward and instead passed the task off to her
father. 
Zaiana would kill them both. 
“You only prove my need to kill you, Zaiana. I will not allow you to
even think of another threat toward her again. Though if it makes you feel
anything in that cold heart, Faythe kept to her word and knows nothing of
this.”
How could she believe him? It could be a desperate attempt to save
Faythe from her wrath. It wouldn’t change anything. 
The king took her chin, and she was helpless to jerk out of his hold.
“Listen,” he ordered. 
At his command, a rhythmic thump echoed through the space. Distant at
first, until it built, strong and sure. A heartbeat. 
“Yours,” he said. 
 Zaiana could have laughed at his absurd claim, but she wondered what
kind of twisted joke he was playing. Then she felt it. In her chest that
movement terrified her, but the more that terror grew, the harder it
slammed, the faster it sprinted, and she couldn’t take it, straining helplessly
against a cry with a rush of need to tear it out. 
It’s not real, she chanted. It had to be a manipulation. Make it stop. 
There were times when she’d allowed herself to dream of this. What it
would feel like to own a heart that beat. That could translate to so many
wondrous, hidden things with careful attention in its ever-changing
harmony. As she focused on the illusion of how it thrummed in her chest,
Zaiana began to calm, holding this fluttering, sure thing that felt beautiful. 
Until it was snatched from her as quickly as blowing out a candle, and
she whimpered. 
“I plan to find out what caused its stillness. Perhaps it could be the key
to ending you all.”
“I will kill you,” she promised through clenched teeth.  He’d been
marked from the moment she set foot in his castle, but now he’d lit the fire
ablaze for her to carry it through. 
“You will not wake from this. I am not heartless; I will ease your
passing in here.”
Color began to form out of the misty clouds. Voices echoed and Zaiana
slipped her eyes shut, unable to face her own past, succumbing to her
defeat. She couldn’t bear to watch another mind witness all she was and all
she had done, plucking and picking parts of her he had no right to see. She
tried to tune out the voices, but she couldn’t. Even in consciousness she
begged, but what she could never do was disconnect from her own cruel
mind. 
Her home, her prison, her cage. 
The crack of a whip lashed through her. How much of your blood must
we spill before you learn? Your defiance will be the end of you. Another
crack before the echo of Nephra’s sinister voice faded.
The reel of her memories played out, skipping weeks, years, decades.
Agalhor took his fill. 
Which of them hurt you?
Her brow flexed at Maverick’s voice, almost enough for her to steal a
glance, but instead she whispered her own words on top of the memory. 
“All of them.”
 All of the masters and everyone she had ever crossed paths with. They
would always betray her. Or lie or cheat or hurt. Zaiana trusted no one. Not
completely. And in turn, she didn’t expect anyone to trust her.
“So you can feel,” Agalhor mused. 
Zaiana drew more blood from her palms at hearing Kyleer’s voice next.
Her cheeks burned hot, humiliation straining her movements as she
wondered if her sheer will to kill the king could break his spell. “Burn in
the Nether,” she spat. 
Just as she roused something of anger to help her climb out of her pitiful
state, her gaze lifted to the one scene she couldn’t bear. Ice laced her spine,
locking her whole body, which she knew would kneel here without his
influence. 
“Stop,” she begged vacantly, though she couldn’t look away. 
Her own dark, merciless eyes pinned the surrendered dark fae she’d
wounded enough to take his fight. On his knees he panted, clutching a deep
wound on his abdomen that spilled silver blood over his hand. She hadn’t
forgotten this day. Not even a second of it. Yet in here it was like living it all
over again. Zaiana’s body vibrated with a haunting caress, staring and
staring at the broken sight…
Finnian. 
“Why?” her past-self demanded through her teeth. Pain, so much pain,
flexed in those purple eyes that fought the silver that lined them. 
“I didn’t have a choice,” Finnian rasped. “I can’t— I can’t control—”
Zaiana’s mouth parted on a choked scream as she watched her past-self,
so consumed by betrayal, kneel with him…and plunge her sword straight
through his chest. “Kill or be killed, right?” she whispered to him.
He spluttered in agony, yet he didn’t show anger, only so much pain and
regret. His mouth floundered as though he were trying to say something. 
“I…I would never…”
He faded in her arms slowly, the light in his green eyes flickering. 
She would never know the end of what he wanted to say. And that
unfulfilled sentence would forever linger like a ghost. 
Zaiana watched herself tear a strip from his shirt, a token for the
weakness that had almost gotten her killed. She tied it to the hilt of her
sword so she’d never be granted a moment to forget.
“I was right to stop your claws from sinking into my commander more
than they already have,” Agalhor said darkly. “Your love is deadly.”
 “You had no right.” Zaiana felt the slow build of a wrath so charged she
hoped it could kill him. Her tears fell to the black ground. “You had no
right!” She screamed the last word, her head exploding with an affliction
that blackened her vision instantly. She was falling and falling, and she
didn’t care if the final piece of her shattered when it stopped. 
As long as she took out the King of Rhyenelle with her.
 CHAPTER 80

Nikalias

N heightened to athedangerous
ik arrived at stables Tauria had indicated to him. His senses were
point at being parted from her, but while she
boldly took the main route to the castle with Mordecai, this was his only
way to follow her inside. He checked back for Samara, his hand hovering
on her back to guide her into the hidden passage first. 
“What will we do here?” 
He gauged her question to be nothing more than something to fill the
silence and distract her from her unease. 
“Keep hidden and find out what he is doing here,” Nik answered, barely
able to offer any warmth or assurance. 
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. 
That stole his attention from his simmering anticipation. He thought on
her apology for a moment, guessing it was for more than one thing. “You
are forgiven, Samara. It can’t have been easy to feel as if your survival
depended on you attaching yourself to whatever allegiance seemed
strongest.”
Her silence seemed contemplative, and he glanced over to find her
fidgeting with her sleeves. “I’m not strong like Tauria. Or really that brave.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Why not?”
“You’re here. You didn’t have to agree to this plan.”
“You would have killed me otherwise.”
“Is that the only reason you agreed?”
 Her pause was answer enough. Nik took a deep breath, feeling he had
nothing to lose with his next confession. “For what it’s worth, we would not
have killed you.”
“But I tried to kill you.”
“Did you truly love him?” Nik couldn’t figure out how she could have
fallen for Zarrius, whom he’d never seen show an ounce of affection to
anyone. 
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think…because I don’t know what that
means. You once tried to explain it to me, and I think then I wondered if it
was love or if I was too afraid to be nothing without him. If I didn’t kill
you, he planned to leave me. He said I was weak and that he needed
someone he could trust. I don’t think—” Samara hesitated. 
“You don’t have to tell me more,” Nik said softly, “but I hope you know
you can trust me.”
They walked past the scene of the carnage, sparing only a glance at the
ruined ceremony room that chilled Nik with dark memories. 
“What happened?” Samara breathed in horror. 
His touch on her shoulders urged her to keep moving. He didn’t want to
lose a second. “Mordecai almost forced Tauria into a marriage once
before.”
“He doesn’t seem all that truly evil.”
Nik huffed a sour laugh. “Monsters can take many faces. Don’t be
fooled by the ones they wear to lure you in.”
They exchanged a look, and Nik could have pitied her naïve heart,
thinking there was a sadness to the revelation. 
“I wasn’t attracted to him,” she said. “Zarrius, I mean.” 
Nik smiled. “There is nothing wrong with that.”
“I wasn’t attracted to you either.”
His chuckle vibrated quietly through the narrow passage. 
“I just mean… I don’t know. I’m confused, and I’m scared I won’t ever
get the time to figure it out. I’ve made so many mistakes in thinking a
figure with high power meant safety, but maybe I don’t care about that
anymore. Maybe I want to try danger, or the unknown, if that’s what it is to
live.”
Before they reached the end of the passage, he pulled her to a stop.
“Where is this coming from?”
 “I’ve been sacrificed my whole life, Nik. From my parents to Zarrius.
From Zarrius to you. From you to Mordecai. I kissed him, and for the first
time I felt free. I almost broke to tell him everything because there’s often
this voice in my head that just wants to break.”
“To find what you truly desire,” Nik assessed. “For someone to hear
you.” A whole new side to Samara had opened wide before him, and he
should have seen her sooner. 
She dropped her eyes. “I’m not a lady of the court anymore. I thought
I’d feel ashamed as it’s all I was taught to value. Yet I’m glad, and I’m not
afraid anymore.”
His hand reached out to her arm on impulse. “You are brave, Samara.
It’s only taken you until now to embrace it.”
Her mouth upturned with liberation, and while he was glad for the
weight that lifted between them, which he didn’t know had grown so heavy,
he didn’t have time to bask in it. “Come on,” he pressed gently, taking the
lead this time to peer first into the abandoned room. 
As he slipped out from behind the bookcase, he was hit so powerfully
with the memory this room held that the world around him faded away.
Rooted to the spot, his eyes trailed from the couch to the wall, and his heart
fractured, his soul cried, and it was sheer will that kept him from falling to
his knees. 
Nik hadn’t allowed himself to grieve a moment for the severed bond
they’d created in this very room. He had to be strong for her. While it
changed absolutely nothing of his love and adoration for Tauria, he couldn’t
deny the pain of having sampled a gift between them only for them to be
cruelly robbed of it. 
“I’m so sorry.” Samara’s quiet voice pierced through his plummet into
sorrow enough to find a grapple, but it would take time to reel him back
from this loss fully. 
He took a long breath to ground himself. “We will have our revenge for
everything they’ve stolen from us.”
 CHAPTER 81

Faythe

I would always belong

t had been so since Faythe felt light and free. Parting with Reylan
a strain on the tether that kept him selfishly by her side,
but the night they’d shared had opened a bright new freedom within
her. She heard Izaiah’s teachings, but her mind kept drifting back to it. She
twirled the bracelet on her wrist nervously out of fear the lord, who was due
to arrive soon, would detect the other scent so thoroughly entwined with
hers in the aftermath should she remove it. 
“Apologies for my delay.” Zarrius’s voice rang out. 
Faythe tensed but faced him with nothing but pleasant reception. “No
matter. It gave me extra time to practice. I must warn you I am not so
experienced in dancing.”
Izaiah muttered under his breath, “That’s putting it lightly.” 
Faythe sliced him a subtle look, but her friend focused hard eyes on the
lord, who fixed his attention on her. “Then you chose your partner well. I
am confident with my expertise. We will put on quite the performance
together.”
She hadn’t chosen him, nor would he even make the top ten list of
dance partners she’d consider. “I hope you’re right. I won’t make the
intended impression by fumbling on the dance floor.”
Faythe’s palm slipped into his when he extended it to her. Everything
about his touch felt wrong—repulsive even. The gleam in his eye twitched
her ire, and she wondered if he was aware of the condescension he bore
onto her with that look alone.  She couldn’t protest when his arm slipped
around her waist and he raised his palm for the opening stance. 
“I’m very much looking forward to having this dance with you, Faythe
Ashfyre.”
She didn’t have it in her to return the false sentiment. What Zarrius
looked forward to was making his importance known to her court without a
second of wasted breath. 
So Faythe only smiled sweetly, and they danced. 

“It pains me to say this, truly,” Izaiah drawled when it was once again just
the two of them finishing up in the ballroom, “but he’s going to show you
up big-time if you don’t match his energy.”
“It’s hard to find the enthusiasm,” Faythe grumbled.
His smile was all-knowing as he rested a hand on her shoulder. 
A spike of panic rippled across her nape seconds before Kyleer marched
into the room. Faythe was already walking to meet him. 
“I need your help,” he rushed out. 
“Did you find out something about the library?” she asked hopefully,
but his quick shake hollowed her stomach. 
“Not that. I can’t explain it, but they won’t let me access the cells on
Agalhor’s orders. I need you to check on her for me.”
Faythe’s brow furrowed. “Zaiana? I thought you were her overseer.”
He exchanged a look with Izaiah at that, jaw working as though he
knew the request he’d come to her with was a step out of line. “I’m hoping
it’s nothing, but I can’t be certain what his plans are with her. If he has
already…” Kyleer didn’t finish the thought that washed his face with
dread. 
Agalhor wouldn’t kill Zaiana, she wanted to tell him. At least not until
they exhausted her for information…
Faythe drew a sharp breath, the puzzle sliding together with the pieces
Kyleer had brought to her. “He plans to Nightwalk through her.”
“I tried to persuade him otherwise, to tell him we were making progress,
but I fear he’s taken matters into his own hands now, and when he’s
finished…”
He would have no reason to keep her alive. 
 Faythe was already striding with a hurried pace, her heart sprinting. Her
father wouldn’t do that—not if he knew Faythe had ordered everyone
against it so she could try her own methods. If he crossed that line with the
dark fae, there would be no gaining back the small kernel of her trust, and
Faythe couldn’t shake the feeling it was important. Zaiana was important. 
Jogging now, the slow coating of cold fear she’d felt since her attempt
to infiltrate Zaiana’s mind had her praying Kyleer’s hunch was wrong. She
wanted to believe Agalhor would come to her first, that he’d hear why she
was against this method. 
Guards immediately blocked her path. “We’re not to let anyone see the
captive, Your Highness.”
Faythe didn’t slow her marching pace. “Get out of my way.”
“Orders of the king.”
Her teeth ground, palms prickling with heat, and Faythe slipped into
their minds effortlessly in her rush. Without overthinking what she was
doing, she figured a quick way to send them into unconsciousness was the
least invasive attack. As if feeling the wall for a lever, she flicked it,
blackening their minds in an instant. Stepping over their fallen bodies, she
couldn’t feel guilty for it. 
Her steps finally slowed, but her pulse sped up when she spied the mass
curled on the floor. She inhaled through her nose, a hint of salt catching in
the air.
Faythe knew then that she was too late. Though she shouldn’t care, a
splinter snagged in her chest. 
The dark fae lay facing the wall, huddled in a black cloak that had been
torn at the bottom to fit her height. Faythe scented it to have belonged to
Kyleer. Her head rested against the cold, abrasive stone, midnight-black
hair spilling down like ink. Utterly still and soundless.
“Zaiana,” Faythe whispered to the eerie silence. 
Nothing changed for a painstakingly long few seconds. 
Then: “I hope you got what you wanted.” Her answer came devoid of
any emotion, the whisper of a ghost. 
“He shouldn’t have done that—”
“Spare your breath, Faythe Ashfyre.” She cut her off. “While you still
have time to draw it.”
“How can I make this right?” 
 Zaiana shifted, pushing up weakly as though she’d spent days in that
immobile position against the unforgiving ground. “You think you are the
heroes. The good, the fair. But you are no less willing to do what it takes to
win.” Her dark hair shielded most of her face as Zaiana shifted to her knees,
still not turning to her fully. 
“He didn’t kill you,” Faythe said, more as a relief than to counter her
words, but Zaiana gave a breathy chuckle of pure, bitter resentment. 
“It seems the notorious Nightwalker is not as powerful as he thought.”
Faythe wondered how it could be possible. If Agalhor had infiltrated her
mind, how Zaiana knew, and how she’d survived given all Faythe had heard
of her father’s ability. In that moment she didn’t care—she was glad of
Agalhor’s failure, though it came as a stab of betrayal. All this time she’d
fought to prove herself—to the lords, to the court—thinking one of the few
people who believed in her was her father. Yet though Agalhor may not
have seen it, this act erased his words. Faythe closed her eyes, breathing
through the simmering rise of anger. It wasn’t charged to a reckless force;
instead, it gave her a steady sense of clarity. 
She’d tried to fit in, tried to bend to what they wanted, but she should
have known it was a mold she could never conform to. She didn’t want to
fit really. All she’d been doing was biding time. 
Now she was going to do things her way.
Before she stormed from those cells, although Faythe owed the dark fae
nothing, she let her last thought linger aloud.
“Or perhaps your will to survive is simply more powerful.”
 CHAPTER 82

Faythe

F given that
aythe A ’ spare a breath despite the warning she was
shfyre didn t
the king was not alone. She barged into the council chamber.
Many eyes pinned her, but she only sought one, and she found them, held
them, targeted them. 
“You should have been announced first, Faythe,” Agalhor said with
calm irritation. 
Faythe opened her arms, coming to a stop. “What do you consider
this?”
The air became thick with tension at her brazenness.
“You have something on your mind,” Agalhor guessed carefully. She
didn’t miss the warning in that tone. “Let’s talk in private.”
More silence. More rules. She should have seen it sooner, and she
almost shook her head now she’d seen her father in another light. On some
level she knew he’d always had his doubts about her though she’d clung to
his hollow words with a child’s clutch. 
The lords and Malin, whom she caught sight of briefly, shuffled to
leave. 
“Wait,” Faythe commanded.
Everyone froze as that single word fell with the weight of a
gauntlet.  Agalhor turned to her fully, the flex of his eyes voicing his
displeasure, but he didn’t stop her. Her heart pounded. Hard in its cage, loud
in her ears, thumping to a beat that canceled out all thoughts except for her
determination.
 “I need to know if I’m wasting my time here,” she began. “Because I
will not be another court’s pawn.”
It was Malin who spoke next, as though she’d given him the perfect
opening. “You’re emotional. You’re contradicting yourself with this
outburst and it’s clear you can’t make a balanced judgment. You are not a
pawn, but an heir too volatile to be trusted with power until you can be
taught.”
“Taught? You mean tamed and controlled.”
“Not my words.”
“But your meaning.” Faythe’s smile was all challenge. “You once said it
was unjust of me to execute a fae in the town of Desture, but have you
bothered to send soldiers to find out how that town is faring? Did you ask
who they have to thank for their nights without terror and provisions that
arrive safely?” She left a pause—not through arrogance, but to be sure
every word she spoke was heard. “Their Phoenix Queen.”
From their shared looks, Faythe knew she’d made an impact even in the
minds of the high-born fae. 
“About that,” Malin interjected, the song of his voice chilling. “Perhaps
we should let our princess know what gathered us here today.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Agalhor warned.
Malin only smiled, not removing his gaze from her as he said, “Many
texts on the Firebirds, on the effects and powers of Phoenixfyre, were stolen
from a well-guarded section of the library a few days before the massacre.”
Her next breath stuttered, and she couldn’t hide her guilt as the
accusation became inescapable.
“They were found in your rooms, Faythe, after the break-in.”
“I-I didn’t steal them,” she defended. “I borrowed them. I had nothing
to do with the murders.”
“We know this,” Agalhor cut in once again. Yet as Faythe frantically
scanned every hard set of eyes that pinned her, she couldn’t be sure that was
true. Even without further evidence, Malin was turning their suspicions.
“Of course,” her cousin said. “I only wonder how someone would know
she possessed the books. Even then, it seems a high risk for an intruder
who’d already gained the main prize to infiltrate again. What were you
doing with them anyway?”
Her blood pounded with the confrontation she didn’t expect. Everything
Malin did was meticulous and cunning, but she’d been blindsided by his
boldness this time. He met her bewildered look, and his words were clear.
She’d threatened him first, and this was his countermove.
Faythe had a choice to make and no time to deliberate. To deny her
actions felt wrong when she had nothing to hide. She was done being so
easily shaken.
“The Phoenix feather was real.”
Her declaration filled the room with gasps and murmurs. She ignored
them to bring her magick forth, igniting a red flame that drew wide eyes to
her fingertips before she sent it for the unlit candles.
“I didn’t steal it; I took back what was once stolen from the greatest
Firebird of all time—Atherius.”
“A desperate child’s tale,” Malin sneered.
The lords looked at her with outrage and indictment, but Faythe held
firm. She almost smiled at her cousin’s dark look as for once she’d caught
him off-guard by admitting her guilt. Though she was not clear of charge
yet.
“The murders were only an act of vengeance because I got to the feather
first. I planned to come forward with what I’d found once I was certain, yet
my rooms were infiltrated, and what was left of the feather was stolen.
Judgment is yours to make as I tell my truth now, but I hope you will ask
what I have to gain in condemning myself. Someone killed innocents within
our walls, and that person”—Faythe dared to hold Malin’s stare—“knows
exactly what the feather is capable of in the hands of our enemies.”
The power battle between her and Malin had reached its climax, and
while she felt the energy of hatred and malice, there were no more cards to
play.
Malin was seething as he said, “We cannot simply take the word of a
girl not even born in this kingdom. A girl whom we have invited into our
home and let betray our trust. Faythe Ashfyre should be trialed for the theft
and the murders in the library.”
“You forget yourself, son.” Agalhor spoke calmly, stepping toward him
and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Though there is much discussion to be
had, there is a bigger threat looming while the rest of the feather remains
unaccounted for. Rest assured, I agree with you there is some consequence
to be bestowed upon Faythe here for her actions, but not under the
judgment of criminal court. I shall settle this matter privately.”
 Faythe flexed her fists, barely able to look at the king. Disappointment
bubbled to the surface as she remembered why she came here. If she didn’t
have his confidence in her decisions, she had nothing when the council
accepted her by his judgment. For that reason, it wasn’t to Agalhor she said,
“If you do not see me as fit to rule based on all I just lay bare, speak now,
and I revoke my claim.”
Every flicker of attention made the hairs on her arms stand.
“This is not a discussion to be had now,” Agalhor protested firmly. 
“The majority of the close council is here. I trust your judgment right
now to decide if this should be taken to a larger vote.”
“Where is this coming from?” Agalhor asked.
Faythe’s eyes sliced into his. Her stomach churned with hostility toward
him—not as a king, but a father. She’d craved his praise and belief all this
time, and she could only blame herself for thinking it would come easily
because they might be blood relations. So much lost time kept them as mere
strangers, and that fact squeezed her heart. She felt orphaned all over again. 
On Agalhor’s face she saw the moment he seemed to realize what had
fueled her brazen visit. She ignored him to address the room one final time.
“All I ask is that you consider actions, not words. Power is not in a
name. Strip me of it and see nothing more than what I would sacrifice—not
just for this kingdom, but for the world beyond it. I have given my life and I
came back to give it again. With or without this crown. To choose me is to
choose faith.” She hoped they felt even an echo of how strongly the last
word pulsed in her chest, near upturning her mouth with sheer pride for her
companions, who’d built up her unshakable strength enough that she could
face this moment.
To live like death is a game, love is a prize, and danger is desire. 
“Nothing about me is certain.” She came down from the high of her
speech. “But neither is every day we brace ourselves to face the unknown
of tomorrow.”
  The beating drum of verdict pounded heavy in the air. Faythe didn’t
move, looking over their firm-lined faces with falling hope the longer the
silence lingered. Then someone stepped forward, and she cast her attention
to the red-glowing Phoenixfyre.
“You returned from a place none of us could fathom, and you returned
to be here. I would be a fool to turn away from that miracle though you
have much to learn. You require help and guidance. But that is why I chose
to stand with you, Faythe Ashfyre.”
His words relieved so much burden. She was about to utter her gratitude
when another joined him. 
“I stand with you, Faythe Ashfyre.”
Then came a humming murmur of those same four words attached to
her name, granting purpose and pride. They barreled into her one after
another, until the agreement spilled from most of the lords standing in that
room. Faythe’s shoulders squared with such appreciation and gratitude. She
looked to Malin. She wouldn’t let his cold, hateful eyes pierce the new
confidence she’d earned. 
“Thank you. I hope to lead with you, and for you,” Faythe said, giving
her own nod of respect. 
Agalhor’s expression she found hard to decipher, and she didn’t drop his
intense stare, staying still when he dismissed the room.  Soon what pulsed
between her and the King of Rhyenelle felt like a test. 
“I’m doing all I can to make sure you’re seen as a viable candidate for
my throne. This is not how it is done. Care to tell me what caused your
reckless outburst?”
Faythe itched at his tone. “You don’t have to speak to me like I’m a
child.”
“You won them over this time, my dear. Don’t expect your passion will
always be taken so kindly.”
“Did you ever truly believe in me?” Faythe’s heart broke with the
thought. “Or did you only see me as your blood and guilty conscience?”
“You know what I see in you.”
“You knew it was on my order that Zaiana’s mind should be left
untouched.”
His chin tilted with confirmation that boiled her blood.
“You undermined that anyway.”
“I am the king, Faythe. Do not forget that.”
“And I am your heir, but only by your terms?”
“Stop this.” His voice switched with a softness she knew, from king to
father, and Faythe struggled to find the balance. Agalhor took steps toward
her, but she raised her hand to halt him. 
“You are a great king. A fair and just ruler. I still wonder how I could
ever follow in your footsteps. But this time, your overruling was wrong.”
 “I am not always a fair and merciless ruler,” he admitted, a darkness
easing into his tone she’d never heard from him before. “I do not give
second chances when lines are crossed by the enemy. She crossed the line
that protected you. Zaiana is nothing more than a plague in my land, and I
didn’t care for her pleas when she did not care for yours.”
“You’re wrong.” Faythe shook her head. “She spared my life. You know
that.”
“She was the reason it ever hung in the balance. I treasure your golden
heart, but you can be too forgiving for your own good.”
“Wrong again.” Faythe looked him in the eye, owning her words. “I
killed a captain who hurt me greatly. I killed another fae who saw nothing
but cruelty and taunted my name, tainted it, with the blood of another. I
would kill again. Maverick, for what he did to me. Anyone who comes for
my friends. I am not wholly good either. You made a grave mistake with
Zaiana—she is different though she will never admit it. Day by day we are
discovering more of her, and as an ally…she could have changed the tide of
this war. Instead, now we have a storm collecting inside and out.”
“She may have been able to push me from her mind this time, but she
will not again.”
“You are right.” Faythe knew it was dangerous to test her tone with him.
She didn’t know if the king would stand for it. “Your Majesty—”
“You do not have to call me that.”
“I do because I speak to you as a king for this. As the one with the
power to hear my advice and take it. We need her. No matter what she has
done or what she is, we can’t lose her to their side. I can’t explain it further,
other than I hope you trust my judgment on this and choose to take a risk.”
Her anticipation sharpened. Faythe believed she saw his will to give her
this, but the way he cast his eyes away sank the rejection. 
“I believe in you, Faythe. More than anything I have before. Don’t ever
doubt that again. But I think your actions with the Phoenix feather show
just how much you still have to learn. Being a leader is to hear opinion, to
weigh matters, but sometimes we must make judgments against those we
believe in. I am sorry.”
Her jaw worked, fingers flexing. “Then it is on you when the walls of
this city tumble from the inside out.”
Faythe twisted on her heel, acid burning her throat for the words she’d
spilled too quickly to reel back. Perhaps he didn’t deserve them, but she
couldn’t shake the jittering sense of foreboding. It felt like it was too late
now anyway. She couldn’t rest her mind with the awareness something was
coming. Something dark and unstoppable. All they could do now was stand,
brace, and fight.
 CHAPTER 83

Tarly

T his breath stolen completely

arly crept silently back into his room. He halted for just a second,
at the ethereal sight of Nerida fast asleep.
Her silver hair shone against the moonlight that flooded her brown skin.
Adrenaline had caused him to intrude, but now it calmed to capture her
beauty. He didn’t want to wake her, but he didn’t believe they were safe
here anymore. 
As gently as he could, he put his hand over her mouth in case the shock
caused her to scream. It was necessary: Nerida’s eyes flew open, the flash
of terror on her face hitting his gut, until she blinked rapidly and
recognition replaced it. 
“Sorry,” he whispered, leaning off her while she shot up. 
“Tarly, Gods above—”
“Shh,” he encouraged, pushing back the covers to help her out.  He’d
forgotten the shortness of her nightgown and how high it rose in her sleep,
and he had to bite down on his rush of thoughts as he glimpsed the smooth,
long length of her legs. 
“What is it?” she asked, voice hushed but alert. 
“We need to leave,” he said, wandering into the closet where he’d left
her new clothes, which had been fetched by Zainaid earlier. 
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“We have company.”
At her silence, his eyes flashed to her. He pulled on his shirt,
suppressing a smirk at her cross-armed stance and scowl. “Angel, if you
could dress, please.” He grabbed a pair of pants and boots before giving her
some privacy. 
Nerida emerged not five minutes later, and Tarly trailed his gaze over
the impeccable sight of her in form-fitting leathers in place of her usual
cotton gowns. It shone a new light on her, giving her exterior the fierceness
he knew lived within her. He approached as she pulled shyly at the
material. 
“You’ll find the journey far more practical in these wears,” he
explained, not thinking when he drew arms around her and fastened the
black cloak at her collar. “But if you’re uncomfortable—”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. Her gaze lingered on his hands before she
met his close look. “It’s actually more comfortable than I thought.” Her
voice quietened at their proximity, but before the electricity could charge
between them, he stepped away.
Grabbing a pack filled with provisions, Tarly slung it over his shoulder
before holding Nerida’s out to her. It held her medicines. 
“The Book of Enoch,” Nerida said, rushing into the next room to
retrieve it. 
When she was back at his side, Tarly took her hand on instinct and crept
to the doorway. 
“Are you going to tell me what company you’re so concerned about that
we couldn’t catch one night’s rest?” 
The hall was clear as expected, and he didn’t let go of her as he guided
them stealthily. “The dark fae high lord, Mordecai.”
The surge of her fear echoed through him. He unlatched the window he
knew well before turning to Nerida, focused completely on getting her to
safety. She didn’t need his words to catch his every implication. He pulled
up her hood, and then, hands on her waist, he helped her up and through. 
“This is a rather inconspicuous route through your castle,” she remarked
as they shuffled along a narrow ledge and across a flat roof. “Should I ask
why you’re so accustomed to it?”
“Probably not,” he said. 
They crossed a couple more roofs and scaled down. When they came to
the window that he’d long ago made accessible from the outside, he showed
her inside, and they arrived in the passage that held the forgotten room and
the escape route.
“Could we not have simply moved cautiously inside to get here?”
 “Yes, but this is far quicker and there’s less risk.”
Nearly to the door, a spike of awareness pricked his nape. It appeared so
fast his instinct had him hooking an arm around Nerida, forcing her behind
him. Tarly retrieved his bow in the same breath, drew an arrow, and pointed
it right into the face of the one extending a blade to his chest. 
He exhaled hard, his laser focus turning to a stunned stare instead. It
was mirrored back to him as he trailed the length of the Niltain steel, right
to the unmistakable Griffin pommel. 
“Well, fuck.” 
Hearing his voice finally slackened Tarly’s bow. Both of them lowered
their weapons and pulled down their hoods. Nik didn’t look best pleased to
see him, but he reserved his usual insufferable glare. Tarly scrambled to
conclude why in the Nether he was here. Nothing short of the world going
to shit seemed plausible. 
“What are you doing here?” Nik asked, sheathing his sword, and only
then did Tarly snap out of his stupor. 
“Me?” An incredulous laugh escaped him as he dove a hand through his
hair. “You’re in my home, you asshole.”
“Have you been here the whole damn time?” 
Tarly didn’t take well to the insinuation, but the shuffle of movement
behind Nik caught his attention, and two things sprang to mind at once but
clashed so unexpectedly that he found himself looking for Nerida first. 
“Hello, Your Highness.”
The voice that greeted him did not belong to anyone he expected. Tarly
pinned the fae, unable to return her timid greeting as accusation flared, and
he targeted Nik. 
“Where in the Nether is she? What have you done?”
His shift toward the High Farrow king didn’t go unchallenged. Nik’s
dominance and wrath combined with Tarly’s to stir a dangerous energy. 
“Watch yourself,” Nik warned. 
It only enraged him. Tarly’s near step halted with the gentle curl around
his forearm. Nerida’s touch smoothed the sharp edges of his fury, calming
him so quickly and easily he found himself taking a step back instead. Nik’s
attention was drawn to her, and though Tarly knew he was no threat to
Nerida, he didn’t like the ugly flare of defense that wanted to make him tear
his gaze from her. 
 “Pleasure to meet you…?” Nik drawled in a way that prodded at Tarly’s
irritation. 
Her head dipped for him. “My name is Nerida, Your Highness.”
Tarly couldn’t explain how her discomfort unsettled him. Her wariness
around royals, especially Nik, was justified. The king studied her for too
long, and Tarly’s pulse raced with the flickers of what he knew once resided
on his own face, and in his own mind. 
“Where is she?” Tarly asked, firmer this time to attract his attention. 
“My name is Nik.” He responded to Nerida first, flashing a goading
look at Tarly. “And this is Samara.”
Tarly knew the lady from her short visit the past summer, though he
couldn’t fathom her being here now when their marriage alliance was no
truer than his to Tauria. 
“Tauria is here,” Nik confirmed. “With the high lord.”
A flash of hot rage had him nocking the arrow back into place and
taking deadly aim. “What have you done?”
Nik’s eyes narrowed with cool annoyance at the threat. “Put that down.”
His jaw clenched. “Not until you tell me what in the Nether is going
on.”
Tarly felt the invasion in his mind too late, and in his utter bewilderment
over how it could be possible, he didn’t have it in him to rise a defense
against the infiltration. He let out a strained sound as he fought the
command convincing him to lower his arms, slackening the bow. He gave
in, letting it fall from his grasp completely, and it clattered to the ground
before the presence retreated entirely. 
As he gasped, Nerida touched him in concern, but Tarly’s gaze snapped
to Nik with such hatred he didn’t know what to do with it. Not at this
revelation. Now he was doubly unsure of what Nik was capable of. 
“You’re a mind manipulator now. Just like that human friend of yours.”
“Something like that,” Nik said calmly. 
“Don’t ever do that again,” Tarly spat. 
“Don’t give me cause to.”
Tarly wanted to hurt him. Badly. There had been very few instances in
his life that had surged this kind of rage. Nik’s presence caused many of
them. 
“How is that possible?” Nerida wondered. 
 Nik assessed her as if deciding if he could trust her. “Phoenix Blood,”
he said finally. 
Tarly had become in tune with Nerida’s shifts in mood, though her
intrigue wasn’t surprising, nor was the fact she seemed to know what he
spoke of. “I ask again…how?”
“I don’t have time to explain that right now. We’re heading up to keep
track of Tauria with Mordecai.”
“That you need to explain,” Tarly snarled. 
“If you’re leaving, I don’t have to explain shit to you.”
They stared off, and Nik seemed to find his answer but added, “If
you’re coming, I’ll tell you on the way.”
He didn’t wait to see if they would follow.
Tarly didn’t move right away, turning to Nerida with a surge of conflict.
He wanted to get her as far away from here as possible with the dark threat
lingering through the halls above. But he couldn’t abandon Tauria if she
was in danger. 
“You don’t have to come. We can decide on a meeting place, and you
know the way out.” He wanted to take the fear and turmoil from her,
knowing this was no easy choice for Nerida to make. 
“I’ll come with you,” she decided. “I can’t leave her if I could help.”
Tarly nodded, though he didn’t like it, the thought of her backtracking
toward the danger they’d almost evaded. “Was it true what you said?” he
asked carefully. “You’ve never met Tauria.”
“No. I mean, yes, it’s true. I’ve never met her.” Nerida wrung her hands,
and Tarly reached out to her arm.
“We’ll just make sure they know what the Nether they’re doing.”
She nodded vacantly until he took her chin to meet his eyes.
“But angel, I’ll leave with you the moment you say.”
 CHAPTER 84

Faythe

T his night , F aythe became the Phoenix meeting the sun. 

She waited, overlooking the city peppered with the bright crimson
of banners and real flames, listening to the distant town rejoicing in
celebration of the Comet. Part of her wished to be among the humble
setting—to taste the air infused with bonfire smoke and sweet scents from
the market stalls. Her venue for the evening would be far grander, more
polished, and filled with the expectation she would match its grandeur. 
Faythe looked the part, draped in pure gold. Silk poured like liquid
down her front, the high slit allowing her legs air and movement. From her
waist more extravagant layers fanned around her, glittering and
mesmerizing. The best part she could not see, but everyone else would: the
feathers that peeked over her shoulders but came to life as crimson-and-
gold wings across her shoulder blades. What followed became an illusion of
a fiery waterfall: long embroidered Phoenix tail feathers. 
In the reflection of the window, she admired the halo crown in her
elaborately braided hair, golden as the new dawn rising behind her. 
“No words would be enough to describe how you look tonight.” 
Faythe twisted to Kyleer, whose wide eyes traced her form, and she
gave a sad smile. “Reylan?”
His expression fell with her, and he gave a small shake of his head. “I
haven’t heard anything of him making it back.”
Her stomach hollowed out, though she knew the chances were slim. To
distract herself, she admired the commander in his fine wares. All-black but
fitted so perfectly they accentuated every angle of him. His hair had a wet
sheen, side-parted and combed back, giving an even more beautiful appeal
to his waves. “You look good,” Faythe mused, deliberately downplaying
just how good.
He scoffed. “Honestly, I can’t wait to be away from the formality.”
Faythe chuckled, looping her hand through the arm he extended to her.
“It suits you.”
Just then, Izaiah came around the corner, a hand raised to his heart as he
examined every inch of her. “There’s our Phoenix Queen,” he said in awe. 
Faythe blushed with the attention and the name, her nerves rising as she
remembered they were heading to a ballroom full of court members and
citizens, who were waiting for her to arrive and open the ball with her first
dance as tradition dictated. 
Izaiah’s genuine warm smile eased her tension. “You’re going to be
incredible in there. I may have been a harsh teacher, but in truth, you’ve
been nailing this dance for weeks.”
Faythe didn’t think that was true with the errors she’d made this week
alone. But something told her it wasn’t just the routine Izaiah spoke of. 
“Time to fly,” Kyleer said, and Faythe relaxed in the best company as
they headed to the dance. 
With a nod of pride and assurance, they left her alone at the ballroom
doors to slip in first. Faythe paused to gather breath and tame her trembling
hands, reflecting on her life with incredulity that events had brought her to
this point. 
A loud squeal sent her heart up her throat, still thumping wildly when
she spied Jakon and Marlowe. “Look at you!” Marlowe beamed, unhooking
her hand from Jakon to rush over. 
Taking her hands, Faythe shook her head, observing her friend’s
stunning blue gown that coated her like a crystal sea. “Me? Look at you!”
she gushed, then she extended a hand to Jakon. “Both of you.”
“No longer street rats, huh?” Jakon mused. 
Faythe choked on a sob, her tears stinging. She’d been thinking the
same thing. She never would have believed she’d go from owning one
single gown, gifted by her best friend, to standing in the most elaborate,
most expensive dress she could have imagined. Though it wasn’t really the
wears or the food or the home that made her so overcome with emotion. It
was that they’d all taken that path together. Everything around them had
changed, but never their hearts; never how they felt about each other and
the new friends they’d made along the way. 
Jakon’s calloused palm came up, wiping away a stray tear. “We can’t
have you going in there all red-faced and puffy-eyed. I hate to tell you this
now, Faythe, but you’re not a pretty crier.”
She breathed a laugh, and he smiled.
“I’m so damn proud of you.”
Jakon and Marlowe slipped into the ballroom, and Faythe took one last
pause to stare down the hall. Her heart yearned, and she wondered if she
could summon Reylan with the sheer ache in her soul alone. The one person
missing who mattered the most, and she couldn’t stop feeling that this
wasn’t fair. Her resentment grew that it was no coincidence, no urgent
matter nor sheer bad timing. Her cousin simply hoped to shake her
confidence or dampen her spirit with Reylan’s absence. 
She would not let him win. 
Everything exploded to life before her. The room she’d danced in
countless times now seemed far too huge filled with so many bodies, so
much color and music, and so many voices. She didn’t know where to land
her attention. The first eyes that saw her triggered the nudge that led their
companions to look up to, and then the murmurs hushed slowly. With no
anchor to grasp, all Faythe could do was walk and focus on putting one foot
in front of the other though her racing pulse wanted her to pass out before
them, her scrambling thoughts wanting to trip her. Her magick hummed to
her distress. Maybe her palms were glowing—they certainly tingled, so she
flexed her fingers to disperse the sensation. 
Faythe knew where she was headed then. When the crowd began to part
and Lord Zarrius headed toward her. He was far from who she desired to
see, but nonetheless he was the partner she sought begrudgingly. Her hand
slipped into his with a pleasant smile for the court that settled to watch
them. 
“You look absolutely divine, Your Highness.” His words she believed,
though they were not spoken with endearment. His green gaze sparkled as
though he were eying his next investment. “I hope you will allow me the
great honor of leading you through this first dance.”
Poetic words expertly rehearsed. Just like her own.
“The pleasure would be all mine, Lord Zarrius.”
 Faythe forced her feet to move before they rooted themselves in
defiance. This was wrong. In her heart she knew this dance wasn’t right.
When they stopped, she took one second to collect herself, eyes tracing the
intricate red-and-gold patterned marble floor now ingrained in her memory.
So many people bore attention on them. The silence was nerve-wracking.
The small band in the corner looked to be bracing for their song, and she
recited the steps over in her mind one last time. Faythe looked to the lord
who was waiting expectantly for her to step forward in their opening stance,
and her mind chose now to protest it. 
Faythe was about to fight herself when her near step faltered.
What stilled the air and slowed time was an embrace of warmth and
safety. It was home. It encircled her from behind, and it was all she could
do to keep from forgetting the lord who stood with his hand poised to lead
her through that first statement dance as they had practiced. None of it
mattered. She couldn’t stop the twist of gravity that answered to that
presence.
Until she saw him. 
The sight of Reylan took her breath away. 
He didn’t try to stand out, but he did. Not because of what he was to her.
Not because of his domineering presence that always trumped a room.
Reylan Arrowood wore no leathers, no steel. He was dressed impeccably in
fine wears of crimson, black, and gold. Rhyenelle’s colors. What struck her
in that moment was something she might have always harbored in her mind,
but there in plain sight, the concept blazed into clarity. 
And he didn’t even know it. 
He stood among the masses by a pillar as though he hoped she wouldn’t
know he was there. He would have watched her dance with the lord despite
the hurt it would cause. Their gazes locked, and his face smoothed out as all
she could do was stare. She wondered how he was here, but her elation and
relief left no room for caring. 
The crowd started to ease away from him as they caught onto who she’d
settled her attention on. Reylan Arrowood stood poised, but not like a
general.
Like a ruler. 
“Your Highness.”
The lord’s voice snapped her back to the present, bringing the room of
spectators’ attention back to him like a lashing, but Faythe was too stunned
to be embarrassed by her delay. She tore her eyes from Reylan to twist back
around and meet Zarrius’s knowing look. Her mouth opened, but her
thundering heart gripped her words. She knew what she wanted to say, yet
the fear of judgment and the audience’s reaction had her stumbling. She
found herself sliding her gaze to Agalhor at top the dais. Her throat was
bone-dry as everyone watched her with confusion and irritation, and she
knew in that moment she had to make a decision.
The lord’s eyes darted between her and Reylan, mouth twitching with
distaste, and she supposed it was logical to assume Malin would have
shared his suspicions about her and Reylan with Zarrius. His hand jutted out
again in an irked prompt, and her stomach knotted with dread, the cage of
her chest close to breaking if she chose to refuse. 
“We mustn’t keep them waiting,” he said quietly. 
She couldn’t do it. 
Instead of taking the step forward, Faythe took one back. “Thank you,”
she said, out of nothing more than politeness, to ease the speculation of the
court, “but I cannot have this dance with you.”
Fire blazed across his gaze, his anger and humiliation like a blow to her
gut. But as Faythe found the will to turn from him, a hand lashed around her
forearm before she could walk away. Quiet gasps and murmurs broke out at
the bold move. Reylan jerked forward with a murderous gaze, but Faythe
kept calm. 
“Don’t let this become a scene,” she warned in the lord’s mind. Then
she turned back to him, furious. “If you ever try to come for my friends
again, your last breath will be mine.” 
That made him drop his hold, but not without a score of fiery
resentment as she left herself open to him, needing to know how volatile he
could be or if there was any part of him she could salvage. All she felt was
hunger. A desirous, powerful hunger that would stop at nothing.
“You’re making a grave mistake,” he muttered, so dangerously quiet,
with a hint of threat that sent chills down her spine.
Faythe didn’t balk; she locked their firm gaze. A mark made. Then she
twisted, and he did not stop her this time.
Her guilt lifted with each step she took, reservations slipping away at
the knowledge of who she was headed for. Reylan remained exactly where
he was, his expression dropping with concern as she closed the distance
between them while the crowed parted entirely. Her heart raced with
adrenaline. She was going against a plan that had been set in motion for
months. 
This was her defiant stance.
She halted before him, and the few seconds they spent matching hard
heartbeats were electrifying. “Are you going to ask me to dance, General?”
It came out breathlessly. She couldn’t tame the building need to feel him
and damn the eyes that judged them. 
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Reylan sent her privately. 
Faythe’s smile was a partial smirk. “Not at all. Just yesterday I stepped
on the lord’s foot, and I think he was running out of ways to politely tell me
I can’t dance.”
Reylan smiled, showing teeth with a burdenless ease. Suddenly, she
wasn’t afraid to voice all that rushed to the forefront of her mind at seeing
him standing in this hall for the first time. She wanted the world to know
what she saw, felt, about the great General of Rhyenelle who was so much
more but lived in the shadow of his own title. Esteemed, but not nearly
enough.  She wanted everyone to find the same clarity she did when they
looked at him.
“It took until now to remember why I chose to be Rhyenelle’s heir. It
wasn’t to sacrifice my heart, but to lead with it. It wasn’t to bow to customs
and ideals that have far overstayed their welcome. I wanted to show this
kingdom devotion like my mother and protection like my father—neither of
which I would have had the strength to embrace within myself if it wasn’t
for you, Reylan. Your belief in me, your dedication to this kingdom…
you’re everything our people deserve. I choose you, Reylan Arrowood. This
kingdom chooses you.”
Those sapphire eyes held her with such pride and liberation. Reylan
surveyed the crowd, their people, whom Faythe knew were in agreement, or
at least open to the notion of him. She wondered why she’d let her spiteful
cousin’s seed of doubt grow at all.  Reylan upturned his palm, and her
stomach burst in a flutter when her skin met his, publicly, showing
everyone she wasn’t afraid of what they might think of him. 
“Would you do me the extraordinary honor of having this dance with
me, Faythe Ashfyre?”
Faythe didn’t scan the onlookers; didn’t care if the lord was watching or
if Malin was throwing daggers of hatred, or even if her father might be
voicing his protest. She would challenge that too.  Reylan’s hand slipped
across her waist as they positioned themselves in everyone’s view. Faythe
leaned into that hold, one hand on his bicep while the other hovered close to
his palm. 
“You came back,” Faythe said.
Reylan smiled softly. “I wish I could say I never left this time, but I did.
Only for a few days before I had to turn around, and I didn’t care about the
speculation or punishment it would cause. I couldn’t miss seeing you
tonight.”
The song began, and like clockwork, her steps matched each note with
him.
“I would never get this night back. By the Gods, Faythe, I don’t think
you realize how devastatingly perfect you look tonight. I never would have
forgiven myself if I’d missed it.”
The melody didn’t echo through the great hall; it wove around them, so
personal and close the bodies around them seemed to fade away one by one
to leave only two souls as one on that dance floor. 
“I’m so glad you’re here, Reylan,” she sent to him privately when
emotion clogged her throat. “It feels right.”
She knew in the way Reylan held her full attention that she hadn’t
needed the endless hours of practice—not with him when her movements
came so effortlessly at his touch, his guidance. Faythe led the dance as
practiced, but it was because of him she did so with a fluid grace. Their
gravity became a seamless force that dipped and twisted to the musical
cadence. His hands on her, his near touches, sparked embers over her skin,
igniting a passion that grew, quickening their pace to the crescendo of the
song. 
“You caused quite the stir, and we’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”
“I don’t care,” she answered honestly. “But I care for you.”
Faythe took spin after spin, giving life to the flames of her dress, but her
gaze snapped to the night sky of his irises without faltering. She felt as if
she were dancing in them, dreaming in them, loving in them. Those eyes
she would always seek across time and space. 
He continued to talk to her mind. “Do you remember our first dance?”
“Of course.”
“The moment I saw you that night I knew you belonged here.” His arm
hooked around her waist, and they twirled weightlessly, bodies flush and
warm. “The moment you stepped into my arms I knew you belonged with
me.”
Her eyes burned. “I think I knew it too.”
His strong arm dipped her low and he leaned in close, their breaths
mingling as the song tapered off. Her leg slipped free, and his fingers
trailing from her knee up her thigh parted her lips. This wasn’t part of the
dance, but it also wasn’t scandalous enough for detection. Then the strings
grew to a mighty climax, and he straightened with her, spinning her once,
hooking an arm around her, side by side, and the song exploded as he lifted
her, turning slowly. Their eyes never broke contact as she looked down. 
As the song came to an end, it was like being drawn slowly from a
blissful dream. Her pulse thrummed to the tempo of his, until they stilled
with the euphoric high of something unexplainable that was theirs.
The murmuring around the room filtered into her senses with the music
gone. They didn’t release each other. She couldn’t step away as he captured
her so entirely with his blazing eyes. Her hand slipped over his chest, and
she felt the strong, hard beat of his heart in her palm. Reylan’s hand came
up to close over it, holding it there. Faythe needed nothing else. As she
pushed up, his other hand took her face, their mouths met, and never before
had she felt such a release of burden.
In that second, they declared to everyone that they were one. 
He kissed her fiercely as though sealing his want for this. For them. No
matter what, they would face it all together. 
Faythe heard the music start up again, a far softer and much tamer song,
and people began to flood the dance floor out of courtesy, dispersing some
of the attention from them.  When they broke apart, her whole world
expanded before her, held by those sapphire irises and seeing a new
weightless happiness in them. No road seemed too far to travel, no hill too
high—not with him by her side for every obstacle they could face. 
Reylan’s hand on her back guided her off the dance floor, and though
the music and bodies flowed, the attention of the court clung to her like a
film over her skin. Faythe dared a look around, finding people smiling,
whispering, some gushing, others curious, and the lack of any distaste
dawned the realization she’d been so afraid for nothing, allowing the lords
and Malin to fill her head with unfounded doubt.
“Excellent performance, darling Faythe. We should thank your teacher.”
Izaiah scanned the area sarcastically. “An unexpected twist to the night, but
damn if it wasn’t the best scandal to have happened in the court. Should we
start calling you both ‘Your Highness’?”
Faythe bit her lip to keep from giggling, glad to see the light jest even
brought a smile to Reylan’s face. 
Reylan looked over his shoulder then leaned his mouth to her ear. “I’ll
be right back.”  His lips pressed lightly to her temple before his warmth
breezed away from her. The exchange felt so casual and open and right.
Faythe followed him with her gaze to where he headed, finding Agalhor
watching them, and she couldn’t decipher his firm stance and cool
expression.
“So begins the consequences of your public affection,” Izaiah drawled
as they twisted to observe the party. 
Faythe found her two friends on the dance floor, and her smile widened
to a grin at their laughter, neither one caring that their steps didn’t match the
fae around them as they didn’t know any of their dances. Jakon and
Marlowe moved to their own rhythm, and Faythe found herself chuckling
along with them from afar. 
“I haven’t seen Reuben,” she observed. 
Izaiah gave a hum as he joined her quick search. “Me neither. I haven’t
seen him around much at all these past few weeks, come to think of it.”
“He said he’s been spending a lot of time in the outer town among the
humans,” Faythe relayed vacantly. Something distant unsettled her, but she
explained it away as her own guilt at being too consumed by court life to
really check in on him. “Jakon and Marlowe keep him company sometimes,
but I thought he’d be enjoying the celebrations here.”
Izaiah squeezed her arm. “I’m sure he’s simply enjoying the night like
the rest of us, no matter where he is.”
She cast him a grateful smile, but then she realized something. “Where’s
Kyleer?”
Izaiah gave a stiff shrug, swiping a glass of wine from a passing tray.
“Slipped out about halfway through your dance.”
Faythe wondered—though not for long when the conclusion seemed
obvious. She said nothing but hoped in her heart she was right. This was the
one night the guards would be sparsely posted to allow as many as possible
to enjoy the celebrations. Hopefully, those sparse postings included the
cells. Izaiah must have guessed where he’d headed too from his disgruntled
shift. She wondered for a second why he hadn’t followed his brother,
though more than once now she’d caught Izaiah stealing glances across the
hall, and just as often, a stunning fae male with dark blond hair looked their
way. 
“Is one of you going to ask the other to dance, or will you both just
throw flirtatious looks across the room all night?”  Faythe’s grin spread
slowly at his quick defensive reflex, but Izaiah seemed to know it would be
pointless to deny it.
Something like determination pinched his eyes, and then he swore,
downing the rest of his wine. “I suppose you could say you’ve given me the
confidence to be bold tonight, Faythe.” He flashed her a wink, and then he
was heading over to the male who straightened, scanning around as though
there could be someone else her friend had fixed his sights on.
A giddiness rose in Faythe as she watched Izaiah pass off his glass,
approach the fae, and extend a hand to him. Awe wasn’t enough for what
overcame her as the fae accepted and they seamlessly, beautifully, blended
into the ongoing dance. 
Faythe leaned into the warm force that snaked an arm around her waist.
“Is he outraged?” she asked Reylan, peering up. 
“He’s concerned. Might have lain down a few threats to me. But I think
he sees your happiness above all.” He curled her around to face him,
scanning every inch of her expression. “No regrets?” 
Faythe’s hand lay on his chest. “None.”
Reylan entwined their fingers. “Come.”
She ignored the crowd that eased away from them as he led her through
it, onlookers still tracking the touches they shared and whispering their
thoughts. It all quietened as they left the ballroom and slipped into a
hallway. 
“We’ll miss the comet,” Faythe said with little objection if it meant time
alone with him instead. 
He cast her a soft look, and the shift in him was so precious it didn’t fail
to ripple through her with bliss. She followed him, their hands joined, up
several flights of stairs. She could only remember one time he’d led her up
so high in silence. Yet they weren’t heading to his tower. 
Out the door they walked onto a long stretch of path, an ideal location
for archers to defend the castle, but no one was here. He didn’t stop there,
taking her up one final narrow set of outdoor steps, and then they emerged
onto a flat roof bursting with surprising color. 
 “Any other secret spots you’ve been keeping to yourself?” Faythe
breathed, eyes admiring the plants and flowers. 
“Maybe,” he mused. “One by one I’ll show you them all.” He hooked
her to him, planting a long, single kiss where their hands joined between
their chests. “We have forever. Right now, this is the happiest I’ve ever
been, and you continue to amaze me—to make me want things I never
thought I would. It’s all for you. And for this kingdom. You’re changing the
world every day, Faythe, however seen or silent.”
Faythe’s fingers tangled in his silver locks, bringing his lips to hers
since words failed to convey the feelings that erupted within her. She barely
registered her backward steps until her back met something firm, but she
only arched further into him, needing something that felt imminent, yet
would be life-changing by design.
That thought snapped her out of his entanglement. Breathless, she
caught his eyes. Nothing had ever felt so sure and promising. 
“I want to claim the bond tonight,” she said. Promised. She needed no
more time to be certain, though her nerves rose that he might. 
A primal darkness expanded over his sapphire eyes. His palm slipped
across her cheek and Reylan took a deep breath to regain control. “There is
nothing I have wanted more in my existence. Nothing I will want more than
to be yours.” Then his brow pinched with a pain she knew. “Words are
failing me right now to describe how much you mean to me and how I feel
for you. All I know is that this is eternal. As sure as the stars; as anchoring
as gravity. You are a need, not a want. An obsession, not a simple desire.”
“Yes,” Faythe whispered, for she felt every feeling he spoke of. 
Reylan took her wrist, sliding the concealment bracelet off then
removing his own. He looked at them with resentment, and Faythe’s hand
closed around them. Dragging forth her magick, she recalled what it had
felt like when she held the watches. How all she’d wanted was for them to
no longer exist and torment her. She breathed steady at the heat and pulse
under her palm, watching in admiration as the metal turned gilded before
slowly crumbling off in a shimmering gold dust, beautifully broken by the
raw power that lived within her. Until her hand met Reylan’s and the
shackles between them were no more.
“Never again,” he growled, claiming her with his mouth. His lips
moved to her cheek, her neck, her collar. Faythe’s skin pricked everywhere
he trailed his passion, marking his scent where he could, and she wanted
more.
So much more.
They moved, and she could hardly track one step—only his hands on
her body and the heat of his breath on her skin, never wanting this moment
to end. Her back leaned over stone, and Reylan’s fingertips slipped into the
cut of her dress to trace up her thigh, dragging a soft moan from her. 
“It would be wholly inappropriate for me to do what I’m thinking,” he
blew out against her lips. “Right here, where anyone could trespass.”
Faythe drew needy gasps. “Probably.”
Reylan grinned, the sight never failing to skip her pulse. “You look like
a queen tonight, Faythe Ashfyre.” He took a deep breath as if to be sure he
still could. “My Phoenix Queen.” 
He pulled her over to a small patch of grass, so out of place for how
high up they were, but a beautiful contrast nonetheless. She watched him sit
then lie back, completely relaxed. 
“We’ll get the best view of the comet passing over us shortly,” he
explained, reaching out a hand. 
Faythe smiled broadly, shifting the layers of material to settle in close
beside him. And there they lay watching the stars, listening to the distant
revelers, feeling utterly at peace and finally complete.
 CHAPTER 85

Tauria

T walls. She maintained

’
auria couldn t place her feelings now she was back within these
her composure, but her throat tightened with the
suffocating reminder of her imprisonment. Her wind surfaced to prick her
skin, and she freed enough manipulation to weave idle cooling wisps
between her fingers. 
Mordecai walked close by with Lycus following behind him. “Your
ability is most impressive,” the high lord remarked. 
Her fist clamped, an itch she had to suppress. 
“There aren’t many with such a talent left,” he went on. “I have great
confidence you would manage to hold onto it if you Transitioned.”
Tauria’s head snapped to him. He only spared her a sidelong look of
amusement. 
“You will not be forced,” he said. “But perhaps you could be
persuaded.”
“I have no desire for a bloodthirst and to have my memories taken.”
“Why see only what you will lose, and not what you could gain? A
chance to forget you ever had a bond at all, a new start to be all that you
were supposed to be in your reign. It would be legendary.”
“I plan to mark myself in history without the need to Transition.”
That earned her something akin to his respect. “You are powerful. I saw
what you were capable of when last we met in this castle. Tell me, have you
ever been in contact with one of the Spiritual Ruins?”
 Mordecai offered the topic so casually she replayed it to find the test.
This was why she was with him. They’d lost their bond in the hope of
securing the ruin, and it was working. 
“I briefly felt Aurialis’s when Faythe found it in High Farrow. Can I tell
you something I haven’t admitted to anyone before?”
His eyes held a sparkle of intrigue. Not darkness, but the faint warmth
of surprise. “I would be honored for you to share yourself with me.”
“It has fascinated me since, the call of power from the ruin. I’ve been
longing to feel it again. Perhaps answer it.”
Approval curled his mouth, lighting up his face with a thrill that chilled
her. “That excites me very much, to find out what you could be capable of
with it. Though you should know, not all those who tempt its power survive
its touch.”
“I have heard. But I can’t explain what I feel around it, only that I
believe I have the strength not to fall victim, but to pair with it.”
His gaze shifted straight ahead, his deep inhale contemplative.
“Marvellas would be pleased to hear this. There is only one other who has
successfully mastered the ruin, as I knew she would. It takes some time. It
is not kind or easy in the slightest. To wield that velocity of power… It will
try to break you, challenge you. It will hurt—more than hurt. The Spirit of
Souls hasn’t stopped trying to push others with abilities to learn how to
wield the ruins should her ability fail.”
Tauria soaked up every morsel of information. “Is it here? Dakodas’s
ruin?”
“No.”
Her jaw worked as she tried not to pry and risk suspicion. “I hope we
don’t stay here long then.”
“I assure you this will be quick, and you will be pleased with where I
take you next.”
Tauria didn’t want to hope, but she did. She clung to it so desperately
she couldn’t bear the tension of not knowing if her conclusion was right.
“Can you tell me?” she asked quietly. 
“I’m taking you home, Tauria. It’s about time you stood on your lands
again.” 
The ruin was in Fenstead. 
Her steps faltered. Time stopped. Tauria stared at nothing in particular
while her mind processed the truth. She would be going home. 
 Home to Fenstead. 
Yet she knew the lands would not be as thriving as she knew them, nor
as hopeful as they once were. Tauria blinked back her tears but struggled to
suppress what it meant to her. Despite the company—despite everything—
she wanted this so badly she didn’t care about anything else. 
“I hoped that would please you,” Mordecai said with an unusual
gentleness. 
“It does,” she breathed. “Very much.”
“Then come. Let’s not delay our departure.”
As he turned to continue his walk, Tauria exchanged a hopeful look
with Lycus. He kept his forehead creased with concern, but he gave her a
small nod to confirm he felt the same spark of hope to go back. 
Tauria’s feet pressed on, and she remembered all at once what choosing
Fenstead would mean. She thought of Nik. Oh Gods… If Mordecai took
her, would he follow? Her heart splintered knowing he would, but she
couldn’t let him. It only spelled danger and more time away from High
Farrow. 
She pushed those thoughts aside for now. After she was finished with
Mordecai, she would take to her old rooms to rest, and Nik would come to
her then to devise a new plan with all this in mind. 
Lycus’s arm pressed her to walk on. Her mind reeled, her blood
thrummed, and her wind rejoiced. Over a century and she couldn’t believe
how close she was to standing on Fenstead soil again. 
Through her new spike of adrenaline, Tauria realized they were heading
toward the throne room. In the next hall they passed, waves of sadness
lapped at her. She didn’t want to look, yet her eyes were drawn out through
the glass doors. The garden remained black and defiled. The phantom
scorching of nature tore through her, and flame reflected in her eyes. 
“Tauria?” Lycus’s voice snapped her back. His touch kept her walking,
and she gave a hollow smile. 
“That was Varlas’s own doing, to make you suffer that,” Mordecai said.
 She didn’t know what this knowledge meant. It changed nothing when
she knew the high lord was capable of far worse forms of torture. Alarm
began to creep up her spine at the thought, and she found herself glancing at
Lycus to remember she wasn’t alone. But in times of conflict, she feared
him being near when she wasn’t certain of the high lord’s plan.
 Tauria nearly stumbled when they rounded into the great throne room,
crafted beautifully with stone arches and sheltered by a glass dome roof.
The patter of rain against it became the only sound. As his gaze locked on
her, Chief Zainaid’s surprise slackened the hard lines of his dark skin. 
She often wondered what had become of the chief in the aftermath of
the battle here, yet as he stood proudly to address them where the king
would have once sat, Tauria realized she’d never expected this. 
“Welcome back,” Zainaid greeted them, his attention flicking back to
Mordecai—but assessment lingered there as if he were deciding what to
make of them together. 
The dark fae around the hall bowed for Mordecai, and he stopped tall,
hands clasped behind his back, yielding no reception. 
“Any progress on the task?” the high lord asked. 
“I’m afraid not. The prince remains unfound, as do the former queen
and princess.”
Tauria’s lips parted at the mention of Tarly. It wasn’t confirmation he
was alive, but Mordecai had to be greatly suspicious to be actively
searching. She also felt relief at the confirmation Keira and Opal remained
out of his clutches.
“I see.” Mordecai spared one look, and it was enough to make the hall
erupt with singing steel. 
Tauria startled back at the sudden threat. Every dark fae who answered
turned on Zainaid, who only stared down at the high lord with a flex of his
eyes—the only indication he knew why so many blades were angled toward
him. 
“We agreed to let you live—let the city remain untouched under your
temporary rule—in exchange for your loyalty,” Mordecai explained. “Yet
you are either withholding information or your efforts are severely lacking.
I’ll admit, both of these conclusions disappoint me greatly, and in truth, I
have little use for you when I couldn’t care less about this kingdom falling
to terror and chaos for a while.”
Tauria’s pulse raced as she watched the pure darkness and threat
emanating from the high lord. This was who he was: a leader of no mercy.
He would kill without thought and held no regard for innocent lives. 
“My people are human, unlike you,” Zainaid said.
Mordecai answered, “I have provided you with many warriors.”
 “Forgive me, high lord,” Zainaid yielded. “I have been using them to
restructure the people here. Without their king, many guards and soldiers
rebelled. Citizens were wary of their presence, and it has been no easy task
to keep the city from chaos. You might not care for it, but all I ask is that
you trust this benefits us all.”
“I do not trust, for you have given me little reason to, other than this
show of kinghood that may be a position too far out of your depth.”
“You are right. Being king is not my desire. Might I ask why it is so
important the prince is found?”
“Because he will be king. As soon as Varlas is disposed of.”
“Why keep him alive?”
Mordecai gave a smile that Tauria thought was meant to be cruel, yet his
eyes portrayed only a hollow void. “As punishment. Marvellas doesn’t take
kindly to allies who fail her. They are no better than enemies to her.” He
advanced forward one step. A warning. “Now, how is it my own spies
caught wind of the prince in a nearby town and yours did not?”
Tauria didn’t know why she looked to Lycus at the news Tarly was
alive. Her eyes pricked with relief—so much relief. She’d spent months in
an exhausting denial that he might not have made it.
The general shared her comfort with a small smile. “I apologize for the
oversight. It will not happen again.”
“No, it will not.”
Mordecai gave another silent command, and bodies moved faster than
Tauria could calculate a way to stop them. Two dark fae approached the
chief. One struck him hard across the face, another struck his abdomen, and
he was forced to his knees. The reckless brutality stunned her still, until the
glint of a rising blade finally tore her voice free. 
“Stop!”
The hall silenced and all attention snapped to her. Tauria breathed hard,
unsure of how to appeal to Mordecai without showing him a weakness he
could exploit. 
“This gains us nothing,” she said, turning to him with anger.  Not for
what he was about to do. No—Tauria had to match his firm leadership.
His eyes tightened with her interference. “I have little tolerance for
those unable to do what is asked of them, princess.”
“I am a queen,” she asserted for the first time.
His eyebrows eased from their deep frown.
 “I chose to become your queen, not to stand idle and let you wreck
alliances on impulse. We need him to maintain order here until the true king
can be crowned. Zainaid is the only one who can do this. Marvellas won’t
be pleased if you make a wild playground out of Olmstone for her to clean
up later.”
Mordecai backtracked to her, and Tauria kept her chin held high though
his proximity repulsed her. “There you are,” he said calmly, and for the first
time a flicker of wonder gave way in those onyx eyes. “I was wondering
how long it would take for you to break into the powerful leader you could
become. This glimpse is most exciting. What should we do, Tauria
Stagknight?”
She took a few calming breaths of deliberation. In those seconds, she
felt him. Tauria didn’t know how with their severed bond, nor did she have
the sense without it to know exactly where, but Nik was near. “I was close
with Tarly.” She thought quickly, trying in the few seconds she had to pull
together a plan that could separate them but keep Mordecai on her side.
“Perhaps I could stay here. Word could travel of my capture, and Tarly
would come. If he believed I was in danger, he would give himself up.”
The idea sickened her, but she spilled the words of betrayal to her friend
in the desperate hope it wouldn’t come to that. This would only keep
Mordecai’s suspicions at bay. 
His hand reached for her face. “I don’t like the idea of being parted
from you. We have so much to do together.” 
Her stomach clenched painfully as she wondered what that meant. “This
will only be for a while,” she forced out softly, cupping his hand over hers,
and it worked to relax his cold eyes. “Then I will come to Fenstead. I want
that more than anything.”
Though her stomach sank at having come so close to going home, she
could wait a while longer if it meant figuring out a way to find Tarly and
keep him far from the high lord’s reach. 
“We could use her help,” Zainaid cut in. 
“Let him rise,” Tauria said to the high lord. 
He stepped away from her, giving one nod for his guards to retreat. It
pained Tauria to see the legendary leader reduced to his knees in front of his
people, who were also scattered around the hall.
“I would say this is a fine plan…” Mordecai’s tone turned to darkness.
The foreboding kind, and Tauria stilled. The air cooled. Lycus shifted
closer. “Except you must take me for a damned fool, and you know how I
feel about that, Tauria.”
It all happened so fast she didn’t know where to direct her attention. The
struggle that surrounded her gripped her still. Horror seized her entirely. A
blade rested along Zainaid’s throat, Lycus was detained by three dark fae,
and then… 
Tauria couldn’t turn around at the commotion entering through the
doors. She knew it was him without looking. In this damning situation that
had become of them, she was all that remained untouched. The only one
who had the small hope of halting any impulsive command Mordecai could
make to end them all. 
“What is this?” she asked calmly, knowing no amount of fear or protest
would get through to him. 
“You think I wouldn’t know I was being tracked?”  He stalked to her
with a predator’s grace that should have had her balking, but within, she felt
Nik’s presence and could have whimpered with the relief. 
“I’m right here, love.”
Tauria’s shoulders squared when he stopped, towering over her
intimidatingly. “Why won’t you look at him?” 
“Why should I?”
His hand gripped her chin, and she winced at the force. She gave him
nothing, clenching her teeth as pure hatred coursed through her. 
“You expect me to believe you knew nothing of it?”
“I expected you to be smarter,” she snapped. That stunned him just for a
second, enough for him to relax his grip, and she jerked out of his hold.
“You should have known he wouldn’t have accepted our bond snapping so
easily. You should have anticipated he would come after me and made sure
he couldn’t.”
Mordecai searched her eyes for the deception. Tauria’s nerves had never
sharpened so much at the realization he might find it. 
“And what of them?” 
Her breath caught in her throat when he whirled her around by her
shoulders. Wisps of hair appeared in her vision, and when they fell…she
couldn’t believe it. 
His name tumbled from her lips. “Tarly.”
Their eyes locked with a longing sense of sadness. They’d been parted
so suddenly, and she’d never had the chance to tell him she understood…
that she knew he wasn’t the monster she’d thought him to be. Gods, she was
so sorry, and it took everything in her not to move with the urge to embrace
him after all they’d been through. 
Tauria eyed the blade at his throat, then Nik’s, then Samara’s, until her
gaze fell on a female fae. She couldn’t be certain what caused her need to
blink several times. Her face creased in confusion as if she should know the
fae, but her mind was conflicted. She was certain she had never seen this
fae with stunning silver hair against golden brown skin before, but at the
same time she seemed familiar. The fae only stared back, hazel eyes wide
with fear, and Tauria saw the blade threatening her life too. 
“Let them go,” she said. A vacant response. She had to gather herself
again as her mind tunneled into a stupor. The ground didn’t feel so solid,
and a small voice questioned if this were a nightmare instead. A twisted
conjuring of the impossible and the worst of her fears.
How had they been caught so easily? 
“We can leave.” She spun back around to Mordecai. “I have no need to
stay here now. We can go together. Let Zainaid detain the prince and send
Nik back. There is no gain to be had from making a martyr of him for High
Farrow.”
Tauria studied every flicker of his expression, knowing he was
contemplating her words. 
“You are not going with him,” Nik growled in her mind. 
“You have to think reasonably. Listen to me. The ruin is in Fenstead,
and he means to take me there,” she sent back.
Everyone was silent for a long, tense moment. 
Mordecai locked eyes on Nik behind her as he approached, and the
taunt in those onyx depths seemed to rouse her mate’s rage right until his
gaze fell to her…and she read the test. 
Tauria’s heart squeezed. It splintered. His vile hands took her face, and
she knew his intention. Knew she couldn’t pull away or it would all be over.
Right here in front of Nik, he’d decided to shatter the last piece of her
broken bond. 
Mordecai’s head angled to meet hers, and tears formed, which she
closed her eyes against. Tauria slammed up her mental barriers, unable to
stand Nik being able to slip in and say anything—feel anything. Though he
couldn’t hear, she chanted her apologies to him while a sickness so awful
consumed her for what she was about to do. 
 Mordecai’s lips grazed hers… 
Then Nik broke with a cry of rage and revenge.
Before all Nether broke loose. 
She spun to see Nik fighting with his sword, seizing minds for an
advantage in numbers. Tarly reached for countless arrows, and as he aimed
one at Mordecai, Tauria acted on impulse. 
She cast her arms out and the wind answered, sending a current to
intercept Tarly’s arrow, knocking his aim completely. Tauria didn’t waist a
second as she unleashed a storm. Her steps were weightless, her arms
dancing as the room became hers. Without air, they would be nothing in
minutes.
Collecting her tornado, she sent it down, then skyward. 
The dome roof shattered, and Tauria redirected her currents to spare
those she could, but it had to be believable. She might never forgive herself
for the shards that rained over her friends, her mate, but she hoped one day
they would understand. 
The rain began to slick her skin, and Tauria breathed against the surge
of unleashed power. 
“You saved me.” Mordecai’s voice held a note of surprise she’d never
heard before. He looked at her now with a new trust and awe. 
What caught in her eye she followed, and Tauria’s mouth dropped open
as she watched the rain gathering together. It was suspended in the air, then
it traveled toward something, and when Tauria’s gaze fell, she couldn’t
believe her eyes. 
A Waterwielder.
She had never encountered the talent before, and the spectacle was
mesmerizing. A beautiful kind of weapon as it answered to the fae’s firm
stance, the way her arms moved akin to Tauria’s own style. 
Who was this fae? 
Tauria didn’t have time to remain in her moment of wonder. Her
attention shifted to Nik taking down one dark fae after another as they
swarmed in through the doors. Tarly aided him with his bow. Samara had
taken shield behind the Waterwielder who didn’t attack, only braced as
though this were her last resort. 
Tauria had to help. Too many dark fae surrounded Nik even with his
ability.
She took her first step to him. 
 A cool metal snapped around her wrist, and she cried out at the sharp
bite that threw a blanket over her senses. She already knew what it was, and
she didn’t look to the wrist Mordecai held having attached the Magestone
cuff. Nik spun to them with a fury so dark it frightened her more than the
high lord. She wasn’t scared for her safety, but Nik’s. Because Mordecai’s
action stole his focus while peril raged around him. She pulled against
Mordecai’s hold, her eyes wide and mouth parted to call out to him. 
But she was too late.
The most soul-shattering sound she’d ever heard pierced her like the
blade that ran through him. 
Tauria couldn’t hear the scream that tore out of her. She hunched over in
absolute shock when the blade through Nik’s abdomen was retracted. Slick
with his blood, it was raised to strike again, and Tauria pushed deep against
the Magestone to find her wind. She felt it, but not nearly enough.
Tarly’s arrow struck Nik’s assailant’s throat. 
She strained again, but an arm encircled her waist, and she cried out as
she watched Nik fall to his knees. Crimson poured out from his wound, and
Tauria became numb at the sight. Helpless. Her heart wasn’t breaking; it
had been obliterated all at once. 
“Stay with me!” She sent the thought so loud, hoping he could hear her
despite the agony he was in from a weapon partially crafted of Magestone.
She couldn’t live with any alternative. “You can’t leave me.”
If Nik died…so would she. 
The Waterwielder went rushing over to Tauria’s mate, and she didn’t
know why she felt relief, nor how she knew this fae could help him. 
“Tell them to stop attacking,” Tauria said. They were the words of a
ghost as her body trembled, so cold and distant she could grapple with
nothing to find some footing in reality. 
Mordecai listened to her, but she couldn’t surface any calm. The
fighting stopped, but all she could do was watch as Samara and the other
fae tended to her mate. Nothing had ever overcome her so wholly with
despair. It should be her by Nik’s side when instead she stood in the arms of
another. 
“I love you,” she thought over and over, but she heard nothing back.
“As eternal as the moon, I love you, Nikalias.”
His groans of pain formed her tears that fell silently. 
“Are you ready to come with me now, Tauria?”
 Every bone and nerve and muscle locked tight in protest. Every thought
screamed against it; every instinct cried out to deny. But this had to happen.
She had to go to Fenstead, or it had all been for nothing. 
“We have to make sure he lives, or it will mean war,” she tried—one
last attempt to at least know without a doubt that Nik would be okay before
they were torn apart. 
Too much blood. She begged for it to stop, seeing each measure he lost
as a countdown to his fading life.
“You come with me now,” Mordecai warned, his body pressed to hers
from behind, “or I resume the attack in my belief you still side with them.”
“I saved you, not him.” Tauria found the bite of her voice, only out of
her devastation at watching Nik lie back with aid at the Waterwielder’s
instruction. Some of the cuts on his clothing, his face, she had allowed with
her rainfall of glass. 
She had harmed him. It was a truth she would forever harbor like a
permanent wound. 
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Nik.”
“Love.”
She perked up at hearing his voice in her mind. 
“Don’t go with him. Please.”
Nik was in so much pain, yet still he fought for her. His head lolled, the
panic in his emerald eyes striking so deep. 
“I’ll come back. I’m smart, remember? I can do this, and now he trusts
me. I’ll find the ruin and I’ll come right back. You stay alive. Do you hear
me, Nikalias? You stay alive for me to find home again.”
Though she was headed to the land of her birth and reign, it meant
nothing without him. 
“I’m coming with you,” Lycus cut in from her side. 
Tauria shook her head. “When the time is right, I will send for you. It
may be a while as I assess the state of the kingdom before we reintroduce
our citizens and make them believe it is safe again in my rule. Tell no one
of my whereabouts. Your role right now is to keep this a secret.” 
She spoke the command only for Mordecai’s sake, the wreck of her
mind, soul, and heart crying out for Nik to understand her next move on the
board. They were so close.
Lycus’s face twitched with a protest, but as he held her eyes, he saw her
silent plea. 
 “Tauria,” Nik said to her mind quietly as he faded into
unconsciousness, and she realized the Waterwielder had retrieved some
tonic that was taking him from her.
Tauria captured his fluttering gaze. The air wanted to choke her. The
ground threatened to swallow her. She felt she had failed him so truly she
didn’t know how she would ever repent.
“You are so brave. I…I’m going to come for you. I promise.”
Those were the last words Nik spoke before his eyes slipped shut and
her world was silenced with them.
 CHAPTER 86

Zaiana

Z caressed her face. eyes

aiana sat with closed, head tipped back, while the moonlight
She listened to the music she could hear faintly if she
focused. The celebrations for the comet were well underway. There was
peace in the songs they played, and while she listened her mind drifted afar.
She allowed her thoughts to run wild just for one night.
She’d once believed her pitiful notions could be locked away and no
one would know. That solace had been taken from her now.
Still, she couldn’t tame her thoughts of fantasy with the music that
coaxed them out, and she imagined what it would be like to dance. She’d
seen it before—the clumsy but joyful type in small-town inns; the elegant
and whimsical movements she’d spied through castle windows; the
intimacy of two lovers who’d stolen a moment in the night, slow and
without any care for specific steps, only what moved them as one. Zaiana
wondered what it would feel like to be held in such a way. To step out of
her combat leathers for the first time to wear something beautiful and
glittering. 
Her childish whims were snuffed out like a candle. 
Zaiana’s eyes opened with the shuffling that started down the passage.
She kept her eyes on the brilliant moon, hoping her lack of attention would
get him to leave as quickly as he stormed to her cell. 
“You’re missing out on the celebrations,” she drawled to Kyleer. 
A rattle snapped her attention, straightening her head, as Kyleer jammed
the key into the lock. The resounding click of it opening stunned her. She
used her back against the wall to rise but barely got to her feet before his
hand gripped her chains, the other wrapping around her throat.
It all happened so fast she blinked with bewilderment as he held her to
the wall, green eyes blazing while he pushed out hard breaths. Her bound
hands stayed locked above her head. 
Neither of them spoke for a few long, electrifying seconds. Her chest
rose and fell deeply to have him so close with no bars. 
“You’ve been gone for weeks.”
“They forbade me from seeing you.”
“Then you shouldn’t be here.”
“He should never have gone for your thoughts,” he snarled. 
His anger stunned her. She waited to see the trick, yet his fury wasn’t
directed at her. 
“You shouldn’t care.”
“I can’t stop,” he confessed, the sharp lines of his face easing to
something far softer. His hand over her neck slowly moved around her
nape. “I am undone by you. Annihilated by you. I can’t stand it.”
“I have done nothing.”
“You don’t need to,” he ground out. But then his forehead creased with
pain before it fell to hers. “I want to kill you because the only way to find
peace is to know I cannot find you. Then just as quickly as I imagine that
possibility, I want to follow right after you.”
Heat gathered, and she swallowed hard.
“I thought you were smart, commander,” she whispered.
Something wild flared in his eyes when he pulled back, his fingers
curling in her hair, but not in a painful grip. “I don’t want to be smart with
you. I want to be reckless and daring, and I want you to fight me at every
turn, because nothing feels more alive than this.” His nose grazed her
cheekbone, breath breezing across her ear. “You feel it too.”
The answer rushed in too fast, too certain, for her to fight it. The
agreement that curved her body into his subconsciously. She didn’t want to
slip away from his shield, though she could have.
She said nothing. Did nothing.
“I want to be the last,” Kyleer went on in a low, husky murmur, “to ever
lay a hand on you.” Rough fingers trailed her hips, under her sweater, to
graze her bare skin. Zaiana’s lips parted with the warm vibrations. “To ever
bring you pleasure.” Up over her ribs, and she didn’t want him to stop
climbing, but he paused under the curve of her breast, his thumb brushing
between them. “You have no idea how much it makes me hate you.”
“Then you have your answer. Kill me, Kyleer.”
It was a dare for him to try.
His eyes narrowed, then something in him let slip his final tether of
control. “Gods, you are insufferable. Exquisitely, punishingly insufferable.”
Kyleer’s mouth slammed to hers, his body molding with hers against the
wall, immediately drawing out a moan, and as she opened her mouth his
tongue slipped inside. She unraveled, she exploded, feeling a warmth that
grew at the feel of him; a frenzy that reacted to the taste of him. It became a
beautiful wonder how everything that had plagued her for days, that had her
plotting revenge on them all, dissipated for him. She only cared about what
he gave her in that moment.
She shouldn’t feel this way. He was just one male. One who’d
tormented and tortured her mind, but also offered it a reprieve. One whom
she despised, the enemy, yet who had become a presence she didn’t want to
admit she yearned for. 
Kyleer let go of her chains. Her arms dropped around his shoulders, but
still bound she couldn’t tangle them in his brown locks like she’d so
desperately wanted to do for months. His tall, built form made her feel so
small, but it fueled her lust. She wanted to feel every contoured part of him,
yet she was unable to do anything but surrender. 
His large hands hooked around her thighs and her legs wrapped around
him. The angle, his broad body—she clung to him as though he could shield
her from the world and douse her in bliss for eternity. Zaiana kissed him as
if she were nothing more than a dark fae with a burning passion. It didn’t
matter what she was—the color of her blood, the fact she could unglamour
her wings, that she would always be his enemy and they would never be
accepted beyond this cell. It didn’t matter, but Kyleer deserved better. She
didn’t expect to grow feelings for him as she lured him right into her trap. 
She certainly didn’t expect to fall with him. 
Love was a fickle thing, a master of deception. A powerful force with a
silent snare.  Zaiana didn’t want to believe the beginning of such a cruel
attachment was what had started to creep through her defenses. She wanted
to deny, to feel the lust but not the breakable emotions that attempted to
entangle her. 
 Yet she was tired of fighting. So tired of the war in her mind that never
ended.
Her eyes…they burned. Hot and with such a distant feeling that when
the tear fell, she whimpered. She deserved to feel its pathetic ache.
Kyleer pulled out of the kiss, his forehead resting against hers while he
panted, cupping one of her cheeks in his calloused palm. A palm that had
felt cruelty just like hers, but which had dealt it far more in return. The pad
of his thumb brushed away the betrayal that she cared. For him.
She had allowed herself to care, and it had carved a new void that would
never heal.
“I want to take you right here, but you deserve better.”
She didn’t. She didn’t deserve anything. 
Her stomach twisted and twisted. Was this guilt? It felt vaguely familiar,
but she’d never had it root itself so deeply and spread so rapidly. 
Her eyes dropped, and her lips pinched together to stifle her sob. 
Kyleer spoke so gently it was unbearable. “We’re going to do this
together, Zai. You and me. We’ll convince the others you’re on our side.”
Zaiana shook her head, and her exhale tunneled her into the coldest
detachment of her existence. “I’m not on your side,” she whispered. “I can
never be.”
It was time.
Zaiana moved fast. 
With a cry against an agony far deeper than the cut of metal, her wrists
pulled apart with such force she snapped the chain between them. It wasn’t
without great effort and resistance that she dragged her magick forth, past
the blanket of the Niltain steel on her wrists. 
Then she struck. 
With a hand on his chest, her lightning heated to the surface and gripped
him fully. Kyleer fell, and she with him. They crashed to the ground, where
she straddled him. His hands took her wrists, but his strength was
diminished with the shockwaves she pushed through him. 
She could kill him—should kill him. It was her order.
More tears gathered as she watched his bewildered eyes fill with so
much pain, but not from her lightning. 
He pinned her with betrayal. 
“Look at me, Kyleer,” she said through gritted teeth, failing to keep her
voice from wavering at the stab of her chest. “Really look at me. I am not
good. Not like you. Not like them. I am a monster, and I’m only
disappointed you fell for the beautiful guise.”
“How?” His choked voice pinched her brow. 
“I’ve been building a tolerance to Niltain steel since the day I found out
it could harm me over a century ago. I wore it. Small pieces at first, until I
could stand pretty bracelets like these. Then I trained through them. Gods, it
was agony, but it was nothing compared to how the material could be used
against me if I didn’t master it first. When I could build back my strength
and speed, it was a harder challenge to surface my magick past its restraints.
But I never stopped until I conquered that too. All I had was time. And
sometimes, it was nothing compared to what I would endure under the
masters’ hands anyway. At least my own torture made me stronger. Brought
me to this day right here. Put you right at my mercy in thinking I was
vulnerable.”
Zaiana should have killed him and made her escape already; she was
wasting precious time. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in closer,
trembling as she watched his fierce, beautiful face contort with the
electricity she coursed through him. It bounced flashes of amethyst across
his features, and despite everything, hatred and anger were not written in
those pleading eyes.
“What would we have done?” She spoke softly, the question one of
sorrow, for herself as much as him. “There would have been no place for us.
No acceptance for a villain with a hero.” She took his hand and placed it on
her chest. “Listen, Kyleer. I don’t have a heart to give.”
“Why didn’t you escape sooner?” He strained for the words, but she
didn’t ease her attack. 
Zaiana held those green eyes, wishing they were filled with loathing or
revenge, yet all they gave her was a sadness and disappointment that
threatened to stop the air from reaching her lungs. “You have all been
unaware of the plans that have been in motion around you this whole time,
and it was my pleasure to watch you all try to figure out what was right in
front of you.” She should have stopped there, yet those mossy irises she’d
come to find peace within dragged forth more words faster than sickness.
“And maybe because even monsters can fall to weakness…” she confessed,
knowing they would never face each other again, and what would it matter
anyway if they did? “For a moment, perhaps you became mine.”
 She didn’t know when she had allowed herself to care for him enough
that the thought of taking his life hurt. She had lived through torn flesh and
cruel punishments, but this pain touched one place very few had before. 
Her heart. 
The withered, cold, black thing that occupied her chest cried out at the
thought of killing the warrior beneath her. 
Hurt. It cleaved through her so deeply she might have believed she had
a soul after all as she pictured the light of hope and longing in his hopeful
irises winking out forever. Even now, through his hate and pain and
betrayal, he still looked at her with a slither of a plea, as though he clung to
something she could never give him.
“I expected better of you, commander.” A cold detachment washed
through her all at once, steeling her expression and darkening her mind. She
looked to him now with nothing but indifference. “Goodbye, Kyleer.” 
Zaiana’s hand curved around his neck until she found the spot to send a
precision shock that gripped the right nerve. Kyleer’s whole body tensed,
his final wide-eyed look one that would brand itself in her memory.
Then he fell limp. 
The silence rang loud. She breathed heavy, unable to tear her eyes away
from how peaceful he looked despite her attack. He was beautiful. But
Zaiana had to go, had to leave him, because there was no telling how much
time she had.
Yet she couldn’t move. 
Her hands fisted his jacket, and she leaned her forehead down to his
chest. Then, for just one moment, she broke. 
She stole a kernel of time to surrender in her war, accepting that misery
would always be a product of cruelty. That no matter how many triumphs
she made, it would never be enough to balance the sacrifice of feelings she
was told she couldn’t have.  Right now, they were barreling down on her,
drowning her, torturing her, but she accepted it all for the warrior beneath
her skin who didn’t deserve to fall victim. This was the single time she’d
been consumed with regret not only for what she’d done, but for who she
was. Who they’d made her. 
Zaiana took three long breaths. 
One to entomb anything she’d felt within this cell.
One to sever the attachment that had begun to thread around her.
One to welcome the darkness once more. 
 Zaiana straightened, dipping into his pockets, though she thought it was
a long shot. She patted him over before groaning in frustration when she
didn’t find her iron guards. Without another minute to waste, she had one
last place to search. 
She stood and exited the cell, locking the door and taking off with the
keys down the dark hall.  With the celebrations in full swing, the guards
were sparse, but she didn’t bother to be cautious, knowing she would be the
least of their worries any moment now. 
Coming up behind the first guard, Zaiana clamped both hands on his
shoulders, her thumbs pressing into the precision points on his neck. “You
have two other prisoners—where are they?” she asked calmly. 
The other guard was halfway to drawing his sword when she cast her
hand toward him with a lethal blast. 
“I have very little patience,” she said in the fae’s ear. 
His fear vibrated through him. Seconds ticked by, and she was just
about to snap his neck when he spoke. 
“This way, darkling.”
The voice that called through the darkness she knew. With her lightning,
she sent the fae under her grasp into unconsciousness before begrudgingly
following the sound. Zaiana found him, only a flood of moonlight streaking
across his hard face while he stood with his hands in his pockets. 
Izaiah Galentithe.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing? There’s no going back,”
she taunted. 
“You upheld your end of the deal; I’ve upheld mine,” he said coolly. 
“That remains to be seen.”
Instead of replying, Izaiah twisted, and she marched after him.  They
came to a cell, and when the occupant spied her, he shot to his feet. 
“About time,” Tynan groaned. 
“Yes, it has been a rather strung-out torture,” she remarked, jamming
the key into the lock. 
Zaiana knew they wouldn’t have set them free. Not with their
knowledge of Faythe being alive. Her plan had only been for them to
survive captivity with her—something she wasn’t certain would happen
until an unexpected ally came to visit. 
“Where’s Amaya?” she snapped at the commander. 
 Izaiah’s wince pierced her with cold wrath. “Down three blocks,” he
said, hesitating before adding, “I tried to help her as best I could, but she’s
weak, and moments out of the Niltain steel hardly did any good. You might
want to work on that if she survives.”
His familiar green eyes clenched like a fist in her chest. These ones held
the type of cool hatred she’d hoped his brother would have surfaced for her
in his final moments. It would have at least made what she did to him far
easier to live with.
She contemplated doing the same to Izaiah with no remorse, but Zaiana
had one last urgent matter. She jogged down the dark halls, sending her
lightning into the locks of the steel doors, until she saw her. 
The darkling lay so still that fear threatened her balance as Zaiana
slowed to a walk. There was no heart to confirm life, no movement she
could detect, and her voice came as barely a whisper of dread. 
“Amaya.”
The first shift could have been mistaken for her own desperate illusion,
but so painfully slowly, the darkling began to peel herself up in her helpless
state. Zaiana didn’t waste a second, twisting the key in the lock as Amaya
held herself up on trembling arms, barely getting her head to turn before she
fell. Zaiana caught her head before it could crack off the stone. Dull green
eyes met hers, and despite everything, her dry lips cracked a small smile. 
“I knew you would come back.”
Zaiana pinched her eyes closed for a second. Guilt became a storm she
wanted to claw from her chest. When her lids slid open, she met Tynan’s
gaze. Neither had to say a word before he scooped the darkling up in his
arms. 
“What now?” Izaiah leaned in the cell doorway, lingering a look on
Tynan she didn’t probe into. “You tear down the wall—then what
happens?”
Zaiana spoke to Tynan first. “Take her above. Find somewhere
comfortable and get a healer if you can.”
“I want to fight with you,” he protested. 
“Not this time,” she said firmly. “That was an order. Go.”
His eyes flexed, but Tynan knew this was what she needed of him. 
Izaiah watched them leave until silence settled between them. She
couldn’t decide if she admired him greatly or thought him to be the most
foolish of them all. Only time would tell. 
 She finally answered him. “This city will fall, and you need to let it.” 
“Did you really have to drag him through your mess?” Izaiah’s voice
cut like a knife. His loathing she’d never doubted was true since he was the
first to see what was happening with his brother. 
“I can’t be blamed for your brother’s weak heart,” Zaiana defended,
though it tore something within her.
“I see right through you, Zaiana. But I understand, and for your sake,
you’d better hope no one else finds out about your lapse of judgment.”
“Do you really think they’ll forgive you?” Zaiana asked, needing to
sway the topic to anything but that. 
Izaiah huffed, beginning to walk away. “Forgiveness involves
understanding. From now on, who knows how all this will unfold?”
 CHAPTER 87

Nikalias

N worse than anything. Inhe ancould

ik startled awake instant he knew this living nightmare was far
conjure in his sleep. He groaned with the
sharp pain that erupted in his abdomen. Someone touched his sweat-slicked
shoulder as if to coax him back down, but he couldn’t. His blood roared
with violence, answering to the relentless pounding in his head. His vision
swayed, but he blinked rapidly. 
“Where is she?”  he asked no one in particular, scanning the room and
not registering any face—not even the one he sought desperately. His
memory started to trickle back, and he couldn’t bear the agony. Twisting off
the bed, he stood, catching himself on the post. 
“You’re gravely injured, Nik. You need to rest.”
He knew that voice. In his rage he snapped his head to Tarly. He didn’t
direct his anger at him for once, but he hated the insinuation he could rest
another second without knowing. 
“Tauria,” he ground out. “You let him take her?”
“She went with him,” Nerida said quietly. When Nik’s unhinged
attention fell to her, Tarly shifted, and Nik wasn’t so far gone to miss the
shift of his scent. Protective, dominant. The kind that drew some conclusion
about them, and he would be a fool in his state to prod at it. 
He remembered slowly, so heartbreakingly slowly, what his love had
said only to him because only he could hear. Gods, he had let her be taken
as though she were a piece to be sacrificed, and that was never his wish.
Never would he have left her alone. 
 Tarly inched toward Nerida subtly as she rose from the bed. Nik noted
then all the blood-soaked bandages. While his abdomen remained tender, it
shocked him all at once that he was even able to stand at all from the near-
fatal wound that appeared raw but had at least been naturally stitched
together. His eyes widened with horror, and he wasn’t sure why he looked
to Samara. 
“How long was I out?”
“Only for a day,” she confirmed quickly.
That wasn’t possible.
“Nerida is a healer. A rather brilliant one,” she explained.
In his disbelief his attention returned to the silver-haired fae. Gratitude
rose within him, but nothing felt like enough to thank her for saving his
life. 
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Tarly began carefully, “but this
could work to our advantage. She’s got the trust of the enemy, and you have
your bond.”
The world collapsed all over again as his eyes slipped shut. Any
outward wound was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the frays of
his bond that were slowly fading out thread by thread. “I don’t,” he said,
making his way over to the balcony. He needed air, and the air inside was
too hot, too thick, to breathe. 
“What do you mean?”
“I mean just that,” he snapped, whirling, but his balance wasn’t right.
Everyone flinched, but he caught himself on the door. His eyes burned as he
cursed his pitiful, weak state in front of so many. “Marvellas broke our
bond. It’s gone.”
  Nerida’s sharp inhale twisted something in him as Nik stumbled
outside. 
“How did that happen?” Tarly’s voice came surprisingly soft. Nik
couldn’t decide if he despised his pity more. 
“Mordecai never would have trusted her with ties to me. We sacrificed
the bond willingly. Because it didn’t matter… It was perfect and true and
beautiful. But I loved her unquestionably long before it.” The cool air
wrapped around him, and he shuffled over to the balcony rail. 
“Maybe I could try… I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t encountered a
severed bond before, but—” Nerida stopped herself. “I’m so sorry that
happened.”
 She sounded so sincere. This fae was no more than a stranger to him,
but she didn’t feel like one. He twisted his bowed head to her. The sight of
Tarly’s hand on her, the look he gave her…it was selfish of Nik to sink
further into despair as it touched on his yearning pain for Tauria. 
She was so far from him.
Nik looked up at the moon. Full and bold. The sight squeezed and
squeezed in his chest, but he had faith she would remember. Held hope that
she would be staring at it too as often as she could while they were parted.
So they’d never truly feel alone. 
“Do we at least know where he’s taken her?” Tarly asked.
“Fenstead.” Lycus made his presence known for the first time. 
“I’ll be leaving as soon as I can,” Nik said. 
“You’ll need a few more days rest,” Nerida interjected.
“I don’t have a few days.” Nik cut her off. He gave them all his back,
clutching one hand over his tender abdomen that was a sure conflict against
his words, along with his balance that relied on the stone to keep him
upright. 
“We can leave tomorrow if you’re up for it,” Lycus offered. 
All Nik gave was a shallow nod. He would be no matter what tonics he
had to take to numb the pain. He wasn’t at risk of bleeding out, and that was
health enough, time wasted enough, to go after Tauria. 
“Can I come?” Samara’s quiet question was unexpected. 
“It would be safer for you here,” Lycus said. 
“I want to help. I don’t know this kingdom, and really, I’m tired of
courts.”
Nik wouldn’t stop her if she thought she could handle herself. In such a
small amount of time, the guise of a perfectly poised lady, all she was
forced to be, had turned out to be a mask she felt brave enough to let go of. 
“I want to come too,” Nerida said.
Nik turned to her fully then, leaning back against the railing. He
couldn’t decipher her nerves. Nerida’s golden-brown skin glowed with a
familiar beauty. Even her eyes tugged at something within, and he could
hardly stand to look at them through no fault of hers. 
“You don’t have to.” Tarly spoke to her softly. 
Nik didn’t particularly like the prince—that hadn’t changed. Though he
observed a different side to him he’d never glimpsed before that shone in
this fae’s presence. 
 “He’s right. I thank you for all you have done for me, but you have no
reason to risk your life on this quest.”
“I do.” 
Their silence pinned her. Nerida wrung her hands, and Nik knew it was
the sign of a lingering confession. His heart rate spiked. 
“You owe them nothing,” Tarly said quietly. 
“I spent my life hiding, watching and yearning only in my cowardice. I
owe this to myself, and to her.”
Nik’s alarm rose. “What are you talking about?”
More silence. Yet it was not enough to curb the weight of knowledge
that crashed down on them all at once. 
“Tauria Stagknight is my half-sister.”
 CHAPTER 88

Faythe

T otherworldly bliss.
here was not a single moment in her life that Faythe had felt such
A bliss she knew wouldn’t last forever, so she clung
to every precious second of it. In Reylan’s arms, lying peacefully away
from all the flamboyance, and with the starry night sky blanketing them,
she didn’t feel the chill of the night within his warmth. His hand caressed
her arm while he whispered so many words of promise and adoration and
nothing of the possibilities they would face in the aftermath of tonight, only
what they knew for certain.
Each other. 
A flicker of light caught in her vision. A giddy excitement awoke as it
expanded to diffuse the night. She watched the blazing core cross the sky
like a brilliant shooting star.
“I lay right here for Matheus’s Comet last time,” Reylan said. “I never
thought I would admit this, nor that I would care to remember, but I made a
wish.”
Faythe didn’t tear her eyes from the comet. “What did you wish for?”
“I can’t explain the hollow feeling I’ve carried, like something was
missing but I didn’t know what it was or how it was taken. I committed
myself wholly to training the moment I stepped into Agalhor’s service.
Punishingly, when I thought that was all it was. I needed a purpose, and so I
climbed the ranks to general faster than most would, but it wasn’t enough. I
got to where I wanted, and still it wasn’t enough to fill the void.”
Guilt tightened her throat. “I’m sorry.”
 Reylan’s mouth eased a soft curl. “Don’t be. I knew Farrah as a friend
during it all before we became anything more, and she helped for a time
until I lost her too.” He paused, and Faythe’s nose crinkled against the sting.
“After that, I became very distant from life. I focused all I could into my
new role. I earned my reputation pretty quickly, because in my grief and
hollowness I didn’t care what became of me. I fought ruthlessly,
mercilessly. It was similar to when I worked for my uncle, but at least there
was honor in how I used my skills then. Often, I would take leave and
wander, always drifting as though I would somehow stumble across what
had been missing all this time.” Reylan propped himself up to glance over
her face. Those starry eyes touched every inch as if he were drawing a
subconscious pattern and he didn’t even realize it. “My wish was answered,
Faythe. With you, the nights are no longer so tormenting, and the days are
not so dark.”
Faythe touched his cheek, the swell in her chest coming close to flaring.
“I’m sorry I took so long.”
He leaned down to kiss her, muttering against her lips, “You’re here
now.”
Reylan deserved more answers he didn’t know existed, but for now, she
breathed light in his happiness.
“I wish for a hundred, maybe a thousand more comets with you. Right
here every time.”
Reylan smiled, broad and without restraint. “To a thousand more.”
Faythe opened her mouth to say something, but when Reylan’s gaze
flashed back to the sky, alarm seemed to stiffen him. He pulled them both
up, and her pulse spiked as she scanned around them, then up. 
She saw it. Flickers of amber like falling embers, except they held
direction. 
Then, so distantly, her blood went cold as she heard it. 
Screams. 
Faythe was pulled to her feet with Reylan as he rushed over to the
ledge. 
“What’s happening?” she asked. 
Reylan didn’t answer right away, and his stillness froze her with
trepidation. She watched his face as he calculated—a look she’d seen
before, but one that inspired her worst dread. It was a face he only wore
when…
 “We’re under attack.”
Those three words dawned a reality so frightening her balance faltered
for a second. Faythe watched the alluring fire soar like stars, until it landed
and began to devour. Fire arrows. Knowing this day could come didn’t
make the reality any less terrifying.
She was dragged from her refusal to believe it as Reylan moved,
gripping her hand to guide her in a hurried pace that almost had her
tripping. Faythe bundled the front of her dress, slowly coming out of her
stupor. 
“Is it bad?” she asked him, not really expecting a sure answer but
needing some assurance. 
Reylan said nothing. His face was hard, his eyes tunneling away as
though he were calculating a hundred measures of defense in his mind. Her
whole body jerked at the loud clang that tremored through the hall, the
castle, the entire city. The bell announced the battle that was coming to
them. 
They were jogging now, hand in hand. Servants began to rush through
the halls; guards were moving and calling to each other. She didn’t know
where they were heading, but suddenly Reylan pulled them to a stop in a
wide hallway. His chest rose and fell as he scanned around until he turned
to her firmly. A hand slipped over her cheek, and Faythe braced for what he
would ask. 
“I know where I need to be, but you have never been a part of that
protocol.” His jaw worked, a slight surfacing of his panic that riddled her
with alarm. “I need you to listen to me and not go against my words. I
won’t focus for a second if I don’t know you’re safe. Go to your rooms,
Faythe. Change, be ready, but stay there until I or someone else comes for
you under my orders. Lock all the doors. Answer to no one unless you’re
certain I sent them. Can you do that for me?” He must have read the protest
in her hesitation because he took her face between his palms with such
fierce urgency. “Please.”
Faythe couldn’t stand his worry, and this was no time to keep him here.
She nodded, and while a quick flash behind his eyes revealed he didn’t
believe her, he kissed her firmly. 
“Reylan,” she called when he broke away, shifting into the fierce
general he was. “Come back to me.”
“Always,” he said to her thoughts. 
 Gods, the ache that pulled at her chest was unbearable. They locked
eyes in a promise, and then he was gone.
Faythe stood for a second longer staring after his ghost, physically
restraining herself from going after him. She would be of no use to anyone
in the lengths of her dress. She took a long, deep breath, ignoring the rush
of frightened humans and fae around her. Then she headed to her rooms as
he had asked, but the rope that lassoed her heart squeezed tighter and tighter
with the knowledge that while her people fought, she could not sit idly by.
 CHAPTER 89

Zaiana

Z aiana smiled at
It had begun. 
the toll of the city bell. 

The guards in front of her were alerted to it before they could twist to
fear her first. This night of lax protection and stealing wine on duty would
be their last. To her blazing fury but great delight, Zaiana recognized them
both.  She dove her hand through the back of the first, fingers clenching
around his shuddering heart. The second male reached for his sword, but
her lightning sent him crashing into the wall. 
“I’m glad we got the chance to meet again,” she hissed cruelly in one’s
ear, enjoying his final floundering look. “Do you want to count down the
last of your heart’s beats before I tear it from your chest?”
She gave a squeeze, and his eyes bulged. His silence was to her
displeasure even if it was inspired by terror. 
“Count for me,” she whispered against his ear. 
His lips parted. “Y-you witch—”
Zaiana tore the heart out through his back, unfurling her fist to let it
drop with him. She was upon the second fae in a flash. Humanity left her as
she clawed his face and chest, taking her anger out on him. She hadn’t
forgotten for a second how many lashes they’d watched their companion
strike her with.
When she stopped, he lay choking on his own blood, and Zaiana wore
it. With her fingers poised and pointed down, she snapped her lightning
over them. His trembling hand rose as if to beg. She struck his heart with
the full force of her power, seizing him whole until he stilled. 
As she examined her skin, she hardened herself to the thick, sticky
blood dripping from her fingers. Her mouth watered with the temptation,
but her grip on control was strong enough to snap out of the trance. She
stormed from the cells, spiraling up and up, killing two more with little
effort and no attention. 
Zaiana calculated her way to where she thought she’d find Kyleer’s
room. It was too quaint to be in the main halls, so she headed back down.
Screams and hurrying bodies began to catch in her senses, but she didn’t
slow her marching pace, willing to kill anyone who realized she was a loose
enemy in the chaos. A double take that would be their death. Most didn’t
notice, too busy scrambling to lock themselves away, and the guards
rushing to their posts didn’t understand the threats were already inside.
And she wasn’t the worst of them. 
Zaiana still wore Kyleer’s cloak. She’d spent weeks wrapped in his
scent, which she tracked when she reached a far more humble quarter of the
castle. She opened door after door, finding nothing but startled humans who
blanched at her. She grabbed the next guard rushing past and slammed him
to the wall. 
“The commander Kyleer’s room—where is it?” she asked with thinning
patience. 
The fae’s face turned ashen as he raised a shaky hand down the hall.
“There’s a lone room far down that hall on the left.”
Zaiana debated killing him, but she let him go roughly before striding
away instead.
This city didn’t stand a chance. 
Bursting into the room, she didn’t expect to be so hit with grief. It
stunned her like a physical blow. Zaiana walked to the bed, tracing slow
fingers over the wooden posts, trying not to imagine herself lying there
wrapped up in him and how that night she’d slept better than she had in a
century. The whole room was doused in his scent. The air became thick
guilt to breathe. 
Her sword was not propped up by the fireplace where she had seen it
last; instead, it lay out of its scabbard across his desk. She studied the polish
of the blade, wondering why he would have cared to tend to it. It was
sharpened to a lethal perfection, especially given the caution that would
have gone into sharpening it to avoid the pain of the Magestone it was
partially crafted of. The strip of fabric remained exact, to her relief. 
Next to the blade, Zaiana took a long breath of relief as she found two
of her iron finger guards. She slipped them onto the middle and pointer
fingers of her right hand and found herself crouching down to reach the
book splayed next to them. As her fingers traced the ancient script, she bit
her lip hard. Why would he care to study the language her sword’s name
was plucked from…? She couldn’t figure it out. 
Why, why, why?
Kyleer would remain an unsolved puzzle that had somehow scattered its
vibrant pieces in her mind. She had collected them, fitted them together
without trying, each one drawing her closer and closer to him, and over
time it became a thrill to know what the full image of him would present. 
She would never find out. Didn’t deserve to. 
Zaiana gave a quick scan around, but she couldn’t find the matching
guards for her other hand, which flexed irritably with weightlessness in
comparison. She hastily opened a few drawers but gave up with a groan,
accepting they were gone. 
Equipping her back with the scabbard and sliding Nilhlir inside, she left
without a glance back. 
Take to the rooftops.
She could abandon that order and do what she liked, but if it meant she
might find it safe to unglamour her wings and fly after months of torture, it
was exactly where she wanted to be.
After one short detour. 
Zaiana roamed the castle as if she’d conquered it. She had one person
on her mind, and when she found him, her face twitched with distaste. 
“Malin Ashfyre,” she called down the hall. 
The prince’s back locked stiff, but Zaiana didn’t falter a step. He barely
got to twist around before her hand clamped over his shoulder. Pulling the
handle of a door that led to somewhere or nowhere, she shoved the prince
inside. 
“You cannot treat me like this,” he barked, rolling his shoulder. 
Zaiana slammed the door and stalked to him slowly. Without the bars
between them, he appeared every inch the frightened mouse he was. “Are
you going to stop me?” 
 Malin backed all the way to the wall. “What do you think you’re doing?
This was not part of our deal.”
“I’m here to collect,” she said with enough cold warning to portray her
lack of patience while the battle raged on without her. 
“The wall still stands,” he said. “I tell you nothing until you fulfill your
end of the bargain.”
Zaiana was upon him in a flash, hand curled around his throat but
keeping distance from him as much as she could. “How does it feel to
betray your own blood?” she asked, head tilting as she observed him. She
tuned in to his heart: fast with a stroke of fear, but it held a broken beat. He
hated so much of the world; so much of everyone. 
“They betrayed me first,” he hissed. 
“How?”
“I was to rule this kingdom, and I will.”
Zaiana’s smile curled, slow and predatory. “You are nothing more than a
puppet who tied his own strings.”
“Do not insult me.”
“Or what?” His rage was so palpable Zaiana had to stifle her lightning
that begged to hurt him. 
“You’re a wicked witch,” the prince spat. 
Zaiana dropped her hand, hooking a brow in amusement. “At least I’m
not a false king with a hollow crown.”
A slam ricocheted off her mind. The absolute fury that overcame her at
his attempt to infiltrate her thoughts damned her to whatever punishment
she would face as her lightning lashed out. Malin tensed with strangled
chokes of pain, lowering slowly until his knees met the ground. It was sheer
willpower that made her retract the purple bolts crackling over him. 
He breathed hard as he came around from the aftershocks. 
“Don’t ever try that again,” she warned in a deadly tone.  Zaiana
crouched, observing the pitiful being. “Though it’s good to know your plan
worked, I suppose,” she mused. “Is it true then, what the Phoenix Blood can
do?”
“Burn in the Nether,” he breathed, not meeting her eye again. 
Zaiana straightened. She had nothing more to gain from him yet.
At the door, she paused. “I will uphold my end of the bargain, and when
I come looking for you, the Nether will seem like a paradise compared to
what you’ll endure if your information doesn’t uphold yours.”
As she slipped through a window, the bell rang with a piercing cry. Through
its intermittent echoes, the city scattered into chaos. Zaiana stood when she
reached a tall, flat rooftop. Most of the damage she’d faced so far was
within the outer ring—blazing houses and slaughtered humans. She
couldn’t deny the sight heated her skin with adrenaline. It had been so long
since she last saw the destruction and tragedy of war, but it would never fail
to inspire a pinch of sorrow.
The enemy Rhyenelle had unwittingly let within the outer city gates
would reach the inner ring soon if their plan was carried out seamlessly.
The king didn’t stand a chance this time. Zaiana watched the event that
would mark history. 
The city that had never fallen; the kingdom that had never been
claimed…
Conquered.
They were winning. 
Something in her withered a little more, turning a shade darker than
black. She tried to expel the image that haunted her, tried not to replay the
second the light in Kyleer’s eyes died out. That light had shone even on
something so soulless and heartless. 
She planned to take off running, maybe to kill, needing something to
stop the threat stinging in her eyes. Spinning, she halted her near lunge,
stumbling as if a wall had formed in front of her with the shadow that fell
and blocked her path. Her lips parted in utter shock, though she shouldn’t
have been shocked at all. The tail blast of his wings blew past her like an
embrace. He straightened and Maverick stood tall, his face firm, all lethal
like she remembered, but with an edge of calculation as he looked over her. 
She didn’t know what caused her stillness. The familiarity of him
tugged at something she wanted to ignore. Perhaps she should surface some
cruel remark or insult, deny she was even remotely glad to see him… 
But it would be a lie. 
Maverick took slow steps toward her, his eyes scanning every inch, and
neither of them spoke. Right in front of her, he dipped into his pocket. They
didn’t break electrifying eye contact, not even when he reached for her
hand, but she gave a shallow gasp at the cool metal sliding onto her fingers.
Only when the familiar weight adorned both hands again did they look
down. She didn’t know how he’d found her missing guards, only basked in
the relief that they weren’t lost to her.
Maverick’s thumb brushed the thick abrasions on her wrists. “What
happened?” His tone was all hard threat. When she met those dark orbs, a
shadowy chill shook her. “If you ever try something like that again, I’ll kill
you myself. But damn, if it isn’t good to see you, Zaiana.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. It was so unlike her, but
her cold arrogance faltered completely as she wondered if he saw her
desperate shoveling within. She was trying to dig a deep enough grave for
any feelings she’d felt before he stared for long enough to decipher her
foolish lapse of judgment. 
His hand gripped her chin, and she couldn’t deny his touch made her
skin tingle but raged a conflict inside. He searched her gaze, and something
like understanding softened the edges of his. He didn’t know what she’d
reduced herself to with the commander. Perhaps the only conclusion he
made was that her torture had been brutal enough to cause her pitiful frozen
state. 
It was a partial truth. What she’d done just a moment ago struck her
with a pain worse than anything she’d endured in her lifetime. 
“Get yourself together, delegate,” Maverick said, soft but with a firm
command.
Normality would be to bite at that remark, but all she felt was a snap
back to reality at his words. Her title. Who she was and what side of the
battle she stood on. Zaiana nodded slowly, tunneling into that persona she
had trained her whole life to be. The ruthless killer. The merciless enemy.
She turned from him, letting ice freeze over anything warm and
darkness cloud any hint of compassion. She had one last person to kill, and
her task remained unfulfilled as she stared at the inner-city wall still
standing, lined with an unwavering defense of soldiers and weapons while
the outer city gates were opened by the human rat. 
Zaiana rolled her shoulders, stifling a moan at the sheer bliss of feeling
her wings expand from her back. The weight of them was far more
endurable and welcome than the glamour she’d carried for so long. 
“What’s the plan?” Maverick asked. 
“I’m going to tear down the damn wall,” she said, more to herself.
Maverick braced for flight with her. “Then make it storm, Zaiana.”
 CHAPTER 90

Faythe

F strapped to her back.

aythe paced her rooms equipped in her combat leathers with Lumarias
She warred over not wanting to defy Reylan’s
wishes and knowing she had to. Her anxious pacing was only in calculation
of where she was headed. Imagining the humans in the outer city, Faythe
could only picture her humble town of Farrowhold, and in flooded a surge
of need to protect it.
The first people on her mind were her human friends. Her best bet was
to scour the castle for them.
Just as she stepped to the door, it swung open. Faythe lunged into a
defensive stance, hand flying behind her to draw her sword, when—
“Gods above, you could have knocked!” Faythe choked on the words to
Jakon and Marlowe in her fright. 
“I figured under the circumstances you wouldn’t mind,” Jakon
answered, closing and locking the door. Faythe frowned. “We happened to
pass Reylan a while ago. He said to make sure you’d locked it.”
Faythe refrained from rolling her eyes. “Where’s Reuben?” 
Marlowe’s expression was concerned. “He wanted to enjoy the
celebrations like he did back home.”
A cold dawning washed over Faythe even before Marlowe continued.
“He’s in the outer city with most of the humans.”
Right then, her plan fell into place. Now she knew for certain her
destination had to be on the front line. Faythe spun to the balcony. 
“I know what you’re thinking, but there’s no way—”
 “Jak,” Faythe cut him off, having no time for this argument. “You can’t
stop me.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
She spun to him. “I’m fae now. Stronger, faster, and I have a power that
can protect me out there. I can’t afford for you to be another person I have
to worry about. I need you to trust I’ll be okay.”
Faythe swore internally at his hard look of protest—so damn familiar,
his commendable courage—but she didn’t have time.
“Faythe…” The brokenness of Marlowe’s voice snapped both of their
attention. “I’m so sorry. I did what I had to, and I didn’t know how soon
this would come. You have to believe me that I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Crossing the space, Faythe took hold of Marlowe’s upper arms in her
panic. She searched her glittering ocean eyes with trepidation. “Can you tell
me, Marlowe? Please,” Faythe begged. She needed to know if she knew
something, had seen something 
“I did what I had to. And what comes next…”
Faythe heard the words as if they were someone else’s twisted reality.
She listened to every one, trying to stand firm against horror and heartache. 
“I don’t believe it,” she muttered.
But she did.
Marlowe spoke of things she had suspected but never wanted to believe,
yet some of these revelations Faythe never could have anticipated. They
weighted her eyes from being able to look at Marlowe; she couldn’t push
aside the twist of betrayal. She wanted to understand, but she needed a
moment. 
To calculate. 
To breathe. 
To think there could be some other way out of it all. 
“I need to go,” Faythe said vacantly. 
Though he was an accomplice, knowing everything yet keeping silent
too, Faythe couldn’t walk away without turning to Jakon. Their eyes locked
in knowing. How could it have come to this? Yet her promise to him
remained, and she would never break that. She would never make him—
either of them—choose. 
She couldn’t help herself when she took quick strides toward him,
wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her tightly, face angled to her
neck to breathe her in. 
 “I’ll be okay,” she whispered—not a promise, but a hope. 
“You’d better be,” he mumbled back, squeezing her a little tighter
before they released each other. 
Marlowe’s ocean eyes were hollow, and despite everything, Faythe
drew her arms around her next. Her friend released a sharp sob of relief,
and while Faythe still struggled to accept everything Marlowe had brought
to light that night, they’d gathered too many precious memories for their
friendship to be erased by a war they’d all been thrust into. 
Then Faythe left her dearest friends, heavy with burden and sorrow and
guilt, but she didn’t look back. 

Her new agility had never been put to the test quite like scaling the sides of
Rhyenelle’s castle. She drowned out the cries of the city, the distant
commotion of steel and fire and all things heinous that descended upon her
people. Faythe made it to where she’d hoped. Jumping down, she landed on
the wall and didn’t pause for one second before she was sprinting the
perimeter.  It took careful maneuvering as the wall was teeming with
soldiers in their lethal focus. It seemed everyone in the inner city knew
exactly what to do in this situation. 
“It’s the princess,” she heard a few mutter as she raced past. 
They shuffled from their stone stances as though debating whether to
break protocol and go after her. A few tried to call, but she couldn’t pause
in her urgency. Mercifully, no one chased her, but she wondered how
effective their communications were, and knowing Reylan, how quickly
they could get the word to him. She couldn’t afford to think of that. For the
sake of keeping him focused, she hoped he was far enough away to delay
anyone from reaching him before she found Reuben and headed back. 
Faythe sprinted the perimeter wall, dashing and twisting, not flinching
at the screams that grew louder, nor the ash she tasted on her tongue. At the
halfway point soldiers lined the whole wall, and ahead was barricaded by
many more bodies, but also a set of closed doors. She should have
anticipated it, and knowing it would take too long to plead her case for them
to open a key defense, Faythe eyed the height instead. It wouldn’t be an
easy climb, but she’d grown up on the streets of Farrowhold scaling
buildings, and she would attempt it now with her reckless, coursing
adrenaline. 
When she got close enough and a few of the soldiers braced to block
her, Faythe turned, hoisting herself up the wall before hopping and running
over the structure of it. Battle raged to life beside her, but she couldn’t look
down without risking her confidence. 
“Your Highness!”
A few soldiers barked; others hissed for them to be quiet as they risked
announcing to the enemy there was a key target within range. 
At the gate, Faythe threw all caution to the wind. Her fingers clawed
and slipped on the abrasive stone. Her feet found the smallest of crevices to
hoist herself further up, and it was sheer determination that had her
managing the climb. 
Exertion caught up with her all at once. The heat, the terror, the panic.
High and overlooking it all, any idea she might have had that she was
prepared to see and hear and feel true battle was nothing compared to the
stilling horror of this moment. Soldiers in pure black tore through the
streets, killing and wrecking with such barbaric chaos her blood raged. She
closed her eyes for a second to breathe, dropping into a crouch to make
herself small. She had to find Reuben, and she prayed to the damn Gods he
wasn’t among the bodies; that his blood wasn’t painting the streets like so
many others. 
Faythe leaned out to gauge the distance down. She thought she might
tolerate the impact.
“You shouldn’t go down there, Your Highness,” a guard warned. 
Faythe spared one look at the wide-open outer-city gates across the long
expanse. She ignored him to ask, “How did they break through?”
He hesitated, and then trepidation crawled her skin with the dread in his
voice. “They didn’t. It’s like someone let them in.” He balked a little at the
incredulous look she snapped to him. “We don’t know who or why,” he
added quickly. 
It didn’t make sense, but at the same time, it did. With the feather going
missing this was no coincidence, but her mind demanded to know who.
Even Malin wouldn’t attack his own people—that would never win him the
crown… 
Faythe shook her head, trying not to overwhelm herself with too many
tasks and questions. One at a time, and right now her attention was fixed on
her friend.
“Keep defending the wall. Alert no one. This is not the time to care for
one person over thousands.” 
A wave of dizziness lapped her so suddenly Faythe thought she was
falling. Her mind pulled away from body as if it had been lifted to another
void that hushed the terror around her. A vaguely familiar tingling coated
her skin. Then she heard a voice. 
“Oh, my dear Faythe,” Marvellas cooed. “Trust that I take no pleasure
in knowing how this has to happen.”
She tried to get back to consciousness. Color came in and out of focus.
Flexing her fingers, she felt the stone and heard a real voice so close.
Someone was cradling her. 
“You can stop this,” Faythe pleaded in her mind. 
“It will end—have no fear of that. This way, there are less casualties.
Only those of weakness, and those who rebel.”
“Your Highness!” 
The guard’s tone boomed over her, snapping her awake, though the
presence in her mind lingered. He must have caught her before she could
fall the other way. He helped her to sit, and Faythe wasted no time in
getting to her feet, leaning on the wall for stability. 
“Show yourself,” Faythe hissed. 
“Soon. So very soon.”
Just then, Faythe spotted her father. She hadn’t expected to find the king
in the thick of the battle, figuring he would be commanding from afar. He
fought valiantly, and pride stuck her so truly, giving her the strength to
climb up onto the wall once more. 
“I should advise you against this plan, Your Highness!” the young guard
called up to her. 
“Who will you choose, Faythe?” Marvellas goaded, and her blood
began to chill. “What if I told you my sister seeks out your mate as we
speak?” 
The world around her was canceled out. Faythe turned, seeing the castle
she had left, and somehow, somehow, she knew Reylan was back there. 
“But there is also a particular threat with a vengeance set on the king.”
Faythe had never felt the harsh tug of two strings before. She thought
they might tear her apart before she chose to give in to either. 
“It’s time to choose, Faythe Ashfyre.”
 “I won’t,” she breathed, yet terror became a clock that ticked too fast,
racing toward a decision she could never take back. 
“Then you will lose both.”
“Me,” Faythe rushed out, her eyes scanning the flickering amber night,
over the smoke, up to the stars, around the bloodied chaos, as if she would
find the Spirit who taunted her. “Take me. I’ll go with you if you stop this.”
“A tempting offer. But understand this is beyond my lone desires now. I
still plan for us to be together again. First you must see what it takes to
reform the world piece by piece.”
Faythe clenched her teeth, her fists, so tight as if it would still time for
just a moment. She glanced at the battle, gasping as she caught sight of the
person she’d been looking for. 
Reuben tried to fight off a fae, but he was faltering. The king cut
through many with his warriors, but there were so many fae—dark fae—
that Faythe couldn’t tell the difference with the sheen of red, silver, and
black that began to spill across the streets. 
A loud rumble made her halt then rocked her balance. 
“THE WALL!” a guard barked, causing an immediate disruption to all
those who were armed upon it. Faythe saw it in the far distance a second
before he chased his words with, “IT’S COMING DOWN!”
“Time is never in our favor when we desire it most.” 
Those were the last chilling notes that circled, taunted, her mind before
her connection to Marvellas severed completely. There wasn’t a second for
Faythe to think beyond pure, desperate impulse. Exchanging a look with the
warrior behind her, eyes wide in fear of death as the wall began to crumble
and bodies piled under the mass of stone, Faythe decided what she had to
do.
“Get everyone off the damned wall!” she ordered, and then she leaped. 
Gravity flipped her stomach, taunting that she’d break her bones. But
she wasn’t a human anymore. The fall ended in four heartbeats. Her teeth
clenched against the harsh vibration that exploded through her, her palms
pressed to the ground…but she had made it unharmed. 
Only instinct drew forth her magick, pulling it like roots from the very
earth. It built and built with pressure, and she didn’t know how it would be
released. Faythe sprinted a few meters away. Twisting, she gave a battle cry,
barreling the force of her magick into the wall. It shot out like a brilliant
flare of gold dust, meeting the stone and spilling over it with a glittering
hue. Faythe’s breaths came hard at the sweltering heat on her skin, igniting
in her veins, as she felt the wall’s resistance with whatever else was blasting
into it to make it crumble like no more than a wooden shed.  Casting her
gaze, she saw soldiers still frantically passing over it, scrambling to get
down before she couldn’t hold it any longer. Her magick became the sole
thing keeping it upright, trembling every nerve, but she couldn’t let go. Her
vision began to turn gold around the edges. Faythe clamped her eyes shut,
shifting her stance and turning her knees weak against the surges of pure
power that coursed through her. 
“You have to let go, Your Highness!” the same guard called from
above. 
Faythe only shook her head. Her palms burned the most, but the lines
over her arms, the markings on her spine, shone the brightest they ever had.
This velocity of magick she had never tempted before, and in it she found
no good nor evil; she found herself.
Faythe challenged that power, gripped it and claimed it, unlocking the
height of all she’d been too afraid to face. What lived within her was every
triumph and transgression, who she was, and what she wanted to be. 
She was Reylan’s strength. 
Nik’s wisdom, and Tauria’s resilience. 
Jakon’s courage, and Marlowe’s knowledge. 
And while she fought a power of familiar might that dragged forth her
own frightening will of vengeance and defiance, Faythe realized one other
thing she was too. 
Zaiana’s darkness, and deeper, cloaked in shadow, her light.
“You can let go now.” The guard’s voice drew a gasp from her at his
closeness, and she snapped her eyes to him. “You saved us all.”
Faythe had to be sure. Though her body was slick with sweat and
vibrated with a consuming rage, she scanned the weakening wall. 
No bodies were above it. 
With the next blast to challenge her, Faythe yielded. 
She tried to slowly ease back, allowing her magick to reel itself in as
gently as it could. It took an incredible amount of focus, and when she
slipped with a shooting pain, the power sucked back into her all at once
with a punishing lash. 
Faythe stumbled back, caught by the guard. She tried to draw breath,
but she swallowed it like flame.
 Large rocks thundered over the ground. They curled into themselves as
debris flew past them. It seemed endless when all Faythe could imagine
were the casualties she couldn’t prevent this time. Some of the stone hit the
ground and exploded into gold particles with the remnants of her magick,
small bursts of devastating beauty among the tragedy.
Until everything stilled. 
“Phoenix Queen,” he muttered, bearing her whole weight while she felt
utterly boneless.
Coming around from her surge of energy, Faythe found her feet, still
leaning on him but finding her balance carefully. “What is your name?” She
could barely speak, but he heard her. 
“Terran,” he answered. 
To her incredulity, she looked around and found many soldiers on one
knee, all staring at her. “Do me a favor, Terran,” Faythe rasped as she
straightened off him. 
“Anything.”
“Lead these warriors. The fight is far from over. Defend the citadel, but
should the worst happen, your surrender is not a betrayal. Do what you have
to do and stay alive.”
She met his warm brown eyes. He was too young, though she couldn’t
guess exactly how old in fae years. He reminded her too much of one other,
and she almost broke into a whimper as she remembered he didn’t make it. 
“Stay alive,” she repeated in a whisper. 
 Terran gave a nod of determination. “Where are you going?”
Faythe battled herself. Battled the sheer helplessness and soul-deep
twist that she had to do this. Agalhor was right here, and so was Reuben.
Faythe didn’t see it as a choice because she’d already stacked her dark
retribution on Dakodas should she make it back and find the Spirit had
harmed Reylan in the slightest. 
I won’t choose. 
It was all she could do to turn away from her mate’s direction. “I will
come for you,” she sent to Reylan, knowing he was likely too far away to
hear it without their bond complete. 
They had come so close. 
Faythe took a deep breath to silence her torment and numb her
heartache. “I gave you an order. Now go.” She used as much authority as
she could in her command, straightening as all the soldiers stood and began
to form their new defense around the castle now the wall no longer offered
it safety.  Faythe watched them all with a stroke of pride, but as they
climbed over the avalanche of what was once an unshakable barricade, she
tried not to lose hope completely. 
With her cloud of thoughts at the worst moment, Faythe only caught in
the nick of time the attacker who raced for her, retrieving her sword just
quickly enough for it to clash with his above her head. The dark fae gazed
down at her with no life, only fury, blazing in those black orbs. His weight
pushed down, and she yielded an inch closer to her face. His strength alone
was too much.
In a surge of memory, Faythe felt for the formation of her Firewielding
ability. Blue sparks licked over her blade, and with focus, she amplified the
heat that had the fae crying out and dropping his sword. There was no time
for mercy—not when innocent blood painted the stone beneath them. 
The slick glide but firm force as she ran her blade through his chest was
a feeling she would never forget, and never apologize for.  Her sword
dripped with black blood, but Faythe was running again before his body
could fall, the unnatural color churning her stomach. She headed to where
she’d seen Reuben first, but as she skidded into the square, she halted at the
worst alarm rang in her ears, canceling out all else. 
It was too quiet here. 
Though she was sure she had seen the place raging with battle and her
friend in the thick of it. She knew she’d seen Agalhor among the masses
close by. Breathing became difficult as she thought the worst. Thought of
how easily Marvellas had slipped into her mind, how she’d realized far too
late. Had she underestimated how easy it was for the Spirit to manipulate
her mind when it was all an illusion?
Faythe had chosen wrong. 
Her weight shifted with the dawning of that doom. Did Marvellas know
Faythe would come this way at seeing the immediate danger she could stop
before the threat toward Reylan? 
Those weren’t just words. They were a trap to lure her farther away. 
And she had fallen for it. 
She scanned the square again as though she could be wrong and the
fight had simply moved. It was left as a wreckage—destroyed instruments,
stalls turned into blazing bonfires, torn celebration banners now defiled
with the blood of three species. There were no bodies. The place was eerily
deserted. 
“Faythe!” 
Her whole body tensed as she angled her blade. She recognized his
voice, yet her skittish mind flashed between what to trust and what wasn’t
real. 
“Reuben,” she breathed, spying him across the square. 
That hadn’t been wrong; he was here. With vacant steps she headed for
him, but she couldn’t drop the unease that coated her, expecting to look up
and find an audience. She snapped her head in every angle as though an
opponent would barrel out. 
“You’re okay,” she thought out loud. Scanning him, she saw he was
completely free of injury or blood or anything of the devastation that
surrounded them.
He drew a dagger as he jogged up to meet her, frantic eyes darting all
over until they met in the middle. They had to get out of the open vantage
point.
Yet something halted her. A dark, sucking energy drew her attention
down to what Reuben held.
The blade was pure iridescent black. Her mind screamed at her to
retreat, but too late when, with a flash of movement, in her utter shock at
who wielded it, agony erupted over her chest, her shoulder, and her neck,
gripping her whole with an immobilizing enchantment, though she couldn’t
be sure it was entirely the effects of the stone. Faythe’s wide-eyed disbelief
snapped to Reuben, yet who she was looking at was someone else entirely.
Those cold brown eyes belonged to a stranger; the harsh lines of hatred to a
monster. 
“You are weak, Faythe. You always have been,” he said, low and
without a shred of remorse. When he let go of the blade he’d lodged close
to her shoulder, Faythe’s trembling hand rose to the hilt. Her mind raced
with what to do, but a numbness started to coat her from within, and the
golden glow of her palms sputtered like a dying candle. 
“Why?” she breathed, knowing she would get an answer she couldn’t
comprehend. No conclusion she could draw would ever ease the tearing of
something far deeper. “I trusted you. I… We—” 
No words. There were none she had that could explain it, and maybe
she didn’t want to know the truth of his betrayal. Didn’t want to hear what
she had been so naïve not to have seen this whole time. 
This whole time. 
Faythe swayed. In her utter heartbreak she fell to one knee. 
“You led the dark fae right to us…on the quest.” She fitted it all
together, each new piece drawing her closer to a clear image she struggled
to believe. 
“Your observations come far too late.” He spoke with no emotion. It
was like talking to a ghost in her friend’s body. 
“It’s not you.”  Faythe chose denial when reality came so close to
collapsing the world around her. 
Reuben crouched, but she couldn’t look at him, unable to bear seeing
the face of her childhood friend bearing such hatred upon her. “It is me,
Faythe.” A cruel amusement slipped into his tone. “The one you
undermined, underestimated. The one you all treated like a simple fool. Do
you know even my own mother favored you, Faythe? She always thought
you were brave and good and destined for great things. Me? I was set up for
nothing but disappointment. No ambition, no will to fight. Yet look where
we are now. You lose, Faythe. You will always lose.”
“No.” She shook her head. This couldn’t be him. 
Somehow, the words felt familiar—perhaps with the crushing ache in
her heart, her soul.
Reuben straightened. “You got to the feather before I could, but it was
Malin who suspected you, and to douse you with guilt, he sent an assassin
to kill the library masters you left vulnerable.”
Faythe couldn’t lift her head from its bow of submission.
“I went to your rooms to find the feather when I saw you leave that
night. Your handmaiden saw me and foolishly decided to follow me. Why
couldn’t she have just let it be?”
Through her blurry vision, Faythe thought she caught a glimpse of the
boy she once knew. An expression eerily similar to the one he wore the day
she’d helped him stow away to the unknown. He was terrified. “You didn’t
mean to,” she said, trying to forgive him.
“I did,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to kill her, but I had to, Faythe.
And I need you to tell me where the ruin is. It’s all she wants, and it’s all I
was looking for. I searched everywhere, but you’ve hidden it on someone
else. I sought the feather for Malin knowing he was working with her.”
Faythe tunneled into so much grief in her silence.
 “I need the ruin, Faythe. Tell me where it is.” His voice took on a sharp
edge she didn’t recognize on him.
Faythe shook her head weakly. “I can’t do that—”
Her cry turned to a gasp when the pain in her shoulder exploded to
immobilize her. Reuben seethed as he twisted the handle while the blade
was still lodged deep.
“I don’t want to kill you,” he begged with so much fear and conflict
filling his brown irises. “But she’s going to kill me. Kill us all if I don’t
have it.”
Faythe should have seen it sooner. Seen him sooner. The guilt of failing
him called out to her defeat. “You don’t have to do this,” she pleaded. “I
forgive you. We can fight her together.”
That turned his expression to stone, wiping all she knew of her
childhood friend in an instant. “You are pitiful.” Reuben let go, and Faythe
braced a hand on the ground. “It has to be in the castle, and with you out of
my way I will find it.”
She watched his boots leave her vision, alone and vulnerable after he’d
lured her right here. Bait. That’s what Reuben was, and she had to find a
way out before the real predator came.
Teeth clenched, she wrapped a shaky hand around the blade, knowing
the blood loss would be dangerous but the Magestone could spread its
poisonous effects faster if she left it submerged. Her heart pounded in her
ears, a dizziness fogged her mind, and her body was slick with sweat and a
fire that raged deep in and around the wound. She took one deep breath, and
then, with a loud cry, pulled the blade free. 
The pain exploded. Faythe sobbed. The blade clattered to the ground
just as her other hand reached out to catch her from falling through the
sweep of darkness she fought. She didn’t get long to succumb to her agony.
Many footsteps sounded around her in every direction, trapping her in the
square. Faythe tried to search for her magick, forcing some to the surface,
but like a burned-out wick her flame wouldn’t catch. 
Her fingers shuffled over the sandy stone, inch by inch, until they
slipped over the hilt of her sword. At feeling the familiar leather grip, a new
fight sparked within her. Before everything, she’d had this. Her blade.
Lumarias. If that was all she had to go out with, it was enough. 
Despite what felt like iron shackling her to the stone ground, she
gripped Lumarias tight, and Faythe rose. Sheer adrenaline kept her from
sinking back down with the wobble of her knees. She breathed steadily,
forcing herself to look out over the damning odds, and she braced with her
sword. 
Those few seconds of suspense were measured in erratic heartbeats
when no one moved. The first commotion ensued behind her, but when she
whirled, it was not their advance that caused it. The soldiers behind her
were all turning to face some threat at their backs. 
A gust of air had Faythe whipping back around, and at seeing who was
straightening from their crouch, reality spun away farther than it already
was. 
“Zaiana.” 
She wasn’t sure if she spoke the dark fae’s name aloud, but her partially
predatory smile shone at Faythe’s reaction. She’d grown accustomed to
seeing Zaiana without wings; had almost convinced herself she was like
them or could be. Yet now she was free, it was clear the side she had always
stood on. 
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Zaiana drawled. “But I must admit,
it is rather thrilling.”
If Zaiana was free…
“What did you do to him?” Faythe asked in cold-set terror. Kyleer had
been with her when the battle started. That had to have been where he’d
headed. 
A darkness so frightening blocked out every possibility except death
from the dark fae’s expression. “You and your foolish hearts,” she
answered. “It was his that became his end. Just as it will be yours. Fitting,
really, how one by one you bring about your own downfall.”
Her words replayed, desperate to find a new formation, but Faythe’s
hand was already clamped tighter around her sword, raising it a fraction
higher. “You didn’t kill him.” She offered the chance for Zaiana to deny it,
yet all she gave was a sinister look of challenge. 
Her physical pain numbed to the anger and grief that consumed her in
that second. Faythe’s sword ricocheted off the dark fae’s before she’d even
noticed her steps to erase the distance. She didn’t stop, using every ounce of
strength she could find to parry with Zaiana, but it was like she wasn’t even
trying. The dark fae watched with an unreadable gaze while she humored
Faythe’s weak attacks. 
 Even in her new fae form, even with her new power, she was weak. One
second of betrayal stripped back everything she had survived to be. Her
eyes burned, but she still pushed on. 
“Your fight is admirable,” Zaiana said so quietly Faythe wondered if she
even meant to let it slip. 
She only surged with the condescension. It took her right back to the
first time they battled, and Faythe was not enough then, and nor was she
now. “You are the weak one, Zaiana,” she spat. Ignoring the searing pain in
her shoulder, she pushed harder, moved faster. “You see deceit in all good
things that come before you.”
“Better to be prepared than blindsided like you.”
“He cared for you!” Faythe shouted, unable to accept Zaiana could have
killed Kyleer after what she’d witnessed growing between them. “He saw
something in you none of us wanted to.”
“And he was wrong.” Zaiana pushed back. 
Faythe had hit something in her. Their blades slipped off each other’s,
singing their rage and anguish above the noise of the battle around them as
they paused, matching hard breaths. 
“He wasn’t,” Faythe admitted. And then she saw the way to break
Zaiana down was not with steel or hatred. “The biggest betrayal you will
ever face is yourself. The biggest war within yourself.” 
“Being the hero is easy, Faythe.” Zaiana’s nostrils flared.
A delirious laugh escaped Faythe’s lips. “Sure doesn’t feel like it.” She
winced, trying to shift her injured shoulder. “I guess I’m not qualified for
that role.”
While they stood, Faythe tunneled into her magick, feeling it there but
with an unsure numbness that convinced her it was stifled. Throwing
everything she had into it, she cast her palm out toward the dark fae,
expelling a brilliant gold flare that struck Zaiana and sent her flying
backward, crashing through the falling structure of a home that swallowed
her whole. 
Twisting her blade, Faythe reeled into combat when the enemy lines
broke to attack.  She moved on instinct, but she wasn’t alone when at last
Rhyenelle soldiers joined her and the odds began to ease her seed of doubt.
She had to get back to the castle; had to find Reylan before either vengeful
Spirit could. 
“You should not be here.”
 Faythe gasped at the deep, rough voice. Pulling her blade free from the
gut of her enemy, she spared a quick glance at Agalhor who fell another. He
met her bewildered look with blazing eyes—not out of anger at her, but at
the many threats that targeted them. 
He was here. This was real. 
“Arguably, I wouldn’t have expected you to be on the front line either,”
she commented, twisting around him to clash blades with another. 
His laugh was so far from humor. “Go back to the city, Faythe. Soldiers
will take you—”
“I won’t leave you here.”
“I have fought many battles, my dear. You have not.”
“Nor will I if I’m kept from them.”
Their conversation was short through the focus they kept on fending off
the relentless attacks. Her blade slicked through black and silver blood of
both the Born and Transitioned. Her next assailant let out a shrill cry when
her blade came down on his wing, but it was a huge mistake as the steel
lodged in the thick cartilage and she was forced to let it go. Faythe stumbled
back at the sheer agony and wrath the dark fae spun to her with. Her
stomach lurched when his head tumbled from his shoulders in one
sickening swipe. She caught sight of the golden flicker of the Ember
Sword. 
Agalhor met her blanched look with a look that said, “This is not the
battle for you.” Her face steeled to protest, and she reached for her blade. It
took the grim act of digging her foot into the dark fae’s back to dislodge
Lumarias. 
Yet in the few seconds they faced off, Agalhor’s expression eased to one
of understanding. 
“It terrifies me to see you here, Faythe. And I have every power to see
to it that you aren’t.” Her protest rose until he spoke again. “Yet more so, it
strikes me with the pride of my life.”
Her face pinched at hearing that, awash with a determination she feared
she was losing. This was confirmation she hadn’t made a grave mistake in
following her instinct here. 
“How touching,” a beautiful voice mocked. 
Faythe turned her attention to Zaiana, finding the soldiers around them
leaving this fight to her. 
 “Father and daughter going down together in battle. Poetic really.”
Zaiana retired her sword, but Faythe knew the most lethal weapon was
already in her hands instead. The elegant point of those two metal-adorned
fingers that sparked with alluring but deadly purple bolts. 
“Faythe, go back to the inner city,” Agalhor warned, not taking his
calculating gaze from Zaiana. 
“You might want to do as he says.” Zaiana matched his stare, two
opponents targeting each other with vengeance. “I don’t think you want to
witness your father’s death.”
“Your fight is with me,” Faythe flared. 
“You were never my fight, Faythe, only a mark to capture. Your father
became my fight the moment he decided to infiltrate my mind.”
Her heart couldn’t be tamed, but she was ready to stand with him
whatever it took. Agalhor couldn’t die. This kingdom needed him in the
aftermath of this battle, and for the greater war to come. She needed him, as
a child who didn’t get enough time.  It was that urgency that pushed her
forward, trying to gain Zaiana’s attention, which had locked on the king as
though Faythe were not there anymore. 
“He shouldn’t have done that,” Faythe agreed. “But if you kill him,
there is nothing that will stop me from coming for you.”
Zaiana didn’t flinch, nor did she give a single indication her words
meant anything. “You had your warning to flee,” was all she said, the
lightning growing, her stance shifting. “You can’t say I am not merciful
when it is you who chose to witness this.”
Zaiana sent her lightning for Agalhor with one hand, and sheer impulse
had Faythe casting her own power out. It clashed with her second flare. The
first must have struck Agalhor, but she couldn’t turn back to look. 
Faythe stiffened her legs against the pulsing blast they held. Her will to
protect roused a violence that threw a blanket over weakness and made her
believe in the impossible. Bracing, she sent their joint current skyward.
Thunder boomed overhead, illuminating the entire sky. 
Agalhor groaned, shuddering with the waves of electricity as he got to
his feet. But Zaiana was fast, already braced with both hands, summoning a
current that could kill. 
“Please!” Faythe yelled, having nothing else, nothing that could stop her
before she struck. “Please. He’s all I have left.” Desperation drew her plea,
her knees near buckling if that was what it would take.
 Zaiana wasn’t entirely unfeeling. She wasn’t devoid of care. Faythe had
seen it many times, though thanks to her cruel upbringing, the dark fae
would never see it. It was what made her hesitate in this moment, braced
with the current to kill but hearing Faythe’s cry. Her gaze finally tore from
her target to meet Faythe in her final verdict. 
“You’re wrong,” Zaiana said quietly. “You have far better.”
All Faythe heard was the sealing of Agalhor’s fate, the dark fae’s mind
made up despite the seconds she’d managed to buy. Faythe moved faster
than she ever had in her short life, damning everything to step into the path
of Zaiana’s flare, which grew to a deadly current. 
Before she could unleash her storm, time slowed to a crawl.
Then stopped. 
Through the stuttered breath that left her she refused to believe what she
felt.
Heard. 
The bright amethyst charge in front of her began to fade until the light
on Zaiana’s face switched from white to the amber glow of the natural fire
that destroyed it. Rain began to fall, but Faythe couldn’t feel it. She only
watched it start slowly until it became a filter between her and Zaiana, who
hadn’t dropped eye contact.  With the second choke that struck her spine
hard, the ground was pulled from under her, and she forced herself to turn
around and see what her mind had clouded with complete denial.
Faythe saw him.
Them.
Saw the glint of the steel and Magestone blade slick with crimson
protruding through Agalhor’s chest. 
Her stare locked on the talons of the towering wings that led down to
the face of her nightmares. 
There were no words to describe what overcame Faythe in that second.
She didn’t believe she’d ever recall the moment she erupted from the inside
out. A violent scream tore up her throat though she didn’t hear it. The edges
of her vision were diffused in gold. Fire devoured her. Then expelled from
her. Not in flame but something beautifully lethal. Gold dust that blasted
through the entire square, hitting everyone but him.
Her father. 
Faythe’s palms splayed wide and trembled by her side. Her hair
whipped around her, and the rain couldn’t touch her. She kept screaming
until the vibrations of the ground no longer trembled through her. She
became weightless. Power surged through every internal piece of her, and
for a moment she believed it would destroy her. 
Until the sound that lifted from her throat died out. Her vision began to
bring back the real grim colors of her world that had turned gilded before
her. 
Then everything stilled at once. 
She was falling.
Falling.
Falling. 
The snap back into herself whipped like a lashing. Faythe pressed her
cheek to the wet stone as she slowly came to, scrambling her thoughts to
gather who she was, where she was, and what she had done. 
Her whole body shook with tremors. She dragged her hands up to brace
herself. The symbols within her palms slowly died out and exhaustion
began to sweep in, taking the place of the power she’d summoned in
reckless, raging desperation. 
One thing slipped through her memory as she pushed herself up. 
The reason why she had done it.
Faythe found Agalhor lying still against the cold, wet ground, no other
bodies around him as though the gold particles the wind and rain swept
away were all that was left of the fallen. She forced herself to stand. Walked
to him on weak legs. Her sword caught her like a crutch a few times. Her
steps dragged slow, begging for him to get up before she could make it
there and discover the worst. 
Get up. Get up. 
Faythe might have slipped the words aloud, as if her need alone could
raise the king.
Not a flicker of movement answered her.
She gave in to her boneless knees, falling by his side. “You’ll be okay,”
she said, shaky hands going over his. Faythe pressed down on the wound,
but blood flooded over her fingers. Her mouth opened and closed. She
didn’t know what else to say. 
Think. 
She had to think.
A blank mind mocked her, but she shook her head against it. Scrunched
her eyes shut. She listened, straining hard through the pulse of her eardrums
that felt stuffed with cotton.
A heartbeat.
Her lids snapped open.
Alive.
Shuffling on her knees, Faythe applied more pressure, frustrated when
he kept bleeding. 
“Help.”  The word was a weak croak. Her breaths came hard as she
looked over his peaceful face, and her jaw flexed with the desire to glare at
the sky for the rain that disturbed him. “I’ll get help.” 
That was all they needed. A healer.  He would be just fine as soon as
they got to one. 
“Faythe.” 
Her name, his voice, erupted in her chest. No matter the strain, he was
alive.
The king’s head lolled weakly to her, but that didn’t matter—he would
be up in no time. 
“I’ll need to leave you here just for a moment, but I can be quick.”
Panic began to seize her with his consciousness only half-there. “One time I
raced my friend, Jakon. I beat him by no competition,” she laughed, tears
falling, but she sniffed hard to plaster on a brave face. Agalhor’s eyes
fluttered, but she gripped his hands as if they were tethering him here.
Keeping him with her. She forced a smile. “You didn’t get to hear half the
antics we got up to in Farrowhold. I think some would make you laugh.”
“Faythe—”
She shook her head, eyes pressing shut for a moment. “Mother didn’t
like it when I would climb trees,” she rushed out. 
Time ticked loud, raced too fast, and she begged it—begged it—to slow,
but it sped faster with the dawning realization that there were so many
things he didn’t know.  Pointless things, childish things, but she wanted to
tell him everything. 
“Because I…I always went too far…too high. A-apples, I…I was
always reaching for the apples, but the best ones were always the most
stubbornly placed.” She huffed a shaky, delirious laugh. “Why is that?” she
thought suddenly. “Why are the things we want the most always just out of
reach?” Faythe kept blinking her blurry vision, hoping he couldn’t
distinguish her tears from the rain. “It’s as if life tries to tell us some things
aren’t meant to be, like when I fell and broke my arm once, passing so
many apples on the way down, but there was only one I wanted.”
Agalhor tried to smile, but his response came as barely a croak. “I bet
that didn’t stop you from reaching again.”
Faythe shifted closer, trembling stiffly. But her smile broke to a grin for
him. “You would win that bet.”
He huffed a laugh, but it twisted to agony as he stared up at the sky. “It’s
your turn now, Faythe.”
She shook her head vigorously, tightening her eyes in utter denial.
“Don’t. Don’t say that.”
“Listen, my dear—”
“I can’t,” she broke. Like a flood Faythe sobbed in complete
helplessness, unable to accept his fading life beneath her. “I’m not ready.
This kingdom needs you.”
“Not when it has you.”
Faythe’s cries were unlocked, arriving hard and with a grieving pain
that tore her soul deep. 
“Shh,” Agalhor tried to soothe, but she couldn’t stop. This couldn’t be
all they had. She still had so much to learn from him, so much to tell him
and show him. He couldn’t leave her. “Did you know this was where I met
your mother?”
That forced her to painfully clamp down on the sobs that cut off her
airway, tightening her lips against their harsh escape. Agalhor raised a hand
to point, shaking so badly she couldn’t bear it. She bit down on her lip hard
to taste blood, but no pain short of her own life would be enough to counter
this agony.
“Right there. She sold the best pastries in the city.”
Faythe wiped her sniffling nose.
He met her gaze with a twinkle of joy—each harboring different
memories of her mother but the same love. Agalhor reached for his sword,
taking her hand to wrap it around the hilt. 
“You’ll know what to do with it.”
Her sobs couldn’t be silenced anymore. 
“If all seems lost then it is not the end, Faythe. Lead our people to that
world you dream of. Make it rise from these ashes. From the moment I saw
you…I knew you had it in you. Knowing you and watching how much you
have grown since coming here…it has been my life’s joy.” His hand almost
couldn’t make it, so she took it, resting her cheek in his palm though it
cleaved her heart in half. “My daughter.”
“We didn’t have enough time,” she whispered. 
“You have to believe your mother is watching all that you have become.
I am ready, Faythe—I have been for some time—to see her again. Keep
telling me your stories and know that we will both be with you in every step
as you rise to all you were destined to be.”
Faythe didn’t look at his peaceful face when his eyes slipped closed for
the final time. Her teeth clenched so tight they might break, and her body
jerked in silence with the urge to release her violent sob—but she didn’t
want it to be the last thing he heard.
“Thank you, father,” she said in a high-pitched voice, taking a moment
to breathe through the suffocation. “For believing in me.”
She stayed with him until the very end. Her tears fell in silence while
she rocked, holding his hand and filtering out the rain to count his
weakening heartbeat. Faythe stilled as the last thump resonated to a silence
so cold and final she could do nothing but kneel to the mercy of fading
hope.
She doubled over, arms folding into herself, unleashing a cry that shook
the earth in her loss. It tore from her relentlessly, the grief of all that dawned
in that second.
A fate sealed. 
A kingdom on the brink of collapse.
An heir thrust into power too soon.
Agalhor Ashfyre, the King of Rhyenelle, was dead.
 CHAPTER 91

Zaiana

I only thing that might

n the seconds she had to react to Faythe’s explosion, Zaiana chose the
spare her wings over everything. She threw up her
glamour and summoned a lightning shield in the nick of time. It saved her
from incineration, but not from injury. 
Zaiana groaned, coughing dust from her throat in the heap of debris, her
attempt to move blocked entirely from all angles. She found herself buried
under wood and rocks. A pounding battered her head and agony tore
through her limbs, but she began to claw at what she could. 
With a sharp cry she realized a thick wooden pole had speared her side
and fell back down. When a clamor started from somewhere nearby,
Zaiana’s instincts brought lightning to her fingertips. Light flashed across
her vision as a large piece of debris was shifted to grant her an opening. She
raised the threat of her bolts until the face blinked into clarity. 
Maverick swore, carefully shoveling and maneuvering debris until he
kneeled beside her. His hands curled around the wood. “I’ve dreamed about
you crying out for me again,” he said, and her complete incredulity at the
comment distracted her the second he pulled the rod free. Agony clawed her
throat. “Though not quite like this.”
She didn’t have the energy to voice the string of profanities she wanted
to. But damn, if she wasn’t chanting them in her mind over and over as she
did nothing but accept his help.
Zaiana peeled herself up, desperate to be free. She was saved from a lot
of effort as he pulled her from the wreckage instead. She didn’t fight the
warm force of him holding her tight while she regained full conscious and
reoriented herself. His hand stroked her nape while they caught their breath.
Her ear pressed to his chest, and it was so still, so quiet. Yet in her own way,
she knew its familiar echo. 
Pulling back, their closeness, those pitch-black eyes, inspired a conflict
of so much reckless, dangerous emotion. Zaiana scanned him, noticing his
wings were also gone, black blood smeared across his face, which she
almost reached for.
She hated him. Hated him. 
“He was mine,” she snarled, pushing away from him, and their battle
returned. “The order to kill him was mine.”
The skin around his eyes creased. “You hesitated.”
“I would have killed him.”
“I know.” 
She couldn’t decipher what crossed his face, but rage flexed on hers
knowing he’d caught her flicker of weakness. At hearing Faythe’s plea, a
part of her had given a second thought to what she was about to do, but her
mind hadn’t changed. Not with what he’d done to her.
Zaiana stepped up to Maverick, near touching him though he stood a
foot taller. “This is the last time you undermine me,” she warned, letting as
much threat to his life as possible seep into her tone. 
His fingers grazed her waist, a distraction that caused them to detect the
energy too late.  Power blasted into them, sending them careening into the
wall. Maverick took most of the impact with the arm he hooked around her.
When they met the ground again, Zaiana was already up, charging her
lightning while Maverick took a moment to recover. 
What stood before them was neither fae nor human. A familiar face but
harnessed by something frightening that they had unleashed. 
Pure, undiluted energy radiated from Faythe, emitting a golden outward
aura. The tattoos in her palms and through the cuts of her leathers burned as
brightly as the suns glowing in her irises, barely broken by the defiance of
her pupils. 
Blue fire shot for her, yet with a mere raise of her hand, Faythe caught it
and added to it before sending the huge ball of flame barreling toward them.
Maverick stepped out to disperse his element, but not without challenge. 
The two of them erupted. 
 He darted away, calling Faythe on a chase. For the first time in her life,
Zaiana was completely baffled about what to do. Her shock paused any
immediate reaction as she watched the rage unleashing in Faythe’s attacks.
She was using a power she would suffer for later, but she didn’t seem to
care. 
Agalhor was dead. He had to be. It was the only reason Faythe would
care to come after them so vengefully. After Maverick at least, because it
was as if Zaiana didn’t exist in this battle despite being close to going
through with it herself. 
Watching them…she knew Maverick would lose. What the heir was in
that moment was an unparalleled force. A power Zaiana could only
compare to the ruin itself. She should let Faythe kill him—let her have that
revenge that would never know rest until it was done.
Yet something in her own selfish, foolish mind had already decided she
couldn’t stand by and watch.
Her lightning formed, but she waited, gathering, knowing it would take
no small attack to stop her. Maverick and Faythe darted around the open
space, blue flame shooting among golden bursts, an otherwise magnificent
spectacle. Maverick’s cry snapped the tether on Zaiana’s control as he was
brought to his knees, and it was all she could do to stop herself from
running toward them and sending her lightning straight for Faythe. 
She might have caught Zaiana’s intention before she even acted. Her
hand cast out, and though Zaiana winced for the impact…Faythe absorbed
the bolts, curling into herself while she watched the purple snap over her
hand, adjusting to its feel. 
“If you want to live, you damn bastard, go!” she barked at Maverick.
Maybe together they could take her down, but Zaiana had decided now
wasn’t the time to test it. Both of them unglamoured their wings, ready to
shoot skyward as their only means of escape. 
Yet just as Maverick splayed his wings, Faythe called out: “Callen!”
Her tone was as striking as the lightning she played with, but Faythe
had no concept of how to wield the ability Zaiana had foolishly unlocked
within her. It slowly winked out from her grasp. 
That single word—a name, she thought—was enough to halt Maverick
from his flight, and Zaiana could have killed him herself. 
“So you do remember,” Faythe said. 
 The rain pattered down enough to weigh down their clothes, but not
enough to diminish the fires around them that danced with anguish.
Maverick gave no response, but Zaiana studied the recognition that
tightened his face.  Now it was her turn to be stunned with a flicker of
familiarity…a missing piece that was right there but she couldn’t find its
place. 
“I hoped you wouldn’t,” Faythe went on. “At least then maybe I could
understand that fae died and a monster replaced him. That fae who had a
kingdom and a mate he loved.”
“Stop,” Maverick growled. “You don’t know a thing.”
Zaiana had never seen him so threatening and vulnerable. Two
contrasting feelings that whipped through her, and she didn’t know what to
make of the exchange. 
“Go. Now,” Zaiana ordered. Her wet skin crawled with the anticipation
that the two of them were seconds away from exploding again. 
Faythe’s head tipped back against the rain, her eyes slipping closed as
though she were…elsewhere. Meeting eyes with Maverick, Zaiana blazed
her order once again through that look alone.
He had a chance to flee, yet he was hesitating. 
What caught Zaiana’s attention almost made her stumble back. It did
cause her to move several steps away from Maverick.
Faythe was drawing fire. Not like Maverick’s—not the cobalt kind of
magick. This fire blazed a shimmering red, the sight calling out to a familiar
impossibility that lay just out of reach. Zaiana watched in astonishment as it
began in Faythe’s hands but didn’t grow there. It crawled like a smoky veil
up her arms, touching between her shoulder blades, where it began to
gather…and form. She couldn’t tear her eyes away though the urgency that
screamed at her to retreat because their one advantage was about to be
matched. 
Wings.
Zaiana couldn’t believe the wings of flame so blazing and bright that
began to expand from Faythe’s back. Fire of a kind she had only seen once
before. 
From the Phoenix. 
“Go!” Zaiana yelled, and Maverick didn’t falter this time. 
Neither did Faythe. 
 Shooting skyward, she lagged behind them only for a second to test
those ethereal wings, but then she crouched, and Zaiana mirrored her, and it
became a race to get to Maverick. 
It shouldn’t have been possible for Faythe to fly so well even with the
means to do so, yet Zaiana couldn’t rule out anything when it wasn’t just
her storming with vengeance through the skies. Now she was something
more. 
The rain hit harder, and as they were swallowed by angry clouds
visibility became a hurdle. Zaiana tracked Faythe by the brightness of her
wings and the tattoos that shone through their grim surroundings. She
caught flickers of pure black—Maverick attempting to lose her. Gold
charged in Faythe’s palms, and before she could send it hurtling for him,
Zaiana reacted on instinct, conjuring her lightning and striking it at Faythe. 
Just in time, Faythe twirled in the air, her gold blast meeting amethyst in
a beautiful but staggering explosion. They both let go at once, and Zaiana
faltered, falling a few feet before pulsing her wings to stay in the air. She
panted hard, quickly reorienting herself and recharging while she snapped
her gaze up. Faythe blazed eyes of no mercy at her. Zaiana’s chest faintly
wrenched to see it. How deeply Faythe had to be hurting to have come to
this… 
“This is what you wanted,” Faythe cried, the echo of her voice sounding
otherworldly. “To match battle in the skies. Well, here I am, Zaiana.”
Yet it wasn’t for Zaiana to choose when Faythe attacked again. Her
wings beat hard, and she strained her shoulder blades to narrowly miss the
gold flare. There was no pause for breath as she found herself outmatched.
Panic began to rise, but she honed every ounce of her battle focus to
survive. 
“This isn’t you,” Zaiana called out, twisting and darting when Faythe
didn’t relent. “You don’t want to kill me.”
Faythe chuckled—a dark, foreign sound from the fae she’d spent time
trying to figure out. She’d even somewhat admired what could lie under the
surface of her kind composure. But this…it was reckless power, heartache,
and rage, fueling actions that would not stitch the wound that would
continue to cleave her from within even when she achieved her task. Zaiana
knew this. 
“You would have killed him,” Faythe seethed through her teeth, rain
spraying from her mouth with harsh breaths. She couldn’t hold it much
longer—the wings, perhaps the power. Zaiana thought she would falter
soon. “You are no better than Maverick, and I know what you mean to him.
If you are foolish enough to offer yourself in his place, so be it.”
Faythe charged a frightening light. From her palms, which faced each
other, grew an orb of energy so dangerous it rippled through her even from
a distance. It charged the air to stand every hair despite the rain. Zaiana
wouldn’t survive the strike of it. Maybe neither of them would. Panic drew
her quick breaths as her mind grappled with survival. 
Zaiana winced, calling out in utter fear, “You were right!”
The blow never came, and she dared to meet the gaze of one so close to
erupting the force of the sun, uncaring if she went down in the blast. 
“I did care for him.”
Words, confessions, were all she had left now that Faythe’s power was
unmatched.
“You betrayed him,” Faythe said, her voice low, trembling with the orb
she held ready to destroy them at any second. 
The clouds began to disperse with the piercing light chasing them away.
Zaiana looked down to see the destruction the invasion had caused.
Buildings still caught fire, but the streets were empty and quiet, not like the
screaming and chaos she expected. It was as though the citizens knew how
to find shelter; knew how to surrender. 
“I didn’t want to,” Zaiana said, not caring anymore if Faythe could hear
her over the rain and magnetic hum of her magick. “He didn’t deserve it.”
The void in her expanded, flashing the image of Kyleer’s last look of horror
and heartbreak. 
“For a moment I thought there was a chance with you. I had a fleeting
vision of what could be if you chose our side. But I realize now,” Faythe
said, her final words indicating she’d made up her mind, just as Zaiana had
in the seconds she ignored Faythe’s plea, having every intention of taking
her father from her, “you have no allegiance. This…this is doing you a
favor. And by killing you, I’ll hurt Maverick far more than his own death
sentence ever could.”
Zaiana turned, spying the open courtyard of the castle and making out
the many bodies gathered there. She wondered if they were watching their
spectacle in the sky. Yet she had to blink the water from her eyes as she
recognized one in particular straining against the many fae who held him.
He might have been calling out for his mate, but Faythe gave no indication
she could hear him above all that consumed her. 
Time was measured in a countdown of breaths. Feeling Faythe’s charge
building, Zaiana reached to the very depths of her well for one last strike.
Maybe it would be fitting for them to go out together after all they’d been
through. 
As Faythe’s undiluted magick surged for her, Zaiana threw her all into
an attack in a clash of power. The moment gold met amethyst…. 
The world erupted. 
Energy surged through her in a burst of stars. Every nerve cell exploded.
Right down to her bones she absorbed a power like she’d never felt before.
Both her palms splayed and shook violently against their joined current, and
she pushed with everything she had, but it wouldn’t be enough. Faythe was
stronger. She was winning. 
If this was how she would go, Zaiana was surprised at the emotion that
rushed, flooded, drowned her. One word screamed on repeat. 
Sorry.
She was sorry for so much. For so many people. But most of all, she
was sorry to herself. For not becoming anything. For not finding her
freedom when she didn’t know what the word truly meant. What she
wanted and dreamed… Gods, she was sorry for not allowing herself to
dream more. 
Only when time raced to a final beat did she realize she didn’t want to
die. Not when she hadn’t lived. Only when she thought of what could have
been did she regret not trying harder.
Over three hundred years and she could count with one hand how many
days held a memory worth remembering. 
Zaiana wanted to feel. She wanted to love—something foolish she had
been denied for so long, yet she knew its touch of blurred madness and
euphoria. It was a drug she had craved since she got her first taste, but she’d
worn shackles that had bound her from reaching for it again. 
Now…it was all too late to know what would happen if she dared to
break free.
A flicker of blue caught in her vision before the fragments of her reality
obliterated. That blinding, reckoning current that connected them surged
skyward, severing as if she’d been cleaved in two. Then she was falling, the
fire within still devouring her despite gravity and time and element. 
 Zaiana cut through the sky like a sharpened blade, deserving to have her
bones shatter on the ground. She couldn’t feel her wings or her limbs. Her
misery numbed her to feel nothing but the air that wrapped around her. 
The darkness called, and she didn’t fight it, taking its hand as she fell to
a still, depthless oblivion.
 CHAPTER 92

Reylan

R small battle. While

eylan kept hisorders calm though he knew what they faced was no
directing soldiers and making sure they stuck to
protocol no matter how many stages had to be skipped, he was internally
calculating how they could have gotten so far so fast. 
The conclusion was blaring, so his next merciless thought was who.
The city of Ellium was strategically built. A long wall ran along the
perimeter as the inner and outer city defense, and Reylan had gone to the
half that hadn’t been infiltrated from the main city gate. They ushered as
many citizens as they could through the middle city gates before they were
sealed and soldiers set out to fight there. Meanwhile, Reylan was seeing to
it that the evacuation took place. 
This half of the city was silent, all fires snuffed out while the back city
gates opened and the citizens began to leave, heading for the outskirt towns.
Reylan couldn’t let go of the itch to be on the other side fighting with his
warriors against the enemy that rained terror on his kingdom. 
“General, the city is almost clear,” a lead commander informed him. 
That lifted his shoulders with relief. “Send a legion to join them.
Everyone finds shelter and safety. And if the city is taken, they surrender.”
The commander nodded, and Reylan was unable to stand the desolate
look that cracked his firm composure. He felt it too. No one had ever made
it this far for the protocol to be enforced. Surrender and disband…
No, they still had a chance to fight. 
 He didn’t waste a second now he could head to the other side. Reylan
marched along the silent wall, reaching another commander. 
“Once the last of the citizens are out, lock the gates. The rest of the
soldiers, send them across the wall immediately.”
“Have we lost, General?”
“Never,” Reylan said firmly. “Even if the city falls, it will not be for
long. Even if they triumph this night, Rhyenelle will never last in malicious
hands.”
He was sure of that. No matter what happened, they would always have
the means to take the city back, and he would delight in the opportunity to
tear the unlawful suitor limb from limb. 
Reylan was moving again, leaving the commanders in charge on this
side of the wall while he raced to lead the true battle. His skin crawled as he
thought of Faythe. When he had retrieved his sword, he would check on
her. 
A rumble halted him. It started as a low vibration, but then it stole the
night with ear-splitting thunder. He knew exactly what it was when he felt it
beneath his feet and saw the wall coming down. 
“Get everyone off the wall!” he barked. 
Warriors began scrambling for a way down, some leaping, others taking
the painstakingly long flight of stairs, and he cursed, unable to move until
he was sure everyone had made it off. He extended his magick, feeling and
hoping to the Gods that luck was in his favor. 
Pain shot through him, so powerful and consuming he had to brace a
hand on the rumbling stone just to draw steady breath. Faythe. It had to be
her. He cast his gaze up to find a faint dusting of gold in the distance and
knew immediately what she was doing. Buying them time. Gods, she was
brilliant.
Reylan forced himself to straighten with clenched teeth, but his balance
didn’t last for long when the wall began to come down around his fumbling
steps. He reached out one last desperate time, and just as he was falling, he
found it. 
Reylan pulled the Shapeshifting ability from the direction he found it,
not knowing who it came from, but that it was enough for him to shift into
an eagle. He tried desperately to fly out of the path of the debris. 
A rock clipped his wing, and then Reylan was falling, tumbling and
barely able to find flight again with the agony that tore through him. He
kept trying, beating his wings against the desire to falter. He flew over the
dividing wall toward the castle, and that was as far as he made it before he
had to let go. 
Reylan shifted on the courtyard, clutching his arm when it twisted to an
awkward angle. Falling to his knees, he removed his jacket just as a soldier
came rushing over. 
“General, you should get inside. Shall I fetch a healer?”
He shook his head, sweat coating his body. There was no time for that.
He had to get to Faythe. “I need to you fix it back into place.”
At the fae’s silence, Reylan met his blanched look with firm command,
and the fae shifted around to Reylan’s side. He bit down hard, gave one
short nod, and braced. 
The sound was worse than the pain, but it was also a relief since his arm
no longer felt disconnected. Reylan didn’t hesitate to rise, trying to flex his
arm and willing his healing to work faster. 
An echo came to him. Her voice. Yet it was not elation he felt when he
couldn’t make out words, only feelings. Love. Apology. Both doused him
with utter dread at whatever Faythe was planning. 
Just as he was about to take off, a fiery figure obscured his path.
Reylan straightened with the blaring acknowledgement of who was
advancing for him. Alone, her red hair complimented the amber that
torched the night sky. Her ruby gown made a mockery of Rhyenelle wears,
her legs exposed in combat leathers, which only told him she didn’t plan to
stand idle. She had come prepared to participate.
“Reylan Arrowood.” She drawled his name, and something about the
way she spoke tugged with a familiarity he couldn’t place. “Look how you
thrived without her. In status, in name. Pitiful how you couldn’t stay away.”
“Marvellas,” he said, only to be sure he could speak, and when the
name spilled from him, he had to fight against his confusion at having been
here before.
Her slow, elegant walk halted a few paces away. The Spirit’s head
inclined curiously as she studied him, and her assessment curled her red-
painted lips. “I wondered for some time if you would recognize me when
we came face-to-face.”
Reylan shook his head to clear the nagging confusion. He did recognize
her, only with a blaze of desire to kill her for the harm she’d inflicted on
Faythe.
 Marvellas went on. “Though it seems she is far stronger in her gift than
I originally thought all that time ago. You should have resisted, General.
You should have seen this coming.”
“I saw you coming,” he growled. Reylan extended his senses. “And I’m
glad you sought me out first.”
Her chuckle vibrated over him with a haunting caress. “Some things
never change, and you will never learn. If I can’t have her, Reylan
Arrowood, neither can you.”
“General, I can’t—”
Reylan heard the panic of the guard who’d helped him just in time to
step out of the path of his blade. Muttering a quick apology, Reylan twisted
around him, landing his elbow to the guard’s head as the quickest means of
sending him to unconsciousness.
He didn’t get a second to think beyond survival when he knew what
Marvellas was capable of. The pull of strings had him snatching up the
guard’s fallen blade. Tuning in to the arrow’s flight path, he pivoted on his
heel, swiping his sword in the nick of time to slice through the arrow
midair.
“Impressive, but we’re just getting started,” Marvellas called out.
Nearly a dozen guards ran toward him with horror-struck looks at their
ally target, but their movements were not their own; Marvellas stood with
cruel amusement, driving the attack in their minds. He gritted his teeth,
overcome with rage and a will to charge for her, but he wouldn’t make it to
her first. Reylan felt over the courtyard and seized the rippling essence of
Firewielding.
Instinct took over, but it required far more focus because he couldn’t kill
his own warriors. Faces he’d trained with; males who trusted him. No
matter they’d been manipulated to kill him—he couldn’t target the same
back.
Blue flame licked along the blade he clashed with, and the guard cried
out at the heat scorching his palms. Reylan winced with guilt at every blow
he had to deal to get them to stop. His movements became impulse, his
surroundings a blur. One by one he fell them, catching arrows that soared
for him, and no matter what, he did not falter.
Faythe was out there, and he would do anything to get to her. Or at least
to make sure Marvellas couldn’t get there first.
 On his next spin, Reylan didn’t anticipate he’d be staring into blazing
amber eyes. For the first time he stalled, only a second before his mind
realized they weren’t Faythe’s. But something else caught him off-guard.
The hatred emanating between them felt…rekindled.
The distraction was enough that he didn’t detect the next arrow until
pain ripped up his side. Marvellas pushed off his blade, striking from his
shoulder to his abdomen. The pain fell him to one knee. She could have run
him through, but she didn’t. Reylan clutched the arrow protruding out of
him, gathering a few deep breaths of preparation before he tore it free. His
vision swayed with the agony, but he cast his gaze up to find what had
made her hesitate.
The loathing eased from her face as she tossed the blade aside. “If I kill
you, she will never come with me. She will never stop fighting.” Marvellas
seemed to be thinking out loud. She crouched slowly. “Instead, I will use
her own cunning to get her to remember what we had before you ruined it
all. You—” Her hand lashed out to his jaw with a surprising grip. Reylan
jerked out of it, but he was weak to defend himself when his wounds bled
freely, and his energy was dwindling. “This is all your fault. She didn’t need
your poisonous influence when she was safe with me.”
Reylan couldn’t make full sense of her words, but one thing was certain.
She was speaking of Faythe.
His Faythe.
And that was enough to cancel out his pain with sheer adrenaline and
determination. He lunged for her. Marvellas choked when his bloodied
hands wrapped around her throat. He squeezed, the urge to kill her coming
seconds from shattering her windpipe when a shadow cast a veil across the
courtyard.
“You cannot kill a true immortal being,” a dark feminine voice called
over them. “But the same cannot be said for this one.”
Reylan looked up to find an impossible number of bodies had
Shadowported here. There could only be one with the strength to transport
several dozen fae. The daunting conclusion dawned upon him. 
The original wielder. 
Reylan’s hands slackened on Marvellas as Dakodas emerged from the
center of her shadows. Slowly, they began to ease back to her as if she
absorbed the darkness. As if she were made of it. 
 Marvellas stood livid with fury, touching her neck but in need of no
recovery from his attack. Reylan fixed his stare on the snakelike elegance of
the one whom the Dark Spirit walked with. All she brought forth in him
was an all-consuming rage…a patchy memory of the temple. He’d wanted
to kill her then, and as the reminder of how Faythe’s life had been sacrificed
for her to walk these steps toward him, his wrath and vengeance returned to
him so violently he trembled where he stood. 
“Reylan Arrowood,” she drawled across the space. Her black-painted
lips curled cruelly. “I’ve been looking for you.”
It wasn’t her voice but the soft cries that followed it that torched his
blood. The cruel hand gripping Livia’s arm pulled her along, and Reylan
could only picture ripping apart the one who held her limb from limb. He
wore a full-black mask, but Reylan would never forget a thing about him.
His insufferable swagger, his sickening scent. Reylan’s fists already
trembled, refraining from a reckless explosion. 
His uncle had surrounded himself with dark fae and raiders. It had
always been him. Reylan could never forgive himself for foolishly
overlooking the greater mastermind who’d been tracking them for so long.
What Livia and Faythe and all of them would pay the price for.
Coming to a halt a few paces away, the air between them grew so thick
he could hardly stand to inhale. “Evander,” Reylan bit out through gritted
teeth, not leaving him the chance to dance around his denial.
“I’ve waited a long time for this.” His uncle spoke, each word like a
razor over his skin. A voice of pure loathing he thought he’d never hear
again. “After all I made of you, what a pitiful thing you have become. Even
when given a second chance you allowed her to weaken you entirely.”
Flashes of the night he’d last seen him filtered through Reylan’s mind.
Threatened his composure. Only fragments. He couldn’t recall every hit and
break and slice he’d made in the rage that had snapped him.
“Let her go.” Reylan tilted his chin to Livia, not breaking their intense
stare. “Your fight is with me.”
Evander’s vile hand stroked her hair, and Reylan flinched with a snarl. 
“I’m going to enjoy killing you again,” he growled. 
“You have made quite the name for yourself, I must say. General Reylan
Arrowood, famous white lion of the south,” he drawled in sheer mockery. 
“Why do you hide?” Reylan taunted. “Are you afraid to show them
what is left of you by my hand?”
 A sudden tug within him drew out the most damning rage. Never before
had he been faced with two dire urgencies. His will to go to Faythe tore at
something that shook his confidence in the confrontation he faced now.
Reylan could evade them. Outrun them. Kill them. Do whatever it took to
get to his mate. 
But he couldn’t leave Livia with the monster of their past. 
Hold on, please, he begged into a vast void that felt too distant from her,
but he didn’t stop chanting all he could in the hope she would hear him and
not be alone. 
“You want to see what you did to me?” His uncle’s dark tone rippled the
air as he reached for the back of his mask. As he peeled it away, even
Reylan was struck by the horror of the sight. 
The missing flesh of his lip permanently exposed a few bottom teeth.
He kept both eyes, but one lid could barely blink closed. His skin was a
lattice of raised scars, not an inch untouched. A part of Reylan turned in
revulsion to know he was the hand that had inflicted such lifelong injuries
on a fae—but the far more dominant part of him sought satisfaction in the
fact, knowing everything worse his uncle had done to others. Including him
and Livia. 
“If I were you, I would have stayed dead.”
“You didn’t kill me,” Evander spat.
“Did you come here for your revenge—is that it? After all this time, you
still think of me.”
“Yes. What kept me going was picturing the day I’d get to face you and
inflict it all back upon you, so I can leave you to heal and do it all again and
again. I’ve had a long time—who knows when I will be satisfied? Or…”
Once again, Reylan had to fight against a violence so consuming when
Evander took Livia’s chin, her eyes widening with a fear he’d so rarely seen
since she took her life back with vengeance. 
“You can have me,” Reylan barked. “Trade my place with hers.”
That earned him a sinister smile. “I don’t know, nephew. I see how
much she means to you. I am well aware of your impressive physical
endurance, though there remains something to be broken in you. But
perhaps the way to do it…is through her.” 
“Evander!” Reylan growled.
Reylan was so close to snapping that it was all he could do to halt
Evander’s wicked assessment of Livia. It was as if he were eyeing the
weakest spots to know how to make the biggest impact with the least hits.
Reylan could disarm one of them—that was all it would take, and then he
would cut through them all one by one if he had to. He didn’t calculate
numbers, only movements. 
“Make the trade.”
 The cold voice eased out from behind him. Reylan’s shadowy gaze slid
to Malin Ashfyre with nothing short of fury. He should have known. On
some level he always suspected the bastard would turn on them all if the
prize was right. And that had to be Faythe’s crown at the end of this. 
“You traitorous bastard.” Reylan took one step toward him but halted as
if he’d connected with stone.  The prod in his mind felt oddly, damningly
familiar… “You stole what was left of the feather,” he concluded. It was the
only explanation for the ability akin to Faythe’s he now harbored. Who he’d
found to make and activate the Phoenix Blood potions seemed insignificant,
yet that question too was answered when a blonde head stepped out,
lingering by the castle doors, as always accompanied by… 
Reylan shook his head in disbelief, unable to comprehend what Faythe
could have done in their eyes to be deserving of such betrayal. Marlowe
tried to appear confident; it was only in Jakon’s eyes he might have seen an
apology, but Reylan couldn’t accept a single note of it. 
Marlowe had created the potions. 
A deadly weapon now wielded by the greatest foe.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long,” Malin decided to share. Dipping
into his pocket, he pulled out a vial of glittering crimson. “Fortunately,
however, we have a lot of them.”
“You can’t expect a kingdom to bow before a betrayer.”
“A savior,” Malin corrected. “They will not know of this, only that I
was the one to put an end to the terror before the city could fall completely.
What the lords will see is that they were wrong to believe in Faythe when
she is the betrayer.”
Reylan resisted the urge to claw the triumphant chuckle from the
prince’s throat.
“She thinks she won them with her poetic tale of the Firebird and her
fitness to rule, but she has given me exactly what I need. A culprit. How
shameful they will feel for believing her word for a second when she stole
the Phoenix feather, brought our kingdom to the brink of ruin, and killed
her own father, their beloved king. This entire kingdom will despise the day
she ever set foot on Rhyenelle land.”
Reylan recoiled, the darkest trepidation of his existence coiling in his
spine. Tightening at the sinister gleam in Malin’s smile as he relished in
how everything had been turned in his favor.
“You did not know? Agalhor went to aid his foolish daughter when
word got out that she’d wandered to a place too out of her depth of
experience.”
She went to find Reuben. Reylan drew the conclusion quickly, having
known the human was out there when he passed through the city on his
return earlier that night. Of course she went for him. He cursed himself for
not remembering sooner. It was a fatal error he was all too familiar with,
and the haunting grip of his past threatened to undo him helplessly. 
He couldn’t lose her again. Fail her again.
“The girl is a walking, bleeding heart. And now the death of her father
is blood on her hands.”
“That’s not true,” Reylan snapped. There would be no bringing her back
if Agalhor died and she believed herself to be at fault. 
A loud blast sounded distantly, and everyone became alert. A gold light
laced with amethyst flared skyward and sent the earth trembling before
breaking into rainfall. Faythe’s power was unmistakable, and the other… 
The odds stacked slowly, tipping the world, and Reylan struggled to
grasp the tethers of his composure wondering how the dark fae got out—but
more so, what she could have done to Kyleer. He was not where Reylan had
expected him to be in their protocol. 
So many lives, everyone he held dear, and he had nothing. Nothing but
himself to offer up to whatever Gods held a shred of mercy to take him. 
“The trade.” Reylan drew their attention back. “You get me, you let her
go.” He turned to Malin with such hatred every muscle strained against the
urge to kill him. “You end this terror, but you let Faythe leave with Livia.
You will have the throne.”
“It’s good to know you can calculate with an ounce of brains instead of
brute force,” Malin drawled, sparing a quick look at Evander with the last
words. “You heard him.”
His uncle’s jaw worked with reluctance, as though he’d hoped to gain
both of them. It was unusual to watch him submit to authority. Why he
cared to answer the pathetic fae under a false crown Reylan couldn’t quite
figure out.
“Come here then, nephew,” Evander growled. 
“Release her first.” 
He looked to Malin in protest, but the prince gave a nod. “I have missed
you, daughter,” Evander said to her cruelly. “I hope this is not goodbye.”
Reluctantly, he released her. Livia didn’t move for a few long seconds,
and everything in Reylan tensed with anticipation that wouldn’t know relief
until she was in his arms, however fleeting the embrace. 
“I have never been your daughter,” she said coldly. Reylan admired the
courage she dragged forth, now standing face-to-face with him as the worst
of her living nightmares. “You look every part the monster you are within,
and I am glad to have had the chance to see you in your true form. I don’t
fear you, Evander; I pity you.”
She walked away from him, steps hurried until she fell into Reylan’s
arms, and the relief it offered meant one less burden. 
“Take a new route out through the castle. I’m hoping Izaiah or Kyleer
will have found Faythe and will take her out of the city.” He leaned in close
to whisper the specific instructions to the posted commanders. “You’ll find
each other, I know you will. Tell Faythe I’m sorry and that it’s not her fault
—none of it. Tell her—” 
Gods, agony wasn’t enough to describe what tore through him at the
thought of being taken from her. 
“I can’t leave you with him,” Livia choked. 
“You have to. You know you have to.” Her arms tightened, but he
pulled her back. “Go now. They’re not patient, and I can’t risk him going
back on his word.”
Livia was one of the bravest, most resilient people he knew. She had
risen from the depths of a desolate upbringing and made herself into one of
Rhyenelle’s most esteemed commanders. She knew when it was right to
surrender and not feel guilty for a retreat that could save many people. Yet
beneath it all she was still just a fae. With a loving heart behind the steel. 
“Go,” Reylan encouraged her once more. 
Livia nodded slowly, swiping away a tear. “We’re coming back for
you,” she promised. 
Reylan had no room to argue as she slipped away. Knowing she would
be safe, he turned to his uncle with new defiance. Stepping out into the rain
stung his skin, and every movement tore. He walked steadily toward his
uncle, not giving him a shred of satisfaction with any emotion. 
Faythe would be safe. Livia would be safe. Kyleer and Izaiah would be
safe. 
That was all that mattered. If this was what it took to buy them time,
Reylan would gladly face it. 
Standing right before Evander, he tensed for the impact of his fist,
which he saw twitching seconds before it connected with his face. Reylan
spat the blood pooling in his mouth, letting out a breathy chuckle. 
“I see you’ve gotten better at your punches now you don’t have a
personal hit man to throw them for you,” he taunted. 
A second punch came to his face, then another to his gut. 
Reylan’s voice strained as he tensed his muscles against the impact.
“Still weak as a faeling, however.”
A fourth to his jaw, a fifth to his cheek, and he surrendered to the impact
that fell him to one knee. Reylan braced for the next when a smooth
feminine voice called out from behind them all.  He panted through the
throbbing of his face.
“Enough.”
Marvellas eased out from the crowd of parting dark fae, a creature of
blazing red flame against the night. She moved as if the rain couldn’t touch
her, the red cloak and gown she wore still dry and her fiery hair perfectly
intact. His bloody handprints still marked her neck to his satisfaction.
“I didn’t say you could harm him yet.”
Her hand rose and Evander started clawing at his throat. Not from any
physical touch, but the manipulation she worked in his mind to make him
believe her real hand were squeezing at his airway. Seconds ticked by, and
Reylan believed she might kill him. Then, just before he could fall into
unconsciousness, she let him go and he fell to his knees, reaching for his
mask as if it could hide the fear he felt.
Marvellas approached, tilting Reylan’s chin and searching his face with
wonder. “I should have killed you a long time ago,” she said, more to
herself as though thinking out loud. Perhaps she was reassessing her plans,
and no matter what it would mean for him, it became a relief. That
whatever she wanted he would do it, even if it took every drop of power to
achieve. As long as she no longer needed Faythe. 
 Thunder cracked overhead too loud, and sudden alarm gripped him
entirely. His and everyone else’s heads angled to the sky.
What Reylan saw stole gravity. 
Faythe. 
Unmistakably, unbelievably…
His Phoenix was flying. 
Were it not for the dark fae hovering parallel from her in a deadly
standoff in the sky, he would have basked in a moment of pride. Wings of
fierce red fire kept her there, but even from this distance he saw the brilliant
gold flare expanding from her palms. Reylan tried to rise, but four fae
gripped his arms. He fought them without taking his eyes from Faythe,
overcome with something unexplainable that canceled out all else but the
raging urge to go to her however he could. She needed help. 
His breath caught in his throat as he watched her send that brilliant flare
then saw the full charge of purple lightning that answered it.
When their powers met… 
A current blasted with the force of a hurricane, shooting down to
tremble the earth, rumbling with an ear-splitting boom that knocked
everyone back. Reylan braced just in time as the power sent the fae holding
him sprawling. It continued to pulse in waves of energy that made him
squint, arms raising. Marvellas stood as if she couldn’t feel it at all, her chin
tilted with incredulity and awe as she watched the battle erupt in the sky. 
Reylan thought to take her distraction to his advantage, but with his next
glance at Faythe, what gripped him in that second was a helpless sense of
failure. He could do nothing but watch in terror and agony as new wings
shot for Faythe. 
Maverick was fast, shooting one dart of blue flame that struck Faythe
unawares. The gold-and-purple flare shot skyward, and then they were both
falling from that severed connection. Maverick flew impossibly fast toward
Zaiana, but he didn’t care. Reylan moved as if he could run to her, as if he
could somehow catch her, though the impossibly of that outcome tore a
scream from him. Fae tried to grab him, but he fought, unable to accept the
plummet that would seal Faythe’s fate. He watched the red flaming wings
die out and his Phoenix falling and falling.
And there was nothing he could do. 
A shrill cry pierced the sky. 
 While the fae loosened their hold on him, Reylan only straightened,
praying to the damn Gods what he heard was not a desperate conjuring of
his own mind. 
It was hope. 
Hope that came to fiery, blazing clarity as it burst through the clouds in
an explosion of embers. Reylan fell to his knees, begging it would take her
far from here. 
He didn’t struggle against the fae who took his arms; didn’t care for
whatever they were about to do as they restrained him. Reylan watched his
Phoenix soar and prayed to every forsaken God that Faythe lived.
 CHAPTER 93

Faythe

F when she neededwarmth

aythe felt the of Phoenixfyre like a slow awakening. Right
it most, the power came to her, and she reached back.
She knew it was Atherius, had listened to a familiar bond tugging within,
but she couldn’t figure out how it was possible to feel her but not see her. 
Until now. 
After her collision of power with Zaiana was severed, exhaustion made
it futile to try to recover the impossible wings she’d conjured from the
Phoenixfyre. They dissipated as glittering embers around her while she cut
through the air, beauty in bleak misery.
Something screamed at her from within, trying to reach out.
Reylan—his name burst through the dream state she’d tunneled into. All
she could do was chant her apology. Meeting her end wrapped in the soul-
destroying force of his terror became the most punishing reality. Only her
desperation to spare him had her directing the last of her strength to close
off that distant tie.
Faythe focused everything now on summoning another bond as her last
hope. 
Last chance.
Last salvation.
She begged for it to save her, if only so she could return to him. 
The air whooshed from her upon impact, but the landing wasn’t as
unforgiving as she’d braced for. It dipped to her descent, and she sank into
surprising softness.
 Faythe forced her body to turn, her arms to tighten, and her hands to
clutch the silken feathers tightly. 
Atherius had caught her. 
While she drifted in and out of consciousness, Faythe couldn’t give in.
The Firebird soared away from the city, and Faythe wasn’t sure where she
thought to go. 
“Take me back,” Faythe said aloud, her voice barely audible, but it
wasn’t the common tongue she communicated with anyway. She adjusted
her position to sit, taking a second to breathe in complete awe at the sights,
the air whipping through her as she clung to Atherius’s red feathers and
watched embers travel around her from the long wisps of the bird’s crown.
Breathtaking. Exhilarating. For a second, the inferno within her
extinguished. The poison dulled, and Faythe echoed her gratitude to
Atherius for the temporary reprieve.
Her grip tightened along with the clamp of her legs when Atherius
dipped before turning slowly in an elegant glide.
The destroyed half of the outer city expanded below her, and Faythe’s
reality came tumbling back around. Atherius swooped down to exactly
where Faythe needed to be, for she had one last ask of the Firebird before
she left. 
Atherius tipped her head back, and Faythe winced as the firebird’s cry
trembled the ground. Her eyes pricked, doused in mutual grief and waves of
piercing sorrow. Faythe couldn’t turn around to the body of her father.
Instead, she sobbed at the pain shooting through every inch of her body,
inside and out, as she reached down to retrieve the Ember Sword. 
“Take him,” Faythe whispered. “Take him somewhere peaceful. Where
the Firebirds found peace, so he can fly with them.”
Powerful gusts blew past her, scattering flames across the blood-stained
ground. She tuned in to the loud beat of wings, trusting Atherius would
know exactly where to take Agalhor’s body, and that she would grieve, just
as Faythe did, for the loss of one of the most powerful, fair, and kind rulers
of the Ashfyre name. 
Faythe stood unmoving until the wind calmed and the rain fell straight.
Fatigue began to creep over her, but she wasn’t finished.  Reylan. She
needed him. It was all that drove her to take heavy steps against the threat
of crumbling into nothing more than the debris of homes, stalls,
playgrounds…safe places. 
 A depthless gravity beckoned her—one that could make her forget the
shreds of her heart. One that could cool the inferno raging within as the
Magestone slowly coursed through her blood, infused with tiny needles.
She tried so hard to keep going, but her knees wobbled and gave out,
cracking off the stone, though she barely felt it. Her vision came and went,
only seeing blurry embers that rained like stars among the wreckage.
She had to get to the castle. Had to find Reylan and tell him… 
Gods, how would she tell him of Agalhor’s death? Some part of her was
numb to the truth. She recited the words in her mind, but her throat
tightened against the lie. 
He’s dead. 
The one who was in some ways more of father to Reylan by bond, not
blood. 
With a cry, Faythe forced herself back to her feet. She had to keep
going. She kept an iron grip around the golden hilt of the Ember Sword,
barely able to lift its mighty weight. All she could do was drag it. Metal
scraped the stone as she began to walk again, giving her something to focus
on so she’d stay conscious and keep moving. 
Agalhor Ashfyre is dead. 
She kept trying to believe it, accept it.
The King of Rhyenelle is dead. 
Amid all that had been invaded and defiled, this was the final collapse.
Their savior, their leader, their hope…it was all gone. 
Step. Scrape. Step. 
I wonder who you will choose. 
A spark of incredulity hit her. 
Scrape. Step. Scrape.
Pause.
Or perhaps you will be too late to save either. 
The Dresair’s words.
Faythe had been a fool. Such a damned fool not to have seen the trick.
In giving the device over to the mirror she’d received what she said she did
not want. Wrapped in a twisted taunt, the knowledge was right there. 
This night. Her choice.
And she had chosen wrongly and now risked losing both.
Faythe was close to falling again when something large came pounding
toward her. The black panther felt somewhat familiar, and with a quick
rattle around her mind, she almost cried with relief. 
Izaiah didn’t shift back; his large head caught her stumble forward, and
she needed no other coaxing before he lowered enough for her to grip what
she could of his sleek coat and clumsily climb onto his back. Her face
buried into him, clutching tightly as he took off running. Faythe began to
cry all over again, not knowing how to tell anyone what had happened. Still
branded with the image of her father lying so still she ached with the
impossibility of reversing time. 
She just had to make it to Reylan. 
“I hope you can hear me, Faythe.”
Her consciousness fogged. She wasn’t sure the echo of Izaiah’s voice
was real. 
“Gods, I hope so. I need you to know I’m sorry, that this is the only way,
and I’ve known it for a while.”
Nothing made sense, but some part of her knew these words were
important. 
“Tell Kyleer, for once in our lives, I was one step ahead.”
Kyleer. Faythe broke down all over again. How could she tell Izaiah
that he was right…that his brother had fallen victim to the beauty that lured
him right in as bait? Her head pounded with so much grief and agony she
wanted to give in to the sweeps of darkness and never awaken. All that kept
her from it was a flicker of silver and sapphire.
When the jostling stopped, her alarm returned. Faythe tumbled off
Izaiah, and he shifted just in time to catch her head before it could meet
stone. Her face crumpled at meeting familiar green eyes. Her mouth parted,
but she couldn’t say it. Any of it. She clung to it all as an unforgiving,
unfathomable nightmare she could still awaken from. 
“You’re going to be okay,” Izaiah said softly, helping her to stand. 
She trembled against him when his arms wrapped around her. 
Then Izaiah’s whole body tensed. 
“You don’t want to turn around. Please tell me you won’t,” Izaiah said. 
Faythe tried to pull back, but his arms tightened. 
The groan of pain from behind her tightened in her gut, raising the hairs
on her nape. Within torched a raging urgency, and despite his strength,
Faythe pushed away from Izaiah. But what she saw made her mouth part on
a silent scream. She watched the rise of two fists that would fall on Reylan
again—Reylan who had surrendered on his knees, bloodied and beaten,
while two fae held his arms outstretched. 
Faythe did scream then—something between a cry for them to stop and
a roar of wrath. At another blow, she lurched, but Izaiah caught her. Faythe
fought him, searching deep for any flicker of magick, but only dark laughter
echoed back. Her skin was so hot, her mind exhausted, and the Magestone
finally nullified the last of what she could feel. She knew her magick was
there but was unable to drag it forth. A small kindling was all she needed,
and some desperate part of her believed it kept taunting her, rising and
burning out just before she could reach for it. 
She whimpered, going limp in Izaiah’s arms.
A male in a black mask caught in her vision, and Faythe swayed at the
sight, having seen it before. She’d questioned who it was that had tracked
them, wondered if he were real, yet now it was so clear, so obvious, that
Faythe felt like a failure for not figuring it out before now.
It was Evander, Reylan’s uncle. Their encounter in the town…
Flashes of memory boiled her blood, and it all made sense now.
A white rage flashed across her vision, and she was about to reach for
her sword to end him despite every physical barrier that stunted her. 
Until a voice stopped her fight.
“Faythe Ashfyre.” 
The silken delivery of her name tore her eyes from Reylan, who didn’t
look up.  When Faythe found the source, it was like an answer she’d
searched an eternity for blazed like a beacon before her. One that torched
anything of mercy and reached some impenetrable darkness within her.
“Marvellas,” she breathed, more to herself just to know she could
speak. 
To know this was real. 
“Or should I tell them all who you really are since in your cowardice
you cannot?”
Faythe nearly doubled over as the sickness rolled through her gut.
“Please.”
“I taught you better, Aesira.”
That name became a key Faythe didn’t know she’d been searching for.
Hearing it spoken aloud placed her in a hallway with so many doors she
didn’t know where to begin. Each one led to a life she didn’t know she
wanted to have back.
 Aesira knew Marvellas. What flashed to her, but which she immediately
wanted to expel…was that once, that fae might have harbored a twisted
love for her. But in this life, Faythe had long hoped Marvellas was nothing
more than a fable, a ghost.
Not the returning nightmare from her past.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Marvellas’s tone became so warm,
unexpectedly soft, as she took slow steps forward as though she were
wondering the same thing:  if Faythe were real. “Then there you were in
High Farrow. How craftily your mother hid you, but you revealed yourself
to me because destiny cannot be fought. I mourned your sacrifice no matter
how long I had to prepare for it. No matter that I despised you for your
betrayal long ago. Then my sister brought you back, so unexpected and
powerful, and I thank her for that gift. You and I, along with Dakodas…you
would be fooling yourself not to see the alignment of a great fate.”
Faythe couldn’t breathe.
“You brought her to me.” Marvellas flicked her golden gaze to Izaiah. 
No. Izaiah hadn’t known who they were to face. He wouldn’t—
“Only for her to see what’s at stake if she plans to fight.”
A ringing filled her ears—an attempt to block out the words, change
them, fix them. They were wrong. So wrong, and Faythe was falling into a
depthless pit of despair. She couldn’t get a grip to keep herself from
plummeting. 
Izaiah released her, and without any support Faythe fell to her knees. All
she could do was look to Reylan across the stone courtyard, wondering how
they’d gotten here when they’d come so close to having everything.
“I’m so sorry,” she sent to his mind in her utter heartache. Everything
was because of her. So much of what he’d suffered was by her cause, and
she should have set him free, yet instead, she’d anchored him to her once
again.
Izaiah walked right up to Marvellas, dipping his head. “I hope you will
accept me on your side.”
Disbelief wasn’t enough for what carved out her chest. 
“Very well.” A triumphant smile sounded in her voice. 
Faythe didn’t look up; didn’t look away from the hard glare of rage
laced with pain on Reylan’s face. She tracked every mark on him: the cut
along his jaw, the bleeding of his lip, the bruise forming on his temple.
Faythe committed it all to memory for the vengeance she would unleash. 
 He was still alive. She was still alive. It was not the end.
Izaiah went to stand by Malin on the portico. Her cousin was near
grinning at her hopeless state.  She felt nothing. Her gaze immediately
caught on Jakon and Marlowe.
It was over. Faythe had nothing left. No one left.
“Tell me it’s not them,” she said in denial.
The Spirit chuckled with soft amusement. “Believe it or not, I have no
influence in any of their minds. How does it feel that while you remain in
your defiance, those you care for have chosen to believe in my vision for
this better world?”
“Reuben?” she dared to ask. “All this time?”
“Yes, Faythe. He has told me everything. And you were the one to send
him straight to me—do you remember?”
Lakelaria.
Faythe wished to wake up in the high peak of Rhyenelle’s castle, having
fallen asleep in utter bliss in Reylan’s arms, both of them lying there on that
patch of obscurely placed grass that seemed as if it had been planted
especially so they could have that night watching the stars, witnessing their
first comet of many. As rulers, together. The prospect of that future crashed
down around her now like the broken fragments of all that could have
been. 
“I heard you out there, you know,” Marvellas said, her voice low and
personal, speaking…as if she cared. “You said he was all you have left. But
that’s not true. You have me.”
The wave of grief at having her last plea thrown back at her made
Faythe bow her head. Marvellas needed no steel, no weapon, to know how
to strike deepest. 
Marvellas took to her mind again to say, “You will always have me,
Aesira. I created you.”
With the anger that seeped from her, she found her voice enough to hiss
back, “That is not my name. And the only thing you created is your own
downfall.”
Softness turned to darkness so fast it was frightening. Marvellas only
looked back, giving one small nod that had a dark fae positioning to strike
Reylan again. 
“Stop! Please, please stop!” 
 Marvellas raised a hand. Faythe splayed her palms on the ground,
trembling violently, her mind racing, dizzy with thoughts of how she could
get them both out of this alive. It was easy to believe while wrapped in the
bliss of each other that what they had was unbreakable. Untouchable. That
what had forged between them could defy anything.  But it was all an
illusion from the high of being drunk on him. His scent, his taste, his power,
which always hummed and entwined with hers when he was near, as though
ready to take on the world. 
Yet they had been blindsided, ambushed by the forces that surrounded
them, and their bond was not enough. 
All that mattered was protecting it. 
Faythe was glad then. Glad their incomplete mating bond remained
protected so the Spirit of Souls could not reach out to snap it. It was now a
promise she clung to with new reverence; a fierce will and determination to
end the war no matter what she had to do, if only so they could have what
had been stolen from them. 
If that made her selfish, if she had to burn the world to do it, then so be
it. 
“I’ll go with you,” Faythe said in defeat. “Just let him go.”
“No,” Reylan snarled.
She looked up in time to see him topple the second fae who held him.
Reylan moved so fast and powerful, fighting for her, yet there were too
many. Faythe sobbed, begging for it to stop. For him to stop fighting and
allow her to do this. Her world cleaved in two knowing he never would.
Until the very end he would fight for her. 
“Tell them to stop hurting him,” she pleaded. 
Marvellas said nothing. They kicked him and beat him until they’d
restrained him back on his knees, and each hand they lay on him she felt
like a branding on her. Her rage and retribution could do nothing against the
defeat. She couldn’t reach him. 
Suddenly, they all choked at the display of Marvellas’s magick. Faythe
watched Marvellas’s invasion of their minds as she effortlessly seized them
all and realized she had done that before. She was merely a product of the
evil entity before her. No better, and no worse. 
“It’s not enough this time,” Marvellas said. “Why let him go when I
have this chance to set you free once and for all? To give you back the
memories we had, the life in which we were happy. Before him. He won’t
stop getting in the way, and you won’t stop wanting to go to him. I see now
what I should have done a long time ago. When I’m finished with both of
you, it will be as if you never met at all.”
Dread coiled in Faythe’s stomach. Her eyes closed for a long few
seconds, but she found the will to part her lips. Anything else…she would
have accepted any punishment or sacrifice but her memories of him, which
she gathered anew and swore to return to the both of them somehow.
“You won’t have to do that. I will be yours—I won’t fight it. Please.”
Faythe rose to her feet, wiped her tears, and took one deep breath of
courage and strength. For him. He made the choice easy. 
Just as she took her first step, smoke surrounded her, and she cried out
at the grip that clamped around her middle. 
“Not this time, Faythe.”
She gasped at the voice, momentarily forgetting everything in her sheer
relief and joy. “You’re alive,” she breathed. Her lip wobbled, needing to see
him. 
Faythe twisted her head when he didn’t let go, and Kyleer’s brow
pinched with the release of her sharp sob. Despite it all, this was a gift.
Kyleer had become someone she couldn’t stand to picture a world without. 
“We both are. And we’re getting the Nether out of here,” he said.
Faythe shook her head. “You have to let me go.”
“Not going to happen.”
Relieved he was alive but annoyed at how he’d chosen to intervene,
Faythe tried to break out of his hold. Kyleer remained unyielding, and
Faythe’s panic started to rise with her plea, knowing any second, he could
take her from the courtyard completely with his Shadowporting ability. She
whirled back to Reylan with a frantic desperation that had her thrashing
against Kyleer, fighting him. She couldn’t leave. 
She wouldn’t leave Reylan. 
“Let me go!” She chanted it over and over, anxiety pounding in her ears
to cancel out all else. 
“Listen to me, Faythe. Just for a moment.” 
And like that, Reylan’s gentle voice in her mind silenced the world. 
“We didn’t get enough time in this life. Not even close. But there is
another, maybe infinite, in which we will have that time. Without war and
conflict; without a crown or a name. I promise to stand by you. Always.”
She sobbed, still straining against Kyleer’s hold, but she listened. 
 “Go with him, my Phoenix. You’re not done flying. I love you. This day
until the end of days. Say it back to me.”
There was never a more helpless agony that tore at her soul. She shook
her head. She couldn’t… She couldn’t say those words. 
“Please,” she whimpered, but she was already weighed down with
defeat. “Don’t let them take him.”
The cries of the frightened city returned to her senses. The smell of ash
and devastation smothered the air. But only his words were enough to
invoke any reaction in her desperation. 
“Say it back to me,” he tried again, so gentle and calm it was
unbearable. But in those sapphire eyes he pleaded with a need for her to
hear it. 
“I love you,” she said to him within. Against all the protests that
tightened her lips at the finality of the words, Faythe sealed a new promise
to him. “I won’t stop finding you. Until the end of days.” 
For a second, the relief on his face was worth the hollowness that
opened in place of her heart. 
Then came the final command from her fierce, selfless warrior. 
“Get her out of here, Ky.”
They were so close to having everything, to having each other in every
perfect, complete way. And now what had bound them was tearing and
tearing, and Faythe became helpless to defy it. 
This couldn’t be happening. 
Her grip slipped on the Ember Sword, and Kyleer caught it.
“Along with Agalhor, your reign is over, Faythe.” Malin’s words
surfaced a wrath, a determination, so all-consuming it stole her physical
fight. She straightened her poise, pinning her cousin with a promise she
bonded to the very earth. 
Faythe broke away from Kyleer only to stand tall. “You have yet to
glimpse my reign, but it is not a crown you should fear falling to me.” Her
cry resonated over the courtyard, stilling everyone so they could hear. “I
will rain down the stars so you may never dream upon them. I will rain
down Phoenixfyre to burn all you build to ash. And I will rain down the
might of the Ashfyre name to avenge the bloodline you betrayed. You are
staring into the face of your deepest fear, Malin. For when I am finished
with you,”—her chest heaved with a promise so final, words that struck like
a declaration from the Gods—“you will yield all to me.”
 Faythe sealed it all in that stare she pierced him with. Then, with careful
attention, she looked to Marvellas, who stood by in awe and delight.
Dakodas looked hateful and bored. She let them decipher what they wanted
from her. It wouldn’t matter when she ended them too.
Who she couldn’t bear to see were her friends, unable to witness them
standing on her enemy’s side with the fear her mask would crumble. 
Faythe felt the light touch of shadows beginning to reach for
her.  Instinct fought against it first. Her face crumpled. Then within…her
flame caught. It was a faint kindling of magick, and without thinking
Faythe reached for it before it could be snuffed out again. 
Panic slipped time through her fingers like sand. Gold met sapphire, and
she promised them both it would not be the final time. Reylan remained on
his knees, surrendering, and as the embrace of Kyleer’s Shadowporting
ability began to creep over her, she jerked as Evander’s fist connected with
Reylan’s face to break their stare. Her mouth parted with a silent scream of
horror as she caught him land another, then another. 
Faythe gave in to the familiar pull of magick, engulfing herself in its
shadows before she knew how she was doing it. Only her power answered
her last dying call. 
When the ground formed beneath her feet a heartbeat later, she did not
feel it. All Faythe knew was that her hand was clamped around Evander’s
throat. 
Squeezing. Crushing.
The fae in her grip couldn’t fight because she’d seized his mind too.
Everything became a white blur of hot rage, and she didn’t know who she
was in that moment as something else took over. His skin became diffused
with the golden glow from her palm, and Faythe removed his mask to
reveal the monster, only to watch him shrink into the pitiful male he was in
his last dying moments of terror.
The scars mapping his face delighted her. Reylan’s marks of retribution.
“I remember now,” she said with a cold sense of calm. “Not everything,
but I remember this. My promise, though you never got to hear it.”
He managed to claw at her hand, but she felt nothing, staring into such
hateful blue eyes she knew nothing warm had ever thawed. He wouldn’t
have stopped chasing his terror. His vengeance toward Reylan never would
have ended, and that made her act easy to shoulder. 
 She enjoyed it. The power. His struggle. She took pleasure in it. This
darkness she had felt before but had never embraced so freely that it
became her. Faythe’s heart beat through shades of black, and she embraced
it, wanting him to be hurt by her hand. She squeezed harder.
The choking stopped. His hands slipped away. Faythe let go a few
seconds later, and he fell to the ground. 
Evander was dead. 
Maybe one day she’d look back and be horrified by how easily she’d
taken his life. But right now, knowing those hands could never again rise to
harm Reylan, all Faythe could surface was relief.
Knowing her seconds were precious, she fell to her knees, taking
Reylan’s face in her palms, though he was still stunned in his stupor. “I
hope you will forgive me,” she whispered, holding those sapphire eyes with
such conviction. “I want to give it all back to you.”
“Faythe…” He breathed her name, but she couldn’t be sure what
emotion was most dominant in him.  Agony, shock, awe, terror. Then a
staggering rage. “You’re hurt—”
Faythe’s lips pressed to his, and she drifted faraway with him, canceling
it all out. She touched his rain-slicked shoulders, his chest, trailed her hands
down his arm to slip the metal from her wrist onto his. He held her face
tenderly. Faythe ignited with every touch she could steal and wished the
seconds could stay suspended as minutes. Minutes to hours. She wished
time were a force that could be fought and reversed, but all it did was mock
her fantasy.
“Take them both,” Marvellas commanded.
Dakodas approached, and Faythe sobbed as her shadows reached for
Reylan.
“Let me go,” he said softly.
She shook her head, but he took her wrists, prying them from around
him when a new arm hooked around her waist and she felt the
transportation pull.
Not with him. Away from him.
She didn’t tear her eyes from Reylan. Misery wasn’t a big enough word
for what obliterated her heart, her soul, as Kyleer’s shadows snaked around
her and engulfed them in a heartbeat. With one final effort, she pushed
everything she had into the bond. It was incomplete, but she’d heard him in
another realm, and all she could do was believe he heard her now as she
didn’t stop repeating her promise so he wouldn’t stop remembering it.
I will find you. 
As her body was Shadowported she didn’t register the movement. She
didn’t yearn for the light in the darkness that encased her. Because when it
dispersed, he would not be there. 
She would have missed it if she’d allowed her lids to blink.
Everything stilled just as brutally fast, and when the hold on her eased,
gravity pulled her to the ground.
Cold, numb.
Her eyes hadn’t moved a fraction from where she’d held them on her
mate for as long as she could. The ghost of Reylan’s image faded rapidly,
only to be replaced by a dark, depthless woodland. Timber bodies stood
before her instead of flesh. The contrasting silence rang out at a high pitch,
swallowing the echoes of steel and cries.
She didn’t know where Kyleer had taken them.
I killed Evander. 
She didn’t care. Faythe would do it again. It had done nothing to ease
her flashes of hot anger that still haunted her with the image of his hands
striking Reylan. Suddenly, she was angry with herself for killing him so
quickly.
Her tears flowed as she struggled to accept all that had unfolded. 
Against the odds, she wanted to face them, just to be by his side. 
“We have to go back,” she whispered. How could she have left him? 
“Faythe—”
When she finally snapped her head up to him, Kyleer grimaced at her
grief-stricken face. “We left him. What will she—?” Faythe couldn’t finish
her sentence. Nausea overcame her in a strong wave that had her bracing
palms on the cold woodland floor. Wood splinters snagged in her skin;
rocks cut her palms as she squeezed so tightly, but apparently not tight
enough. 
She was weak. The Magestone raged, and she had to tell Kyleer, not
knowing if it could kill her, because that couldn’t happen. Not until she
found him.  Faythe rubbed her wrist, so used to spinning the amulet—the
eye of the Phoenix—but it was bare. Her gaze snapped to Kyleer, who
propped up the Ember Sword. Seeing her attention on it, he stepped forward
to extend it to her, but Faythe shook her head. 
 “It’s not mine.”
“By rights it is. He would have wanted you to have it.”
“No.” It had been her last hope, and she prayed Agalhor’s tale of the
ruby stone was true. “It will take us to him.” 
“I’m sorry,” Kyleer said, as broken as she. “I wasn’t strong enough to
test my ability on Dakodas’s claim, and I had to get you—”
“It’s not your fault,” Faythe said quietly.  She reached into a small,
concealed pocket of her leathers, whimpering when she felt it, so overcome
with gratitude that she’d decided to take it with her in the heat of the
moment. Her eyes dropped to her clenched fist. Despite the agony, she
opened it to glimpse the wooden butterfly Reylan had carved, the image of
it beginning to blur. Then she twisted her hand to see the ring that was a
promise forged so long ago.
“I tried,” she said, quiet through clenched teeth—not in pain, not in
sadness, but with a wrath so consuming it vibrated her whole body. Her fist
closed again around the carving. “I tried to be good. To be better. To be fair.
To be kind. But they took him, and I see…those qualities are not what will
win this war.” What overcame her was something she had felt before;
something she had battled with. “Sometimes you have to fight fire with
fire,” she whispered, still hearing the screams of the city, tasting the ash in
the air. “Fire with fire.”
They’d killed him, her father. They’d killed King Agalhor Ashfyre.
Faythe rocked back and forth, repeating it as amber flashed across her
vision, burning the innocent. Her head tipped back while her eyes closed.
Tears slipped down her face, over her ears. Her palms heated in response to
her grief, but it sputtered out, the Magestone numbing what she could
unleash. 
“I could kill them all and I would not be sorry for it. I could find
everyone who harmed him, and I wouldn’t just make them hurt—I’d make
them beg for death as I lay them at its doorstep.” Between flashes of the
hands that hit him…Faythe breathed steady. She opened her eyes, turning
her head to Kyleer, who stood watching her intently. “Tell me I’m a
monster, that my revenge would be immoral. Tell me I’m no better than
them.” 
The lines of his face became firm, their seconds of silence tense and
heavy. Then he took the few steps toward her, reaching out a hand. “I
cannot, for I plan to follow you, no matter what course, to get him back.
And to avenge Agalhor.”
Faythe found the will to accept his palm as it rose, and they locked eyes
with cold, simmering determination. “We do this, and we do it together,
whatever it takes. If not better, then worse.”
Faythe swayed, and Kyleer took her into his arms. “Magestone,” she
rasped.
Kyleer swore. “We’re going to get you help. Just hold on.”
Faythe would. For him—for Reylan—she would fight because she’d
made a promise. Her lights were dying out, her legs were swept from under
her, and then she was cradled in Kyleer’s warmth. 
Faythe Ashfyre sealed the promise one last time before the darkness
claimed her in another temporary reprieve from her shattered heart…
I will find you.

E nd of A S word from the E mbers

The story will continue.

Reviews/ratings mean so much! If you enjoyed the book, please consider

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ALSO BY CHLOE C. PEÑARANDA

A n H eir C omes to R ise series

An Heir Comes to Rise

A Queen Comes to Power
A Throne from the Ashes
A Clash of Three Courts
A Sword from the Embers

N ytefall
The Stars are Dying (coming soon)
Click to pre-order now!
 P R O N U N C I AT I O N G U I D E

NAMES

Faythe: faith
Reylan: ray-lan
Nik: nick
Jakon: jack-on
Marlowe: mar-low
Tauria: tor-ee-a
Kyleer: kai-leer
Izaiah: i-zai-ahh
Livia: liv-ee-a
Reuben: ru-ben
Zaiana: zai-anna
Maverick: mah-ver-ick
Mordecai: mor-de-kai
Tynan: tie-nan
Amaya: ah-mah-ya
Lycus: lie-cuss
Tarly: tar-lay
Nerida: ner-eh-dah
Marvellas: mar-vell-as
Aurialis: orr-ee-al-iss
Dakodas: da-code-as
Augustine: au-guss-teen
Ashfyre: ash-fire
Arrowood: arrow-wood
Galentithe: gal-en-tithe
Zarrius: zar-ee-us
Katori: cat-or-ee
Asari: ahh-sa-re

PLACES
Ungardia: un-gar-dee-a
Farrowhold: farrow-hold
Galmire: gal-my-er
High Farrow: high-farrow
Lakelaria: lake-la-ree-a
Rhyenelle: rye-en-elle
Olmstone: olm-stone
Fenstead: fen-stead
Dalrune: dal-rune
Fenher: fen-er
Ellium: elle-ee-um
Niltain: nill-tain

OTHER
Riscillius: risk-ill-ee-us
Lumarias: lou-ma-ree-as
Yucolites: you-co-lights
Dresair: dress-air
Magestone: mage-stone
Skailies: skay-lees
Fyrestone: fire-stone
Phoenixfyre: phoenix-fire
 A C K N OW LE D G M E NT S

My dear readers, I’ve been so excited to come to this book. To reveal so

many things we’ve been building upon since book one. Thank you for
sticking with me. None of this would be possible without you and I find
myself taking so many moments to reflect how far we’ve come and the
support you have followed me with. From the bottom of my heart, you’ll
never know how much it means to me.
To Lyssa, you’ve been with me from the start and I can’t thank you
enough for how hard you believed in this series and me. This book is yours.
For the endless messages we shared about it, and for listening to all my
stress and doubt. To the best chaos co-ordinator there is!
To my mum, it doesn’t matter how old I get, I’ll still call you first for
the most trivial things. Thank you for always being my rock.
To my family, I wouldn’t be the person I am without you all. I may not
see you as much as I should while I lock myself in other worlds, but I think
of you everyday, and I’m forever grateful for the support no matter what.
To my dogs, Milo, Bonnie, and Minnie, the loves of my life and the
daily tests of my patience.
To all the help on the launch team for this book, you know who you are,
and you are amazing! Thank you for helping spread the word for this next
leg of the journey.
To my brilliant editor, Bryony Leah. Five books down! How time has
flown so fast and I’m so grateful to have you sticking with this series.
Thank you for bringing out the best in these books time and time again.
To Alice Maria Power, go team Rocket! I hope you don’t tire of hearing
this because we’re all in awe of how you continue to make these covers
incredible.