A Throne From the Ashes (An Heir Comes to Rise, #3)

by C.C. Peñaranda

“You were warned about how you should speak to her,” Reylan said in the most chilling calm. There was no pause for hesitation when he ruthlessly grabbed the arrow he had dealt and pulled it from Rezar’s chest with the most sickening sound that wasn’t masked by the fae’s cry of pain. Blood poured from the wound, but as Reylan tossed the arrow aside, one of his hands curled around Rezar’s throat, forcing his head back awkwardly to stare at the fae general who towered over him.

“You can torment in the Nether knowing you died on your knees before your queen.”

“How do you know her name?” Augustine slid his glance to him, taking a casual sip of his ale as though the flaming blade were a stick of wet wood. “I think you know how since planting your spy by the far corner earlier this evening.”

“You are not afraid?” “Should I have reason to be?” Zaiana scoffed. “Yes. No one should know of our existence; you are a fool to expose that you do.” “I have known many things about many people, and I live to tell such tales.” This man was impossible.

She said nothing, which Zaiana found odd for someone who was often led by her voice to collect and share wonders. She had anticipated she would have a lot of questions for an oracle. Augustine’s eyes twinkled, but he smirked at the fae, seeming to drop his attempt to engage with her.

“Strange, the stillness in your chest. Have you ever wondered why that is?” He had a masterful way of swaying a person’s interest. “I was born this way.” “Because that is what they told you?”

“What a pitiful existence.” She glanced at him from head to toe. Augustine only grinned, flashing a single gold tooth. “I’m sure you’ll meet your maker soon enough.” With that, she made to leave. “What you mock in others is what you see in yourself, Zaiana.”

“Please let me kill him,” Maverick muttered low. She was so close to snapping. So close to agreeing. Until the sea merchant who tempted death spoke again. “Your fascination is a question—one you’ve harbored your whole life. Don’t stop looking for the answer.”

“I think something is reacting to my ability—it heightens when I get angry or upset, and I can’t always come back from it. Not alone.” “Reylan,” Livia mused. “It’s never made better sense.”

“In Ungardia’s darkest hour, when all shall burn and fall, only the Phoenix Queen can find a throne from the ashes, and rise it true for all.”

“Is he angry with me?” she had to ask, feeling her gut knot as she waited for the answer. Livia answered. “No, of course not. He’s just…dealing.” “It’s been a long time since he allowed himself to feel anything for anyone,” Kyleer explained.

“The first day after leaving that inn, your breath was as shallow as it was in that vision. Your heart was weak. You were pale, faltering. Day two wasn’t much better, but at least you were somewhat conscious enough to drink. Four hours into the third day, I was this close to turning us back, horrified I had taken you farther and farther away from any real help. Then, by the fifth hour, you took a long breath, you looked at me, awake, and I could have gone to my knees in a relief so strong it weighs on me still.”

“You brought me back,” she whispered. “You always bring me back.” Reylan shook his head. “No, Faythe.” Both his palms held her face. “You brought me back.”

“I spent this whole time wanting to apologize for what you saw. For what I became when I couldn’t stand the way the vile beast looked at you, spoke to you.” Faythe’s hands gripped his leathers tighter. “And now?” “Now, I’m not afraid to tell you I’m not sorry. That I would do it again. That I would kill every single man or fae who dares to look at you the way he did. And I would not be sorry.”

“But I’ve come to realize tomorrow isn’t my promise to give. What I can promise…is me. Until the last tomorrow comes. I want you to know every broken piece of me belongs to you.”

“You are my heart, Faythe Ashfyre. When you lose yourself to anger, when you are consumed by passion, when you risk yourself defending… Gods, do I love every impossible, reckless, and fierce part of you.” Faythe released a laugh mixed with a cry. Her eyes blurred, but elation kept her tears from falling. “And I will spend the rest of my days showing you when words fail that you are everything. In this life or the next, I will always find you.”

“I plan to worship every inch of you. Again and again, until you believe it. My love and desire for you knows no limits.”

“You were made for me.”

What they shared wasn’t just lust or passion. It was power answering to power, his ability singing to hers, and she knew this feeling could never be matched by any other in the world.

“I would have endured it all again.” Reylan kissed where her feelings had spilled over. “For centuries over if it led me to you, Faythe.”

This was more than that. It was the darkest, most dangerous part of what she was capable of. A monster sealed away inside her that she hoped never to use.

“My last breath would be yours,” she heard his truth. “To make sure you knew…I will always find you.”

She didn’t know why her eyes found Maverick, who looked to her with a dark hunger that caressed her spine as she tamed and honed her magick. There was life in his cold eyes as he smiled. His hands slid into his pockets, and he took long backward strides from her as he said with delight, “Make it storm, Zaiana.”

“On my life, Reylan, she’ll be safe,”

“The depraved things I’ve dreamed of doing to you, Zaiana,” he said huskily.

“Do them all.”

“We would not have enough time in a single night to do them all.”

“This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it, Zaiana?” Without breaking eye contact, Maverick removed the last flimsy piece of clothing she wore, and she stepped out of the undergarment, completely exposed to him. “Me, on my knees before you.”

Faythe leaped off the mountainside. The Phoenix spun and fell into a dive after her. Then all was dark and silent. The tension of enemies returned. Disbelief swirled between both sides. The heartbreak of Faythe’s companions was palpable. “Well, I guess that’s that,”

His deep blue eyes cast to where Faythe last stood. Broken. She had never seen someone so fierce look so utterly broken.

“If you harm her—” He took a few calming breaths, his wrath a tangible force in the room. “There is no place you will be able to hide. No distance you can run. I will find you. And when I do, death is not what you will fear from me, though it is what you will beg for.”

“I’m dead!” “You are transitioning.”

“We don’t have much longer. It was I who caught your soul before it could cast on to the next realm, but it is not without your mate’s tether that you are both here…and there. Though be aware, even the strongest of bindings can be broken.”

“The Great General of Rhyenelle, the one they call the White Lion of the South, and the one who will be remembered in history within stories of battles and reign for millennia…is your soul-bonded mate, Faythe Ashfyre.”

“You are two parts of the same sword. A blade without a hilt cannot be wielded. A hilt without a blade is forgotten potential. With the weapon you could become, together, you could change the world.”

“It is not wholly a sacrifice…as instead, you and I will become one, Faythe Ashfyre.”