Page 49 of King of Fire and Flames

I sighed. “That’s not very helpful.”

“A spell has been cast against me disclosing his whereabouts. Melaya thinks of everything, except for those pretty orchid petals. Now hurry up, Zali. Tonight, the Storm King is weak. You won’t get a better opportunity.”

I hated taking orders from anyone, let alone a creepy ghost girl. But she was right. Time was of the essence. I carefully unfolded the cloth I’d tucked a few petals inside, the rest of the flower hidden in my room in case Ruhh tried to take it from me.

“Can I apply it anywhere?” I asked, staring at the velvety petal on my palm.

“Yes, but the best place is over your heart, and be sure to rub it in well.”

I smeared the petal underneath my tunic, and my palm came away sticky with dark fluid. Breathing slowly, I waited, my heart racing. Nothing happened for several moments. Then a rush of nausea hit me, and I felt it—the satisfying sensation of magic rushing through my blood.

Ruhh laughed as I whispered the ancient elven chant, disappearing from the ghost girl’s view.

“Zali?” she called out. “You don’t need the reaver chant. The petals hold their own power.”

I knew that, but old habits were hard to break.

Ignoring her, I bolted past the palace’s curved outer walls until I came to the main entrance. I raced up the external stairs toward a pair of massive black doors etched with tiny bones and flames, shivering as the two guards flanking them sniffed the air with their wolf-like snouts.

Reflected flames from candelabras and wall sconces shone in the grand foyer’s polished obsidian floor, and a heady blend of spices and roasted meat flavored the air. Without thinking, I followed the trail of the mouthwatering scent.

Moving silently, I hurried along twisting corridors that led me deeper into the palace as they morphed from grand and light-filled to narrow and dark without logic or reason. The palace had a will of its own, and it wanted to deter my progress.

Thankfully, I didn’t spook easily.

A dark corridor suddenly opened into an ornate foyer. Music and laughter filtered through the cracks of large, molded black doors, the smell of food intensifying. I’d found the entrance to a feasting hall packed with raucous courtiers. My stomach growled, and I asked it to kindly pipe down until I had time to attend to its demands.

A grand, black-marble staircase stood on the other side of the foyer, two smaller bone-white staircases sweeping upward in graceful arcs on either side of it, leading to smaller towers. I hurried up the middle staircase, guessing that a visiting king would sleep in the largest tower, unless Azarn had insulted Arrow and given him a chamber in a less prestigious location. Which was more than possible.

Halfway up the stairs, two female jinn wearing white aprons over black tunics and carrying medical supplies—folded bandages and glass vials of bright-colored liquid—appeared on a landing, then marched down a hallway to my left. I watched them disappear through double doors etched with a golden phoenix at the end of the passage.

I tiptoed toward the door and pressed my ear against it. Male voices mumbled, too low to identify. Checking the mirror that hung on the opposite wall, making sure I was still invisible, I waited. Blood rushed through my ears, the sound louder than the conversation inside what-I-hoped-would-be Arrow’s bedchamber.

After about ten minutes, the jinn healers exited the room. I ducked sideways, and they strolled straight past me. I crept forward again and listened at the door, straining to make out the words being muttered on the other side.

The voices rose, and my heart stuttered and slammed against my ribs. They belonged to Arrow and King Azarn.

I’d found the right room, but if only I could decipher their conversation. My fingers flexed toward the doorknob, but I quickly drew my hand back.

The petal’s effect could wear off at any moment, which would be disastrous in front of Azarn. I had to be patient and wait until he left.

And if I made it inside the room, only to reappear in front of Arrow, I hoped I’d have time to lodge my knife deep in his heart before he could react. Then, finally, he’d be dead.

Pain strummed my insides, but I breathed through it, steeling my resolve. No matter what Arrow had said in the forest today, nothing could change who he’d been when I first met him.

A slaver. My jailer. The male who had tried to control me.

A fae who had kept me against my will.

And for that, he had to pay.

Chapter 15

Arrow

“What would destroy the human?” Azarn asked, stopping his pacing, and leaning a shoulder on a carved bedpost in my room. “Since you kept her caged for some time, Arrowyn, you must know the key to breaking her spirit.”

Shifting my weight on the mattress, I sighed softly, but kept my face as blank as I could manage with my own fucking knife sticking out of my chest.

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