Page 79 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
Zayn chuckled.
I hated him.
And I hated how my magic knew what I refused to admit.
Lastly, I reached for the wind.
A light gust rippled through my hair.
Zayn raised his hand—and his gust flattened the trees behind me. Wind lashed around him in a roaring arc, branches snapping and scattering leaves like they were nothing. His air power dwarfed mine.
I stared, heart thudding.
“Congratulations. You’re stronger than me,” I paused and then added, “with air. Why?”
I knew why. I just wanted to hear him say it.
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. “Because I’ve trained.”
“No,” I said. “It’s something else.”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re the son of King Thrandor.” The accusation slipped from my tongue like a blade. “Royal Fae. From Windaria.”
Zayn’s shoulders went rigid, but his smirk was lazy, calculated. “Sharp little Peach, aren’t you? Took you long enough to piece it together.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So, what then? You came here as his spy? Planning to drag me back to him in chains?”
His gaze cut into mine—dangerous, unflinching. “If I were loyal to him, you’d already be on your knees before him.”
“Comforting,” I said dryly. “So if not him, who are you loyal to?”
“Myself.” His voice was flat, clipped. “Everyone else is temporary. Disposable.”
I stepped closer, refusing to flinch. “Your father killed my Fae parents.”
Something flickered in his eyes, sharp as a blade striking stone—but it was gone just as quickly. “I know,” he said. “I just found out who they were.”
The words hit harder than I wanted them to. I swallowed the ache in my throat and forced out, “Then you should also know your father’s throne is technically mine.”
That earned me a slow, predatory grin. “Then let me get it back for you.”
For one reckless heartbeat, I thought he meant it. But then his smile vanished, leaving nothing but cold steel in its place. “Don’t mistake that for loyalty. I’m no one’s pawn.”
I folded my arms, glaring. “How old even are you?”
“Ninety-eight,” he said without hesitation, lips quirking. “I age well, huh, Peach?”
I rolled my eyes. Fae matured in their thirties, then slowed to a near standstill, keeping us looking youthful for ages. “Congratulations, grandpa. Try not to break a hip while you’re brooding.”
His laugh was dark and low, the kind that promised nothing good. Behind the fury, something else lurked. I felt it. Something hurt.
And I wasn’t sure which side of him was more dangerous—the angry warrior in front of me, or the man who’d learned to survive with no one.
After another two hours of using my magic, I was exhausted. We took a break, sitting near a river.
I drank water from my canister and then placed the lid back on.
