Not that he knew how to save her from this. Only that he wasn't letting anyone touch her.
She turned, and Zayne crossed the street, glimpsing her as she entered the market. Rows of wooden stalls lined the gravel lot where Kira worked on sunny days, the vendors already setting up their shops in the early morning despite the commotion.
Looking convincingly innocent, Kira entered a stall and donned an apron, stepping behind a table full of apples. The breeze caught her long, fiery hair, tossing it behind her. He ran his finger over his thumb, feeling the smooth strands still.
Sirens wailed, soldiers shouted, civilians shuffled along.
The truth blazed in the sky over the Phaedra's tower.
All the work of this one woman.
Another message pulsed against his wrist. He looked at her one last time, certain that he'd never meet another woman who surprised him as much as she did. Who fought the Phaedra so well?
Whatever happened, from this day forward, Kira Stiles had his protection.
Zayne would not let the Phaedra or his empire crush her.
CHAPTER 72
Zayne
The Capital
Kallum, Ciondo
833 P.C. [Post-Collapse]
Pain dragged Zayne from the grave and thrust him into the world once more.
But he remembered dying…
Electricity branched out from his chest wound and sent shock waves throughout his entire body. He gripped damp sheets, gasping. Metal grated against his wrists, just like in the north.
“You must have thought you were dead.” The baritone melody of the Phaedra’s voice rose above the hum of the machines. “But maybe time has collapsed on itself to bring us back to the place where it all began. The two of us in this tower after you betrayed me. Once as a boy, now as a man.”
Light seared his vision when his eyes slid open, the Phaedra’s form darkening the corner of his eye.
The heartbeat monitor chirped behind him.
He remembered giving himself over to the sweet warmth of the waters. Maybe death meant relieving his nightmares to no end.
“A father long awaits the day he'll discover what kind of child he has brought into the world.” The Phaedra rose and leaned over Zayne, so his long locks fell over his shoulder and tickled his bare chest. “What am I to do with a son like you?”
Zayne had listened to the Phaedra long enough in his life, but he had no recourse. Cuffs held his hands to the bed, and sleep had given up its hold on him.
Only one question mattered now, and he wasn't sure he had the voice to ask it.
“And your brother… I never expected him to betray me.” The Phaedra’s eyes wandered down Zayne’s face. “Your father warned me about how serious the animosity was, but neither of us could have imagined this.”
Mouth opening, Zayne tried to speak and ask the only question he cared about, but a weak sound fell from his lips.
“You must be in pain. I'm so sorry.” The Phaedra tilted his head. “It’s inconsiderate of me to not ask if you wanted visitors in your condition.” He tapped one of Zayne’s handcuffs. “I’m certain these don’t help. I advised the soldiers the restraints wouldn’t be necessary—for your comfort, of course. Then they reminded me that you murdered your own private.” The Phaedra shook his head and hummed. “My boy, that isn’t what we do to our men.”
What did he need to do to shut him up?
The Phaedra sat in the chair beside Zayne, his intense focus never straying.
He recognized this room. The Phaedra brought him here when he was a boy while he was recovering from reprogramming. His memories of those days were foggy. He remembered every detail of the room, though his mind hid the Phaedra and the time spent in here. It looked the same, with the hospital bed in the center and the chair beside it. The one where the Phaedra sat.
