Page 115 of Ruin of Revenants

Chapter Fifty-Five

Archer

Earlier

The shadows were beginning to notice me, tendrils cooling around my wrists and ankles in an attempt to stop me from slicing through them. It was as if they still couldn’t attack me as fully as they could others, but it was clear whatever immunity my curse granted me was gradually ebbing away. Soon, I imagined I’d be as vulnerable to the revenant magic as anyone else in my army.

And, mortifyingly, without magic that could work against them.

Clenching my teeth, I struggled against the shadows’ tightening grip. Icy-cold skated over my skin, raising gooseflesh even as sweat trickled down my back from my efforts. I dug my boots into the earth, as if it could anchor me from the dark magic’s influence. My muscles tensed and cramped; pain pierced through me like thousands of needlepoints. Then blades.

Everything was intensifying. The blackness had weight, consuming me alive. And in its grasp, my despair increased a hundredfold. My chest collapsed in on itself. My lungs refused to take a full breath.

I bit back the urge to scream.

I was weightless; numb; floating in an endless, meaningless void. The chill that had cooled my skin now sank into my blood, my heart, my soul. I couldn’t find Isoria, and for all I knew, she was gone. My people were dying around me, our soldiers forced to retreat so far that now the revenants were tearing into homes and slaughtering citizens. Lily was probably gone, and I wasn’t sure Owen would be able to fend off the general alone. All was lost.

My desire to fight fled. Let the darkness take me.

The shadows tightened around me, slithering about my legs, torso, chest, and neck. My breaths became labored as darkness closed in on my vision. Dimly, I was aware of the burning in my lungs, the distant protest of my body as my mind gave in.

Until—a flash of light in the void.

Brilliant, fiery orange light that chased back the shadows. They recoiled like living creatures dazed and terrified of the flames. But the fire entranced me.

As the shadows around the flickering flames withdrew, I had a clearer view of the city street I was on and the one who wielded the fire. Isoria.

She stood alone against the darkness, her flames dancing around one hand as she staggered to her feet. Blood and dirt marred her skin and her clothes. Her dark hair hung in wild strands around her face, its blue and purple strands shimmering in the light and reminding me of her phoenix’s coloring. Tear tracks left paths down her cheeks. And yet, nothing but determination shone in her gold eyes.

My awe transformed into anger and hatred—and hope.

Here she was, the one I needed to slay in order to satisfy Vithenna and save my people.

I could end all of this now.

“There you are, death-lover,” I taunted.

With renewed strength, I lunged forward, the abruptness of my movement enough to break through the shadows’ hold. When I stepped into the circle of the death-lover’s light, the shadows fell away from me entirely. There was nothing but her unnatural flame illuminating her as she faced me, grief scrawled across her expression and sparkling in the unshed tears in her golden eyes.

All manipulation.

“You can’t fool me again.” I pulled on my magic, weaving my influence through her. Let the manipulator feel her own weapon used against her.

Isoria

My muscles relaxed, my flames snuffing out as Archer’s magic flooded me with warmth and peace and a false sense of security. But as soon as I thought that, the warning blinked out. All I knew was my adoration of the prince standing before me and my need to please him.

He walked forward, and I fell to my knees, wanting him to see my obeisance. “Your Highness.” I breathed his name like a prayer.

There was a hint of disgust leaking into his emerald eyes. His jaw was a hard line, unyielding and unimpressed. Sorrow cut through me like a knife. I wasn’t pleasing him. I needed to please him. What had I done wrong?

Prince Archer unsheathed a dagger from his belt and extended it toward me like a gift. My eyes widened. It was stunning, inlaid with glistening gemstones. I could see my reflection in its polished surface.

With trembling fingers, I took it, utterly in awe that he’d deigned to let me hold something of his.

“Plunge it into your heart.” He said the words so softly, so tenderly, like a lover’s confession.

“Anything for you, Your Highness,” I whispered, lifting the blade. This time, my grip was sure and strong. I wouldn’t fail my prince. Locking my gaze on his, I slammed the dagger toward my chest, right where I felt my heart pounding.