Page 12 of Ruin of Revenants

Someone nearby had passed. No—more than one. Had the temple workers been attacked?

“Help!” The sudden scream tore through the silence, making my skin crawl and my healer’s instincts fire. And it wasn’t coming from within the temple, but outside.

Whirling around, I sprinted back toward the doors, throwing them open and racing down the steps. There were more screams coming from behind the temple, where I caught glimpses of gravestones in the misty yard, the full moon casting them in a surreal glow.

Before I reached the graveyard, the screams cut off.

Throat burning, I stopped, taking the risk of summoning my fire magic in a ball of flame that hovered over my hand to give me some light. As soon as the fire flared to life, I glimpsed dark forms lurking behind the stones and the bodies. So many bodies—their limbs bent in the wrong directions or their eyes wide open and glazed, staring unseeing at the stars. An open grave rested nearby, as if those gathered had been trying to bury someone when they’d been slain. All my instincts screamed at me to flee before the lurking forms came for me.

I started reaching for my phoenix to shift when one of the figures darted forward. It looked like it had once been a female fae, but now it wore tattered clothes, its ragged hair was half-missing, and pieces of flesh had rotted away, revealing the bones beneath. Its bulging, soulless eyes locked on me.

My cry of fear died in my lungs as climbing roots tore through the earth and slammed into me, knocking me backward. I collapsed to the earth, my head striking the temple wall. Sparks flashed across my vision and the world spun. When I tried to stand, nausea and pain lanced through me.

And the figure was still charging.

Ignoring the pain, I shifted and launched into the air, my wings stirring the grass beneath me.

Another form darted away, this one looking like it might have still been alive. She charged through the foliage, taking advantage of the creature’s focus on me so she could escape.

The roots flew toward me, tangling around my limbs and dragging me downward. My magic faltered, but I fought. Whatever tried to control me seemed weaker than its first attack had been, and I was able to keep pumping my wings, gradually gaining altitude. If I could tear free and make it to the trees, maybe I could find a place to hide myself. Once the creature lost me, I could wait and make my escape toward the capital.

More forms moved below, the scene difficult to make out in the darkness, but no others attacked me. Either I was too far away, or their magic wasn’t powerful enough to work against my flight. Slowly, the roots’ grasp on me weakened, allowing me to pull free. They fell, tumbling to the ground limply.

I landed in a tree near enough to watch over the graveyard and assure myself no temple workers still lived, but far enough the lurking creatures wouldn’t see me.

Half-shifting so I was in my fae form except for the addition of a pair of fiery, magical wings, I leaned against the trunk, catching my breath. What are they? They moved agilely despite the fact that the one who’d attacked me had appeared half-dead. Or more than that—already dead, yet still moving. Vicious and soulless, with magic I’d never encountered before.

Is a necromancer at work?

I repressed a shiver. I thought the most dangerous thing I’d encounter was phoenix hunters. What was I supposed to do to defend against enemies that were already dead?

Chapter Six

Archer

There wasn’t enough wine in the world to make Father’s latest revel tolerable. I’d wanted to slip away to my quarters hours ago, but I’d learned years ago that displeasing Father over a party wasn’t worth it. Better to put on my charming mask and pretend it wasn’t disgusting to watch the nobility lose themselves to drunkenness, gluttony, and every base desire while anyone outside Rainsong’s invisible barrier had been left to suffer their fate alone.

Worst of all, Owen was on a shift patrolling the Lower District and Lily was training with her father—nearly the only acceptable excuse for her and the general to miss one of these parties. Without my friends, this one was exceptionably awful.

My only comfort was knowing that, on our excursion the night before, we’d managed to both return the prisoners and assist Mossgrove in stopping the revenants that had risen in that village. Now they knew to burn their dead immediately and to keep guards posted day and night to watch for roaming revenants. Liana, the message keeper, had promised to keep me informed about possible threats. But she couldn’t see everything, and Owen, Lily, Cliff, and I couldn’t save everyone, either.

Not to mention, Father was furious that the prisoners had escaped. He hadn’t hinted at suspecting me of interfering, but he’d gone on plenty about my failures. It was part of the reason why he’d ordered the servants to prepare for such a wild party tonight—he’d wanted to keep our people drunk and happy and distracted, rather than fixating on the fact that anyone he’d condemned to death had escaped his clutches. He didn’t want anyone to suspect him of being weak.

After an hour or two of pretending, for my people’s sake, that I didn’t despise every moment of this party, I’d managed to slip out of the castle and its grounds and into the streets, where citizens were partying with simpler music, less elaborate dances, and common food and drink rather than the excessively rich fare Father insisted upon. Their company was far more palatable, notwithstanding the occasional female who tried to garner my favor.

“Is His Highness in need of a dance partner?” a female called out, blushing and giggling as she sauntered over, arm-in-arm with her friends. They all carried overflowing goblets of wine balanced precariously in their free hands. Her lavender eyes roved over me brazenly.

“Not at all, thank you.” I grinned and lifted my own goblet I’d procured from the nearest tavern.

“Oh, a drinking partner then!” She released her friends’ arms and practically skipped to me, spilling some of her wine along the cobblestones in the process. “My name is Skye.” She fluttered her lashes.

Once, I’d been more interested in companionship and frivolity and parties. There’d been a thrill in charming my people and celebrating late into the night, in losing myself in the elaborate magical displays and artistry and music our most talented citizens had put on. In tasting every delicacy, laughing at every well-timed joke, and enjoying the attention and affection of any female I desired.

But ever since Father had abandoned the rest of our people, and increasingly after my bargain with Mortius, I had no patience for any of it.

“Your friends…” I began, even as they continued on into the crowd gathered around some musicians playing at the far end of the street.

“Oh.” The female waved a careless hand. “They have their own dancing and drinking partners.” She cast me an appraising look, and suddenly, I worried maybe she wasn’t as drunk as I’d initially assumed. “Why are you here alone, Prince Archer? It’s most unlike you to be brooding in the shadows.”