Page 13 of Ruin of Revenants

I took another gulp of my wine to buy myself time. “Just…thinking of all the concerns our kingdom faces.”

“True.” Her expression turned solemn. “It’s absurd, really, how many of those bird-brained arsonists still hide in our city.” She shuddered. “You are very brave, defending us against them—and the way you fought for the outer villages against the undead the shifters raised. But it’s good your father has since ordered everyone to stay within the barrier and its protection. It’s not worth risking the court, the crown prince, or our finest soldiers for those country dwellers.”

My stomach twisted with revulsion and indignation, but I tried to quell the feeling. Best to pretend I agreed with my father’s decree rather than arouse suspicion that I was actively defying him.

Instead, I focused on something else she’d hinted at, something that had piqued my interest. “You believe the necromancer is a phoenix shifter, too?” I asked.

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

Before I could ask her more and find out if she knew anything of value, racing footsteps made us turn toward the street, where a guard was running through the gathered dancers. Grey. As if he’d felt me looking, he stopped scanning the crowd and met my gaze.

“Your Highness!” He ran to me, his usually stoic expression looking…almost afraid?

I straightened immediately, setting my goblet down on the porch railing of the tavern. “What’s happened?”

Grey’s eyes flitted briefly to the female behind me—Ruby?—before he refocused on me. “A worshipper from Solea's temple has crossed the barrier,” he said urgently, keeping his voice low enough he couldn’t be overheard. “The dead are rising from within their graveyard.”

“Return to your post. I’ll handle it.”

“Your Highness—”

“I won’t go alone,” I reassured him. “Now hurry. If they’re rising that close to the capital now, we must ensure every corner is safe and any recently deceased are burned immediately. Spread the word and hold your post.”

Chapter Seven

Isoria

At some point, despite my fear, the exhaustion of my journey had caught up with me, and I’d dozed while waiting for a safe moment to fly away. But a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the stillness of the night and jerked me fully awake, making gooseflesh erupt on my arms and a shudder ripple down my spine despite the balmy air. Even worse were the sounds that followed: pained cries and thudding bodies.

And then—heavy silence, the kind that made me all too aware of the thundering of my own blood in my ears and the rhythm of my breathing.

I peered down, the full moon high enough now to bathe the graveyard in its silvery light. Most of the yard was still, full of bodies of temple workers along with the creatures who appeared to have risen from the dead—now, I hoped, in their final rest. Every one of them had been beheaded. Was that what stopped a revenant?

Cringing away from the gruesome sight, my eyes landed on uniformed bodies, their colors signifying they were Emberglade guards. They were all dead—every last one beheaded like the others. Bile gathered in my mouth.

But there was life in another figure I made out lying on the ground, dressed in shades of green that were not part of a guard’s uniform and half-concealed by a tall gravestone.

Though everything within me shouted a warning—Leave! None of the fae of Emberglade want your help. They only want to kill you—a stronger instinct compelled me to descend, shifting back into full fae form so that my wings vanished before I touched the ground.

I swiped a shaking hand across my sweaty brow and turned away from the freedom the jungle offered. Breath caught in my throat, I crept cautiously toward where the sounds had originated.

In the moonlight, the gravestones and towering statues of gods chiseled in stone cast uncanny shadows that played tricks on the eyes. The form groaned, a male-sounding voice. For a moment, I hid behind the gravestone separating us, peering at the likeness of Solea perched upon its top. The scents of blood and something even worse—like death or rot—were heavy in the air, making my stomach twist.

Another grunt pierced the quiet.

I drew a deep breath, questioning myself one final time before peering around the statue. Seeing no imminent danger, I rushed to the wounded male. Crouching in the grass, I scanned his pale, sweat-sheened face and the blood soaking through the finely made shirt beneath his half-buttoned jacket.

“Ah, the gods do have mercy after all,” the male said, flashing bright white teeth in a dimpled smile despite his obvious pain. He’d lost a lot of blood.

Grunting, he attempted to sit up further, and I scowled. “Fool,” I muttered. “You’ll bleed out and kill yourself.”

Despite my scolding, his smile only widened. “I take it you’re a healer, so I doubt you’ll let that happen.”

Gritting my teeth, I plucked the short knife from my boot that I usually used for entirely nonviolent purposes and, this time, sliced it through his shirt with more aggression than such a task required.

“Eager to undress me?”

I ignored his teasing words, the way I could feel his gaze burning into me. There was no denying he was handsome, his short golden hair gleaming in the moonlight and his green eyes flashing with intensity. Perhaps I should have been impressed that he could make such lighthearted remarks while practically bleeding to death, but I’d been around enough wounded to understand shock could affect some in strange ways.