Page 35 of Ruin of Revenants

Archer set his wineglass down and turned his surprisingly sober gaze on me. There was no effortless mirth and charm in those brilliant green eyes, but no disgust and hatred either. Instead, there was honesty—even vulnerability. “For once, we agree on something.”

Looking into his eyes made me realize that, while my own emotions were raw and aching, that numb heaviness I’d experienced when entering his quarters didn’t belong to me. Shock stabbed my chest. “I can feel what you feel.”

The corners of Archer’s lips turned downward. “That might be another effect of the blood bond.”

I glowered. “How many other effects are there?” Scanning the shelves, I searched for the tome he’d read from yesterday—what already felt like a lifetime ago.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? It’s cursed us both and now I’m plagued by you like a parasite. We’re trapped together, Feathers, and you don’t know who the necromancer is—the answer I need to save my kingdom.” He laughed bitterly. “I doubt you can even save me.”

“You’re the parasite,” I muttered as I strode toward him. “Shut your mouth and let me concentrate. I don’t want to feel your emotions either, so consider it me saving myself from your moping.” I gently moved Onyx, who resettled himself on a stack of books, and shoved Archer’s boots aside. Sitting on the edge of the desk to face Archer, I concentrated on my magic, hoping time had given me a chance to regain some strength.

“It’s my curse.”

I froze, too startled to snap at him for distracting me. Curse. I thought of the mysterious curse that afflicted me and the connection Maris had said Archer and I would share. She’d mentioned being tethered together as enemies, with one of us destroying the other, but how odd to think we both were cursed as well. And blood bound. What cruel trick were the gods up to?

My hands shook, but what did it matter? If Archer hadn’t known I was the phoenix shifter prophesied to destroy his family before, then finding out now would do nothing. With our bond, he couldn’t harm me.

“It’s no surprise someone like you was cursed. How did it happen?”

I laid my hand on his arm, bracing myself for the intensity of his emotional pain as I drew on my healing powers.

He merely smirked at me, careless and obnoxious. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I scowled down at my hands, wishing I didn’t have to touch him to heal him.

“Your kind probably doesn’t know what it’s like to be cursed, with your healing abilities and power over life and death.”

There he was, bringing up that power over life and death again. Lifting my head, I held his gaze for a breathless moment, a chill washing over me at the sight of the hate burning in those eyes, turning their beautiful emerald shade to something dangerous. “You think the necromancer is a phoenix.”

“If you can bring yourselves back from the dead,” Archer demanded, “why not others? I’ve studied your kind. Maybe you don’t know about the darker side of your powers, maybe you’ve never seen it, but it’s there. Who else wants to destroy my family? My kingdom?”

I swallowed thickly, my protest dying in my throat. After all, I didn’t know every phoenix in Emberglade. We were scattered—some making it to our sanctuary, some living in hiding. Others were being caught and put to death. One bent on revenge could have the desire to destroy the kingdom.

But we were healers. Yes, under the right conditions we could resurrect ourselves from our own flames, and our healing magic was unusually potent, but we could not bring back the dead. Certainly not in whatever forms the revenants were.

Shaking my head, I pushed all the unpleasant memories away. There was no use arguing with Archer—his mind was dense and his heart full of hate. He would never see my side.

Closing my eyes, I cleared my mind and focused on the embers of my magic. It wasn’t much, but anything was better than nothing. Archer’s darkness and despair flooded me until I was cold and heavy. But slowly, surely, that tiny spark of mine warmed the cold and eased the heaviness. A sliver of comfort twined around my own heart as I pushed healing into him.

When I opened my eyes, exhaustion making my shoulders sag, I found Archer looking at me. There was intensity in his expression, but it was different than usual. It made me suddenly aware of how close we were, of the way he leaned toward me, his head almost in my lap.

For a flickering moment, my fingers curled around his sleeve as I fought the urge to run them through his hair. To share and find some measure of comfort.

But that was madness. Archer didn’t want to be soothed, not from a phoenix shifter. And I certainly didn’t want anything from him.

He straightened in his chair, shaking himself as if from the same spell I’d been trapped in. Releasing his arm, I slipped off the desk, turning for the doorway. Now that I’d spent the last of my magic and strength, I wouldn’t need to worry about distractions to be able to fall asleep. Unfortunately, that meant I’d have to search for answers to save Mama later, too. It was taking everything in me to keep my eyes open.

Archer’s hand caught mine, startling me. I pulled back like he’d hurt me, even though he hadn’t, and he dropped my hand as swiftly as he’d grasped it.

He cleared his throat. “We won’t have the full day to sleep away. Father expects us at a dinner feast tonight, where you’ll be presented to the court.”

I barely had the energy to feel dread as I nodded and stumbled back to my room, collapsing into bed.

Chapter Nineteen

Archer

Back in my bedroom, I decided I was drunk enough to risk calling on the god of death again. Approaching my writing desk, I deposited my third—or was it fourth?—empty bottle on its surface and retrieved my dagger from its drawer. I sliced my palm open in one smooth, quick motion.