Page 36 of Ruin of Revenants

“Mortius, I call on you, seeking information. What have you discovered in exchange for my curse?”

Minutes passed as I watched the blood drip onto my plush carpet. The servants were going to curse me later; I’d already spilled wine somewhere by the entrance to my room.

Nothing.

I didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore, just empty and numb. Isoria’s healing efforts were blissful relief, better than any wine, but they were equally temporary. Already, I could feel the curse trying to fight off her power and overwhelm me once more.

Lifting my blade, I sliced across my palm again. Slurred my words as I called for the silent god. Cut across my forearm. My bicep. My leg.

Eventually, I blinked blearily at the stained carpet and my torn clothes. This was for naught, and I was drunk enough that I was concerned about accidentally cutting something important.

With a muffled groan, I tossed the bloody dagger on my nightstand and collapsed into bed.

A scream ripped me out of a dreamless sleep, quite rudely, some time in the afternoon. The servant darted from the room before I could get a good look at who it was. Sitting up, I rubbed at my bleary eyes and glanced at my bloody dagger, still lying on my nightstand, and then at my sliced clothes and the shallow, half-healed cuts they revealed. Hardly a horrifying sight, but I supposed I might have appeared half-dead, lying clothed and on top of my bed sheets. The red wine stain in my doorway and the bloodstain in the middle of my carpet weren’t exactly helping matters, either.

I snorted at the comedy of the situation as I stumbled out of bed. Thankfully, the maid hadn’t dropped the tray of food she’d brought, as she’d left that in my adjoining dining room before, presumably, coming into my bedroom to tidy up or see if I needed anything else. I’d left my door wide open, after all.

Vaguely, I wondered if she was rushing for a healer or would warn someone else that I was dead or dying. Misgiving coiled in my gut. I didn’t particularly want anyone to know of my dealings with the god of death.

Head pounding, I stumbled toward my washroom to clean myself up. I stripped out of my ruined clothes, dumping them in the hearth and starting a fire despite the building heat of the day. Lastly, I scrambled into a new outfit, gulped down some water and coffee, and devoured a couple pastries before Birch, the royal healer, arrived.

“All fine,” I’d said with a careless grin, waving him away. “I was passed out after a little too much wine.” I winked. “No need to concern yourself.”

He’d rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he turned to leave.

I glanced at the clock, suddenly wanting to utter my own curse. Evening was fast approaching.

Time to prepare to dazzle the court tonight on a scant few hours’ sleep.

Chapter Twenty

Isoria

The smack of a pillow against my head jolted me awake.

“Time to get ready.”

Sitting up, I blinked bleary eyes at Archer. When I noticed the extra pillow on my bed, I narrowed my eyes. “Where’s Orchid? Shouldn’t a servant be helping me get ready instead of you coming in to throw pillows at me?”

“She was already in—more than once, she said—and you slept through it. I told her not to waste any more of her time. She’s too gentle.” His eyes flicked to the hearth and the crackling fire there, one I’d requested Orchid keep regularly despite the season’s heat. It wasn’t as if the temperature bothered me, and if I couldn’t shift or conjure my own fire at will, I craved being near my preferred element any way I could. “Fire demon or not, how can you stand this? It’s hot as Mortius’ burning underworld in here.”

Sighing and ignoring his complaint, I sat up, grabbed the pillow, and threw it back at Archer’s head. He caught it with an obnoxious smirk curling his lips. The curtains were already open to the late afternoon glow, highlighting his golden hair and sharp, cruel features. “Tell the king I’m indisposed. Then neither of us have to suffer through tonight’s event.”

“Again,” Archer said dryly, “the event is introducing you to court. This isn’t optional. I’ll drag you out of bed if I must.”

With a scowl, I stood and stormed into my closet, surveying the dresses Orchid had left for me.

“Wear that one.” Archer’s voice behind me nearly made me jump. I rolled my eyes at the gold and black dress he was pointing at. It looked severe and much too heavy for this season’s weather, with a high collar and long sleeves.

“Unless I’m attending a funeral, I absolutely will not be wearing that.”

Archer shrugged elegantly. “Father enjoys seeing things arrayed in the kingdom’s colors.”

Smiling wickedly, I plucked a delicate pink and gold dress from its hanger, admiring the intricately detailed embroidery and beading along its fitted bodice. Its coloring reminded me of the first kiss of dawn. Unlike the other, its fabric was light and the skirts were flowy, promising to be much more comfortable in the humid evening.

Sighing, Archer waved me toward the washroom. “Hurry or we’ll be late.”

I hurriedly prepared in the washroom, finally shrugging on the dress and gazing in the full-length mirror. It was perfectly feminine, its fitted bodice of mostly gold the perfect contrast to my dark hair, while the flowing pink skirts kept it soft. I’d be the exact opposite of what King Wystan wanted to see, and I loved it.