Page 82 of Ruin of Revenants

But my wings were more powerful. With a laugh, I beat my wings and spun in the air, catching Archer’s other hand in mine to keep him from crashing to the jungle floor.

We launched upward, every wing beat taking us past a flurry of tangled vines, mossy branches, startled birds, and climbing flowers. Higher, higher. The corner of Archer’s mouth twitched and he gave in, his smile widening to something like wonder. Even though he couldn’t see the beauties of the forest, I could sense the awe he was experiencing while soaring through the air.

Without warning, an ache stabbed my chest. I gasped for breath and tore my stare from the crown prince’s as I flew us deeper into the jungle, intent on putting enough distance between us and home that I could shift completely. This was too intimate, too vulnerable.

If not for the bond, he would have killed you long ago, I reminded myself.

That didn’t alleviate the ache.

Chapter Forty-One

Archer

Sleep was difficult with Mortius’ curse, but when I did sleep, I dreamt of Everhaven and the phoenixes. The pure joy among the children as they’d played, just like other fae children. The glimpses I’d seen of a community working together and watching out for one another, from the guards posted to watch their borders to the females and males collecting fruits, fishing in the Passionfire, or using their own flames to cook food in ovens set up in the center of their little clearing, the heart of their village.

Our return journey and night in the rainforest had been uneventful, with Isoria and me both avoiding speaking to one another more than necessary, the emotions shared through our bond a wild snarl of confusion, fear, and doubt. We’d kept plenty of space between our bedrolls in our tent, as if spanning the distance was more unthinkable now than it had been when we’d first met and felt nothing but disgust and hatred.

Almost as soon as we set foot in my quarters, a servant whose name I didn’t know—one Father favored for sending messages but kept at a distance—arrived with a summons for me from the king himself.

Isoria had already retreated to the privacy of her guest room, so I hastily bathed and dressed in clean clothes myself, not wanting to bother with an attendant, all the while feeling my nerves rising.

Our travels coincided perfectly with Bren’s disappearance.

Father was no fool. Though he’d never suspect me of being sympathetic to the phoenixes, he’d want more information.

And had he questioned Lily or Owen or Cliff in my absence? Surely, he’d wondered why I hadn’t traveled with Cliff, even for a short stay within Rainsong.

I hadn’t worried too much when we’d left, knowing Father was confident in my hatred for the phoenixes. But now, perhaps because I was questioning myself thoroughly after the trip to Everhaven, I was growing paranoid.

Mortius’ curse took advantage of my mounting fear as I swept through the hallways toward Father’s wing, my usual smile pasted firmly in place. I was too hot and too cold all at once; my heart raced; my breaths came too quickly.

At one point, I had to pause, leaning against the wall.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?” The passing servant studied me in mild alarm, her eyes wide.

I waved her along. “Yes, absolutely fine. Too much to drink last night,” I added with a self-deprecating laugh.

She walked away slowly, hesitantly, as if not entirely convinced I wouldn’t collapse on the spot.

When I finally reached Father’s quarters and joined him at his personal dining table, I found Briar settled in the seat beside him, a male I didn’t recognize standing behind her and kneading her shoulders. She let her eyes roll back in her head, moaning appreciatively, and I didn’t bother concealing my gag.

“Sit, Archer,” Father practically grunted, gesturing toward a chair across from him.

I lifted my brows, glancing pointedly at the other empty chair beside the king before sinking into the one he’d ordered me toward and kicking my boots up onto the table. Ah, an interrogation then.

“Ew, show some culture at the table.” Briar sniffed.

You’re one to speak, I thought, but I didn’t have the energy to try to stir her ire, not when my stomach was still in knots, that terrible anxiety threatening to drag me under a rising tidal wave. Swinging my boots off the table, I opted for plopping my elbows onto its surface instead. “All right. You summoned me here for a reason, after my dear bride and I were enjoying some much-needed rest after a very strenuous honeymoon trip—”

“First, you aren’t married yet, and hardly have the time to waste gallivanting throughout Rainsong’s inns and wherever else you took her to drown yourself in all your baser desires.” Father sniffed, as if he was immune to those baser desires. “You have a ceremony to plan, appearances to make to reassure our court…”

“Reassure them that everything is fine?” I snapped. My rage surprised me, but it felt nearly impossible to contain when my heart was pounding like a drum in my ears. “That they won’t be decimated by a revenant army while we leave the rest of Emberglade to die?”

“No,” Father snapped. “Reassure them that they won’t be murdered and burnt to char because the death-lover you convinced me to schedule a public execution for rather than dispatch immediately has escaped.”

“I’ll find him,” I cut in.

“Just like you found the little fire whore who escaped a few weeks ago? Do you know how many guards I’ve already had to execute because of the incompetence in this castle of late? What punishment should I exact on my own son if he can’t find these escaped convicts?”