Page 120 of Ruin of Revenants

A grunt of pain prefaced Archer losing his hold on his sword, the blade clattering to the cobblestones. Blood trickled from a wound in his shoulder, deep enough that his arm hung uselessly at his side. An echo of the same wound screamed through my own arm.

As he stepped toward Archer, preparing to make the killing strike, King Wystan’s orange gaze was cold, the ruthless look of someone who would do what he thought was necessary without remorse, even if it was clear he took no joy in it.

I swallowed my scream of desperation. Now wasn’t the time to lose myself in panic, but to act.

Inside, I was cold, no power left within me but Mortius’ shadows. Forcing my arm to move through the pain, I drew my blade, letting the sound ring out through the air and draw King Wystan’s and Archer’s attention.

I didn’t want to kill, but I would do what I had to for the prince I loved and his people. Our people.

“He’s not your enemy. It’s me you want to fight.”

King Wystan laughed, looking at my weak hold on my sword, my face grimacing with the pain I shared with Archer. But he took the bait, stalking toward me with confident steps.

I was determined, but my footwork was uncertain and my movements amateur, not to mention I was fighting through pain that made me clumsy and distracted. King Wystan easily dodged every swing and responded with one twice as hard. The force of his blows shuddered in my bones and made my teeth snap together.

I stumbled as I retreated, nausea climbing through me. Sweat made my palm slick. I wouldn’t be able to keep holding my sword much longer, wouldn’t be able to ignore the screaming pain in my arm soon.

My mind screamed for gods that weren’t listening or didn’t care. Solea was too distant. Vithenna wanted me dead. And Mortius had already offered what he could.

I steeled myself as King Wystan slammed his blade to mine again, swiping my weapon from my hand. It went flying into the growing shadows coalescing nearby. When I turned defiant eyes on the burning orange ones of my enemy, I drew a deep breath and prepared to meet my end with courage.

Archer

I’d been here before, finding my strength and skill wasn’t enough. I couldn’t use my magic against my own father, and the truth was, he was a more talented warrior than I was. His brute strength from his half-troll heritage and his grey skin, which was thick and leathery, able to repel blades in a way our fae skin couldn’t, gave him additional advantages.

As I had countless times before, I thought of the Emberglade royals’ tether to the land, and how I, as the usurper’s son, possessed none of it. The land didn’t know me, didn’t recognize me as a worthy ruler. I wasn’t part of the bloodline the gods had chosen; I was merely the son of a thief and murderer.

Now, in my desperation, I tried to call on the magic of the land anyway. I couldn’t get to Isoria fast enough, not with Father already looming over her. Blood loss had made me weak and slow, and I’d barely gotten to my sword.

So I cast my thoughts toward Grey and his men, toward Lily and Owen and Cliff and their unshakable loyalty. They’d all chosen me, time and again, when I’d defied my father and his choices. They looked to me for leadership. And then so had our people outside Rainsong and its protective barrier, seeing me as a figure of hope, a future ruler who cared about their wellbeing.

Maybe the land hadn’t chosen me, but my people had. Didn’t that count for something?

Please. Save Isoria.

Father had been determined to pit our people against one another, for us to split into camps of fae versus phoenix, us versus them, when the true enemy had been marching toward us. Vithenna saw only bloodshed, but I saw the countless innocents caught up in it, victims of Father’s greedy and paranoid choices.

Please let me save her. I didn’t know if I was begging the gods, who’d graced the land with magic and who’d chosen the royal bloodline that would wield the strongest of it in the first place, or the magic buzzing through the earth and air itself. All I knew was that if Isoria died, life would lose all meaning. Please.

The earth rippled beneath me. At first I thought it was a fluke, some new attack from the revenants or a trick of the blood loss as I weakened, swaying on my own feet. But it moved again, a crack opening between Isoria and Father and rapidly splitting wider. Father tumbled backward, forced away, as the chasm shot right down the city street, revealing a yawning void. It was too wide to leap and too long to see the end in either direction.

But that wasn’t all. When I imagined roots springing from the earth, they obeyed, breaking through dirt and stone and leaping like living creatures that twisted around Father’s limbs. Tight enough to force him to drop his weapon, to cry out in shock and pain as they held him fast.

Isoria froze in shock, her eyes locking on mine, realization dawning in her expression.

I did this. The land obeyed me. The land has chosen me.

“Wh—what is happening?” Father shouted, fighting furiously but to no avail against the roots.

But Isoria ignored him. “You need healing!” she cried, scanning the crevice desperately. I could feel her worry through our bond, her determination to run to me.

My strength was flagging rapidly, but I called on the land one more time. Cliff’s jaguar, the one named Princess, came bounding from the shadows, her maw bloody and her eyes fierce and focused. She heard my mental call as clearly as if I were Cliff, and sprinted without hesitation for the chasm. She crossed it in one mighty leap, her huge paws planting in the dirt on the opposite side. She paused, turning to Isoria, who only hesitated a moment before she realized what had happened.

She climbed on the jaguar, clinging tightly to Princess’ fur. For a wild moment, I thought maybe they wouldn’t manage to outrun the wall of shadows swirling toward them or feared the added weight would throw off the cat as she charged for the crevice, Isoria holding on with every ounce of strength. Her dark hair flew behind her like a banner, starlight from the glimpses of sky the revenant shadows hadn’t yet blotted out sparkling in the strands of violet, teal, and indigo. But then Princess leapt, the strength and grace in her legs apparent as she sailed across the divide with a passenger. They were majestic and breathtaking, filling me with hope that we’d win this battle.

Isoria dismounted and ran to me.

“Save your strength. I’ll—I’ll be all right.”