Page 2 of Ruin of Revenants

Elora gaped as Maris leaned forward and grinned, showing off her yellowed teeth. “Fated enemies.”

The news was shared by messengers, the notices posted throughout the kingdom:

All phoenix shifters are hereby declared illegal and dangerous. Any who remain within the kingdom of Emberglade will be viewed as criminals and condemned and executed as such.

From the comfort of her own cabin, Maris watched the drama unfold. Through the shifting smoke she’d conjured, she saw King Wystan’s advisors agree to everything, the brainless fools. The king’s decree went out to every corner of Emberglade. Phoenix shifters fled to whatever shelter they could find. Others were trapped by phoenix hunters and the young prince’s mind magic. Ordered by his father to protect his family and kingdom from the death-loving, fire-wielding phoenixes, the child manipulated his own citizens to turn themselves in. To allow their hands to be bound by shackles crafted with forget-me-nots that rendered a fae’s magic useless—forgotten. As the king grew greedier, he told his son to order them to slit their own throats.

But it wasn’t enough. The king spread rumors and threats, paraded imprisoned phoenix shifters before his people to instill fear in them so neighbors and friends and family would turn on one another rather than hide and protect a dreaded phoenix.

During one spectacle, a male didn’t only fight back as the king’s guard surrounded him. Fueled by rage and terror, he spewed threats. “We’ll burn your kingdom to the ground!” he shrieked as he shifted into phoenix form, his feathers bursting in shades of blue and deepest black. Flames licked at them, never harming him but a visible threat to the crowd. Smoke singed the air. Gasps and shouts rang out, some citizens turning to flee and nearly trampling one another.

But for King Wystan, it was all but a spectacle. He’d read the male’s mind, giving a signal to one of his dedicated phoenix hunters before the shift started. The arrow crafted with forget-me-nots pierced the male’s chest, and as he collapsed to the ground, instantly melting back into his fae form, pain and weakness wracked his body.

“Kill him,” the king ordered, and, more confidently than in times past and with more venom in his tone, his son stepped forward, those green eyes trained on the phoenix shifter.

The phoenix died swiftly and publicly, but his words echoed on in Emberglade’s knowledge.

We’ll burn your kingdom to the ground.

It became the rallying cry for all who feared and hated the phoenixes, the great argument that none could be trusted. That they had to be eradicated, those flame-wielding, death-loving creatures.

They were other.

Worst still were the portions of the city that erupted into flames, the casualties that occurred and were blamed on phoenix shifters as the bodies and the ash were cleared away. If, on the eve of some of those fires, royal guards had been seen lingering in the area, no one questioned it. They were everywhere, after all, protecting the people from the phoenix threat.

And still, the king lived uneasily, his son’s future forever clouding his mind.

The next time he set out toward Maris, she considered turning him away. The rule was that each citizen received only one prophecy, but the truth was, King Wystan was no ordinary citizen. He’d never been given a prophecy as a child, and he was hardly due one now despite the way he controlled Emberglade through fear and manipulation.

But she was curious. In all her long years, she’d never seen Emberglade’s people turn on one another quite like this. She wanted to see how the future would unfold, and, frankly, she wanted to play a role in it.

That curiosity was why she commanded her cottage door to swing open when he knocked and she let him step inside. He dipped his head in a rare show of respect.

“What do you want this time, usurper king?” Maris asked in her creaky voice, pulling the skin she’d dried for warmth over herself like a blanket.

King Wystan’s gaze flitted to it momentarily, the grey sheen of his skin leaching a bit. It was troll skin that Maris was warming herself with.

King Wystan cleared his throat, collecting himself. “Craft me a barrier to keep unwelcome souls out of the capital,” he demanded, his burning orange eyes filled with an uncertainty he never let the rest of the world see. “It must block fae and fae-like creatures.”

“Like trolls,” Maris said with a smirk.

The king merely dipped his head in acknowledgement. He wasn’t ashamed of what he was.

“When you crawled out of your cave and left your troll clan behind because you were different, did you realize you’d always be different among the fae too?” Maris mused.

“I don’t need to be accepted. I only want—”

“Power. Influence. To never be overlooked and insignificant again.” Maris grinned. “And you fear your son isn’t strong enough to fulfill his side of the prophecy.”

“His magic is strong, but his heart is soft. If you do not serve me—if the land refuses to recognize me as king, though none of the original Emberglades live—at least recognize that it protects the capital. It serves Emberglade.”

“The phoenixes are citizens of the land as well.”

“They’re death-loving demons. They scream to burn down the entire kingdom, not just harm my family.”

Maris smiled demurely. “Very well. I will erect a barrier around Rainsong. But know that I cannot oppose the will of the gods. If they ever deem that I interfered too much, that they don’t recognize your rule either…”

Wystan waved away her warnings. “The gods abandoned us long ago.”