Page 8 of Ruin of Revenants

“Maybe someone is misusing my power, but I have not raised the dead directly. I prefer the souls of the dead to settle into the afterlife and rest in my domain.” He paused, as if considering. “But I can investigate for you—search out those who cling to my power and see who may be using more than is right.”

I hated to consider the type of fae who wielded magic from the god of death itself. If they lived in Emberglade, they lived in hiding. But if this was not an attack from a death-loving phoenix, then it had to be a strike against us from an outside kingdom. A greedy necromancer or royal who wanted our kingdom. Maybe not Willowbark across the ocean, as they seemed uninterested in our kingdom after defeating us in battle. Father was still licking his wounds over that defeat, especially after helping train a human assassin to slay their crown prince.

But we had uneasy relationships with our neighboring kingdoms, Dawncrest and Brighthollow. We still conducted trade with them, but with the increasing disturbances within our borders, they’d grown more distant, trying to protect themselves from whatever was happening in our land. Beyond that, though, some had made comments and already been colder during diplomatic meetings, criticizing Father and how he’d stolen the throne and didn’t wield the magic that only the land itself would bless him with. They questioned his authority and his methods, including his laws against the violent phoenix shifters.

What if one of them had decided to move against us, watching from afar as our kingdom crumbled?

Mortius wrenched me from my spiraling thoughts. “But it’ll cost you.”

Chills erupted along my skin. Here was where he demanded payment greater than the blood still staining my palm. “What is your price?” I gritted out.

“Power. The more souls who do not make it to the afterlife, the weaker I grow. But you can feed my strength.”

“With suffering.”

“Exactly.” The shadows moved around me, as if studying me, seeking out my weaknesses. “I will place a curse on you. Each time you wield your own magic, you fuel mine through suffering. You are known as quite a charmer, charismatic and cheerful and beloved in your own court, are you not?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Yes,” I said cautiously.

“Inwardly, you will suffer despair, pain, and fear. That is my price.”

Relieved he hadn’t asked for a limb or my early death, I widened my smile. “Very well. I will bear this if you help me end my kingdom’s suffering.”

“A poetic trade—the prince will suffer to spare his kingdom.”

And then Mortius’ shadows devoured me.

Chapter Four

Archer

“Let in the next one,” King Wystan said with a lazy wave of his hand. He sat sprawled on his throne with the princess and me on either side of him, waiting for anyone who would seek assistance or favor from the crown.

It had been months since I’d made my ill-fated bargain with Mortius, and I had yet to hear from him. No confirmation it was a death-loving phoenix raising our dead to destroy Emberglade. No word that it was a foreigner smelling weakness after King Wystan’s coup and trying to shake his grasp on the throne. And though I’d started a new protocol of having any captured death-lovers interrogated before we executed them, none had given us anything helpful. Either they didn’t know who the necromancer was, or they’d found a spell that permitted them to lie. Considering their manipulative nature, I was half-convinced it was the latter.

Meanwhile, the message keeper continued to share news of the revenant numbers growing across Emberglade, and Father continued to refuse to send any further help.

Instead, he threw endless parties, ones that turned the citizens’ focus toward debauchery and excess and pleasure rather than any of the crown’s failings. I made appearances at the ridiculous spectacles, even if I hated them. On the outside, my court saw a carefree prince ready to have a good time, but on the inside, Mortius’ curse of despair and my own concern for Emberglade wrought havoc. I tried and failed to drink away the sorrow, often retreating to my rooms and lying in bed for half the next day, nursing my hangover and my growing sense that life was meaningless.

Parties. Wine. Phoenix shifter executions. We couldn’t survive as a kingdom on this indefinitely, but any time I tried to bring up my concerns to Father, he brushed them off.

Now, one of the guards beside the double doors announced our next visitor. “A citizen of Mossgrove!” The guards opened the doors to admit a distraught-looking male. His clothes were covered in dried mud and filth, as if he’d walked a great distance.

“Your Majesty.” The male dropped to his knees before the throne, his shaggy golden hair falling before his eyes as he dipped his head in deference. A child of four or five stood behind him, clinging anxiously to his shirt, trying to avoid the piercing orange stare and terrifying appearance of my father, King Wystan, the mind-reading usurper king.

“So, you ran here from Mossgrove,” Father droned. The male nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Look at me.”

The male, trying to control his trembling, lifted his eyes to meet my father’s gaze. It was widely known that eye contact was how the king read someone’s mind, easily detecting who had traitorous thoughts. It was one of the reasons why the execution rate had increased under his rule—or that’s what historical accounts and scholars whispered behind his back.

“You fear the revenants,” King Wystan said after a moment. “Maris gave your daughter’s prophecy. She told you if you didn’t do something, a group of undead would attack your village and take many lives, along with hers.”

“I can’t lose her. I already lost her mother, and we don’t have the forces to hold off another attack, not after the recent goblin raids we have endured. We are positioned too close to the Ivorycrown Mountains and the goblin tunnels, but have never been favored with trained guards or soldiers from the capital. I came to request help.”

“I’ve made my decision,” the king cut in sharply. “Emberglade cannot sacrifice more soldiers to villages that cannot protect themselves. You have magic. Weapons. Use them.”

The male’s eyes widened, horrified and enraged. My heart dropped, knowing what was to come with the thoughts he could not hide.

King Wystan’s nostrils flared as he leaned forward. The late evening sunlight, a bloodred glow filtering through the throne room’s windows, reflected off his ghastly grey skin. “Your thoughts reek of treason,” Father spat. He snapped his fingers, summoning the guards. “Kill him.”