Chapter 35
Archer
From the moment I woke up, I’ve impatiently been waiting for the moment I would run into Renata.
She was awake when I went to her room last night.
She wasn’t as quiet as she thought she was.
It was a slim chance she would open the door twice in a row.
Last night felt more important than the previous.
I wanted to share with her what I found, knowing she most likely wouldn’t be ready to return to the library for some time.
As selfish as it is, I wouldn’t change the sequence of events knowing I only had the option of one of the two nights with her.
I hadn’t bothered coming home for dinner last night, too engrossed in the story of The Lost Hero.
It’s a dramatic reimagining of Nestor’s journey.
As stated in the author’s note at the beginning of the book, much of the story has been created for the sake of the novel.
It was written before Nestor returned, during the time when he was assumed to be dead.
Petra’s coven seemed to keep his original destination a secret because part of the story is trying to solve that riddle.
It is a compelling novel, I will give the author that, however, everything has to be taken with a grain of salt.
Including the ending chosen by the author: Nestor went in search of Calista’s island to retrieve everoot, but never made it back.
When Sybil got to the library after me this morning, she mentioned that Clementine and Renata didn’t go downstairs for dinner either. Rowyn was not happy about so many of us being gone, according to my sister.
So I didn’t risk another absence. Plus, if she was upset with me, I knew the other two witches weren’t exempt, and would be present for the meal.
Since Renata sat down across from me, I’ve been trying to catch her eye. She evades it each time. All of the witches, except for Clementine, seem to pick up on the awkwardness, but don’t say anything.
Clementine talks animatedly and quickly, jumping from story to story.
With each new topic, a small tug lifts Renata’s lips like she’s amused by this.
It dawns on me that the young witch is not as oblivious as I previously believed.
She knows exactly what she’s doing by filling in the silence before anyone—me, specifically—can get a word in.
Standing from her chair, Rowyn says, “Clementine, come help me with dessert.”
“Wait, but I was just about to tell the story of Clover’s first attempt at hexing so—”
Clover coughs, embarrassed at the untold story, and gives her sister a stern look. “Let’s not. Go help Rowyn,” she says.
“I think I’d like to hear that story,” Esme chimes in, earning a nudge from Clover while Sybil watches with quiet amusement, and Renata laughs.
It’s a light, sound she holds close to her chest. The few times I’ve experienced it have been like seeing the sun after a week long snowstorm.
“Will you go somewhere with me after dinner?” I blurt out, infatuated with the sound I wish I could lock in a jar for safe keeping.
With Rowyn and Clementine out of the room, all four of their heads turn in my direction.
Esme and Clover are seated on the other side of Sybil so I can’t see their expressions, but the excitement radiates off of them. It’s as strong as when they caught me outside of her room.
Sybil’s expression starts as surprised pride, but morphs into sisterly worry and protectiveness as Renata lets the seconds pass by in silence.
In a somber yet stern voice, she says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I think—” Esme is cut off when Clover slaps a hand over her mouth and offers an apologetic grimace on behalf of her friend.
“I found something I want to show you,” I say with a teasing smirk. Her eyebrows draw down, and I can see the playfulness warring with those stone walls she keeps around herself. “I mean it this time.”
Rowyn and Clementine walk back in, but I don’t turn to see what she’s made for us tonight. Their steps come to a slow stop a few feet away from the table when they realize the tension in the air.
Renata bites her lip and glances over my shoulder before meeting my eye again. “Is it important?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “It is.”
Wrapping one of her arms around herself, she nods. “Fine. We can go after dinner.”
Not letting the silence drag out, Rowyn steps forward and sets a large strawberry rhubarb pie in the middle of the table with a bowl of her homemade cinnamon and nutmeg whipped cream.
It’s a fitting dessert, I think to myself.
We all could use a little bit of love, prosperity, and protection going into the summer season.
The entire way, Renata dramatically huffs as if walking to the back of the property is the biggest inconvenience of her life.
When we finished dessert, she was the first to leave the table. I planned to go find her after helping Rowyn clean up, but I didn’t have to. She was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, Whisper and Hexate in her company.
I only asked him to stay one night with her, needing to be close to her in some way. I don’t think I’ll be getting my familiar back any time soon.
She didn’t say anything, only watched, as I grabbed my jacket from the coat closet and opened the front door for her.
She’s following me—and that’s the most I could ask for.
Right as we’re coming through the tree line, she asks in a breathless voice, “Where are we going?”
Turning to look at her, I take a few steps backward and shrug with my arms out. “Just here.”
She looks around, her eyes snagging on a nearby tree. The ground looks like it’s been dug up recently.
“Have you been here?” I ask.
It’s a trick question, but I don’t mean for it to be. We’ve both been here, just not awake.
“Yeah,” she admits. “Nestor brought me a few nights ago.”
“For what?”
She looks at me, defeat weighing on her shoulders. “He needed to show me something.”
Knowing she won’t elaborate, I ask, “Do you recognize it?”
“Uh,” she slowly says and looks around. “Only from last night. And a nightmare I had a couple months ago.”
I take a few steps and hold my hand out to her. “Come here.”
She glances over her shoulder, looking through the bare trees, before nodding and taking a tentative step forward.
“You’ll have to be closer than that,” I tease and tip my chin toward her.
With a dramatic huff, she holds up her long, floral skirt. “What is it, Archer?”
When she’s within reach, I grab her hand right as she stumbles in the uneven, overgrown grass. “Careful,” I lightly scold, earning me a scowl. Smiling in the face of her annoyance, I ask her, “Do you trust me?”
Letting out a dry laugh, she places her hand on the arm I have loosely wrapped around her waist to stop her fall. “That’s a loaded question.”
My smile softens, but doesn’t fade. “No, it’s not. Just an honest one.”
Her eyes jump between mine before dropping to my lips for a split second. Meeting my gaze, she says, “I shouldn’t.”
Tightening my hold around her, I pull her forward another inch. “That wasn’t the question, Little Wisp.”
“I do trust you,” she quietly breathes out.
Feeling like I chugged a good luck elixir, I touch my forehead to hers and gently command, “Close your eyes.”
She gives me an unsure look. I quiet her anxieties by pulling her further into my chest and brushing my lips against hers as I promise, “Only for a second. I want to show you something.”
It dawns on her what I mean—an illusion.
It’s not the most common divination ability, and one that requires a lot of energy. It’s always come natural to me in the way prophecies have come to Sybil.
And it’s one that I’ve never shared with anyone other than my sister.
“I’m in control,” I remind her. “As soon as you want it to disappear, it will.”
With a deep breath, I see the courage settle on her soft features and she nods.
When she closes her eyes, I whisper a common incantation against her lips, so close she practically breathes in my words.
“Meumoculi tuumoculi.” Cracking one eye open, I make sure the illusion took and murmur, “You can look now.”
She pulls away, taking in her new surroundings.
Technically old surroundings, depending on how you look at it.
When she didn’t open the door last night, I couldn’t sleep and chose to roam the back gardens. It’s not much to look at, all things considered. It’s quiet and I like to imagine what it could be in its prime. Not long after Whisper and I entered, Hexate found us.
I don’t know how it happened—maybe she’s able to communicate with Whisper and he sent that through our bond. He’s never done that with Echo, so the chances of that seem unlikely. However it happened, the fates wanted me to follow her toward the back of the property, and I understood their message.
I’ve explored most of the inn and the surrounding area, but I hadn’t ventured back here yet.
Unlike Renata, I knew immediately where we were.
My powers helped me make the connection, but the sparkle in her eyes when she sees the meadow—our meadow—makes any lingering disappointment at her confusion vanish.
“This is…” she trails off, slowly twirling in place.
My hand trails from around her back to her hip, tickling the sliver of bare skin between her pretty red top and the waistband of her skirt. When she stops, she’s facing me again and smiling. I grab both sides of her hips and step into her space. She lets her hands slide up and rest on my chest.
“Our meadow,” I finish for her. “It’s always been right here.”
“I feel like we should have guessed that,” she says with a shrug.
Her smile slowly fades. I give her a soft squeeze, pulling her out of her own head before she gets lost in there. “What are you thinking about?”
She assesses me for a long moment, thinking through her words. “Nothing is ours. Everything—even here—belonged to Petra and Barrett first.”
“It’s ours now,” I say with conviction.
It does nothing to reassure her.
“For how long?” she asks and raises her eyebrows.
Shaking my head, I run my hand up her back and cradle her cheek. “For as long as you want this—want me.”
“I don’t know that the choice is up to us,” she whispers in frustration and fists her hands into the fabric of my sweater.
“We’re going to figure all of this out. There’s a reason we’re here,” I insist. “Not only the two of us, but the entire coven.”
She opens her mouth, ready to argue but there’s no logic to it. At least none that she’s willing to share.
Before she can say anything, I slip my hand into the back of her hair and tug until she’s looking up at me. “There’s a reason I’m here with you, Renata. So, please, let me be here.”
My other hand slips up her front and settles in the space between her breasts, feeling her heart beat rapidly.
It looks like she’s about to crumble. Before she has the chance, she grabs the front of my sweater and tugs me down to her.
Our lips crash together, and she wastes no time deepening the kiss. It’s not frantic like the night at the library, but it’s not timid either. It’s a guilty pleasure—something you tell yourself is the last time but it never truly is.
Only one of us feels guilty.
Wrapping one arm around her waist and tangling the other in her hair, I pull her closer. Renata is stubborn, but she often radiates deep sentiments of being unworthy. I’m going to be the one who makes her realize how wrong she is—how cared for she is when she’s with me and the coven.
“Archer,” she whimpers when my lips descend the thin column of her throat.
Gently, I tug her hair, giving me access to nibble along her collarbone.
“You’re fucking perfect, Renata,” I say in between kisses.
Her fingers tangle in my hair and she holds me close as I taste her skin.
Her emotions taste even better though—fuck, it’s intoxicating.
Her lust is like a shot of whiskey burning through me.
It’s followed by a sweet warmth that’s bitter like dark chocolate; her longing for more than she’ll accept for herself, but the desire for it is there. It’s a start.
Wanting to reassure her that I’m here and not going anywhere, I deepen the kiss further. Biting down on her bottom lip, demanding more access to her, our tongues and limbs tangle together.
One of her legs wraps around my thigh and she grinds into me when she touches my growing length. I’d do anything to see her orgasm again, even if it leaves me with an unsatisfied mess of my own. The memory of it, rather than the fantasy of it, makes it worth it.
We step into each other at the same time, already so tangled that we don’t have anywhere to go but down.
Letting out a startled yelp, Renata drops her leg and tries to brace herself for the fall. Quickly, I grab her waist and step forward, catching her before either of us hits the ground.
She lets out a sigh of relief but when her eyes meet mine, the moment is gone.
Distracted, I dropped the illusion and we are back in our reality: the graveyard of the meadow we consider to be ours. The irony isn’t lost on either one of us.
“I—That…” She shakes her head.
That can’t happen again.
Looking over her shoulder, hoping it hides even an ounce of my heartache to spare her, I take a deep breath and wave my arm in the direction of the inn.
She opens her mouth before quickly closing it and biting her lip. She tries again. “Archer, I—”
Looking at her, I tilt my head to the side and give her a disappointed shrug. “What else is there to say, Renata?” I watch her open and close her mouth a few times before she gives up and looks down at her hands. “After you.”
Her gaze follows the movement when I point toward the path again. She hesitates and turns, wrapping her arms around herself and dropping her shoulders.
It feels like I’m being stabbed in the heart the entire walk back—watching the way she curls further into herself with each step—but I don’t know how to be there for her. At some point, I have to respect her boundaries despite being haunted by the ghost of her emotions.