24. Archer
Archer
Two centuries since I’ve seen my younger brother, and I already want to kill him.
Saige was in my arms, her soft curves pressed to my body, my hard cock digging into her and she wasn’t recoiling, she wasn’t scrambling back in horror.
Instead, she’d melted into me, her pupils blown, her lips parting in anticipation—
“That’s all you have to say to me?” Daemos demands, gaping at me in disbelief. “You’re alive. Alive after all this time and you’re annoyed I’m interrupting.”
“Some things don’t change,” I mutter, getting to my feet and reaching for my shirt, careful not to turn my back to him. “You always had shit timing.”
Daemos is tense, a wall of solid stone, his gaze tracking over me, cataloguing every change. He is the same as I remember—dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place, wearing his signature coat, its patterns ever shifting in the light of the campfire. And he looks ready to explode.
“I can’t believe it. You’re here. You’re alive.”
“Don’t sound too happy about it, Daemos.”
“What the fuck is on your neck?” he demands, nostrils flaring, his attention latching onto my brand.
“It’s not what you think,” Saige interjects, on her feet in her nightshirt, long bare legs on display.
“I don’t need you to defend me.” I will her to put some clothes on. I don’t need Daemos gawking at her.
“I’m not your punching bag,” she bites back with a suspicious glance at Daemos.
“I was trying to make sure he didn’t make the same assumption I did when I first saw it.
But by all means, General, I’ll leave you to handle it yourself.
You can lash out all you like then.” She grabs her breeches from where they hang over a nearby branch and looks to the wolfhound, who’s watching the scene unfold, poised to attack. “Come on, Grim.”
Conflicted, I watch her leave, fire burning in my chest. I don’t want her to witness the mess that’s about to unfold between me and my brother, but… I also don’t want her to go. I feel steadier with her at my side. Less broken somehow.
I feel like an asshole, again. I am an asshole, again. I need to pull myself together. In Gravereach, the others put up with my moods, but the bookbinder… she won’t stand for it much longer, and as I’m discovering, she might be just what I need.
“I like her,” Daemos observes with a wry smile.
“Fuck off.”
“That’s no way to greet me after two centuries.”
“Don’t push me,” I warn, my flames flickering to life within me, ready to defend, ready to burn. I motion to the depths of the forest; I don’t want him saying too much within earshot of Saige. “After you.”
Daemos huffs a humorless laugh and folds his arms over his chest. “The last time I turned my back, I didn’t see you again until now, so forgive me if I wish to follow your lead.”
“Suit yourself.” I know the destruction that often follows in the wake of me and my brothers. I put as much distance between us and the bookbinder as possible, and only then, do I face my younger brother properly.
Daemos reaches for me, his face etched with anguish. “We… We thought you were dead. And this is how you react upon our reunion?”
“But I wasn’t dead. You should have known better.” The next words are bitter on my tongue, one hand drifting to the brand on my neck. “You stopped looking.”
His eyes, a shade lighter than mine, follow the movement and linger there.
Shame, hot and thick blooms in my gut and heats my face.
My instinct is to turn away, to fade into the background of the forest and sink into the self-loathing that threatens to swallow me whole.
All this time later, that little voice is as clear as ever: it was your fault.
You deserved what happened. Your suffering was payment for everything you allowed to come to pass.
“I should have,” he concedes hoarsely. “We mourned you, brother. Junior too. We held the funeral rite during the Triad’s Ascension. We didn’t have a body, but we burnt your things, it was all we could do to return the threads of your existence to the Weave. We farewelled your damn soul.”
“Fitting. I haven’t had one for a long time.”
Daemos’ attention lingers on my brand. “Malevron did that to you?” he asks hoarsely.
“He gave the order.”
Bitter words spill from my lips. “I tried everything to let you know I was alive. For centuries I have left a trail of flames for you to follow as I hunted down Malevron’s minions and burnt them to a crisp. I’ve been in fucking Gravereach. And when I wasn’t, I’ve been here. The whole fucking time.”
Flames simmer in my veins, begging to be liberated. Ribbons of smoke drift from my fingertips. I’m suddenly spoiling for a fight, to release some of this pent-up aggression and energy somehow. “Go home, Daemos. I’ve survived this long without you.”
“You were in… Gravereach?” Grief shutters across his face and he reaches for me.
I bat his hand away. “I would never have stopped looking for you. Or Junior. Never.”
Daemos doesn’t back down, an Azkari through and through. He throws his hands in the air, the wind answering his turmoil, whipping up around us in a whirlpool of leaves and forest debris. “The last time I saw you, you wielded and summoned orange fire, brother, like all those from your house.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He gapes at me. “What the fuck, Archie? That’s not fair.”
“Neither was being Malevron’s prisoner.”
“That’s all you have to say? What about where you’ve been? What happened? I didn’t know you were alive until a few fucking days ago.”
“Your whispers should have told you…”
“They told me nothing,” Daemos says.
“You still should have known. You gave up on me.”
“Known what?” he fires back. “That you weren’t dead?
That’s not much to go off. Your magic is different.
It has a completely different signature to before.
So when I heard of a soldier with a sword of black flame, how was I supposed to know it was you?
I had no idea you and the Black Flame were one and the same. ”
“Well now you do.”
Daemos throws his hands in the air. “And here I am. I came as soon as I heard a murmur of your whereabouts. What happened, Archie?” he asks, a pleading note in his tone this time.
I meet my brother’s gaze, fighting against the surge of power within, ignoring its demand to be unleashed.
“At the beginning of the war, there was an Azkari force gathered within these very woods, waiting for orders from one of Reveries captains. The encampment was large enough that when I veiled myself and stole a uniform, I went unnoticed. I was able to join their ranks easily enough. With Malevron growing stronger by the day back then, our people were simply grateful for another blade.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?” Daemos murmurs.
“Bryneria knew,” I tell him, naming my oldest friend from home. “She was there from the start. And she argued with me for a week straight while I followed orders along with the infantrymen. I fought with her for a time. We made a difference.”
“And then?”
“Then I faced Malevron for the first time and became what I am. All that fire magic turned inward so I didn’t burn our forces to smithereens at the mercy of his mind control. The Black Flame was born. And I was no longer.”
“Did Bryneira know? Who you were?”
“Yes. But after the final battle she didn’t know what became of me. To everyone on the outside, it looked like Malevron and I destroyed one another. She would have thought the same. I’ve was tethered to Gravereach ever since. Until now.”
I can’t even begin to explain what it was like in that rotten, festering place.
I can’t tell him how my back was split open again and again by lashings, the wounds rubbed with salt and sand.
I can’t tell him how my reflection—half of me—was trapped in that cursed mirror, ripping me from my corporeal form.
He’ll never know what that was like. And for that I am glad. He doesn’t deserve it like I do.
“Why didn’t Bryn say anything afterwards? About your true identity?” Daemos presses. “Why—”
“I imagine it’s because she didn’t know who to trust. You can hardly blame her for that.”
“Malevron’s forces are stirring in the shadows,” Daemos says slowly, his eyes tracking to the ugly brand on my neck. “His souldren elite are hunting, and it’s you they want…”
“I know.” My voice is hoarse when I reply. “He sent mercenaries after us just yesterday. All of them wore his brand. We dealt with them, but it was little more than a test from him. He has much bigger plans at play.”
“The House of Reveries is not equipped to face him. Not after last time. Do you think he will attack here?”
I shake my head. “Not until he has what he wants.”
“And what is it that he wants?” Daemos’ gaze lingers on my marred flesh.
“You know what he wants.”
Daemos frowns. “That was destroyed.”
“It was damaged. And not beyond repair. Don’t be willfully ignorant, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Fuck.” My brother rubs the back of his neck as he shakes his head. “So it begins…”
“So it begins,” I agree gravely.
He waits a moment before asking the awed question that comes next. “How did you escape that place?”
I remember his hand on my shoulder the day I left home.
The casual weight of it. I didn’t pause, didn’t savor it, just shrugged him off and walked away.
For so long, I would have given anything to have that moment back.
To know it was the last one that didn’t end in pain.
The irrational anger boiling within cools to a simmer.
“For all these years, no one outside of Gravereach and Morzanmyre could see me except those who bore the brand.” I trace the mark with my charcoal-stained fingertips, flinching at the feel of the raised scar tissue there.
“I wandered Lorevael trying to make myself known, burning traitors out of their homes, trying to draw attention to where the rot of Malevron still festered. But I was a ghost, brother. Not a single unbranded soul could feel my touch, hear my voice, or see me…”