22. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Isoria
My body went cold, as if ice water had doused all my fire that had been threatening to burst out of me only moments ago.
Even Archer stiffened, though I knew his discomfort was for an entirely different reason.
His hands shifted to my waist in the mockery of an embrace, but the truth was, he was holding me in place so I didn’t do anything rash.
“Test him,” King Wystan said, sounding bored, as if this were a normal, dull occurrence.
“Father, I could make him share the truth—” Archer began, but the king lifted a hand to silence him.
“Let there be no doubt in my court and among my people who this is. They will see the truth with their own eyes.”
Nausea danced along my tongue as a guard approached the prisoner with a flaming torch. Across the ocean, fae were gifted with fire magic. Here in Emberglade, only phoenix shifters could wield and endure it. No fire could harm us. We only burned when our flames rose to save and remake us.
But that meant that, unfortunately, it was all too easy to test and out a phoenix shifter.
Without preamble, the guard paused before the prisoner, still held in place by the other guards, and shoved the torch against the exposed flesh of his arm.
Archer’s fingers curled inward, bunching the fabric of my gown.
My breath hitched in my throat, and though I wanted to look away, to pretend it wasn’t happening, I could not.
The flames danced over the surface of the male’s skin, but there was no scent of burning flesh. No screams of pain. No sign of injury.
My eyes burned. The crowd jeered and hissed and gasped, some angry, some horrified, some gleeful knowing that the prisoner had been condemned.
King Wystan sneered, waving toward Archer. “Dispense justice, son.”
Spots danced across my vision as Archer’s grasp on my waist tightened more as he leaned past me to study the prisoner.
I glanced over my shoulder to find that his eyes were dark, their color reminding me of deep shadows against the jungle canopy, and the line of his jaw was tense.
Don’t move. Don’t react. His thoughts were as curt as I imagined his voice would have been if he could have spoken aloud.
Archer had me trapped in his lap, unable to flee or fight against what was about to happen.
Already, I could tell he was pushing his influence into the male, changing the phoenix shifter’s expression to one of dreamlike contentment.
I knew that feeling. The male would be confused but overwhelmed with peace and a desire to please the prince, to do anything he said.
Archer’s voice, contrary to his expression, turned charming. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. “Take this dagger,” he said, tossing it to the grass before the kneeling prisoner.
“Yes, Your Highness.” The guards released him, allowing him to move freely and eagerly. On chained hands and knees, the prisoner scrabbled forward and lifted the blade.
“Plunge it into your heart,” Archer continued, his words like a caress. I shivered and shifted forward almost without realizing it, desperate to stop the violence from playing out before my eyes. Archer entangled his arms around me, pulling me against him.
The prisoner bowed his head, turning the blade back on himself.
Blood sprayed.
My vision darkened.
My strangled cry was drowned in the crowd’s cheers and shouts of glee. A chant began as they burst into song and dance, circling around the body bleeding into the grass.
I glanced down to find blood staining the hem of my dress, and a wave of nausea coursed through me.
“It seems my bride imbibed too much earlier while celebrating our upcoming marriage,” Archer announced for his father’s benefit.
The rest of the party was too overcome with their celebrations and the uproarious music that was playing to notice as he stood, lifting me into his arms, cradling me as if I were a helpless infant.
I didn’t notice what the king or princess did or said, instead tucking my face against Archer’s jacket.
The warmth of his body disgusted me, and I wanted to rage and scream at him, to pound against his chest and demand he set me down.
But I also didn’t want to look at the corpse or the celebrations, and I didn’t want anyone to see my horror and condemn me.
The world spun as Archer stormed away from the feast and back toward the castle.
Pretend you’re carefree and drunk if you’re about to pass out. Archer’s voice was gruff in my mind.
I didn’t have the strength to respond.
For the longest time, I simply breathed, listening to my own heartbeat pound in my ears.
Inhaling the scent of Archer’s soap, which reminded me of cedar and leather, along with that lingering parchment and ink from all his time in the library or at his writing desk.
I buried my fingers in his jacket, focusing on the texture.
Slowly, the sounds of the party, growing blessedly distant, reached my ears as my pulse slowed and my breathing evened out.
As the horror wore off, anger set in, and with it, strength returned to my limbs.
With a frustrated growl, I pushed against Archer’s chest, hard. It startled him enough that he lost his grip, and he had to scramble to catch me from falling. Don’t be a fool. His tone was like a growl.
I kicked and struggled, forcing myself from his grasp until I collapsed, rolling, in the grass. Two sets of boots down the path warned me that we had witnesses.
Instead of standing and confronting Archer, I forced myself to giggle like a drunk. “Silly me!” Staggering to my feet, I swayed, letting the prince catch me as I stumbled.
Clearing his throat, Archer dipped his chin in acknowledgement of the nearby guards. “I’m afraid my bride had too much merriment.” To my relief, he didn’t try to carry me again, instead slipping an arm around my waist to support me as I walked down the path toward the castle.
It was still too much. I wanted to scream at him, to weep, to drown in my horror.
But I pasted on my fake smile and pretended to be a besotted lover instead.
I let Archer’s scent and warmth wash over me as he helped me to the castle, up the steps, and through the halls.
There were servants and guests meandering everywhere, the party having unfortunately spilled into the castle as other inebriated fae passed out or otherwise made fools of themselves.
Their excess had never disgusted me as much as it did now, knowing they wined and dined and danced and sang while murdering my kind.
Skin hot, I let Archer toy with my hair as we passed a couple who paused to wish us congratulations.
“When will the wedding celebration take place?” the female asked eagerly, her wide blue eyes falsely innocent.
She knew what the royal family did, knew phoenix shifters were being exterminated and the lowly fae on the outskirts of the kingdom were being threatened with horrifying revenants.
But all she wanted was a reason to wear a lovely gown, dance until her feet were sore, and drink until her thoughts melted into oblivion.
I wanted to scream.
“After my birthday,” Archer said, offering them a chuckle and shooting me a look like he couldn’t wait.
If I vomit on your boots, it won’t spoil our farce since I’m supposed to be drunk.
Archer’s smile tightened, but he didn’t respond, instead returning to leading me up the staircase as if he too was desperate to leave the party.
At last, we entered his darkened quarters, all the hearths unlit—even mine after our absence. It left the rooms deliciously quiet and dim and lonely, if cooler than I liked. The door clicked behind us, and I turned on Archer, my entire body shaking.
“You monster. You murdered him. One of your own citizens.”
“Not here.” He seized my arm and tugged me deeper into his quarters until we’d reached the library. Nothing but the moonlight glistened through the space, tinging it an unearthly shade of silver.
Despite my weakness, my emotions felt haywire, demanding release.
I couldn’t shift and fly through the night, so instead, I spun toward the hearth.
With a cry, I wielded my fire, hurling it at the waiting logs and watching them burst into hot blue flames.
I let another flame linger and dance around my fingers, the brightness and warmth a familiar comfort. With an exhausted sigh, I doused it.
Dizzily, I collapsed into the closest armchair, glancing down at the hem of my dress and noticing the bloodstains all over again.
Onyx uttered a soft mew and leapt down from one of the bookshelves, immediately trading that sleeping spot for a comfortable place on my lap. The softness of his fur beneath my fingertips grounded me. He blinked up with innocent eyes, as if sensing my turmoil.
When I turned back to the prince, Archer’s green eyes were eerily blank, his expression guarded.
As his charming aura he’d commanded for the party collapsed, I noticed the shadows in his gaze.
He tugged at the buttons of his jacket, fumbling in his hurry to wrench it off and toss it onto the chair before his writing desk.
He plopped into it, gesturing with annoyance toward the stacks of books left there.
“I do what I must to protect my people from the dangers yours pose,” he said at last, addressing my earlier accusation.
My words wobbled. “You forced him to kill himself for entertainment.” Tears swam in my eyes and spilled over onto my cheeks.
Archer’s tone turned dark. “I am no sadist, unlike your kind, playing with life and death.”
“Playing? We aren’t murdering people at parties. Life is actually sacred to us,” I stood, clinging to Onyx as if he were my lifeline.
“And yet many of your kind have made it no secret that you want to destroy Emberglade. Maris herself prophesied that a phoenix would be the one to ruin my family.” Archer’s eyes flashed, flicking between his cat and me.
He turned away, as if I weren’t worth the time it would take to argue.
“I’ve already told you what I’ve discovered in my research, even if you are ignorant about some of your own abilities.
Already, his body will have to be monitored to ensure he doesn’t rise from the dead.
Or that a necromancer doesn’t raise him as a revenant too. ”
Gooseflesh prickled along my arms. Depositing Onyx gently on the floor, I drew a shaky breath and wiped the tears from my cheeks. I couldn’t stand being in this bloodstained dress one moment longer. “Get me out of this dress.”
Too late, I realized how the words sounded, despite our argument. Archer’s back stiffened, keeping him ramrod straight in his chair. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
“I cannot undo the laces myself, and I’m wearing his blood.” My voice broke. I wanted to scream, to sob, to run and hide under the covers of my bed like I was a child. Everything in me was so angry yet so exhausted, so overwhelmed. So defeated.
Archer had left the dagger he’d worn to the party in the phoenix shifter’s body. He seized a new one out of the writing desk drawer. My stomach clenched as he stalked close, his eyes dark and indiscernible in the dimness.
He grasped me by the shoulders, spinning me so my back was to him. Then his hand was swiping the hair away from my neck and seizing the back collar of my dress. He sliced cleanly through the laces of my bodice, leaving the back open and my skin suddenly exposed.
I pressed my hands to the front to keep it from sliding off my shoulders, blinking at the fire and trying to compose myself. “Goodnight,” I muttered, and I fled.
Back in my own bedroom, I wondered why I’d wished him anything at all. Already, I could sense the building turmoil of his emotions mixing with my own, the accursed bond forcing me to feel his growing despair.
I can bear it; I’m already grieving, I thought. Let him suffer more.
After a quick bath, desperate to scrub myself clean, I bound my hair in a simple braid and tugged on a comfortable tunic and pair of leggings. I’d let Archer assume I’d be retiring, but I was going to investigate the castle’s main library.
I was going to find a way to save Mama and the rest of the phoenixes. And then, I was going to find a way to break the bond and escape.