40. Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
“Have you forgotten what I am?” The shadows leaned toward Archer. Though I saw none, I sensed eyes or something akin to them deep in those shadows, staring into Archer’s soul. “You’re here to serve me. Your very existence is to serve me. You lesser beings live and breathe for the gods’ amusement.”
He released Archer, dropping him to the earth where he choked for air. There were no marks on his neck, like the god had never touched him at all, but I could feel his pain like my own. The first breaths of air ached and burned, and my throat was raw.
As oxygen rushed back into my lungs and I could form coherent thoughts, the being’s words flooded my mind. He’s a god. My stomach coiled tightly, and my muscles tensed, ready to flee.
This wasn’t how statues and artwork depicted Mortius, god of death, but it had to be him. He was known to thrive on suffering.
Archer had mentioned information. Had the prince pleaded for help from him, thinking that he would know how to stop the revenants?
Oddly, I wasn’t angry. I was struck with a bone-deep grief. Oh, Archer. You would do anything for your people. It was chased by another realization. Was that how he’d been burdened with his curse?
“So you’re toying with us,” Archer managed, his voice nearly as gravelly as the god’s as he stood, brushing dirt from his trousers. “Has everything you’ve given me been a lie? Do you actually know who the necromancer is? You want to see Emberglade suffer.”
The shadows stilled, and for a breath, it was almost like sorrow tinged Mortius’ tone as he spoke next.
“No, the spirits are not going to the afterlife. They’re restless, trapped in those undead bodies.
This necromancy is not my doing, as I’ve told you, and if I knew who was responsible, I would help you undo it. ”
Though Mortius was known as a trickster god, his words rang of truth. Why would he want souls to stay here, when his entire purpose was to take them to the afterlife, where he ruled?
He paused. “We are not alone. But I will make good on my word, Prince of Curses. I will continue to seek information about this necromancer. We will speak again.”
For a moment, I could have sworn the god’s shadows turned toward me, those unseen eyes piercing into my soul, maybe even reading my thoughts. My skin went cold despite the humid air. And then the shadows slithered away, creeping through the trees until they vanished into the darkness.
Swallowing, I backed up, hurrying back to our tent and slipping back into my bedroll before Archer discovered I’d eavesdropped. I should have confronted him, demanded to know more about his bargains with the god of death.
But somehow, I couldn’t find it in me to do that. Not when I pondered the fact that the curse Archer bore daily was all for the love of his people. The people his father had callously left to suffer and die.
Meanwhile, Archer was willing to face the god of death for them. To suffer for them and sneak away, defying the king, to fight with them just to give them a glimpse of hope. Just because he couldn’t abandon them, even if everything looked hopeless.
I understood his desperation. I admired it. I ached for him.
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I hurriedly dashed it away and lay down, closing my eyes and pretending to be asleep so Archer didn’t suspect anything when he returned.
How could I confront Archer about this when it would force me to examine this feeling deeper? This was my enemy I was thinking about, hurting for.
As I listened to Archer’s returning footsteps, the gravity of the situation settled over me. He’d been communing with a god. One who’d promised him information about the necromancer and was relishing in his torment. One who’d almost killed us both tonight.
It sounded like Archer was in over his head—and by extension, so was I.
Isoria
“Are you sure we can’t gouge out his eyes?” Bren asked, swiping a branch out of his way as we trekked through the jungle. We were now close enough to Everhaven that we had chosen to finish the journey on foot.
I shot him a glare. “Absolutely not. I like being able to see.”
“I do too,” Archer offered from where he walked beside me. “Not that you require my input. Or even wish to converse as if I’m present.” He smirked sardonically.
Ignoring him, I turned to Bren. “Trust me, it’s not a problem.” Pausing, I pulled out the vial and handkerchief I’d found in Archer’s belongings and stuffed into my pack before we’d left. “First, you’re going to take this potion to disguise yourself.”
Archer had had Orchid pack it, a concoction he called Golden Disguise.
I’d almost laughed. Its shade was gold and the name so literal, I took it that Plumeria wasn’t exactly poetic with her potion names.
Before we’d left, as Bren took the lead exiting the tunnels, Archer had walked behind with me and explained that Briar often used Golden Disguise when she wanted to change the color of her hair or eyes or adjust her features more dramatically than what Siren’s Allure could accomplish.
If someone willed it, they could focus on another fae’s appearance when they consumed the potion and take on their looks.
But otherwise, Golden Disguise simply altered them a little when they drank it.
She kept a small supply in her rooms, and I had the sense this wasn’t the first time Archer had helped himself to it.
Now, Bren raised his eyebrows, shooting me a curious glance. “Wait, we aren’t going to march him in there with a recognizable face?”
I heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Do you want me to be killed?”
He shook his head emphatically. “I wish he could get a taste of what he dishes out, hunting our kind down,” he spat.
“And I’d suffer by extension.”
“We wouldn’t physically hurt him,” Bren cut in.
I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t told Bren the most intimate, disarming part of this bond. “I can feel his emotions too.”
My brother’s eyes widened, his lips a flat line. “Solea’s fire, that’s—”
“Unfortunate? I know.”
Archer smirked as he tipped the vial up, pretending to make a toast. “Cheers.” He gulped it down like it really was a glass of wine.
“Bren, I need your help holding him while we blindfold and tie his arms.”
“I’m not a prisoner,” Archer interjected quickly, holding up his hands. “I don’t need to be restrained. I swear on my kingdom, I won’t remove the blindfold, and I won’t resist when you put it on.”
Bren took a step nearer, all too happy to participate in restraining Archer, but I shook my head. “I’ve got this.”
My stomach swooped when I stepped nearer, closing the distance between the prince and me to settle the kerchief over his eyes.
In the sunlight filtering through the leaves, his eyes—not yet changed by the potion—were piercingly bright.
I hadn’t noticed before that the green of his irises were rimmed in grey, like a ring of silver.
As I lifted the kerchief, a parrot flitted from one branch to another above us, dislodging a leaf and startling my gaze upward.
It fluttered down, catching in my hair. With a crooked smile, Archer picked it out of the strands, his fingers so gentle my chest ached.
I blinked. His eyes scanned my face before he pulled back, settling his hand at his side.
Whatever animosity he’d felt when I’d first spelled him was gone. All I sensed was something soft through the bond, something I didn’t want to feel.
You’re confusing whatever emotion he’s feeling for yours. And it’s probably him manipulating you anyway.
Sucking in a breath, I hastily settled the kerchief over Archer’s eyes and circled around him to tie it securely in the back.
When I stepped away, meeting Bren’s gaze, there was a flash of confusion in his eyes.
Shame flushed my neck and cheeks, letting my younger brother see me caught in our enemy’s charm.
But he didn’t press the matter, only shaking his head and glancing away.
As we drew closer to home, following the Passionfire River’s lazy course, I noted familiar trees—the one with the knobby face where Bren and I had played as children.
The rock where Brook and I sunbathed whenever we went swimming.
My heart picked up its rhythm and tears burned my eyes.
Home. I both longed for this homecoming and feared it, because the pain that awaited me would be soul-crushing, and that this was only a temporary return.
Though the undergrowth blocked a clear view, even from a distance it was easy to spy the treehouses perched in the boughs surrounding a wide glade.
The ever-present running of the Passionfire was a soothing backdrop, mingling with the chitter of birdsong and tree frogs.
And the sounds of a town full of life: children playing, people conversing, families laughing.
Bren, still in the lead, turned back to meet my gaze, his own golden eyes alight with eagerness. “Has the prince changed yet? We’re close enough that if we don’t want anyone to think he’s a prisoner, we should take the blindfold off now.”
I turned to Archer, taking in the sleek, short dark hair that concealed his gold strands.
His features looked largely the same—his familiar sharp jawline and full lips and straight nose.
Carefully, I tugged off the blindfold and found that his eyes were a rich, earthy brown. “Different looking enough,” I muttered.
We rounded a line of thick tree trunks and found ourselves on the edge of the clearing.
Overhead, a couple children standing on the edges of the platforms surrounding their treehouses shifted, spreading their wings and leaping into the air.
They soared upward, toward the open sky and the restorative sun.
I closed my eyes, basking in its warmth, feeling its power seep into me and revive my well of magical energy.
“Izzy!” Mama’s voice pierced all the others, which had risen to an excited clamor as more and more fae recognized Bren and me.