Chapter Thirty-Nine
Archer knelt in a meadow, his head bowed, hands clasped tightly before him.
Above him, the wind rustled through the trees in a steady chorus, whispering promises of the future.
His mother stood before him, voice rising like the mountain peak, “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two people and two kingdoms.”
Arnsveldian weddings were simple, private affairs only attended by the couple’s family and their closest friends. Even a royal wedding afforded no more fanfare than their best clothes and an exchange of heartfelt vows.
“To a bright future together,” she said, raising a goblet of wine.
A cheer rose from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, wishing happiness and prosperity on the newlywed couple.
His mother held the goblet to Archer’s lips but the liquid inside had no taste, left no impression on his tongue. Then she held it out to the person kneeling beside him.
A thick veil obscured their face. Archer’s heart pounded as he waited for them to remove it, to reveal Silas smiling at him.
Delicate hands grasped the edge of the veil, tossing it up and over the head to reveal a woman with a pinched face and dark hair ruthlessly tamed into a tight bun.
Archer recoiled, watching in horror as his mother pressed the goblet to Mirinda Canton’s mouth. Silas’ adviser drank deeply from it, her throat bobbing with every gulp.
Red wine stained her lips in a vicious smile as she gazed back at Archer. “Why so surprised, husband? You had to marry someone, and you refused all the noble ladies.” She gestured behind him.
Ladies with garishly colored dresses huddled together, all whispering to each other as they gawped at Archer, their voices drowning out the gentle sounds of the wind.
“No,” Archer growled, waving his hand through the air.
The ladies squawked and fluttered away like startled chickens, fleeing into the forest.
The only person I want to be with is Silas.
“Silas?” Mirinda asked, responding directly to his thoughts. “Why would Silas want anything to do with you? You left him.”
“No, I …” Archer tried to remember why he’d needed to leave. He was … chasing someone, hunting something.
“You always leave him,” Mirinda said. “You abandoned him at Adelaide’s.”
Archer shook his head sharply. He hadn’t abandoned Silas—he’d left him in the witch’s care, where he needed to be to break his curse and learn how to defend himself.
Mirinda’s features shifted, becoming less distinct. “You abandoned him the night of the fire.”
Archer’s hand clenched painfully, as if he could reverse time, hold onto Silas even as the crowd pulled them apart. Or if not that, hunted him down, found him again, rather than chasing after the soldiers heading in the opposite direction, leaving Silas to face the destruction of his home alone.
“You left him to fight Alistair alone.”
Silas on his knees, as if begging Archer not to leave him. “No,” the single word choked out of him even as Archer slammed the door in his face.
“I wanted to protect him,” Archer croaked, but even as he spoke, he knew it was useless. His actions hadn’t protected Silas—they had ensured that when he did face Alistair, he was alone.
“You will always leave him,” Mirinda insisted, her features now disappearing completely, leaving only the slash of a red mouth. She grabbed the front of Archer’s tunic, digging her claws into him, and stretched her mouth wide open. “Come, kiss your bride.”
A loud crash tore Archer from the nightmare, followed by a startled yelp. Panting like he’d just raced up a mountain peak, he looked around the room in confusion. One of his hands was twisted in the bedsheets, the other was outstretched over a nightstand, oddly damp.
Norwin crouched next to the nightstand, cursing as he used a cloth to pick up pieces of broken glass. He glanced up at Archer warily, scanning him from head to toe, then said, “I’ll tell Adelaide you’re awake.”
After he closed the door, Archer looked around the room, recognizing it as the guest room in Adelaide’s cottage.
The same one he’d spent one night in with Silas.
They’d slept in the same bed before, but that time had been different—more intimate right from the start.
Every muscle in Archer’s body had been strung so tightly with anticipation that he hadn’t known how to release himself.
So he’d lain stiffly on the bed beside Silas, thoughts racing through his head: should I touch him?
Should I keep my distance? Do I say something first?
Then Silas had turned around to face Archer, his tawny eyes quickly understanding all of Archer’s unasked questions. His lips, soft and hesitant against Archer’s, providing the silent answer.
“I told Norwin to wait downstairs,” Adelaide said as she entered the room, interrupting Archer’s reminiscence. She sat in the seat the soldier had abandoned. “So we can speak privately.”
Archer examined her, searching for any sign of injury. When he saw none, he relaxed back against his pillows. “You’re safe.”
“I am, thanks to you,” she murmured with a soft smile. “Though if I’m honest, I didn’t even know those soldiers were following me.”
Archer’s brow furrowed. “But you called for help.”
Adelaide’s lips pinched into a thin line. “Yes, and I’m afraid the two events may be related.” She inhaled deeply, bracing herself as she locked eyes with Archer. “Alistair is on his way to Castle Arn.”
Archer stared at her blankly for a moment, uncomprehending. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is, though it’s rather … complicated. You see, Valerian found one of Alistair’s grimoires and used the knowledge inside to connect with Alistair’s mind, creating a bridge between them—”
“No,” Archer growled, cutting her off. “Alistair is dead. Silas killed him.”
Adelaide gasped. For a moment, she simply stared at Archer, lips parted as if she couldn’t swallow the idea. Then she composed herself, swiftly erasing the shock from her face and donning the clinical expression she used with gravely injured patients. “Tell me what happened.”
So much had happened that Archer didn’t know where to begin, so he decided to start with Silas’ victory.
“Silas set a mental trap for Alistair, and the mage fell right into it. It didn’t kill him, only knocked him unconscious.
Valerian put him in a stasis, but once he left, we couldn’t maintain it.
” He would explain the palace fire, prison break, all the fall out from both later.
“Alistair woke, we fought, Silas killed him.”
“Did he say anything when he awoke?” Adelaide asked.
Archer’s brow furrowed, trying to remember.
Lord Pryce had disguised himself as Silas for the interrogation so he could see first-hand how the adviser treated the king.
Alistair had seemed broken, childish, unfocused.
No, not unfocused, Archer realized as dread tightened his muscles.
“He kept asking about Valerian.” At the time, it seemed that Alistair only wanted to know about Valerian to break out of the cage the other mage had locked him in, but if what Adelaide said was true …
“He’s dead,” Archer growled. “We burned the body.”
Adelaide sighed. “But he’d already abandoned it for a new one.”
The word ‘abandoned’ reminded Archer of his dream, making him flinch.
Alistair is still alive, and you abandoned Silas, left him defenseless, easy prey if his abuser returns.
“Where is the bastard?” Archer demanded, struggling to sit up.
Castle Arn, he remembered. Adelaide said Alistair was on his way to Castle Arn.
The mountain paths were tricky to navigate. If Archer beat him there—
Adelaide gently grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down. “You need rest, Archer. Your body is still healing.”
Archer grimaced and probed his stomach, searching for the stab wound. To his surprise, there was no evidence of the injury, not even a bandage.
“I did my best, but even with magic, internal wounds are difficult to heal,” she explained. “As soon as we’re done speaking, you’ll need to eat to maintain your energy.”
“How long until I can move?” Archer asked, already knowing that he would disregard her advice if he didn’t like what he heard.
“A day, at least, so I can monitor your progress.”
He glanced out the window. The steady stream of sunlight made it difficult to determine the time.
“And I have other news,” Adelaide said. Once she had Archer’s full attention again, she explained, “Penn is with Alistair.”
Remembering what the constable said, Archer’s jaw clenched. “As his hostage.”
“Yes, but you need to understand that Penn went willingly.”
Was she claiming that Penn had betrayed them?
Not Penn, who had started following Archer around since the first day they met, talking enough for both of them.
Not Penn, who had patiently and gleefully explained the best way for Archer to court Silas.
The thought was so absurd that Archer couldn’t even voice the question, he could only wait for Adelaide to explain.
Understanding his silent look, Adelaide said, “Penn thinks he can save Valerian—sever his connection to Alistair.”
Archer thought of the mage’s frantic panic when he’d learned Penn was in danger.
Does Penn return Valerian’s feelings? Is he in the same frantic state now as he watches someone take over his lover?
Archer had never felt so distant from Penn, even when they’d had whole countries between them.
“Can he succeed?” Or will I have to kill his lover to save our kingdom?
Adelaide sighed. “I honestly don’t know. Everything would have been much easier if Alistair’s spirit had died with his body. What’s left now is an unstable version of a century-old mage, driven solely by ambition and base desires. He is powerful, obsessive, and unpredictable.”
Obsessive. Again, the image of how he’d last seen Valerian flashed through Archer’s mind, but it had a new edge to it. “How long has Valerian been possessed?”
“I don’t know.”
What if we’d stopped Valerian from chasing after Penn?
If we’d forced him to stay behind while I’d gone after Penn myself, we could have seen the signs of Alistair’s possession sooner.
Killed him before he could completely take over Valerian.
But something still didn’t make sense to Archer. “What does he want with Castle Arn?”
Adelaide locked eyes with Archer, her hazel eyes hard as stone. “What has he ever wanted with Arnsveld?”
To rule it. To destroy it. To strip it of every resource until the whole mountain is a barren wasteland.
Archer cursed and tried again to get out of bed.
The blanket tangled around his feet and he struggled to kick it off.
His muscles ached and trembled with frustrating weakness.
This time, Adelaide didn’t even need to intervene before he collapsed back onto the bed.
“As I said, you’re still recovering.”
Nothing hurt, and even the wound on his back had healed, yet his body failed him in ways it never had before. This small failure wouldn’t stop him. “Get Norwin.”
Adelaide hesitated for a long time, then nodded. She left the room and called down the stairs.
A few minutes later, Norwin bounded up the stairs, balancing a tray of food. He set it on the nightstand and then stood at attention at the side of the bed. “Yes, sir?”
“Did we capture any of the traitors alive?” Archer ate as he spoke, trying to finish his meal quickly.
“Two of them, sir.”
Archer set his empty pate aside. “Did we find any of the others?”
“Carolin and Mahler followed three of them until they lost them in the forest. They crossed paths with us on our way here, then continued tracking the traitors.”
Which left several traitors unaccounted for.
“We need to find out what their orders were. Why they split up, why they wanted Adelaide. Who their commander is.” Archer’s words trailed off as he spoke, his eyes drooping.
He shook his head to force himself awake and glared at Adelaide, then the empty plate of food.
An amused smile quirked her lips. “I didn’t drug you, Archer. I don’t need to when your body is already exhausted. Go back to sleep. You can interrogate the prisoners when you wake.”
Falling asleep in the middle of an interrogation would ruin any attempts at intimidation. Reluctantly, Archer settled back into the bed and let himself drift off to sleep.
This time, when he dreamed, it was of the night he and Silas had spent together in this room, wrapped in each other’s embrace, melded together so tightly nothing could tear them apart.
“I’ll solve this one last problem,” Archer promised, “and then we’ll never be apart again.”