“If Quill weren’t standing right there, this would take so much longer. Hurt so much worse,” he promised Willard, dragging the blade across the frozen man’s jacket to clean off his father’s blood. “It’s lucky for you I love that kid more than I hate you.”
Reality shuddered back into motion.
Willard’s smirk lasted only a fraction of a second before Archer’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat. The blade that had taken his father slid home beneath Willard’s ribs with practiced ease. Their eyes met, Willard’s wide with shock, Archer’s cold as winter frost.
“For Harlow,” Archer whispered, twisting the blade. “And for him.”
Quill’s scream pierced the air as she finally reached my side, throwing herself onto Aldus’s still form. The sound seemed to snap something in Archer. He let Willard’s body crumple to the ground like discarded waste, turning back to his family as the market erupted into chaos around us.
The coin in Aldus’s hand caught the light, a final glint of gold against the growing darkness of this endless day.
42
Paesha
Quill sobbed the entire funeral. Her sadness covered the entire space in so much anguish, there were very few dry eyes. Even the gods that had deigned to come kept their distance from the child, which was a blessing to Thorne, who hadn’t slept in days. Aeris had come, though Quill barely looked at her, no matter the woman’s clear attempt to move closer to the child. We kept her sandwiched between Archer and I, with Thea and Elowen at our backs. The Goddess of Renewal looked different though. Strangely younger. But perhaps that was the benefit of renewal. Still, Aeris tried to be small, insignificant, wearing a plain black dress with her hair in a tight bun. But there was a youthful glow to her skin. No more wrinkles or age marks. I hated knowing her power was growing stronger by feeding off the mortals.
Serene lurked around the edges of the procession, eyes pinned to Archer. She was the Goddess of LustandLoss and when a king died, and the pit of despair was amplified by a child that was still too young to balance her emotions, she thrived, drawing power from the mourners like it was payday.
Bellatora stuck to her side, and Thorne gave several warnings to Archer throughout the day to keep his head up around her. Asthe Goddess of War, she wanted nothing more than to see this realm fall to destruction.
But as the day went on, as we gathered for a council meeting, Archer heard almost none of it. He didn’t want warnings about the future. Didn’t want advice from anyone. He didn’t want to accept that if the council walked into this room and said what we all anticipated was coming, there were going to have to be decisions made. He wasn’t ready to step in for his father. And though the entire kingdom heard of Aldus’s lost son, though they’d seen the two men together, so strikingly similar, yet worlds apart, there would always be the doubters. Those that didn’t want a boy from this kingdom to step into such an important role that he wasn’t ready for, nor did they trust him to ever be able to handle.
Archer was a charmer. He was a card shark and damn good thief. He had a smile that could melt your heart. But did he have the soul of a king? The grit it took to carry a kingdom through an overhaul of a man they’d known for years. Maybe. That was what the council would decide. But there wasn’t a soul among us that doubted this was a far better outcome than if Farris had still been alive.
The council chamber felt too small for the number of beings that filed in, mortal and immortal alike. Gilded chairs scraped against marble floors as the council took their usual seats, their faces grave with the weight of the succession hanging in the air. But it was the gods who commanded attention.
Archer sat at the head of the table, exactly where his father would have been, though his posture suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the table, and I could see the shadow of grief in the tight set of his jaw. The Treeis mark on his arm was on clear display. Apparently we were no longer hiding that which marked him as more.
Thorne’s fingers burned a trail of circles across my back. His arm was draped over my chair and the glare on his face as he stared down every moving person in the room was equal parts brutal and unfairly handsome. There was a game to be played here, a kingdom to be won or lost, and ultimately, a line to be drawn in the sand. Whatever Archer wanted, whatever future he chose for himself, I would see it done. I would tear this kingdom apart, brick by crumbling brick, if only to lay its ruins at his feet if he wanted. And I knew Thorne would do the same.
Of all the gods that filed in, the last one I ever thought we’d see was Themis, the God of Justice, who entered last, his dark robes rippling with otherworldly movement. Thorne’s hand stilled on my back as he looked Themis over, confirming he was not Ezra in hiding. The hood of his cloak concealed his face entirely, but I could feel his attention fixed on Archer like a physical weight. The Remnants stirred at his presence, remembering his role in binding the Cimmerians, and all the injustice that had followed.
“Take your fucking eyes off my friend,” I warned him, keeping my voice low as my power poured over the floor like fog. Alastor hadn’t come, but I wondered if he did, what he would think of that. If he would know I still didn’t fully control them.
“It’s fine,” Archer said, releasing a long, drawn out breath as Themis remained unmoving.
He fears us, Winter whispered in my mind.As he should.
Stop, I begged, though my control felt tenuous at best. The voices had been particularly restless since the funeral, feeding off the grief that saturated the castle and rippled in the wake of every space Quill had been.
I had to hold it together here, even as the hissing in my mind grew. No one could know of this battle. They would see me as weak and I couldn’t have that. Especially because none of us anticipated the presence of gods, aside from Tuck, Minerva, andof course Thorne, who hadn’t left my side since the murder of the king.
“Shall we begin?” Lord Bremen, the eldest council member, cleared his throat. “We have much to discuss regarding the succession?—”
“We have more pressing matters,” Themis interrupted, his voice carrying the weight of mountains. “Such as the presence of an Unmade Guardian at the head of your table.”
The council members exchanged confused glances, but Archer didn’t flinch. He met Themis’s hidden gaze steadily, though I saw his hand drift to the mark on his arm. “I wasn’t aware the gods had any say in mortal succession. My father certainly never mentioned it. In fact, if memory serves, gods have no right to interfere with the crown. Weren’t those our findings, Lord Noctus?”
Thorne’s tone was little more than a threat. “Yes.”
Themis shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but did not relent. “Your father was wise enough to welcome our counsel when it was necessary. You would do well to follow his example.”
“His example?” Archer’s laugh held no humor. “You mean letting immortals meddle in mortal affairs? Tell me, God of Justice, where was your counsel when my sister was murdered? When the crowned prince of this realm was stealing magic in Prospector’s Pointe? Where was your justice then? Oh, that’s right, you were the one binding the Cimmerians. Forgive me if I don’t give afuckwhat you have to say to me. That door you passed through to enter this sacred room? You’ll find it works both ways. Feel free to give it a try.”
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. I shifted closer to Archer, my Remnants coiling protectively around us both. Themis’s presence seemed to grow, filling the chamber with the weight of his power.
“You dare question me, boy?” Shadows writhed beneath his hood. “I am Justice incarnate. I see all debts that must be paid.” His attention shifted to me. “Including those owed by your Huntress.”
