Page 44 of An Archer's Reckoning

I ground my teeth.

How do I get an army through a mountain pass covered in many feet of snow and where blizzards are near-daily events?

This was why the legendary Phoenix had created the mountain range in the first place, defeating Irina a thousand years earlier as she tried to conquer the globe—to prevent a repeat of a full-scale invasion by either side, to keep the peace.

White-hot rage flared in my chest as Irina screamed,“That blasted beast didn’t defeat me! It just delayed my rise. Now stop daydreaming and focus.”

I was beyond annoyed with the nasty little bird that kept chirping in my mind. More unnerving, Irina apparently knew what I was thinking. Would I ever be alone again or have my thoughts to myself?

“No. You will not.”

I turned to the sideboard. It took several glasses, but wine seemed to keep Irina at bay. I stared at the ruby liquid as I swirled it in my crystal goblet. One silver lining of being stuck in an inn was that large quantities of alcohol were only a bell ring away. My guards had surely noted the increase in consumption but dared not comment on it. They dared not comment on anything.

I peered out the window and saw the Royal Guard standing erect, pikes upright. Soldiers and Protectorate scurried through the square, following one command or another, the import of which they would likely never fully understand. These were men fighting formenow.

My chest swelled with pride at all I had accomplished. The war was only the beginning, and there were many leagues to cross before reaching my goal, but wewerecrossing those leagues. Spirits knew that was a lot more than my husband had ever doneas King. I took a sip and savored the hint of cherry for a few blissfully silent moments.

Irina stirred.

“Those aren’t men. They’re tools. Useful, perhaps, for the moment,”she said, contempt dripping with each word.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “What do you know? You would still be dead or trapped in that stupid Orb if it weren’t for me!”

I gripped my chest as a reprimand of white-hot rage seared through me.

Irina swelled within my mind and seized control.“I waited a thousand years for this moment. You have no idea the magic I wield. Without me, you are nothing, not even Queen. You, little mouse, will serve me or cower in fear as I bend you to my will. I care not which.”

I staggered.

The wine fell from my quivering hand. Glass shattered and bled scarlet over the freshly cleaned floor. I edged to the corner of the bed and sat.

“Why are you such a bitch?” I asked as I stared at my still-shaking hands.

“If it helps you understand—and better serve me—watch.”

My mind went blank, and my body fell limp on the bed.

A small girl with inky black hair circles her mother and father in the yard as they rake leaves. Her smile is broad, her laugh carefree. Her mother’s eyes smile as broadly as her mouth while her father tosses a rake full of leaves in her path. The leafy wall explodes in a flurry of splayed fingers and arms and giggles as she bursts through and into her mother’s waiting arms.

Both of her parents wear the blue smock of one trained to heal, but neither was adorned with a golden collar or cuff. They are good-hearted, well-intentioned, but abandoned by magic’s touch.

The image shifted.

The girl is now a few years older.

Two men and one woman, each robed in rich, velvety blue trimmed in thick bands of gold, encircle her. She cowers on her wooden kitchen chair, feet tucked to her bum, arms wrapped protectively around her knees. Her parents sit outside the circle, barred for entry into the Mages’ domain. They try smiling, offering her their strength, but fear and concern permeate their features. Her mother clutches her father’s hand for comfort.

“You have power, girl. Power to be more than you could ever dream,” one of the men says.

“Join us. Let us teach you. Become like the Phoenix and rise with us,” the woman behind her urges passionately, leaning to whisper in her ear. As she speaks, a shimmering blue-white image of the Phoenix of Magic streaks above the girl’s head. It circles the room, then explodes in a dazzling display of twinkling stars and luminescent smoke.

The girl winces. Her eyes pinch tight as she buries her head in her arms.

“I want to be a Healer, but I don’t want to leave,” she pleads, then looks to her mother and cries, “Don’t make me go with them, Mama! Please, don’t make me go!”

The woman presses, her voice now syrupy smooth. “Child, you can learn to Heal—and so much more. There are only ten of us with magic in all the world. Think of that. You would be one of only eleven Mages, and we can do wondrous things. If you stay here, you may learn to Heal, but you’ll never understand the many Gifts you’ll be abandoning. You’ll leave so much good undone. So many people not helped in ways you cannot yet imagine.”

Tears trickle down the girl’s face, but she glares up at the woman, defiance set across her jaw. “I will never go with you. I will never be one of you! Just go away!”

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