Page 51 of An Archer's Reckoning

A gust of wind blew through the barren forest, rustling dried leaves and what shrubs remained.

“I need to go. My men are out there, hopefully still alive, and there’s only a couple of hours of light left in this day.”

He kissed me again. “I love you, Ayden Byrne. Stay safe.”

“You stay safe, Ranger. I know you have all this magic now, but you are not immortal.”

He nodded and rested his forehead against mine. “Meet you in Saltstone.”

Without another word, he stepped back and disappeared, his form twinkling out of existence as magic’s trace dissipated into the chilly mountain air.

I stared for a long moment at where Declan had just stood. Only hours before, I had believed months of hard weather held the Kingdom’s forces at bay. I also believed the man I loved was one of the few other Mutes in a sea of magically Gifted humanity.

The Kingdom forces pouring over the mountain were terrifying and threatened to destroy Melucia’s very way of life. If this war went as badly as everyone believed it would, Kingdom banners could be snapping in the wind above Saltstone before the city even had time to prepare for war.

My mind should have been obsessing over saving my men and crafting some ingenious plan to slow the enemy’s advance. Schemes of gathering Rangers and shaping them into a resistance until we could receive proper orders from headquarters should have consumed my thoughts.

And yet, all I could see when I closed my eyes were emeralds dancing with amusement beneath a brow covered in a floppy mess of wilted curls. Declan’s devilish grin quickened my pulse and begged me to call out for his return.

It was in that moment, in my indulgent reflection, that horror’s roots dug deeply into my heart.

If Grove’s Pass fell, would Declan?

My hand rose to my lips.

Was that our last kiss?

Had we just said goodbye for the final time?

A branch snapped to my right beyond the clearing.

I snatched up my bow and pressed my back to a tree, shielding myself from the direction of the noise.

Dried leaves crunched.

Another snap.

I nocked an arrow.

“Ranger Byrne?” a high-pitched whisper drifted on the breeze.

“Eilidh?” I peered around the tree to find one of Declan’s former First Year team crouched at the edge of the clearing. Her hair, normally as fiery as mine and wild as Declan’s, was thick with sweat and hung limply about her shoulders. Angry smears of blood and dirt marred the pasty skin of her face. The color of her tunic was unrecognizable, and her cloak was so torn it looked like it had survived a battle.

She stumbled forward.

Green cloth from her cloak, soaked through with blackness, bound her leg above her knee.

I shot forward and braced her.

“What happened? Let me look at that leg,” I said, lowering her to my pallet.

She winced as she looked up, though the pain in her face appeared far deeper than any wound could cause.

“We’ve got to get back to HQ.” Near panic filled her eyes. “There are soldiers everywhere, and they’re shooting on sight.”

I peeled back her makeshift bandage, revealing a deep gouge that still oozed.

“Hold still. This is going to hurt.”

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