Page 6 of An Archer's Reckoning

The King couldn’t . . . my fathercouldn’t. . .

I staggered back a step, and Keelan steadied me with an arm.

No one dared move.

“I think he’s waiting for you to take the ring,” Keelan whispered.

I jerked away from him. “Of course he is. I don’t need aMelucianto tell me that.”

Keelan reeled back.

I took a tentative step toward the unmoving Sheriff. My trembling hand stretched forward. My fingers brushed against the golden mountains. Magic flared to life at my touch, and the ring shimmered with a brilliant cerulean aura. I pulled back and covered my mouth as a gasp escaped.

Everything was moving so fast.

This can’t be real. None of this is real.

The moment stretched.

The Sheriff didn’t budge, ring held aloft, head bowed.

My hand found its way free of my mouth. Shaky fingers reached forward and gripped the ring. Before my courage could flee, I slipped it onto my finger.

Magic flared, and the signet adjusted to fit perfectly. The ring’s aura flowed up my arm, into my chest, until my entire frame glowed with light. It pulsed once, then faded upward, like a campfire’s smoke curling into the sky—or a spirit ascending.

At the edge of the small town of Cradle, in the heart of the Kingdom of Spires, and under the cloak of night’s darkness, a wide-eyed, grief-stricken High Sheriff proclaimed, “Long live Jessia Vester, First of Her Name, Protector of the Realm, and Queen of the Spires.”

Chapter 3

Declan

Iwobbled a bit but righted myself with a hand on the Keeper’s shoulder. Órla, satisfied I was all right, winged her way back into the pond for one last bath before we departed.

Larinda reached down and handed the twine-bound package to me a second time.

“I know th’ golden collar’s haunted ya for years, but too much rests on yer shoulders now. It’s time t’ stand before th’ world and take yer place.”

I cast a confused look at the Keeper. The infernal old man just nodded and motioned toward the package.

“Just open the gift already!” Órla squawked.

I formed a tiny ball of water from the far end of the pond and splashed it into Órla’s back.

“Hey!” she cried.

I chuckled as I pulled the twine and unfolded the wrapping. A waterfall of shimmering fabric poured into my lap. I gripped it by the corners and unfurled it before my widening eyes.

“Ican’twear this. Nobody wearssolidgold.” I gaped.

Larinda grinned. “Nobody but th’ Heir of Magic. T’is yours by right, boy.”

I stared at the glimmering garment. Shades of gold swirled like ripples in a pool. Powerful magic poured from the silky cloth in waves. As I stared, the Phoenix symbol flared to life in the shirt’s center, a steady golden blaze amid a sea of shifting sands. A pulse of heat shot into my fingers, up my arms, and through my chest. I fumbled the tunic.

“It knows ya, boy.” Larinda cackled.

“The shirtknowsme? That sounds insane. You know that, right?”

“It has been over a thousand years since anyone wore that tunic. Magic created it to honor and protect its own. It knows you for who you truly are, Declan. Put it on.” There was ceremonial reverence in the Keeper's tone.

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