Page 122 of An Archer's Redemption

Something had happened to me at the Well.

Far beyond taking revenge and breaking that wretched place apart,my true magic, the magic of my youth, had returned. I was powerful again, invincible so long as that blasted Phoenix stayed dead.

The boy who fought me—the one with Kelså—was powerful, too; but I saw him fall into the Well, dragged under the sickened waves with that witch.

Now, I was the last living Mage, the onlytrueMage left.

A wave of euphoria washed away the prior moment’s nausea as I realized I could do anything,beanything.

I couldrulethe Kingdom.

Spirits, I could rule them all.

That had been my goal all those years ago, and now I could accomplish it.

The only question was, did I want it? Destroying my enemies was so much more satisfying than ruling feckless, needy people. As Empress, I had to pretend to listen, pretend to care what people thought.

How tedious.

I would have to think on that.

I shook myself out of those thoughts and returned to cataloguing my present situation.

I stood in a storeroom.

By the combative wax sticks dangling above, I guessed it belonged to a candle maker’s shop. On the wall with a window, several barrels stood stacked on one another, likely ingredients for the maker’s craft. On the opposite wall sat a small writing desk littered with parchment.

I crossed the room and scanned a few sheets. Most were invoices or inventory tallies, even a few personal letters. I set the last of the letters down, careful to place it exactly as I found it.

Satisfied there was nothing of interest in the room, I crept to the door and peered onto the large sales floor.

The shop was still.

The counter stood empty.

I thought it odd for the owner to be absent in the middle of the day, but customs of this time might differ from my day.

Or maybe the maker had gone out for lunch or to run errands.

I really didn’t care.

I stepped into the sea of tables and candles and surveyed the room.

Nothing jumped out until I stepped toward the front door. Pinned to the wall where exiting patrons would see it was a flyer. I reached up and plucked it off the wall. Local Priests were holding a meeting to support their efforts in the city later that week. A hand-drawn sketch of a man in long robes was pictured to the side of the lettering.

The flyer proclaimed, “The day is coming soon. The One shall return, and the faithful shall take their rightful place by his side.”

I stopped reading as realization crashed into me.

The room shrank.

Anger bubbled and boiled inside me.

Danai, that bastard! He stolemyprophecy.

That conniving, thieving snake.

In that moment, I knew my goal was not to rule.

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