Page 145 of An Archer's Redemption

A swelled heart ached for my brother. I missed him and his puffy-headed mischief.

Then Jess caught my eye. She smiled, and tiny lines bunched about her eyes as she did.

It felt as though the sun had descended to brighten the chamber.

The Councilors and nobles faded away.

Liam and Seth vanished.

There was only Jess.

My mouth grew dry, my tongue thick.

She winked, then an expression . . . something sneaky—no, impish—crossed her face.

“Silence!” she commanded, and the room stilled once more. “How thoughtless of us. There is one final matter before the Crown, a matter of the gravest import.”

Hushed tones echoed through the audience hall as nobles whispered speculation and rumor. The silly men and women had no idea how to read their Queen’s mind.

She offered me the slightest smile, then turned to face Liam. We had discussed her plans for Seth, but she shared nothing of an edict for Liam.

“Master Liam, son of Hershel, approach.”

Liam looked to Seth, then me. His gaze darted so quickly I thought he might try to bolt through the bronze doors.

Instead, the quaking boy took a step forward and lowered himself to one knee.

“Majesty?”

“Master Liam, the Crown has learned of your . . . relationship . . . with our Minister.” Her stare hardened. “It is most unseemly for one of his new station.”

I swallowed almost as hard as Seth in that moment.

Then Jess tossed protocol to the wind, reaching down to grip Liam by his shoulders and lift him up to face her.

“We offer our royal blessing on your marriage, should you and the Minister wish to unite.”

For the hundredth time that morning, my heart seized as I looked at Jess. In that moment, I knew she was the most brilliant, kind, amazing woman the Spirits ever allowed to walk the land.

And I was jealous of the blessing she had just bestowed on others.

Chapter 62

Declan

Isat staring at the mountains across the island. My feet dangled off the edge of the cliff. I’d been out there for hours.

The sun had begun her graceful descent, and the sky was painted with more hues than I thought were possible. A gentle, salty breeze tickled my nose.

I relished the taste of the island air, inhaling deeply.

A week had passed since the spell was cast.

A week in island time.

Months or a year elsewhere?

I wore my tunic and still enjoyed the Gifts I’d studied with my mother, but my limitless grasp of magic no longer availed itself. Fire refused to bloom in my palm. I couldn’t speak in another’s mind at will. Healing’s restrictive rules returned, as I learned the first time I tried to Heal myself and was punished with bouts of nausea that lasted hours.

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