That night, Tristan entered the main hall of the Archer estate where his father waited for him with a goblet in his hand.
“How are you today, my son?” his father asked.
Cornelius Archer was a round man with a red face and a great affection for wine. He wasn’t evil. But neither did he strive to be good. “Have you been busy feeding the poor and throwing my money to beggars?”
Tristan ignored the question. “What is it you wanted to see me about?”
“You will be eighteen soon.” Cornelius stood up straight. “And the king has requested the finest archers in the land to join his army as he overtakes the monasteries.”
Overtaking monasteries?
Well, that sounded like a good way to go to Hell.
Tristan frowned. “Which monasteries?”
“All of them.” Cornelius shrugged. “The king wants land and the monks have land. So he is serving them eviction notices.” Cornelius lifted the goblet to his lips and took a swig of wine. “But you can imagine how well that’s going. So the king is out for blood instead, which is a far more effective way to do business, if you ask me.”
Tristan wasn’t asking him.
Kicking monks out of their homes didn’t sound very noble. Or maybe it did and that was the problem.
“What does this have to do with me?” Tristan shifted his weight.
Cornelius smiled. “You and Gabriel are the best archers England has.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Tristan said dryly. “We’ve only been forced to practice our skill every day since we were three years old.”
“Exactly.” Cornelius pointed at him. “The Archer family name is legendary and the king wants you.”
“No,” Tristan said.
Cornelius laughed. “Oh, my son. My very silly son. You do not say no to the king.”
Tristan shook his head. “The king has his pick of every archer around. Tell him I am sick or mad. Tell him I am dead. I do not wish to fight for him.”
“What has gotten into you?” Cornelius swung his goblet as he gestured at Tristan, wine sloshing over the rim and onto the stone floor. “Lately, you’ve been acting strange. And Gabriel tells me you are not participating in the archery tournament this year?”
Tristan shrugged. “I do not wish to travel.” There was a certain girl in the eastern woods he had hunting plans with.
Cornelius puckered his lips. “And now you refuse to fight for the king? Do you hate archery so much?”
Rolling his eyes, Tristan said, “Of course not. I simply do not wish to fight in his army.”
“You must, Tristan. You and Gabriel are the best archers in the land. It’s in your blood. It is your duty. The Archers have always served the king.”
“I will not do it.” Tristan turned to leave.
“You will,” Cornelius called out, but Tristan ignored him.
Fight in the king’s army? Never.
17
By the time Laura returned home from her trip, Scarlet had almost overcome her frustration with the boys about the Head Ghost.
Almost.
She still thought they were being over-protective, but she had stopped begging for their help. For now.
“Welcome home!” Scarlet gave Laura a big hug the moment she walked in the front door with her luggage. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Laura as she wrapped her arms around her guardian.
Laura’s red hair brushed against Scarlet’s nose as they embraced. She smelled good. Like coffee and cinnamon.
Laura laughed, probably caught off-guard by Scarlet’s affection. The two didn’t touch very often.
“It’s good to see you, too.” Laura pulled back with a smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Why are you so chipper?”
Because I died, and now I’m alive.
Scarlet shrugged. “I’m just happy you’re home.”
Laura looked at Scarlet for a moment, examining her face. Or was she examining her eyes?
“What?” Scarlet asked, afraid her eyes were glowing.
When the immortal blood inside Scarlet’s heart began to weaken her, Scarlet’s eyes would flash and glow neon blue. A sure sign that death was close.
Laura smiled and shook her head. “Nothing. I just missed you. What happened while I was gone?”
“What do you mean?” Did Laura somehow know about Scarlet’s bloody death? Did Laura know about the Scarlet’s eyes? Did Laura know—
“How was winter formal?” Laura smiled warmly.
Wow, Scarlet. Paranoid much?
Scarlet took a deep breath. “Ah, you know. Uneventful. Heather dressed me in a poofy skirt with a black top that felt more like a torture device than a corset.”
Laura smirked. “Sounds beautiful.” She stepped out of her tall red heels, and kicked them to the side.
“If beauty is misery then, yes, it was beautiful.”
Laura sighed happily. “Beauty is always misery.”
Scarlet smirked. “Then I’ll pass on beauty.”
“Too late,” Laura kissed her cheek, “you’re already beautiful.” Laura shuffled all her bags inside and shut the door behind her. “So, how are things going with Gabriel?” Her eyes sharpened for the briefest of moments and Scarlet hesitated.
Why was she hesitating?
Act normal, act normal.
Don’t act like a cursed, sometimes-dead girl.
Scarlet cleared her throat. “Good. Things are good.” Talking about Gabriel with Laura seemed dangerous.
She didn’t want to accidently say something like, my boyfriend is immortal! Or I missed winter formal because I had an arrow sticking out of my back and protruding arrows make dancing difficult.
Smiling, Scarlet changed the subject. “So now that you’re home, what should we do? Movies? Dinner? Shopping?”
Laura grinned. “All of the above.”
“Perfect!” Scarlet reached for one of Laura’s suitcases. “I’ll help you unpack and then we’ll get going.”
With a plastered smile, Laura yanked the suitcase back out of Scarlet’s hand. “I’ll take that.”
Scarlet blinked. “Oh…okay. Sorry.”
“Why don’t you look up movie times while I get ready?” Laura’s smile warmed a little, but still looked strained.
Scarlet nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” She watched Laura climb the stairs, clutching the suitcase in her hand.
Weird.
18
Gabriel twirled a long strand of Raven’s black hair in his hand as they sat on the roof of the Fletcher home, watching the sun fall below the horizon.
“What shall we do tomorrow, Gabriel?”