Page 72 of Evermore (The Never Sky #3)

Paesha

“ T hey have the same lightness about them, don’t they?” Thea asked, sitting next to me at the long dining table in Aldus’s castle. She jutted her chin toward Archer and smiled. “He seems happier.”

“He is happier,” I answered, taking another sip of the soup.

Considering that lightness, I leaned into Levanya in my mind. That peaceful soul that’d wrapped herself around my quiet corner and let me breathe. She didn’t always overpower the others. And sometimes she wasn’t there at all, but now that I knew her name, she felt stronger.

Across the table, Archer was animatedly telling his father about the time he and Harlow had snuck into the neighbor’s garden to steal apples, his hands moving as he spoke. The king laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that mirrored his son’s expression perfectly.

“And then,” Archer continued, “she convinced me to give her a boost over the wall, but when I did, she slipped and fell right into their pond. Made such a splash that the geese started honking and chasing her.”

“Your mother used to tell me stories about that garden,” Aldus said, reaching for his wine with a fond smile. “Said those geese were better guards than any dog could be.”

“They were terrifying,” Archer agreed, his eyes bright with the memory. “Harlow wouldn’t go near that wall for months after. Though she did manage to grab two apples on her way down.”

“It seems she was resourceful,” Aldus’s voice held pride mixed with old grief. “Exactly like your mother.”

“Did you ever steal apples?” Quill asked, before taking a massive bite of a pastry.

Aldus winked at her. “I never had to. But I tried to smuggle an entire cheese wheel out of the kitchen once. Didn’t end well.”

“You should come to the market with us,” Quill said with a gulp. “I can show you how to get things without stealing or being a king.”

“Quill,” I warned, but Aldus was already laughing.

“You know what? I think I will.” He stood, straightening his jacket. “Let me change into something less… kingly. Meet me at the side gate in an hour?”

She shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to change too.”

After he left, Archer stayed quiet for a moment, staring at his plate with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

He looked up, and the smile that spread across his face was genuine. “Yeah… I’m glad I gave him a chance. To be the father I always hoped he could be.” He shook his head slightly. “I hate that everyone was right.”

“Not everyone,” I said, remembering how careful we’d all been not to push him. “We just wanted you to have the choice.”

“Choice is a funny thing.” Thea reached for the bread basket. “Sometimes the hardest part is admitting you want something you’ve spent so long convincing yourself you didn’t need.”

Archer’s eyes met mine across the table, understanding passing between us. We both knew something about walls built from old hurts, about the courage it took to let them fall.

“Well,” he said, leaning back in his chair with that familiar roguish grin as he wiggled his eyebrows at me. “At least I still have my stunning good looks, a hoard of carriages to break, and all this charm to fall back on if this whole prince thing doesn’t work out.”

I threw a napkin at his head. “And your modesty. Don’t forget that. Highly recommend breaking all the carriages though.”

An hour later, we were in the market, watching as Quill tugged on the king’s sleeve. She covered her mouth with her hand as she whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “You can’t just pay what they ask. You have to haggle.”

“Haggle?” Aldus looked genuinely puzzled as he stood before the fruit vendor’s stall. “But the price seems fair.”

“That’s not the point,” Quill explained with exaggerated patience. “It’s part of the experience. Watch.” She turned to the vendor with her hands on her hips. “Three coin for these oranges? They’re barely bigger than walnuts!”

Archer tensed beside me as another crowd of people pushed past us. He scanned the rooftops, the alleyways, everywhere but the charming scene of his father learning to barter with a child as his teacher.

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered, his hand drifting to the knife at his belt.

I followed his gaze but saw nothing obvious. “What is it?”

“Not sure. Just feels… off.” He shifted closer to me, positioning himself between our group and the wider market. “Where’s Thorne? He should be here.”

“I convinced him to try to make peace with Minerva.” I watched as Quill gestured dramatically. “She can’t ignore him forever.”

“Want to bet?” But Archer’s attempt at humor fell flat as his eyes locked on to something in the crowd. “There are too many people here today. Too many hoods up despite the heat.”

He was right. Now that he’d pointed it out, I could feel it too, that crawling sensation between my shoulder blades that meant we were being watched.

“Should we leave?”

“Not yet. Don’t want to spook them.” His voice dropped lower. “But get ready to move if I give the signal.”

Ahead of us, Aldus was laughing as Quill successfully negotiated the price of fruit down to two coin, her face beaming with pride. The king looked happier than I’d ever seen him, completely unaware of the tension building around us.

“At least someone’s having fun,” Archer said. “Though I have to admit, watching my father learn market economics from a child is pretty entertaining.”

“She’s a good teacher.”

“She’s something.” His hand brushed mine, a silent warning as another hooded figure passed too close. “Next time we take my father shopping, let’s stick to Perth. We can keep him disguised over there.”

“Agreed,” I said, watching as Quill dragged Aldus toward a stall selling colorful scarves.

“Archer Bramwell,” a smooth voice called out.

My heart stuttered as Willard emerged from the crowd, his perfectly tailored jacket and carefully styled hair marking him as belonging here far more than we did. He held out a hand to Archer, who took it after only the slightest hesitation.

“What brings you to the Silk market? Thought you preferred the company of less tasteful wares. The Salt not good enough for you now that you’ve moved in on the title? Who knew your mother was so… spirited.”

“Just showing some friends around,” Archer said casually, though I felt him shift his weight, ready to move. “Been a while, Wee Willy.”

Willard’s eyes slid over me without recognition before landing on Aldus and Quill by the scarf merchant’s stall. Something calculated flickered across his face. “Indeed it has. Not since…” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Actually, I can’t quite recall our last meeting.”

“The funeral,” Archer said, his voice tight. “You were at Harlow’s funeral.”

“Ah yes, of course.” Willard took a step backward. “Such a tragedy. Though I must admit, the details seem a bit hazy.”

I watched him drift closer to the king, my heart pounding.

Even with Thorne’s magic wiping his memories of me, of the Fray, of everything we’d done, the cold calculation in his eyes remained unchanged.

He was still the same man who’d broken Harlow’s heart, who’d stood at her funeral like he had any right to mourn her.

Quill darted away from the scarf stall, distracted by a display of sparkling trinkets. In that split second, Willard moved. The blade appeared in his hand like a serpent’s strike, and before anyone could react, he’d buried it into Aldus’s chest.

The king’s small gasp shattered the market’s peaceful buzz. Such a quiet sound that had no business being the sound of Archer’s future shattering. It shouldn’t have meant the end of everything. I’d heard that sound before though. On the lips of that old king’s daughter the second before she died.

“No!” I was already moving forward. We could fix this. We had to fix this. Archer could stop time, we could get help. Thorne would know what to do. There were healers in the castle. Magic. Anything to stop the blood that was spreading too quickly across the king’s fine jacket.

On the break of Quill’s scream, everything stopped. The crowd froze mid-stride, Willard’s satisfied smirk suspended in time, even the ripples in the puddles at our feet stood still.

“No, no, no,” Archer chanted, catching his father as he crumpled. There was no part of me that could watch him lose someone else. “Someone, there has to be someone who can…” His voice shook as he lowered Aldus to the ground, pressing his hands against the wound. “Why isn’t time stopped for you?”

His father’s face had already begun to lose color.

“We’ll get help,” I said desperately, dropping to my knees beside them. “We just need to stop the bleeding. We can—” But the words died in my throat as I saw Aldus’s eyes. Saw the knowledge there. The acceptance.

“My boy,” Aldus whispered, his trembling hand finding Archer’s cheek. “My beautiful, strong boy. I’m so proud of you.” His breath hitched. “I’m sorry I missed so much. So many moments I should have…”

Archer shook his head. “No. You don’t get to die.”

“I’m sorry,” his father answered, the pain so obvious on the old man’s face I could almost feel it as if it were my own.

Archer looked at me. Fucking looked right into my soul. “Help me.”

But I couldn’t. “I think because you’re touching him, time is still moving. Maybe if you…”

“Don’t,” Aldus said, staring only at his son. “Don’t let go. Please.”

Archer nodded. Tears pooled in his ocean blue eyes as he stared down at the father he never truly had. Not even time magic could halt the life draining from the king’s eyes as he looked at his son with so much love it hurt to witness. A lifetime of it, shoved into seconds.

“You’re going to be amazing,” Aldus breathed, each word seeming to cost him more than the last. “Just like your mother. Just like Harlow. If only you could see that you have so much of them in you.”

Archer’s shoulders shook as he stared down at his father, and truly, I wanted to be anywhere but here, witnessing him lose his last living family member.

But also, I’d never leave him for a heartbeat, not when his soul was so crushed the sorrow was pouring down the Treeis bond in waves of agony.

Whatever words he couldn’t say, I could feel, and my heart burned for him.

With trembling fingers, Archer reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his coins.

He pressed it into his father’s palm, curling the cooling fingers around it.

“When you see her, tell Harlow I kept my promise. I learned to be brave.” He squeezed his father’s hand around the coin.

“And tell her… tell her to hug you extra tight for me. For all the hugs I should have given you.”

“I promise,” Aldus whispered.

The words faded with his last breath, his hand going slack in Archer’s grip.

For a moment, everything was perfectly, devastatingly still.

Then Archer’s face crumpled, a sound of pure anguish tearing from his throat as he bent over his father, his forehead pressing against Aldus’s temple, unable to pull him close with the blade between them.

“Please,” he begged, his tears falling onto his father’s face.

“I still have so much to tell you.” His words dissolved into broken sobs.

“I never got to show you the view from the bell tower. Or teach you how to play cards properly. Or tell you that I forgave you. That I understood. Please, please come back.”

I reached for him, my own tears falling freely, but he was already lifting his head. His grief-stricken expression hardened as his eyes locked on to Willard’s frozen form, that self-satisfied smirk still etched on his face.

The temperature seemed to drop as Archer gently laid his father down. When he stood, there was nothing left of the man who’d laughed over lunch just hours ago. In his place stood someone I’d never seen before, someone forged in the same fire that had taken both his sister and his father.

“Time to wake up, Wee Willy,” he said softly, and the ice in his voice made my blood run cold.

Archer moved with terrifying grace, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of the blade in his father’s chest. He pulled it free with a sound that would haunt my nightmares, the metal scraping against bone as his father’s body settled against the cobblestones.

The blade dripped red as he crossed to Willard, each step measured, deliberate.

His face hardened until there was no light left in the eyes of my best friend.

“Archer,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Certainly not to stop him.

“If Quill weren’t standing right there, this would take so much longer. Hurt so much worse,” he promised Willard, dragging the blade across the frozen man’s jacket to clean off his father’s blood. “It’s lucky for you I love that kid more than I hate you.”

Reality shuddered back into motion.

Willard’s smirk lasted only a fraction of a second before Archer’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat. The blade that had taken his father slid home beneath Willard’s ribs with practiced ease. Their eyes met, Willard’s wide with shock, Archer’s cold as winter frost.

“For Harlow,” Archer whispered, twisting the blade. “And for him.”

Quill’s scream pierced the air as she finally reached my side, throwing herself onto Aldus’s still form. The sound seemed to snap something in Archer. He let Willard’s body crumple to the ground like discarded waste, turning back to his family as the market erupted into chaos around us.

The coin in Aldus’s hand caught the light, a final glint of gold against the growing darkness of this endless day.