The Crow Rider

by Kalyn Josephson

  The voices cut off. The light stilled.

  “Caylus?” asked a female voice. “What in Duren’s name are you doing here?”

  “It doesn’t matter what he’s doing here,” said the other guard. “Malkin is going to be thrilled. Come here, boy.”

  Caylus stepped reflexively back, and the firelight illuminated his face. Fear blazed behind his green eyes. Then hands closed around his wrists and arms, dragging him forward. I lurched after him, but Samra seized me, holding me back. I bit back a curse as the sounds of scuffle faded along with the light. Only then did she release me.

  Res’s curiosity plucked along the bond, checking that all was okay. I sent back a reassuring pulse I didn’t truly feel.

  We crept out after them, catching sight of the two guards towing Caylus around the corner ahead. Grateful for the descending cloak of night, we followed as far behind as we dared, taking turn after turn deeper into the heart of the town. Gradually, our surroundings grew more familiar. I recognized the sloping road they’d just turned onto ahead, the tightly knit buildings lining it a little taller than the rest. It led to a massive square outside the home of the town’s leader.

  The shuffling of feet and murmur of voices rose ahead of us. As we neared the turn, Kiva threw back an arm to stop us.

  “Illucian soldiers,” she whispered. “Two of them, guarding the back of the crowd.”

  “Dammit.” We were going to lose Caylus to the crowd. I surveyed the area around us, then looked up toward the shop at our back. There’d been a festival in town the day we’d come, and people had thrown petals down from the rooftops, symbolizing falling feathers. Which meant—

  “This way,” I said.

  The shop door had been kicked open, revealing shelves of folded cloth and bolts hung up for display. I made for the stairs in the back, the others following me up two flights before emerging onto the roof.

  A strange scene unfolded in the square. The townspeople had been herded into it, the four main roads in thick with people, soldiers at their backs. Some were Illucian, others Ambriellans dressed in clothing of kingfisher blue and pearl. Still, there was something strange about the crowd’s docility. Retired riders lived in this town. Soldiers. How had such a small force corralled them?

  I searched the crowd for Caylus, spotting him only as their slow forward progress disturbed the tide of people.

  At the front of the square sat a makeshift throne of aged driftwood. A man in his early thirties occupied it, a massive tapestry depicting the kingfisher symbol hanging at his back. A mix of Illucian soldiers and Ambriellan mercenaries surrounded him.

  “Did he…make a throne?” Kiva asked.

  “Malkin’s a theatrical son of a bitch,” Samra replied.

  Malkin Drexel had silken copper hair that curled across his forehead above a black coral circlet, hung across his brow like a crown. Cool gray eyes stared down at something before him, alight with satisfaction.

  A young Rhodairen man was on his knees before Malkin. He’d been stripped of his shirt, and his back gleamed savage red from the whip marks lining it.

  I snarled, snatching my bow from my back and nocking an arrow before Samra stepped in front of me.

  “We need a plan,” she said.

  “I’m going to put an arrow in his eye,” I said. “That’s the plan.”

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  “I’m getting tired of you ordering me around.”

  “Normally, I’m all for a good fight,” Kiva cut in, “but Malkin’s seen Caylus.”

  I sidestepped Samra. The two soldiers had pulled Caylus through to the front of the crowd.

  Malkin’s full lips spread into a smile worthy of a fox. I wanted to break his jaw.

  “Caylus Zander,” he said, his voice saccharine. Dangerous.

  Caylus didn’t respond.

  Malkin rose. A long blade at his hip shifted as his hand settled on the ornate hilt, white as bone and inlaid with swirls of gold and black coral. He descended the dais, slowly, purposefully, each step a statement of power, of control. He stopped before Caylus, and my fingers went to my bowstring.

  Malkin reached out, taking Caylus’s chin in his hand. A shudder rolled through Caylus’s shoulders, his muscles going taut as Malkin tilted his face up, then to the side, as if inspecting wares for purchase.

  When he let go, Caylus let his head drop. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts, and my mind raced back to the night he’d told me what Malkin had done to him. The torture, mental and physical, that he’d endured at this man’s hands for so many years.

  Seeing them together now, I knew he hadn’t told me everything.

  My mind worked quickly. Even if I put an arrow in Malkin’s chest, the guards might turn on the crowd, and Caylus was in the center of it.

  “You owe me a great deal of money,” Malkin said. His voice, his movements—they were all gentle, like sharp teeth grazing softly along bare skin. “Perhaps you’d like the chance to fight for it? We were just getting ready to organize some…entertainment.” His eyes slid to the bloodied man on his knees.

  Still, Caylus said nothing. How much of what Malkin said even registered?

  Malkin tilted his head. “If you win, I’ll grant your freedom. If you lose…” He crouched before Caylus, leaning forward to whisper something in his ear. Caylus jerked back, the two guards on either side of him forced to brace themselves to keep him still. Malkin’s fingers brushed Caylus’s cheek in a soft caress before he stood, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips. As if the reaction was all he’d wanted.

  Malkin waved a hand. One of the guards pulled out a knife, shearing Caylus’s shirt from his body in one cut and leaving a glaring red line in its wake.

  Corded lines crisscrossed Caylus’s back, their pale white stark against what little golden skin remained untouched. Someone had whipped him, savagely and more than once. Most of the scars were old, but a few were still the thick rises of wounds healed in recent weeks, likely dealt days before Caylus escaped to Illucia.

  My stomach churned. But it wasn’t the scars that made my throat close and my breath catch. It was the way Caylus’s shoulders sagged, the way his head hung. Quiet. Withdrawn.

  Defeated.

  Fire danced along my skin, hot and sharp. Res’s concern flared along the bond.

  “Thia—” Samra began.

  An arrow flew a breath from Malkin’s face, thudding hard into the throne behind. I’d nocked another one before it even struck.

  The hum of voices died. A hundred pairs of eyes swung toward me, Malkin’s included.

  “Let him go,” I ordered.

  His gaze slid over me in the slow movement of a knife skinning an animal.

  “A friend of yours, Caylus?” he asked. “Not the Rhodairen princess I’ve heard so much about?”

  I aimed the arrow straight at Malkin’s heart. “You have one chance to leave my people be. Board your ship, leave Isair, and never set foot on Rhodairen soil again.”

  Malkin tilted his head. “And in exchange?”

  “She doesn’t put an arrow in your heart,” Kiva growled.

  “How magnanimous of you,” Malkin said with a laugh. “But I think you’ll find you’re greatly outnumbered.”

  I reached along the connection to Res. A flutter of power echoed back. The moonlit sky began to darken, and a quiet wind poured through the streets.

  “Some of those soldiers have bows,” Kiva warned.

  I nodded. The cloud cover deepened.

  Malkin looked up, his smile fading as the sky grew thick and charged. Whispers spread through the crowd, and the archers nocked their arrows, searching the sky.

  I felt Res before I saw him. A flash of lightning lit the sky, illuminating his black form against the clouds. People shouted and soldiers cursed. A bowstring snapped, but the arrow careened off cour
se, knocked aside by the wind.

  Res shot upward, rising out of the range of arrows and beyond the clouds.

  “Tell Razel,” I called above the rising winds, “that if she wants me, she can come get me herself.”

  Then the rain began. It fell in patches, first over Malkin’s clearing, then over the Illucian soldiers at the edges of the crowd.

  To ice.

  The drops hardened into razor-sharp hail. The first of the mercenaries screamed as the ice shredded through cloth and skin. Malkin threw up a shielding arm, but the hail drew lines of red in his golden skin.

  The movement shocked Caylus back to himself. He seized the Rhodairen man, dragging him back into the crowd as the mercenaries bolted. The crowd parted as the soldiers fled, Malkin screaming after them to stop, the hail chasing them like a swarm of angry wasps.

  Bring down the throne.

  A piercing call echoed over the voices of the crowd and yelling soldiers. Light crackled in the sky. Then a bolt erupted, striking the throne. Splintered wood shot in all directions, a fire rising from wood. Fueled by Res’s magic, the flames flared higher, snapping at Malkin with vicious teeth.

  Malkin stumbled away. Lightning struck again, hitting the ground a few feet away from him. Then he bolted.

  The crowd cheered as the hail and wind chased the fleeing mercenaries and soldiers back toward the coast. I followed, leaping easily to the next of the closely packed buildings. Kiva followed, leaving a cursing Samra behind.

  The main road emptied onto the boulevard that ran along the bay. Kiva and I ran to the edge of the final building, Res hidden in the clouds above.

  Malkin’s men had already boarded the ship and were moving as quickly as they could to get out to sea. I saw a flash of copper hair as Malkin dove into the captain’s quarters, barricading himself against the hail.

  In the midst of the chaos, a tall, slender figure stood at the bowsprit of the ship. Cloaked and hooded, I caught only a flash of gold before Res’s wind swept down, shoving the ship roughly out to sea. It rocked and bowed, the churning waves turning it about.

  Res broke free of the clouds, keeping well out of arrow range as he banked in low, wide circles.

  Make sure it can’t come back.

  As the ship grew smaller on the horizon, the unruly waves tossing it left and right, the hail tore down once more, turning the ship’s sails to ribbons.

  I smirked at the fading sight.

  Then something moved at the corner of my eye.

  I spun, bow raised, and came face-to-face with Ericen.

  Four

  Everything stopped.

  I stared at the prince, and he stared back, his black Vykryn uniform transforming him into a shadow in the night.

  And then my mind caught up, and I was lifting my bow, and his hand was reaching for one of the swords strapped to his back.

  But I was quicker.

  I lashed out with my bow, striking the back of his sword hand with the upper limb. He hissed and leapt away to put space between us.

  He threw up his hands. “I’m not here to fight you, Thia.”

  The slight rasp in his voice pulled at something in my chest. A reminder that I’d cared about him. That maybe I still did. “Then walk away.”

  “I can’t. I need—”

  I didn’t wait for him to finish, slashing again with my bow.

  He dodged, hand returning to his sword. “Listen to me, Thia.”

  “I’ve done enough of that already.”

  I’d listened, and I’d believed him. But I understood now. Ericen might be a better person than his mother. He might not believe in the ways of his people that led them to wage war and conquer nations, to spill blood in the name of their god.

  But he was still the prince of Illucia, and he would not betray that.

  The air stilled. My hand tightened on my bow. His eyes traced the line of one of my leather-gloved hands—the glove he’d given me. Then I moved. Quick as a wingbeat, he drew a sword from the sheath on his back. I nocked an arrow, drew, and loosed just as his sword knocked my bow aside. The arrow grazed his arm, but he didn’t slow, sweeping the flat side of his sword toward my ankles.

  Kiva’s sword caught the blow. She followed through, throwing Ericen back. He moved with the blow, easily keeping his balance.

  “Thia, wait—”

  I slashed again, not giving him time to speak. He deflected it, then shot forward inside my reach. I tried to twist away, but he caught my wrist and swung me hard into the wall beside the door.

  My breath left my lungs in a whoosh of air, but I clung tight to my bow, even as he pinned my wrist into the wall. I felt the heat of his body against mine, a flare of energy in the chill night air. Felt the rise and fall of his chest in time with my own, his gaze locked onto mine.

  “You can be more than what she made you,” I whispered.

  He recoiled. Kiva’s footfalls were the only warning he had before she slammed into him, throwing him aside.

  Regaining his footing, he backed away, sword pointed down, other hand raised in a show of peace. “Listen to me. I came as soon as I learned about my mother’s plans with the fires. I didn’t want you to walk into a trap.”

  “Funny,” Kiva growled. “This feels a lot like a trap.”

  He ignored her. “Please, Thia.” His blue eyes were bright in the light of the moon, beseeching. “I need to talk to you. There’s something bigger going on here. Bigger than Illucia and Rhodaire.”

  You have no idea. Illucia didn’t know about the rebellion forming against them from the ruins of the nations they’d decimated.

  “After you escaped, I went back to the throne room. Auma and the monks were gone.”

  Kiva flinched at the mention of Auma’s name.

  “My mother was furious. The things she was saying—” He cut off, hesitating.

  “What?”

  “They didn’t make any sense.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Ericen,” I growled.

  “I’m trying to help you.” He stepped forward as if to press the sincerity of his words into us.

  I stared at him expectantly.

  His jaw worked. “She said something about the Sellas.”

  I stilled. “What about them?”

  “She wasn’t making any sense,” he repeated, shaking his head. “She was talking about them like—like they were still alive.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said even as a chill trailed down my spine.

  “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

  “Why should we believe a word you say?” Kiva asked.

  Ericen looked at me. “Because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t choose her over you.”

  I stepped back, stunned. The night we’d escaped from Sordell, Ericen had been right there. He could have called the guards, could have sent Vykryn riding after us a wingbeat behind, but he hadn’t. He’d let us go.

  Ericen lowered his hands to his sides. “You were right about her, Thia. About everything. I always knew you were, but I was too much of a coward to act on it.”

  I swallowed against my dry throat, unsettled by the earnest look behind his eyes. He’d lied to me before. In Rhodaire, he’d convinced me he was every bit the cruel Illucian prince I’d expected, and I’d believed it. He was too good at telling me what I wanted to hear.

  Who was to say he wasn’t pretending now?

  But what did he gain—what did Razel gain—by his coming here alone to spin a wild tale?

  Slowly, he sheathed his sword. “I made a mistake. I get that. But I thought you of all people would understand how hard it is to have your entire life turned upside down. For everything to change.”

  My grip tightened on my bow. After Ronoch, normal had seemed so far away, the word had lost meaning. That lost feeling was akin to drowning, trapp
ed beneath the dark waters with no idea which way was up.

  “You asked me to leave everything I ever knew behind.” Ericen’s voice roughened. “I thought I couldn’t do it, but I was wrong. You showed me that I could.”

  “And you showed us that you’re a traitorous bastard,” Kiva replied. She angled her sword toward his throat. “I don’t believe a word he’s saying, Thia.”

  But I wanted to. I wanted to more than anything, and that scared me.

  Ericen didn’t look away from me, even as Kiva’s sword hovered inches from his throat. The idea of her running him through bothered me a lot more than I wanted it to. He held my gaze unflinchingly, a familiar glint in them. A challenge. To trust him?

  The rooftop door banged open.

  Another dark figure erupted onto the roof brandishing a black gold sword. I barely got my bow around to block the upward strike. The force of it knocked my bow from my hands, sending it skittering across the rooftop.

  Kiva pivoted to intercept the second attack, forcing them back. I retreated, Kiva between me and the now grinning Vykryn. Shearen looked every bit as vicious as he had when he’d tormented me in Sordell.

  “You made for a wonderful distraction, Eri,” the blond boy said.

  My stomach dropped. Ericen had been stalling. Everything he’d said was a lie.

  The prince stepped forward, lips parting as if to say something, but he swallowed the words down even as his eyes begged me to understand.

  “This was far more than I expected to find.” Shearen hefted Sinvarra, grinning at the growl Kiva emitted. “You’ll be returning with us, Princess. Ericen?”

  The prince drew his sword, his eyes promising apologies even as he lifted the blade.

  A resounding screech barely preceded Res’s diving form. Rising from the dive, he landed, talons extended, on the rooftop ledge, wings flared wide. In a powerful stroke, he brought them together, releasing a wind that forced Shearen and Ericen back a step.

  Kiva moved, striking Sinvarra from Shearen’s hands. She swept the sword up through her forward momentum and rose with the point directed straight at Shearen’s neck. Ericen fell still, eyes wide at the balancing crow. Was that…awe? I’d known Ericen had an interest in the crows. He’d tried to ask me about them more than once, and I’d refused to answer. But I’d always thought it was a fascination with their power. Not this…reverence.