The Crow Rider

by Kalyn Josephson

  Malkin had made fighting Caylus’s life. He’d made it his survival, his everything. And no matter how much ocean we put between the Ambriels and us, those chains still bound him.

  I still held Caylus’s hand, trapped between my own as if letting it go meant letting him go, as if he’d simply fade away.

  “Your past doesn’t have to be your future.” Ever so gently, I pressed my fingers to the place where his nails dug into his palm. Carefully, I straightened one finger, and then the next, until the fist was gone, leaving bloody crescents in its wake.

  He stared down at his damaged hand, his fingers trembling in my grasp. He tried more than once to talk before the words finally came. “Have you ever felt like no matter what you do, there’s no putting the pieces of yourself back together?”

  “Every day.”

  He swallowed, nodding. Caylus knew all about the pain that had plagued me for months, that still did. Hatching Res didn’t erase the loss of so much. Some cracks couldn’t be mended; they only became a part of you instead, forever places that left you unsteady.

  “It feels impossible,” he said. “Like trying to repair shattered glass.”

  “You should know better than anyone that’s not impossible.” I placed my hand palm to palm with his, his skin rough with calluses and scars. Each one told a sad, dark tale. “If you melt it down, you can re-form it into anything. Even something new.”

  His fingers curled about my palm, his touch tentative. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It’s not,” I admitted. After months of struggling to put my own pieces back together, I knew how hard a process it was, how many cracks still ran through me. “But it’s easier when you have people to help you. I will always be here to help you, Caylus.”

  I lifted my free hand but paused, my fingers hovering above his face. I didn’t know what stopped me touching him. The gesture suddenly felt too intimate, the boy before me at once foreign and familiar. But not touching him felt like drawing a line, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  The distance that had opened between us sat like an invisible hand against my chest, pushing me back.

  In the end, I let my hand drop, feeling oddly betrayed by myself. I stepped back to find him looking at me in confusion, his head tilted like it did when faced with a problem he couldn’t solve.

  “What?” I asked.

  He bit his lip. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

  I shook my head, though a part of me knew exactly what he meant. This distance between us was made of more than fear and painful questions. More than my fire to fight and his desire to be something more than what Malkin had made him.

  What had grown between us in his workshop had been a friendship unlike any I’d had before. Kiva was my life, my blood, but Caylus had been there for me during a time of my life I never thought I’d see. He’d helped me hatch Res, raise him, and train him. Our connection had grown from a shared sense of curiosity and a need for healing.

  But I didn’t love him. Not in the way I’d hoped. And looking into his gentle face, I knew he felt the same way.

  “I care about you so much, Caylus,” I said softly. “You gave me peace in a place that threatened to break me, and I owe you everything for that. Without you, I may never have figured out how to hatch the egg, and your friendship means more to me than I can ever say.”

  He waited, green eyes dark in the fading dusk.

  I forced my voice steady. “But the feelings I used to have for you, that I thought I might always have for you, they aren’t there anymore.”

  Caylus’s hand trembled in mine. He bit his lip, started to speak, stopped, and then did it all again in a pattern of uncertainty I’d grown to know so well.

  “I…don’t feel that way either,” he said.

  A relieved smile pulled at my lips. “I’m so glad you’re here, Caylus. I really am. You make me feel calm, something I’m not very good at being, and I need that. And I will always be thankful for everything that you’ve done for Rhodaire and me. I can never repay you. But I think…” I hesitated.

  “That we’re a little too different?” he offered, and I was surprised by the accuracy of that situation. He’d never been the most perceptive of people, but he’d always been aware of me, of what I wanted and needed. He was a better friend than I could have asked for.

  “Yes,” I said. “But I also think our lives are meant for different paths.”

  I’d railed against Samra’s warning, but now I saw what she did.

  I saw a boy who had been knocked down too many times to count but who had always stood back up. I saw a brilliant mind that wanted nothing more than to learn and grow and discover new things, even if it meant losing himself in them. I saw a friend.

  Caylus ran a hand through his perpetually unruly hair, unsuccessfully attempting to get it to lay flat. “To be honest with you,” he said softly, “I’ve started to realize… Well, I’m not sure.” He paused, folding his arms almost protectively about himself. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that way.”

  I raised an eyebrow, listening.

  “I really care about you, just not in that way. Not romantically. I’ve never felt that way toward someone, and…” He trailed off. “Well, I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I followed what was expected of me instead of what I wanted. And I’m not sure I want to be in a relationship like that.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m still figuring it out.”

  I nodded in understanding. “I’m here if you ever need to talk about it.”

  Caylus smiled, squeezing my hand. “I’ll still be here for you too. I’m coming to Trendell one way or another. I’ve always wanted to visit Eselin anyways. Did you know they have a university that’s open to the public? It’s free too. Anyone can walk in and sit in the lectures.”

  “Thank you. Having you with me means more than I can say.” I squeezed his hand gently, lifting it. “You should get Luan to look at your hands. And come join us for training tomorrow. Res is so much more compliant when you’re around.”

  “I think that’s the scones,” he muttered, and I glowered at him. “Right, no scones.”

  I snorted, even as something inside me threatened to break. This was the way things were meant to be between us: easygoing, comfortable, quiet. But none of those were what waited for us in the coming weeks.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Eventually.”

  I nodded. Sometimes eventually was all we could ask for.

  Seven

  I returned to my cabin to find Kiva sitting on the floor diligently cleaning Sinvarra. Aroch lay curled in her lap, and from the thin red claw marks on her forearms, I suspected this was the outcome of a long struggle. Res splayed across half the floor, trilling softly in his sleep.

  Kiva’s lips pressed into a firm line as we entered. “I know that look,” she said. “What are you blaming yourself for now?”

  I dropped onto the edge of the bed. “Nothi—” A cloth struck me in the face before I could finish. Shoving it aside, I glared down at her and tossed it back. She caught it, running it along Sinvarra’s gold-veined midnight surface.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “Each day brings us closer to the possibility that the other kingdoms will reject us, I’m worried about being a leader for Rhodaire, Caylus and I broke up, and now Ericen—” Kiva groaned, but I pressed on. “I felt wrong leaving him in Sordell, and I feel wrong leaving him now.”

  “We can’t trust him,” she said, echoing so many conversations we’d had before.

  “He didn’t have to warn me.”

  “It’s part of his game. He was stalling for time until he had backup.”

  I hated that I didn’t know, hated that I couldn’t tell.

  Kiva stopped polishing the sword abruptly. “Wait a second. Did you say you and Caylus broke up?”

  I
groaned and flopped back onto my bed. By the time I finished telling Kiva everything that’d happened, I’d snuggled under the covers and lay staring at the bunk above me.

  “I feel like I’m dragging him into his worst nightmare,” I finished.

  Kiva sighed softly. “You can’t save everyone, Thia,” she said. “It isn’t your job.”

  I looked back at her, her expression uncharacteristically soft. A thousand feelings bubbled to the surface: the need to prove myself capable, to be strong. To handle things myself for once. To be a leader. And with that, the fear that I would fail, only to slip back into that heavy darkness.

  I fought them all back down, offering her a quick smile that she wouldn’t believe for a second.

  “Maybe.” I turned onto my other side as a familiar feeling crept onto my shoulders. Drawing a deep breath, I let it out slowly, imagining the weight sliding away like a snake. But the unease remained, always there, always waiting for me to slip. For me to lie down and not want to get back up.

  Refusing to give the feeling purchase, I rolled back to the other side and perched on the edge of the bed. I felt jittery and restless, surrounded by questions without answers.

  My fingers curled around the bed frame. “What do you think about what Ericen said about the Sellas?”

  Kiva snorted. “More lies. Like I said, he was just trying to stall you.”

  “With talk of long-dead magical beings?” I shook my head. “He could have said anything. Why bring up the Sellas?”

  Setting aside her cleaning cloth, Kiva slid Sinvarra back into its sheath with a sigh. “What are you thinking?”

  It felt like a ridiculous idea, but I couldn’t shake it. “There’s still so much of the Sellas in Rhodaire. The statues, the temple. We tore them all down in Aris, but in Isair, it was like—” I hesitated, feeling foolish. “Like some people still believe they exist.”

  Doubt riddled Kiva’s face. “More likely they just never got around to tearing them down. Breaking stuff takes effort too, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There’s something going on, and I intend to find out what.” I stood, making for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Kiva called.

  “To get some answers.”

  * * *

  I nearly walked straight into Onis as he emerged from Samra’s office. He reeled back, a hand going for his talismans.

  “Sorry,” I said reflexively, then instantly wished I hadn’t when all he did was scowl at me. “Do we have a problem?” I asked.

  His nostrils flared. “My problem is you and that night-cursed crow. Rhodaire’s always been too quick to meddle in magic. Now that beast is doing more than he should, and you’re raising talk of the Sellas? Duren protect us from your foolishness.” He waved his hand across his face in a gesture I’d seen some of the other crew make.

  I stared at him. Religion had never been my strong suit, but I was pretty sure he’d just warded himself against me.

  Onis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a growl. “Your ancestors may have worshipped the Sellas, but we knew better in the Ambriels. Nothing waits for those who meddle with those creatures but death!”

  With that, he swept past me, muttering to himself about reckless Rhodairens.

  Frowning after him, I yanked Samra’s door open. She sat at her desk, a pile of papers before her, fingers rubbing her scarred eye gently.

  “Are you causing trouble with my crew?” she asked, clearly having heard everything.

  “What? No. He’s causing trouble with me.”

  She leaned back, lacing her fingers and pushing out to stretch them. “Onis is an ornery one, but he’s a good sailor and he’s served me well. Just ignore his superstitious nonsense.”

  I refrained from pointing out the talismans on her shelves; that wasn’t what I’d come for. “Can I borrow your copy of Saints and Sellas?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Curiosity,” I replied. “I haven’t read it in a long time.”

  Samra’s expression remained impassive, but I could feel her weighing me. Then she shrugged. I hurried forward, carefully extricating the book from the shelf and retreating for the door before she could change her mind.

  Back in my room, I pored over the book well into the night. The stories were different than I remembered, darker and more vicious. Humans who angered the Sellas died painful deaths or else were subjugated to far worse fates—maimed or blinded, cursed or trapped in the Wandering Wood for eternity.

  The book painted a picture of the Sellas that was both beautiful and cruel. They were as graceful as they were deadly, as magnanimous as they were ambivalent, content to grant humans gifts and then snatch them away when we inevitably corrupted them.

  It was that piece that fascinated me, the idea that the Sellas granted people magic. Every story followed a human granted magical abilities, and each one ended the same. When the human inexorably used the magic for war and destruction, the Sella always knew, for by giving the human magic, it created a connection between them. In the end, the human died a bloody death.

  There was something there though. Something familiar.

  “A connection,” I muttered to Res. “Like the bond between us.”

  A sleepy tug echoed back at me across the connection, tinged with irritation. Apparently, Res didn’t appreciate my late-night conversation.

  An idea sparked. “A magic line!”

  “A what?” Kiva grumbled from above.

  I winced. “Nothing, sorry. Go back to sleep.” The bunk above shifted, and a moment later, Kiva’s heavy snores filled the room again.

  I’d learned about magic lines from an abandoned journal in a forgotten library back in Aris. The scholar had believed that magic was passed down from generation to generation, like hair color or height. It was a connection, like the one that bonded Res and me.

  Was this what happened when a crow chose a rider? It created a magic line between them? It would explain why riders often came from the same families. The crow’s magic must influence the person’s physiology somehow, creating the magic line, which was then passed down from parent to child.

  It was a theory Caylus had had too.

  The bond between rider and crow was something we only partially understood. When a crow hatched, it usually imprinted on the first person it saw. It was for this reason that new riders would take their chosen egg to one of the many hatching alcoves at the top of the royal rookery at the start of the process.

  When Res had struggled to access his magic back at Caylus’s apartment, Lady Kerova had told me to push on the bond. The result had been disastrous. I’d helped Res release his magic, but he’d lost control, revealing his presence to Razel’s spy. But it suggested that the bond was a conduit for more than just emotions and thoughts.

  Could it also be a channel for power?

  Sleep tugged at my eyelids. Kiva and Res had the right idea. The book had yielded interesting possibilities, but who was to say they meant anything? They were just stories, after all. Who knew whether I was just molding them to fit my own purposes?

  I needed more information.

  Eight

  Our next stop was Keris, a bustling fishing village nestled in a small cove. According to Jenara’s list, I’d find a retired battle crow rider here named Lazarayev. They weren’t hard to find either. It took all of a flash of Res’s wings before we had a crowd around us and someone had volunteered to go fetch the old rider.

  Flashing Res about was another thing Samra and I had come to an agreement on. I refused to hide any longer, since that was exactly what had led Razel to start attacking Rhodairen towns. It’d be a few days before word reached her of what we’d done in Isair, and by then, we’d have already moved through several towns, following a path that looked very much like we were returning to Aris.

  The crowd parted
for a middle-aged person with the long, pale blond hair common among the Korovi and a thin, wiry body. I’d met Laz once in Rhodaire, the day I’d wandered into a blacksmith’s shop in the Turren wing, entranced by the black gold weapons on display.

  Laz bowed to me, and I returned the gesture, a smile tugging at my lips. “It’s good to see you again, Laz. Jenara said you might be able to help me with battle crow training.”

  “And you, Princess,” they replied. “I’d be honored to help, though I have to say I’d heard rumor it was a storm crow you hatched.”

  “About that.”

  After leading Laz onto the ship and filling them in on the strangeness of Res’s powers, they wasted no time in devising a training plan for us. The most fundamental battle crow power was the ability to harden their feathers into metal, something Res struggled with.

  “It’s as much mental as it is physical,” Laz explained. “You have to see your feathers as the metal you wish them to become.”

  Res clicked his beak, closing his eyes. A moment later, they flew open, and he spun to face the door to the crew’s quarters as it creaked open. Caylus appeared, his auburn curls catching the first rays of sunlight. I perked up, at once glad to see him outside and suddenly nervous. For a quick, uncertain moment, we just looked at each other. Then I spotted the handful of cooked chicken in his hand, and he smiled sheepishly as if to say, “Not scones!”

  Res hopped over to Caylus, cawing excitedly. A knot loosened in my chest, though it refused to let go entirely. He was okay. We were okay.

  “You can’t give him treats before he’s done anything!” I said exasperatedly as Res gobbled down the chicken.

  Caylus tilted his head, looking perplexed. “He’s hungry,” he said as if we hadn’t had this exact conversation ten times before. All Res had to do was feign an injured wing or sway wearily on the spot, and Caylus would feed him whatever he wanted.

  “You’re just doing this to annoy me now, aren’t you?”

  Res let out an indignant squawk, and Caylus simply blinked at me.

  “Ugh, never mind,” I muttered, marching up to where Res was sniffing Caylus’s hand for missed chicken. “Caylus, this is Laz. Laz, meet the boy who derails all my training sessions.”