“Hmm?”
I started, coming to an abrupt halt. A simple wooden bench sat encircled by a head-height hedge, illuminated by a circle of tiny lanterns. On the bench sat Auma, the scent of cinnamon steaming from the cup of tea beside her, a book in her hand.
“Talking to yourself?” she asked.
I smiled sheepishly. “Yes. Unfortunately, myself doesn’t seem to have many answers.”
Auma marked her page and closed the book, inclining her head in the barest nod to the bench beside her. I hesitated a fraction. Auma’s calm, controlled manner always threw me off a little. It felt like addressing an unmovable mountain—as if she were here before I existed and would be long after. Pushing aside the notion, I sat down as she spoke.
“In Trendell, they tell children a story about the Wanderer. If they don’t go to sleep, he’ll come and spirit them away to his realm in the Wandering Wood, where they’ll never be allowed to rest again.”
I laughed. “Are you telling me to go to bed?”
“You’ve been traveling for some time. Before that, you were in a place of immense danger. You deserve some rest.”
Maybe I did, but it wouldn’t come. Maybe I’d been in a state of unease for so long, my body didn’t know what to do now that I’d reached somewhere safe, now that I had pieces of my family back, however broken. It didn’t know how to rest.
“Is that why you’re awake?” I asked. “You were there much longer than I was.”
“This is the only time I can steal a few minutes of peace.” Her fingers absently brushed the cover of the book she’d been reading. The simple action seemed to draw years of tension out of her, and she released a quiet breath. “Reading silences my mind.”
I waited, feeling as if I was on the edge of being shown something secret, but she said nothing more. Instead, she picked up her cup of tea, swirling a cinnamon stick through it. “What’s keeping you up?” she asked.
“Everything,” I muttered, gripping the edge of the bench. “Res. The meeting. My apparently horrible habit of trusting people.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a very good habit.”
I thought of Ericen, alone in his cell. “Even when those people are supposed to be my enemy?”
“You mean the prince.” I hesitated, and she smiled. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
I had too. Like he was one wrong move away from losing control of himself. Like he couldn’t bear to be around me, but leaving would be worse.
She ran a finger along the rim of her teacup. “It is difficult to walk against the wind.”
A shiver brushed my skin. I’d once said that very proverb to Ericen.
Auma continued. “You can only do what you think is right.”
Somehow, it didn’t feel like she was talking about me. Still, her words resonated. No matter what the others said, I believed Ericen was on my side. I understood why they felt the way they did, but they weren’t there when he defended me against the cruel Illucian soldiers, or when I caught him with his face pressed peacefully against his horse’s in the moonlight, or the day he’d given me the gloves.
They didn’t know the troubled prince I knew.
There was a fire that lived inside him, and it lived inside me too.
“Sometimes—” I hesitated, biting my lip. “Sometimes I think he might be more than a friend.”
Auma’s dark eyes flickered to me. There was no judgment in them.
“I don’t know what I feel for the prince,” I continued quietly. “But I feel too much of it.”
“You cannot be afraid to see what you see,” Auma replied. “If you are, you only end up lying to yourself.”
Her words prickled at me. What did I see? Did I see the girl I’d been, wounded and crushed? Did I see the girl Ericen had fallen in love with, brave and strong? Or did I see the warrior I was becoming, the leader?
You have every bit the potential to become a monster as I do.
Ericen’s words sent a chill quivering down the back of my neck. He wasn’t wrong. I did want revenge. I wanted it so badly, I felt as if it would burn me up from the inside out, and that scared me. But I also wanted my people safe.
“You’re right,” I said. The words settled inside me, a quiet resolution. I let it lie there, not quite ready to face what it meant, and turned my gaze on Auma. There was something about talking to her. It was like emptying your secrets into a peaceful void. I felt as if she would hold them for me so I didn’t have to bear the burden alone. I wanted to do the same for her.
“You said the reading silences your thoughts,” I began. “Are they that loud?”
Her fingers tightened about her cup. She held it close to her chest as if protecting it—or herself.
“Advice is more easily given than taken,” she said. Her normally impassive expression had faltered slightly, and she looked out over the garden as though it’d become suddenly unfamiliar. “Decisions take courage. It’s so much easier to just let things happen.”
The vagueness of her response wasn’t lost on me. Like she was afraid of what might happen if she were to put her thoughts into words. As if speaking them might make them real.
“From what I saw in Illucia, you’re one of the bravest people I know,” I said. Her grip on the cup loosened, and I added, “The bravest is Kiva, and the fact that she cares for you tells me she thinks so too.”
She closed her eyes as if letting my words wash over her, and a small smile tugged at her lips. When she opened them again, the unease in them had settled.
“Are you nervous about the alliance meeting?” she asked.
I stiffened but forced a nod. “If the other kingdoms won’t ally with us, Rhodaire will fall.”
Illucia’s army was too much for one crow.
One of Auma’s hands fell from her cup to brush the book again as if seeking its comfort. The gold title glittered in the lamplight: Stories of Jindae.
My heart panged. “Razel will come for Trendell eventually,” I said quietly. “The only way to stop her is to defeat her armies or destroy her.”
“You mean kill her.” It wasn’t a question.
I gritted my teeth, my body humming with heat and fury, with memories of crows and people screaming, of the acrid smell of burning flesh and the bite of fire sharp as steel. Of Estrel looking like a ghost of herself, second-guessing every decision.
After everything Razel had done, she deserved it. After everything she’d done, she deserved so much worse.
“Is that truly what you want?” Auma asked.
I don’t know. I swallowed the words. “Yes. It’s the only way to win peace.”
She pressed a finger to my chest, just below my collarbone. My heart thudded against it as if trying to beat away her touch. “Even your very heart is armed. It must have peace before you can expect to bring it to others.”
She withdrew her hand, but my heart kept pounding.
Seventeen
A heavy silence followed our small group through halls bright with morning light. I’d woken early to wash and oil my flying leathers, running over words in my head that I still hadn’t settled on, even as we approached the throne room. Though with Res following a step behind and Kiva on one side and Caylus on the other, the daunting task of the looming alliance meeting didn’t feel quite as impossible.
Except Estrel wasn’t here.
We waited for her outside the throne room. Everyone else was already inside, and my anxiety rose at the steady murmur of voices.
“I’m sure she’s just running late,” I said to Kiva’s skeptical look, even as an image of the withdrawn, indecisive Estrel I’d seen last night flashed through my mind. She wouldn’t leave me to do this on my own…would she?
As the time of the alliance meeting came and went and Estrel still hadn’t arrived, I had no choice but to accept she was
n’t coming.
Silencing the emotions that came with the knowledge that she had abandoned me again, I faced the throne room, determined.
“You can do this,” Caylus said.
“We’re here for you,” Kiva added.
Res trilled softly in agreement.
I took a breath and stepped inside.
Instead of walls, rows of columned arches surrounded the perimeter, easily large enough for two full-grown crows to pass through abreast and guarded each by a monk. A domed ceiling, painted with amber foxes winding through colorful flowering vines, rose far above our heads.
Queen Luhara and King Galren Rebane sat on plush cushions on a raised dais ahead of us, a circle of similar cushions set in a ring before them. Most of them were already occupied, some by the crown prince and princess and others by the council. One seat remained empty in honor of Kuren. Elkona sat to the side, Samra beside her.
A hushed muttering broke out as we entered, all eyes finding Res. We approached a section of open cushions, each of us bowing in turn to the king and queen before we took our seats. One remained empty. I refused to look at it.
“Welcome, Princess Anthia,” said Queen Luhara. “We’re glad you’ve arrived in Eselin safely.” She wore her dark, spiraling curls gathered atop her head, framing a serene, friendly face. Especially compared to the quiet, stony expression of her husband, who simply nodded in greeting.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I replied. I knew little about Kuren’s parents. Every free moment, I’d spent furthering my training to be a rider, neglecting things Caliza could recite in her sleep. Not for the first time, I wished I’d paid more attention in our lessons.
“We’re here today to discuss an alliance between the kingdoms of Rhodaire, Trendell, Jindae, and the Ambriel Islands,” the queen continued, her voice soft but firm. Her dark gaze scanned the crowd as she spoke, addressing everyone equally. “Everyone who wishes it will be given an opportunity to speak, but we’d like to begin by hearing from Princess Anthia.”
Queen Luhara nodded to me, and my heart fluttered. She was yielding the floor. Which meant I needed to stand up and talk.
Saints. I swallowed hard, standing. Caliza had given me a few pointers on the formalities: stay in front of your cushion, don’t talk directly to one person but rather address everyone, speak slowly and clearly.
Faced with so many expectant eyes and such great stakes, every last piece of advice fled my mind.
Caliza should be here, not me. This was what she did, what she excelled at. The only words I was good with were the sharp, sarcastic kind. I didn’t have Samra’s surety and control, Caliza’s tact and knowledge, Estrel’s strength and experience, or even Ericen’s commanding presence.
I had a half-baked plan, a nearly grown crow, and part of a room that hated me, judging by Elkona’s burning gaze and Samra’s dark skepticism.
With a start, I realized everyone had been waiting for me to speak for an uncomfortably long time. My hands curled into fists reflexively, and I forced them to relax, resisting the urge to brush away the gathering sweat beneath my leathers.
“We have a common enemy,” I began, louder than I’d intended. My voice echoed, corralled by the dome and thrown back again. I winced and caught Elkona smirking in a way that made the scars trailing along her face twist. She was enjoying this.
My discomfort. My inevitable failure.
Res recognized it too, the bond thrumming with annoyance. My jaw set, my nostrils flaring. Did she think this was a game? Our lives, our families’ lives, the very survival of our kingdoms were at stake, and she found this amusing?
I straightened. Holding out my left hand before me, I removed the fingerless glove, sparing a brief thought for the prince who’d given it to me, and held up my scarred hand.
“I got these scars pulling Estrel out of a burning rookery.” This time, my voice came steady and controlled, even as my mentor’s absence yawned dark and gaping inside me. “She’d gone in to try and save my mother, who in turn had been trying to save the crow eggs. She failed.
“That day, my mother died, countless numbers of my people were murdered and irreparably scarred, and our way of life was reduced to ashes.” I lowered my hand but left my glove off. As I spoke, I let my gaze rest on each and every face, letting them see the pain.
“Then I found a crow egg in the blackened remains of a rookery.” I stepped aside, letting the circle get their first unimpeded view of Res. He rose taller, the sunlight setting the iridescent sheen beneath his dark feathers aglow.
“With Resyries, we have a chance to save our people. Razel will not stop until every citizen in every kingdom is hers. She will continue to kill and burn and tear families apart. She has already destroyed kingdoms, but she will keep destroying until every ounce of fight, of hope, of life that survived is ground into dust.”
At this, I looked first at Samra and then Elkona. Despite their kingdoms being conquered, they kept fighting. But Razel would crush them too in the end.
“Rhodaire is not strong enough to stop her alone.” I lifted my gaze to the king and queen. “Trendell is not strong enough to stop her alone. What remains of those fighting in Jindae and the Ambriels cannot stop her alone.”
Res’s shoulders lifted as his wings spread just the slightest, making his already impressive size look all the larger.
“Together, we have the power to end Illucia’s reign. Alone, we’ll fail.” My words echoed through the cavernous room.
Then, “That felt almost like a threat.” It was Elkona, risen from her cushion to address the gathering. A defense leapt to my lips, but I swallowed it. The look on her face—I knew it well. I’d seen it a hundred times in Illucia. She was just trying to bait me, to undermine my power. As Trendellan court custom bid, I relinquished my place and retook my seat. Kiva squeezed my arm.
“The princess makes a fine point,” Elkona continued, her voice a low rasp. She wore a soldier’s uniform of green and gold, the metal lightweight Alorr. It clung to her wiry frame like supple leather, the joints left free for easy movement. “Alone, none of us can defeat Illucia. What remains of my rebel forces is thin, Korovi is isolated as ever, and the Ambriels are half-enamored by their masters.”
Beside her, Samra prickled.
Elkona didn’t seem to care. “But what I do not understand is why I should ally my forces with the very people who left them to die. People who even now court the enemy.” Her eyes flashed to me.
My heart sank. I’d known Ericen would come up eventually, but I hadn’t expected it to sound so vicious when it did.
Elkona looked to the king and queen. “Trendell has a long history of avoiding war. It has for ages been a neutral kingdom, and I respect that, even if I do not agree with it. You offered my people aid when they needed it and have since harbored us despite Illucia’s looming threat.”
Her gaze swung around to me, alight with a dark fire. “But what did Rhodaire do? You turned your backs on us.”
I flinched.
“With all your power, all your wealth, all your magic, you stood aside and let us die. Let us burn. Why should we not do the same to you?” She had eyes only for me as she spoke. “Tell me why I should ally my people with leaders that dishonorable.”
It was the same thing Samra had said to me back in Illucia under the guise of Diah, and the answer I’d given had been very similar to what I’d said now. Without each other, we would fall.
Elkona was suggesting that if they banded together, even without Rhodaire, they could survive.
She was suggesting they leave us to our fate.
My mouth turned dry. Without Rhodaire, they would die. They didn’t have the numbers. The Illucian army was expertly trained from birth for one thing: war. They wouldn’t be defeated by a ragtag group of rebels and a peacetime army, no matter how skilled the Trendellan monks were.
I op
ened my mouth to tell Elkona this, but movement to her side made me pause. Samra had stood. With a final sharp look in my direction, Elkona retook her seat.
Nervous energy rippled along my skin. I stared at Samra, unable to force the shock from my expression. She didn’t meet my gaze.
“Rhodaire’s failure cost countless lives,” she began, and my hope tumbled, disappearing into a familiar void inside me. “While they hid, families were torn apart, cities burned, and children stolen to serve a foreign queen. Our calls for aid went unanswered. No one came.”
Each word struck me deeper than the last. The despair Rhodaire had experienced had been felt a hundredfold in the Ambriels and a hundred more in Jindae. What I had lost, so many others had too, and so much more.
Why did I think they would want to fight alongside people who left them to die?
“But Princess Anthia is not her mother.”
My head snapped up, and I found Samra’s gaze locked with mine. “What she endured to hatch that crow and bring it safely here before us was no small task. It took strength and bravery and sheer, unwavering will on a level I’ve seen in few people. She is not responsible for the decisions made when she was a child. She’s responsible only for her own choices, and she decided to walk into the heart of Illucian territory, stand face-to-face with Razel, and set fire to her carefully laid plans.”
My throat tightened as I straightened.
“Over the last couple of weeks, Anthia has proven herself a leader I will follow.” Samra lifted her gaze to the king and queen. “The Ambriels will ally with Rhodaire.”
Her pronouncement echoed, both in the chamber and inside my head, a heavy refrain: A leader I will follow.
Samra sat, not looking at Elkona, whose very skin burned with the ferocity inside her. I knew that kind of hatred like my hands knew the familiar grip of my bow. I held it close to my own heart. There was nothing anyone could say to convince Elkona that I was not her enemy.
Several Trendellan council members rose to speak. They discussed the logistics of supporting a war, the impact on the Trendellan economy and its people. Some asked me questions about Rhodaire, and I gave the information Caliza had provided me, from the numbers in our army, to our food stores, to our access to ships. All the while, the king and queen remained in silent consideration, and I felt Elkona’s searing gaze cutting into me.
The Crow Rider Page 14