The Crow Rider

by Kalyn Josephson

  I struggled to dislodge her, but she weighed too much, and her position was too sturdy.

  “I should snap it,” she snarled at me, twisting my wrist harder.

  The pain and lack of air made my vision blur and blacken. I felt the frantic thrum of Res’s fear skittering along the line between us, and it took all my focus to hold him off.

  “Go ahead,” I wheezed. For a fraction of a section, surprise splintered through her ferocity. I forced more words out. “If it will help you heal, do it.”

  She recoiled as if my words had stung, but her grip didn’t loosen. “It is no less than you deserve,” she growled, and fear prickled in my chest.

  Yet despite her words, she twisted no farther. Her grip slackened just the slightest, and in that moment, I drove my hips upward and twisted, throwing Elkona off me. She let go of my wrist as she went tumbling to the ground.

  I sat up, my wrist raw and aching.

  She pushed herself to her knees, her chest rising and falling in a mirror of my own. My heart skittered wildly as I fought to regain my breath.

  “I don’t suppose you’d teach me that move?” I tried for a smile, but it made my cheek hurt.

  To my surprise, she grinned.

  * * *

  A servant brought me ice for my bloodied lip, and though several spots of Elkona’s exposed skin were turning purple with bruises, she didn’t bother to tend to them. We sat at a small patio table, an assortment of fruits and spiced cakes shaped like flowers and leaves on a platter before us. The familiarity of the scene made my chest ache for home and the patio table I’d grown up eating breakfast at every morning.

  Elkona sprawled in her chair, her posture lazy and unkempt, ignoring the bits of her braid that had escaped and now dangled in front of her face. She’d returned her ring to her left hand, and she spun it absently around her finger.

  I tossed Res a piece of cake, which he gobbled down. Elkona watched him with barely concealed fascination.

  “Want to touch him?” I asked.

  Her brow rose, but she leaned forward, her hand outstretched. Res waited until she was a split second from contact before snapping his beak. She hissed, drawing back.

  “Res!” I snapped, and he huffed loudly. “I’m so sorry. He’s still mad at you for the fight.”

  Elkona stared at Res for a moment, her lips parted, one hand clutched in the other. Then she tipped her head back and laughed. The sound was so uproarious, I couldn’t help joining.

  “Guild Mother save me, he is remarkable,” she said as her laughter quieted.

  “He is,” I agreed.

  The light faded from the princess’s eyes, her mouth forming a firm line. “When Illucia attacked, I looked for them in the skies. Every day, I thought I would see them. I told my parents to wait. I told them Rhodaire would not forget us, that the crows would blanket the skies and our enemies would know only night.”

  My hand curled into Res’s feathers.

  “But they never came. Not when Illucia first struck, and not when they burned the Kovan Forest. Not when they landed at Glass Bay, forcing us to fight a war on two fronts. And not when they marched straight into the royal palace at Shalron and butchered my family, burning everything to ash.”

  An apology rose and died on my tongue. There were no words big enough for this. Jindae had been our closest ally, and my mother had abandoned them.

  “I was at Glass Bay when they landed,” Elkona continued. She set her forearm on the table, leaning over it. “I’d begged my father to let me fight, but he refused. So I snuck into a company heading west in response to reports of an impending naval attack. It is the only reason I was not killed with my family when they broke through our lines and marched into the capital.

  “We were forced to surrender. I was taken as a prisoner of war, one of so many others.” Her voice turned rough, but her eyes betrayed nothing of her pain. “They had no idea who I was, or I have no doubt they would have killed me immediately. Instead, they tortured me for information that I refused to give, carving into my skin a mockery of my people’s traditions with a hot blade.”

  Her fingers strayed to the scars on her face and neck, and a gasp escaped before I could stop it. The marks were a crude representation of tama. She’d never gotten hers because she hadn’t been sixteen when Illucia attacked.

  “I gave them nothing,” she said, her voice a stony growl. “With all the focus on Shalron, a group of soldiers from my battalion who knew I had been among them managed to free me.” She sank back into her casual posture, her gaze settling on Res, empty once more. “And now here we are, and I have finally seen a crow.”

  It took effort for me to keep the burning tears at bay. I relished the sting along with the throbbing in my cheek and wrist and back where my shoulder had only begun to heal. They felt well deserved.

  Several moments passed before I could respond. “I won’t apologize on my mother’s behalf, because no apology is enough. I don’t know why she didn’t send aid, and I’m ashamed to say that I never asked. My whole life, I thought of nothing but becoming a rider. I woke up with my lessons on my lips and went to sleep dreaming of them.”

  Those days felt so far away, though it had been only months since Ronoch.

  “I thought that dream was dead until I found Res’s egg,” I told her. “Even now, it hangs in the balance, because hidden away inside Razel’s castle are more eggs that she stole the night the crows were killed.”

  Elkona sat up. “There are more?”

  I nodded. “I will stop Razel. I will rebuild my people’s way of life. And I will do what my mother should have done from the start: I will be there for Jindae and the Ambriels and Trendell if they need it.” I leaned across the table. “I cannot give you your life back, Elkona, but together, we can build a new one.”

  She regarded me silently, her fingers absently tracing the lines of scars on her face. Then a smile spread slowly across her lips, and she said, “My friends call me Elko.”

  I grinned, and she matched it.

  “I like you, crow girl,” she began. “But even if the Ambriellans are still interested and Trendell will reconsider, Jindae allying with you is not up to me.”

  “What?”

  She rose, eyes set somewhere over my head. “Come with me.”

  Having been hoping to stay slumped in my chair for the foreseeable future, I reluctantly tossed my bag of ice on the table and stood. Elko led Res and me up to the main corridor, following it past the massive dining table laden with dinnerware and vases of colorful flowers in preparation for tonight’s feast and around the corner to an expansive deck.

  Auma and Kiva stood side by side, leaning on the railing and looking out over the city. Kiva said something under her breath that drew a silent laugh from Auma, the only indication the gentle shake of her shoulders.

  Confusion warred with curiosity as Elko marched up behind them with as much finesse as a Korovi ice bear. “Eena,” she said, and I started.

  That term. It was an honorific in the Jin language.

  Used to address an older sister.

  Auma turned, her expression inscrutable. Beside her, Kiva’s brow furrowed, uncertainty spreading like a growing fire. Auma said something back in quick, concise Jin too fast for me to follow, to which Elko shrugged and replied, her response hot and rough.

  “Auma?” Kiva asked, her gaze jumping from one girl to the other. Mine followed, taking in the similarities I hadn’t noticed before. The slim oval faces and the slope of their noses. Their sharp, dark eyes and the way they both stood as if before a mountain they expected to move.

  “You’re sisters,” I breathed.

  Elko flashed a grin, but Auma regarded me warily. Beside her, Kiva retreated a step. Auma’s expression softened at the disbelief on Kiva’s face. “I intended to tell you tonight.”

  Kiva shook her head.
“I—Excuse me.” She turned, striding for the nearest door.

  Auma started after her, then stopped, as if the action had slipped through her careful control.

  “Kiva!” I called, but she was already gone. I wanted to go after her, but I couldn’t leave. Not until whatever this was had played itself out. Besides, she needed time. Forcing Kiva to face a problem immediately was a good way to make it explode.

  Res? The crow was already moving, disappearing through the arched doorway Kiva had gone through.

  Auma drew a slow breath and leveled Elko with an unreadable look.

  “What? It is not my fault you had not told her yet,” Elko said.

  Auma said nothing, but I got the impression she intended to have a long conversation with her sister later.

  Saints. Her sister.

  “What’s going on here?” I demanded. “I thought—” I hesitated.

  “That my entire family was dead?” Elko asked. “Almost. As the heir, Auma was sent to Trendell at a young age for her protection when our parents began working to quell the civil war. She was raised here.”

  I stared uncomprehendingly at Auma. At the crown princess of Jindae, who had endangered herself as a spy in the Illucian capital, subjecting herself to the cruelties of the woman who had taken everything from her—her home, her family, her future. I’d barely survived a few weeks with Razel.

  Auma had withstood years.

  She regarded me with an imperious gaze, as if she could read every conclusion I’d reached by my eyes alone.

  “My sister says you’ve earned her respect,” Auma began. “You already had mine, but I agreed not to pledge Jin forces to your alliance unless my sister felt the same.”

  Elko slung an arm across my shoulders, nearly knocking me off my feet. “You were right. She has spirit.”

  Auma was silent long enough to make my stomach clench. Then she nodded. “Very well. Jindae will ally with Rhodaire.”

  Twenty-One

  I cradled a new hope inside me as I sought out Res. Auma and Elkona would support me in a second bid to form the alliance. Kiva had been right—this wasn’t over yet.

  I reached along the bond. It thrummed back reassuringly, leading me back to the pavilion and down toward the plateau Res and I had trained on. I expected Kiva but found a different familiar voice.

  A spark of fury cut through my rising mood. I paused just around the bend of the path, pressing into the shadow of the hill.

  “It’s frightening when things are outside your control,” Estrel said softly to Res. Between the strands of long grass reaching down from the hill, I could just make out the curve of the crow’s feathers beside the scarred flesh of Estrel’s arm. “My life has felt out of my control for months.”

  My nails dug into my palms. Out of her control? She’d chosen to leave Rhodaire. Chosen to leave me.

  “Fear can do that to you.” Estrel’s voice was heavy. I opened my eyes. “I was afraid that when she saw me, she’d think me broken. And I was. I was supposed to be her strength. To be anything less in a time like that would have only hurt her more.”

  I imagined the days I’d spent curled beneath my covers. What would I have done if I’d known Estrel was just as shattered, just as ruined? Seeing her the other night had nearly destroyed me. Would it have been the last weight that dragged me down beneath the depths?

  Res let out a soft coo and nudged Estrel’s shoulder with the side of his beak.

  “I know. I didn’t want to hurt her either. But I was wrong to leave and wrong to think she couldn’t handle it. We have to trust her to take care of herself. We owe her at least that.”

  I swallowed against the warring emotions gathering in my throat. The pain that fueled my anger refused to fade, but Estrel’s voice, so full of guilt and longing, was familiar to me.

  Res turned his head, peering at me through the foliage. Of course he knew that I was here. He felt me like I felt him. I felt the pulse of doubt, much weaker than before, and I felt it fade as I stepped out onto the path, meeting his gaze unwaveringly.

  Estrel turned with him, her eyes widening a fraction. She stood, her hand on Res’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Little Peep,” she said, and I gritted my teeth at the nickname.

  “Did you even care?” My voice broke. “Did you even think about me? About Rhodaire?”

  “Every day.” She stepped closer with the hesitance of a flighty crow. “I—” She squeezed her eyes shut as if fighting back things she didn’t want me to see. Res nudged her arm, and she opened her eyes, peering down at him. She seemed to draw strength from him, her back straightening as she forced out a breath. “I couldn’t save her, Thia. I tried. I tried, and I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t do anything. And afterward—” She lifted her hands, baring the scars that twisted along her skin. “I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t fail you too.”

  Every word she spoke wriggled beneath my skin, pooling cold and sharp in my stomach. She wasn’t the only one who’d hidden herself away. The only one who couldn’t face what remained of the world she’d loved.

  “I’m sorry, Little Peep,” she whispered again, bowing her head.

  “It isn’t your fault.” The words came out surprisingly steady.

  Estrel lifted her gaze, a tentativeness in it I’d never seen before. It made my chest ache, made my heart beat with a fierce, protective fury.

  “Feeling that way wasn’t your choice.” Just like it hadn’t been mine or anyone else’s who struggled with depression. You couldn’t just snap yourself out of it any more than you could mend a broken bone. It was a wound as real as the scars along her skin, and for those, I would make Razel pay. For so many things, I would make her pay.

  “It doesn’t make you weak or broken or anything less than,” I said. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to tell you that.”

  I closed the distance between us, throwing my arms about Estrel’s neck. She clasped me to her, the familiar strength of her embrace breaking down every wall I’d built, every ounce of pain I’d gathered inside myself, and washing them away.

  “I’m just so glad you’re here,” I said softly.

  “Me too,” she said. “Me too.”

  A new kind of heat rose inside me, chasing away the last wisps of anger and betrayal.

  This was the heat of mending. The heat of reforging.

  Because this was real. This was happening. I had hatched a crow, I had helped it discover its powers, and I had brought it to the heart of this alliance, to the person who was always meant to be by my side.

  “We’ll make a formal request for a second meeting in the morning,” Estrel said when I finished telling her about Elkona and Auma. “And I promise this time, I’ll be there for you.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, Estrel helped me train with Res. She corrected his form, gave him pointers on techniques to try, and even reminded him that in addition to wings, he had this wonderful thing called a tail that was quite effective at providing direction.

  There was a moment, as the sunlight glinted off the backs of his dark feathers, the sheer breadth and strength of his wings stealing my breath, where I felt outside myself. Like a spectator in someone else’s dream. Except this was my dream. One I’d worked toward for a lifetime.

  At last, I stood beside Estrel, training a crow I called my own.

  I only wished Iyla were there to snap Res into shape each time he started to beg for a snack.

  He appeared before us, claws outstretched, wings thrown back like a tapestry caught in the wind. He was no less majestic, no less artful in the way he landed. As he tucked his wings in tight, a flurry of adrenaline-laced excitement skittering down the bond, I grinned.

  “You’re perfect,” I told him.

  “What do you say to giving a little magic a try?” Estrel asked him. A flicker of unease crept down the cord, and Res s
hifted uncomfortably, digging his talons into the dirt. “I know. But with training, you’ll learn to control it, and your fear.” She reached out a hand, hesitating. Then she laid it on Res’s beak. “Trust her,” she said softly.

  I laid my hand atop hers.

  Res leaned into our touch, still for a single, peaceful moment. Then he stepped back, and the pulse of power rose beneath our hands. Energy roared to life around the bond as his wings lifted. The clear sky grew thick with mist that coalesced into heavy clouds, and the wind swept up to pull at my clothes and hair. Lightning crackled, splitting the sky with echoing booms of thunder.

  Beside me, Estrel laughed. She spread her arms as the rain began to fall. I joined her, turning my face to the churning sky, relishing the rush of power undulating between Res and me and the feel of each cold, shocking droplet like a call to life.

  Res released a piercing caw. A voice rose above the wind, and then another. A crowd had begun to gather on the edge of the plateau above. They pointed at Res and gestured up at the sky, leaning close to be heard over the storm.

  An idea struck me, and in an instant, I was on Res’s bare back. He moved immediately, knowing what I wanted without me needing to ask. With a stroke of his wings, we were airborne. The storm unfurled around us as we rose.

  More people gathered at the plateau’s edge. I saw Caylus and Kiva, Auma and Elkona, Samra and—there. Queen Luhara emerged from one of the nearby corridors, her normally impassive face slack with wonder.

  You are a tempest of lightning and thunder. You give me strength, and you will do the same for them.

  I leaned close to Res, “Show them what you can do.”

  The storm erupted. Wind spiraled around us in a cyclone. The rain fell still, the droplets hanging midair. They turned first to ice, then mist. An inky shadow rose, swirling dark ribbons into the wind before dispersing, only to be replaced by tongues of fire. I could feel Res’s concentration, his struggle for control as he reached out for one power and then the next. But he didn’t falter.