He lifted his gaze back to his brother’s. They’d been born four months apart, from two different mothers, but they might as well have been twins except for the color of their eyes—Xander’s the soft lavender of the royal line, and Rafe’s the vibrant blue of a bastard born of the sky.
“Don’t ask this of me, brother,” he whispered. “Anything but this.”
Xander’s gaze was harder than its soft color seemed to allow, full of compassion yet unwavering. The gaze of a king. “I discussed it with the advisors before we came, and we all agreed. The House of Whispers might accept me for what I am, love me for what I am, but we need to show strength before the other houses.”
“You’re strong,” Rafe argued.
“With my words, yes. With my actions, yes. With my conviction and my love for our people, yes." Xander finished softly, "But for the requirements of the courtship trials, we both know that’s not the case."
Rafe tried to hold his brother’s gaze, to keep it steady and uplifted and proud. But instead, Xander dropped his eyes. And Rafe’s followed, landing where they had been led, on the empty space where his brother’s right hand should have been.
“The trials will test our physical abilities,” Xander said, finally looking up. Any other person would have been fooled by the calculated emptiness of his eyes, but Rafe knew his brother too well. He could see the hurt, the shame, and the pain his brother’s disability caused. None of it was warranted, but it was there all the same. “Before the other houses, during the trials, you have to take my place. You have to pretend to be me, so our people can finally have the mate match they deserve.”
Rafe knew what people gossiped about in the dark halls of their castle. How the ravens had lost favor with the other gods, how their patron god was weakening, how they’d been cursed. The House of Whispers had found a mate match in only one of the past five courtship trials. The royal families of all seven houses had been cursed with too few males to females, or too few females to males, and while love matches could be of the same sex, the matches of the monarchy must produce blood heirs.
For four generations, the ravens had been the odd house out, returning home from the trials empty handed, forced to find a mate within their own house instead of in another royal family—until the last ritual. Xander’s mother, the crown princess at the time, had been matched with a second son—a falcon from the House of Prey. But he had possessed a wandering eye in lieu of a sharp one. The king consort, meant to prove the gods had once more blessed the ravens, instead committed their most egregious crime. And Rafe, the evidence of that crime, understood how much pressure his brother felt to erase the ill omens of the past.
“Do you really think this is how Taetanos would want his favor won?” Rafe asked, eyes slipping toward the sky bridge and the snow-covered tundra on the other side. It stretched into the horizon, hiding the House of Peace within its folds.
“He’s not just the god of death, brother,” Xander pointed out, still looking at Rafe. “He’s the god of fate and fortune. He’s the god that gave us the same father and nearly the same face. The god that dealt me my hand and you yours. He’s the god that gave us these roles and these cards to play.”
A chill crept along Rafe's spine as his brother muttered those undeniable words. For the first time, he felt the bite of this frigid, foreign land.
“And what does the queen say?” Rafe asked, trying a different approach. Xander’s mother hated him and everything he represented, as did many of his people. There was no way she would agree to this insane plan, no way she would ever admit he was better equipped than her son for any challenge. Truth be told, Rafe thought she was right in that belief.
“She understands the necessity.”
It was all Rafe could do not to snap his wings wide open and fly away. Not to retreat. Not to run from this role he’d never wanted, not even in his imagination. “So that’s it? It’s settled, whether I want it to be or not?”
“You’ll don the royal seal until the final day of the trials, when the matches are revealed, and then we’ll switch places. Tradition dictates you'll be wearing a mask, anyway, and I’ll stay out of sight. No one will even suspect anything. My face will be the one they remember in the end, so you have nothing to fear.”
Rafe frowned. “Easy for you to say.”
“True.” His brother grinned.
The frown only deepened. “What will you be doing during all of this?”
Xander shrugged, bright lavender sparks flashing in the corners of his eyes. “I’ll be playing you, of course. The loyal, quiet, subservient second to the prince, who does everything his older brother commands.”
Rafe arched a single brow in his brother's direction.
Xander continued jovially, “Who does everything his older, and wiser, brother commands.”
Rafe sighed.
He’d give in.
He’d known he would. He’d known it before they’d even left home. And now, looking into his brother’s confident, kind, and silently pleading face, he knew there was no way he could say no. Not when Xander was the only reason Rafe even had a place and a people to call home. Not when Xander was the one who had begged the queen to let him stay after their father died. Not when Xander had risked so much.
Who am I kidding? he thought, his heart warming despite the chilly air. I love him too much to ever say no.
“I’ll take the seal after we get to the House of Peace,” Rafe conceded. “You should enter as our crown prince and rightful heir, not me.”
Xander pounced on his moment of victory, offering Rafe the ring. “Take it now, before you have a chance to change your mind. And before any of the other houses have a chance to see…” He trailed off, his gaze again dropping to the rounded end of his right arm.
Rafe jumped back. The edge of his boot scuffed against the crystal as he stepped onto the bridge. “Later.”
“Now.”
“Later.”
“Would you just listen to me for once?” Xander half laughed, half sighed the words.
Rafe grunted but lifted his hand. Xander dropped the ring into his open palm. As he positioned the chain around his neck, he felt the weight of the obsidian stone all the way to his core. Nothing had ever felt so heavy. Yet for his brother, he could do this. He would.
“It looks good on you,” Xander whispered, his tone almost vulnerable.
Rafe shoved the ring beneath his shirt. “It looks better on you.”
The edge of Xander’s lip twitched with amusement. “Obviously.”
Before Rafe could respond in kind, a thunderous roar cut across the sky. His wings unleashed instinctively, standing to attention as he turned with his brother, their movements in unison as they tried to locate the source of the sound. They’d heard it only once before, but that deadly snarl was impossible to forget, as were the memories that came with it.
“It can’t be,” Rafe muttered.
“Not here,” Xander agreed.
As their gazes dropped to the open air beneath their feet, they both realized they were wrong. A body of angry orange-and-red flames emerged from the mist, leathery wings smooth as they cut through the fog, vapors swirling in its wake.
The fire god had sent his fury.
A dragon was headed straight for them.
4
Rafe
“Get back,” Rafe shouted, shoving Xander’s chest and pushing him away.
He pumped his wings and launched himself into the air over the sky bridge, shifting into fight mode as the beast approached. It left a trail of dark smoke, stark against the expanse of bright gray. A change in the air behind Rafe caught his attention, and he turned to find his brother flying a few feet away, hand searching for the knife at his hip.
“Get out of here,” Rafe ordered. “Go get the others. They can’t be far.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Xander shook his head and tightened his grip on the only weapon he’d ever bothered to learn how to use, a single throwing dagger.
/> Rafe wouldn't have it. He dropped into Xander’s space and grabbed the front of his jacket, holding his brother in place and forcing him to listen. “You are the crown prince of the House of Whispers, the sole heir to the throne, and your life is too important to risk. So, go. Get the others, right now. This isn’t an argument. If the dragon attacks, I’ll keep it distracted until you return with backup.”
Xander pursed his lips, biting his tongue.
Rafe refused to back down.
The two brothers stared at each other, their eyes flickering with the memories of that long-ago night, the night that had made Rafe an orphan and Xander a king far, far too soon.
“Go,” Rafe murmured, his voice deep.
For once, Xander relented. He held Rafe’s gaze for one more moment, a violet streak of pain across his irises, before racing away.
Rafe watched until his brother was nothing more than a dot on the horizon. Then he turned to face his target, pulling his twin swords from the X-shaped scabbard resting in the hollow between his wings and drawing strength from the way the steel sang as it slid free. The dragon circled, a lazy hunter on the prowl, flying higher and higher, snout lifted as though following a scent in the air.
At the sound of Rafe’s blade, it looked up.
Something sparked like metal on flint.
Hatred lit those blood-red eyes, a reflection of the loathing in Rafe’s gut. Always there. Always churning. A living, breathing beast no different from the one flying toward him now. Fire erupted from the dragon’s slick scales, sizzling with heat. The burnt, acrid flavor of smoke filled the air—a taste Rafe would never forget. When the beast released another roar, the wind seemed to shudder, as though the entire world answered to the thunder within that call.
Lightning traveled down his spine.
Rafe tried to blink away the images, but he couldn’t. They came too fast to slow down, a flood rush from a broken dam, too overpowering to fight. Just like that, he was five years old—wings hardly more than fluff as he sat with his mother and father, late in the night, the only time they spent together. The weather had been particularly lovely that evening. Rafe could still envision his mother mentioning the beauty of the night, her blue eyes shifting toward the stars as they twinkled across the clear sky. His father, upon hearing the words, had rolled from the bed, walked to the balcony, and flung the curtains wide open to let the cool breeze in.
Even now, Rafe could almost feel the brush of wind against his cheek. It had been crisp yet not cold, perfectly balanced against the hot fire crackling in the corner of the room. He had been ill that night, body racked with fever and nausea. His mother had set him near the flames to still the trembling, tingling pricks that seemed to come from the inside out, from somewhere deep within him. That fresh breeze on his sweating brow had been so welcome, until they heard the roar.
Get to the prince, his mother had demanded.
But his father had shaken his head, gaze darting to the orange glow growing stronger and stronger across the night sky. I won’t leave you. I won’t leave our son.
Go, you must.
It had been too late. Before she’d even finished the words, a sea of flames swept across the balcony and into their room, then another, and another. Rafe could remember nothing more than pain and screams and that burning, acrid smell as his vision went dark and his body cried out in agony.
He’d heard the rest of the story from Xander. How the beast had breathed fire into all the lowest layers of the castle, then landed in the courtyard. How it had taken twenty soldiers to finally bring it down and countless more to douse the flames. How it had stolen more than fifty lives with its raging blaze and razor-sharp teeth. Xander had watched the battle from his rooms at the top of the castle, safe and guarded, before running down to the servant quarters to ensure Rafe was all right. Xander had found him buried beneath the charred bodies of his parents. Injured, but still breathing. Alive, somehow, even though everyone else in that section of the castle had perished.
The queen wanted to execute him. The people cried out that he was blessed by the fire god, a usurper who would one day try to steal the throne, a curse upon their people. But Xander stood before them, their crown prince, their future king, and ordered they step down. Their ruler was only five years old, but they recognized the authority in his tone, one he’d never used before. A child had grown into a man in a single second, his youth dying with his father.
Rafe was moved to the royal quarters after that, to a room beside Xander’s. But those few seconds before the dragon’s call—there in the servant quarters, nestled between his parents—were the last few seconds when he ever felt as though he belonged.
A dragon had once stolen everything from him.
And I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.
He dove, zipping through the channel, plummeting beneath the sky bridge to meet the beast head-on. In the narrower space between the two floating isles, he’d have the best shot at slowing the creature down. Rafe’s wings were nimble and swift, but the dragon’s were wide and cumbersome in the tight space, made for gliding rather than agility.
The beast acted quickly.
Flames shot from its mouth, barreling toward Rafe, but he cut to the left, moving out of the way just in time. The heat blasted into his side, slightly painful as the fire flew past, but he ignored the sting, flattening his wings to build speed as he plummeted underneath the creature. He then flared his wings wide, letting them catch the wind and flip him in midair so he stopped beneath the belly of the dragon, the perfect place to strike.
He shoved his twin swords into the scales, but the steel barely pierced the tough hide. Before he had time to try again, a claw slashed at his vulnerable wing. Rafe pumped once, twice, narrowly escaping as he twisted around the creature’s body, staying close despite the suffocating heat, because it was the safest place to be.
There was a reason the ravens had their own house, separate from the other songbirds. A reason theirs was called the House of Whispers. When they crooned to their patron god, Taetanos, god of death, he answered. Not to them, but to their foe. He sent shadows into their enemy’s mind, a dark fog meant to distract and confuse, to disorient. Not every raven had the gift—only the greatest warriors did—but Rafe was one of the lucky few.
He wasn’t sure it would work with a dragon.
But he had to try.
He took a deep, strangled breath and released his raven cry. The ethereal sound carried across the wind, otherworldly as it echoed through the narrow space, filling the channel with its undercurrent of power, a glittering of dark shadows.
A ripple coursed through the dragon’s scales and a screech tore up its throat. Its head whipped back and forth, throwing its body off balance. The edge of a leathery wing caught on a channel wall, and before Rafe realized what was happening, the dragon slammed into the cliff, rolling with the speed of the collision, crashing into stone and sending bits of it flying.
Rafe dropped as quickly as he could, searching for cover, but even he couldn’t outmaneuver the debris cascading around him. He dodged a boulder only to be hit by a pebble landing squarely on his forehead, causing a blinding flash of pain. Within moments, the confusion cleared, but it was too late. The dragon beat its vast wings, lifting its body swiftly through the channel and into the open air above the sky bridge. Then it looked down, red eyes even more enraged, as it released a blast of flames at Rafe’s head.
He dove beneath an outcropping of rock, but wasn’t fast enough. A hiss came unbidden to his lips as his primary feathers, coated with flame, got singed. Another river of fire rushed past him, bringing beads of sweat to his brow. Rafe ruffled his wings, trying to put out the fire, but the burning wouldn’t stop. He kicked off the wall, gazing up, but all he saw was another blast of orange that drove him under the canopy once more.
How do I get out of this?
How do I get out of this?
Think, Rafe. Think.
He peeked around the edge. The d
ragon sat on the lip of the sky bridge, scanning for a sign of its enemy along the cliffs. Those massive wings were folded. Sharp claws gripped the crystal walls. A long, spiky tail slithered in the breeze.
Rafe turned his attention to the cliffs on either side of the channel. He was no more than fifty feet below the edge, a quick trip if he could steal a second of flight unnoticed. He’d only have one shot, one chance.
After taking a long, even breath, Rafe released his raven cry again.
Without looking, he flapped his wings, surging up and out of his hiding spot, into open air. The dragon growled, but Rafe didn’t have time to look, to wonder, to question. The edge was thirty feet, now fifteen, now ten, now—
A wave of fire engulfed him.
All he could see was bright light.
All he could hear was the crackle of flames.
All he could feel was pain.
Then more pain as a claw reached through the fire, wrapping around his torso like a vise, squeezing tightly. One sharp talon sliced through his abdomen. The flames disappeared, but they were replaced with bright sparks as his head slammed down against a hard surface, once, twice. Rafe screamed as the bones in his wings were crunched. The dragon tossed him to the side, and he rolled, bouncing over stone, muscles lacking the strength to resist. He came to a stop with his cheek against the ground and blinked.
A fuzzy view of the cliffs slipped into and out of view.
He couldn’t move. Not even as he heard the roar, the flapping of wings, the deep breath of the dragon in its final killing strike. Rafe remained facedown, gazing through the crystal stones of the sky bridge at the air and fog below, with only one thought in his mind. I’m sorry I failed you, brother.
His vision began to flicker and fade. For a moment, he thought he saw the flutter of ivory wings, then consciousness slipped through his fingers—gone.
5
The Raven and the Dove Page 3