The Raven and the Dove

by Kaitlyn Davis

  “Why don’t we sit?” she asked, motioning toward the chairs on the other side of the room, away from the window, away from the view, away from thoughts of Rafe. “And discuss it as two sovereigns should.”

  Again, he didn’t move. “You’ll never understand, Mother, no matter how many times I try to explain. Rafe and I? We’re two sides of the same coin. Where I’m patient, he’s rash. When I plan, he acts. If I smile, he frowns. At home, I possess every trait of a king. Here, on the other side of the coin, in this foreign land, Rafe has everything I need for success. We balance each other. I can’t do this without him.”

  “That’s not true,” she insisted, and lifted her wing, brushing her obsidian feathers against his, trying to soothe him. But he stepped out of reach.

  In truth, his mother had given him every opportunity and every choice in life. She’d had special weapons made—shields that attached to his forearm, swords that strapped to his wrist, hooks, wooden hands, and metal fingers. Anything and everything that could be conceived, she’d ordered to be fashioned.

  He’d hated them all.

  The uncomfortable way they dug into his skin, the blisters that formed along his forearm, the way the sight of them made him feel somehow diminished, especially when his studies required no special tools or craftsmen. The books accepted him into their folds, their pages, and he in turn loved them. Mental exercise had always been his favorite thing. And even if he’d had ten fingers instead of five, Xander didn’t think he would have been any different. If anything, his disability just made it easier to follow his passions by providing an excuse people were too afraid to challenge.

  Rafe was the fighter, gifted with a raven cry.

  Xander was the prince, the peacemaker, the scholar.

  Unfortunately, the trials were a battle, and they required a warrior.

  “Not all of the trials are about physical strength,” his mother pressed, reading his thoughts.

  Though he knew they weren't fair, he couldn’t prevent the next words from spilling through his lips, because fair or not, true or not, he needed his mother, his sovereign, to understand. “The first trial is archery, correct? What would you have me do, Mother? Step to the line and pull a bowstring with my teeth?”

  “That’s only one of the tests,” she said, but not fast enough—not before her gaze dropped to his right hand, or his lack thereof.

  His phantom fingers were curled into a fist, holding all his anger, keeping it out of sight. Sometimes he liked to believe that was what had happened—not that he lacked a limb, but that all his hate and fury and pain were balled into a fist so tight, he couldn’t undo it. That his fingers were wrapped so forcefully they’d molded into his skin, they’d trapped themselves, but trapped all those emotions there as well. For the most part, he was happy and positive and cheerful. Only at times like this, when he remembered the fist, did those dark thoughts creep out of hiding.

  “What of the navigation trial? What of that?” the queen asked, trying to find his eyes. Xander faced forward, stubbornly refusing to look at her. “You’d be far superior to your brother at that. He may be a fighter, but he lacks the endurance of the hunt.”

  “He might not win all the trials,” Xander conceded before he went for the kill, an argument his mother wouldn’t know how to refute. “No one can. But there’s a difference, Mother. A huge one. Rafe might not win all the trials, but when he loses, he will do so with dignity. He won’t turn the ravens into the laughingstock of the seven houses. He won’t be a joke.”

  “Lysander!” Queen Mariam snapped, no longer dancing around her son as she grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him toward her. “Is that what you think? Don’t for a second. You would never, never—”

  “Stop it,” he interrupted, pushing her away. “I’m not saying it out of shame or vanity. I’ve come to terms with my strengths and my weaknesses. And our people have, too. But you cannot expect that from the rest of them, from the world outside our sheltered, secretive island. People can be cruel, as you yourself know.” She bit her tongue at that, luminous eyes dimming with silent pain for them both. Xander softened his tone, “It’s not about me, Mother. It’s about our people. There will be five crown princes competing in the trials, but only four second daughters. One house will be left unmatched in the end, and it can’t be us, not again. Our people need a good omen. They need to stop worrying we’ve lost favor with the gods, that we’re being cast out. They need a win. And I’m not too proud to admit that I can’t give them that. But Rafe can.”

  His mother lifted her slightly wrinkled palm to his cheek, rubbing her thumb along its ridge. As her hand fell away, her features hardened. “Not if he’s dead.”

  Xander stepped back as though he’d been struck, off balance and off kilter even as he knew in his soul it couldn't be true.

  The door to his room slammed open.

  “My queen, my prince, pardon the intrusion,” the guard stammered as Helen forced her way through the door, face grim.

  Xander had never been more grateful for an interruption in his life. He nodded to the guard before addressing his captain, “Do you have news from the House of Peace, Helen?”

  “They’ve given us a day,” she said, spitting that last word as though it were a curse, not bothering with titles or pleasantries. “The king says it would be an affront to Aethios to postpone the courtship trials any further. They plan to squeeze the tests into smaller time increments so we can still hold the matching ceremony on the summer solstice, as is tradition.” She collapsed into one of the chairs, grabbed an apple from the table, and turned to the queen. “I didn’t realize you’d be in here, but it makes my life a little easier.”

  “I’m trying to convince my son that the delay isn’t necessary,” his mother said, raising her tone at the end in a silent question.

  Helen’s gaze moved to Xander.

  When he had first raised the idea of switching places with Rafe for the courtship trials, she’d been his biggest supporter, helping to convince his mother’s older, more rigid advisors to loosen their adherence to the rules. Helen never held her tongue. She didn’t worry about hurting his feelings. Her focus was on the house. On keeping it safe. On keeping it strong. And it was the thing he appreciated most about her—it was the reason he’d appointed her as captain of the guards and unofficial advisor to the crown prince when his mother had told him to step in and start taking charge of the kingdom he would one day rule. They were of like minds and not afraid of making tough decisions.

  But in this instance, Xander used the oldest technique in the book to save Helen from the unnecessary wrath of the queen. He changed the subject. “Are the patrols back yet? Did they find anything?”

  “There’s no sign of your brother, aside from what we found at the bridge,” Helen said matter-of-factly, not even attempting to lessen the blow. “No more bloodstains, no more feathers, no body. Nothing. The teams came back completely empty-handed.”

  “What’s our next move?”

  She lifted the apple to her lips and sank her teeth into it, ripping out a bite. Xander narrowed his eyes as she chewed.

  She’s delaying.

  Why is she delaying?

  Before he had a chance to ask, Helen swallowed and sat up. “I think in this instance your mother might be right. You need to prepare for the trials.”

  Xander’s invisible fist clenched so tightly, his right arm started trembling. “I refuse to believe that’s the case.”

  And Helen refused to back down. “We searched the area—”

  “Search it again. Someone was there. I saw the print in the blood. You did too.”

  Her eyes softened the slightest bit.

  Xander hated to see it, hated the concession, because he saw it for what it really was—pity.

  “Even if someone was there, even if someone recovered his body,” Helen continued, voice forceful despite the subtle shift in her expression, “Rafe will be in no shape to compete in the courtship trials, which are bei
ng delayed only a single day. You saw the blood, same as I did. If he’s alive somewhere, he’s hanging on by a thread. He’ll have no time to recover. I’ll keep sending search parties day and night until you order me to stop, but that doesn’t change the fact that you, my prince, will be representing the House of Whispers in the courtship trials, whether you want to or not.”

  Xander opened his mouth but shut it quickly, swallowing his counterargument. Revealing the truth would be even more dangerous than letting them believe his brother was dead. In fact, it would most likely kill him. And Xander knew in his heart that Rafe was alive somewhere out there on that frozen tundra, waiting for him.

  “I’m going to join the search party tomorrow.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Helen said. “You have one day to prepare for tests we never thought you’d face. Leave your brother to me.”

  Holding his captain’s gaze, Xander didn't blink or back down. “You were right. I am the Crown Prince of the House of Whispers. And I will be joining the search party tomorrow.”

  Helen folded her lips into a thin line but kept them shut.

  Xander glanced to his mother. There was a mix of pride and frustration on her face, but mostly of love. She dipped her head, granting him permission to do what he would have done with or without the royal seal of approval.

  I’m coming, Rafe, he thought, returning to the glistening city on the other side of the crystal wall. Hold on. I’m coming.

  9

  Lyana

  Lyana was stuck with her family and the royal advisors for what felt like an eternity, but it made the hours after the meeting fly. Between gathering supplies with Cassi, avoiding another lecture from her brother, and straining to catch a glimpse of the remaining houses as they arrived, Lyana was caught by surprise when she glanced outside to find the burning glow of dusk upon them.

  A thrill ran up her spine.

  “We should go,” she chirped, spinning toward Cassi, who was on the floor of her room, stuffing two packs with the odds and ends they’d managed to gather earlier that afternoon. Some food. A fire starter. Logs. Oil lanterns. A change of clothes, complete with warm boots and furs meant for this tundra the raven wasn’t used to. “It’s going to get really cold out there without the sun.”

  “He’s in a cave,” her friend drawled.

  Lyana eyed her pointedly.

  Cassi sighed. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, let’s just get this over with already.”

  Jumping from the edge of the bed, Lyana flew to her friend, crashing into Cassi with her arms thrown open for an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you for this. I mean it.”

  Cassi squeezed her tightly before pushing her off with a laugh. “You can take the heavier pack, Princess, since this was all your idea in the first place.”

  Lyana snorted, but the sound quickly changed to a groan of protest when she lifted the bundle from the ground, struggling to clip it around her wings. “What’s in this?”

  “All the firewood you demanded,” Cassi said sweetly. “And the water.”

  “What do you have in yours?”

  “Food…”

  Lyana stared at her, frowning. “And?”

  “The lanterns.”

  “The hollow lanterns?”

  Cassi easily shifted her pack around her large speckled wings and fastened the straps in place. “They’ve got some oil inside.” Lyana opened her mouth, but Cassi cut her off, “We could repack everything, but there isn’t much time if you want to sneak out before they close the main doors.”

  Lyana flared her nostrils but sealed her lips shut.

  Logic.

  She hated when Cassi wielded logic like a weapon against her. It was frustratingly effective. But then she remembered the raven, the cave, and the adventure ahead, and a smile widened her lips. “Let’s go.”

  Cassi left first, easing through the door and letting it close behind her. Those massive owl wings were too obvious, so whenever they traveled through the main entrance, they did so separately. Lyana waited the customary ten minutes, bouncing on her toes, before lifting the hood of her servant’s jacket and opening the door. There was nothing Lyana could do to hide her ivory wings, rare even among the doves, but she could conceal her features and her status—a trick she and Cassi had used numerous times to sneak from the palace.

  At this time of night, the atrium bustled with people. Servants were switching shifts. Dinners were being delivered. Guards were changing posts. With the unorthodox delay of the courtship trials, messengers were zipping back and forth between the palace advisors and the representatives from each of the houses. And though the daily market normally set up in the warm entrance hall was closed, preparations for tomorrow’s festivities were underway, creating the perfect distraction.

  Hidden in bland clothes and sticking to the edges of the room, Lyana went unnoticed as she followed a group through the towering east exit and into the massive hall leading to the outside. The exterior door was sectioned into several parts, so when they had formal celebrations such as the one that would take place the following evening, the thirty-foot entrance could be utilized. But usually, on a somewhat normal night like tonight, they kept one or two smaller sections opened, manned by a couple of guards.

  Lyana tucked her chin into her chest, bowing her head to hide her features in the shadows of her hood. In all her years of life, there’d never been any malicious attacks on her family or her people, so she wasn’t surprised when the guards failed to pay any close attention to who was coming and who was leaving. The House of Peace was just that—peaceful. Suspicion and distrust just weren’t things they knew. Lucky for Lyana, rebellious princesses weren’t either.

  Cassi found her outside. They rounded a few buildings on foot before launching into the sky, racing for the sky bridge. When they got there, Lyana took Cassi’s pack and left her friend standing watch at the entrance of the cave.

  The cavern was impossibly dark. Even with an oil lantern lit, Lyana struggled to see beyond the dull halo of light immediately surrounding her. In the end, it was the soft chattering of teeth that led her through the shadows.

  The raven lay right where she’d left him, curled on his stomach, onyx wings spread like a blanket over his body, though they didn't seem to help. His wheezing breaths echoed across the empty chamber, loud in the silence. And even in the dull glow she could see he was trembling, shivering against the cold stone, lips tinged blue as puffs of air billowed out of them. But that wasn’t what made Lyana gasp, nearly dropping the lantern with surprise.

  His skin was healed—not completely, not totally, but enough to make her catch her breath.

  Lyana moved the lantern closer, so the golden glow illuminated his face. The burns that had marred his body only a few hours before, the ones she had lacked the time to heal, had all but disappeared. The raw, wet stretches of flesh were dried and unblemished. The bumps and flaps were smooth. Red bloodstains remained, but the open boils had vanished.

  It’s impossible, Lyana thought, shaking her head. Impossible. Unless…

  Unless he was like her.

  Unless, somehow, he had magic too.

  Her heart leapt into her throat, excitement explosive as it coursed through her unchecked. Careful not to wake him, she tugged away the furs she had left draped over him, examining the planes of his back. The fabric that had melted onto his frame was still hardened and burnt, but no longer adhered to him like glue. She lifted the scraps away easily, eyes widening as unmarked pearly skin was revealed, practically shimmering against the dark depths of his obsidian feathers.

  Lyana paused.

  It wasn’t practically shimmering—it was actually shimmering. Silver swirls glowed softly, twirling beneath his skin like the muted glitter of starlight through a gossamer curtain, subtle but undeniable.

  Magic.

  Lyana lifted her free hand and ran her finger down the center of his spine, mesmerized by the way his muscles and his magic rippled beneath her touch. The contou
rs of his back were well defined, reminding her of the icy hills of her homeland as they sparkled in the sun. But unlike that barren land, he was warm, brimming with life and power. Her mind flashed back to his battle with the dragon—how deftly his onyx wings had soared, how lethal those twin blades had looked in his hands, the authority with which he’d wielded them.

  The raven stirred.

  Lyana snatched back her fingers, clutching her hand to her chest. But she couldn’t look away as he shifted, groaning in pain twice before falling still once more.

  A light flashed from the ground near his neck.

  A reflection, she realized as she watched a flame blink on and off and on and off, oscillating. Lyana put down the lantern and reached for the spot, curious as to what had caused the sudden glow.

  Shock stole her breath for a second time as she lifted a ring from the rocks, studying the smooth planes of midnight stone, recognizing it immediately—a royal seal. Her father’s was similar, but it was carved from clear diamond, arched into a dome resembling their palace. This gem was so dark it seemed to devour the firelight, smothering the glow with shadow. And the cut was different, in the shape of a V with two tall lines extending from a point and a valley stretching between them. The seal of the House of Whispers.

  He’s a prince.

  She dropped the ring and sat up, hardly registering as it clinked against the ground. Her mind raced, flashing to the many conversations with Luka and the advisors, when they discussed all the houses and all the royal families—all her possible mates. The House of Whispers only had one heir, a male raven.

  He’s the crown prince. Lyana’s eyes widened. The one who’s supposed to be participating in the courtship trials.

  Suddenly, everything became clear—why the ravens had asked for a delay, why they had lied about the dragon fight, why they had needed more time.

  A shiver ran across the sensitive spot at the base of her neck, making her hair stand on end. Her mind stilled. Her body paused. The sensation crawled over her shoulders, down her back, pulsing with undeniable anticipation, a sizzle firing to life beneath her skin.