As the queen listed their names and titles, one of the boys looked up, eyes subtly searching Lyana’s. His deep-green neck plumes perfectly set off the hazel of his irises as his gaze found hers and held it for a moment in evident curiosity. She understood why when her attention shifted to the jade ring dangling from a chain around his neck—the royal seal of his house, stark against the pale skin of his bare chest. He was the crown prince, and as such, he’d be one of her possible suitors.
Unfortunately for him, her mind was already made up.
Lyana blinked, glancing away, as his queen continued.
“May we gift our offering to the god Aethios in the name of Mnesme, god of the arts that preserve life and those that give us reasons to live. Medicines and salves from our homeland to keep the House of Peace strong, and our gratitude for all that you sacrifice on our behalf in serving our god Aethios, the highest of them all.”
The princes and princess gently placed their vials in the offering basket and then swiftly fluttered to the empty seats beside their parents.
The hall grew quiet as hundreds of heads turned back toward the main door, waiting for the next house. Lyana, however, couldn’t help but feel the heat of two sets of eyes studying her carefully controlled features—her father’s, alight with anticipation, and her mother’s, a bit sharper and more analytic. Luka, nervous and protective, tightened his hands on the arms of his throne.
Lyana’s heart dropped yet rose at the same time, with a sense of dread and intrigue in an odd mixture that threw her off balance as the doors finally opened. The next house was the House of Flight. And she knew from all her snooping that its crown prince was the one her father had chosen for her. The mate she was supposed to select. The mate that was expected.
Lyana swallowed.
A flock of hummingbirds shot through the entrance, mirroring her nerves. Their wings beat so fast they were little more than blurs of blue silk darting around the hall. Each of them held a jug of what Lyana could only assume was nectar as they moved to their allotted positions, then hovered twenty feet in the air. There were now two lines of ten people along either side of the entry.
Two masked figures entered, walking slowly, wearing matching navy jackets and tan trousers, wings tucked so Lyana couldn’t see them. By the feathers shrouding their faces, she could guess their coloring. One mask was a violet tanzanite that shifted into a rainbow of colors as the man walked, and the other had orange hues that reminded her of the setting sun. From this distance, she couldn’t tell who was the crown prince, but she guessed the first, by his stature. His hands were clasped behind his back, and there was an aura of arrogance about him that reeked of a firstborn.
As the princes made their way, step by step, down the hall, a flurry of activity took place above their heads. The hummingbirds in formation threw the marigold liquid in their jugs over the princes until a glittering pattern filled the air as they darted around, catching, tossing, zipping, and zooming. They moved so fast their bodies seemed to disappear, as if the two princes were alone beneath a ceiling that moved with them. When they reached the main atrium, the hummingbirds soared higher and spread wider. Lyana winced, waiting for a splash to land on her head, but nothing did. The hummingbirds reached their final spots and hovered there, throwing the nectar back and forth so the pattern became clear—a lily.
Just as suddenly, it disappeared.
The hummingbirds turned their jugs upside down.
Lyana flinched.
Before a single drop hit the ground, an orange blur circled the room, catching every falling stream, then speeding to a halt before the offering basket with a bowed head. The other prince remained in the center of the room, and a moment later, the hovering birds produced flowers and tossed them into the air. The prince with the iridescent mask jumped into action, a figure of blurred glitter as he caught the falling buds, one by one.
He landed on one knee at Lyana’s feet and offered her the bouquet, glancing up to meet her surprised smile with a charming lopsided grin of his own. A dimple dug into his right cheek. When she reached to accept the flowers, he brushed his fingers against hers, his olive skin warm and smooth. Before she knew whether to frown at his audacity or deepen her smile in approval, the prince disappeared, soaring to his brother’s side with a flash and also lowering into a bow.
The king jumped in quickly, as though his son’s display had been unexpected and unplanned, “May I present Damien Eurytheus, born of the god Eurythes, Crown Prince of the House of Flight. And Jayce Eurytheus, born of the god Eurythes, Prince of the House of Flight.”
Neither prince looked up as they placed the jug of hummingbird nectar in the offering basket. When they were done, their father continued with the formal statement.
“May we gift our offering to the god Aethios in the name of Eurythes, god of water and the plentiful harvest it provides. Nectar and nourishment from our homeland to keep the House of Peace well-fed, and our gratitude for all that you sacrifice on our behalf in serving our god Aethios, the highest of them all.”
The princes stood.
Damien, the crown prince, paused to glance at Lyana once more. His lips widened into a deep grin barely visible beneath the edge of his mask. When their eyes met, he tossed her a quick wink before zooming to his throne. He slouched in his seat, letting his chin rest against his fist as he settled to watch the show.
Lyana pulled her attention away, back to the door, but couldn’t stop herself from lifting the petals to her nose and taking a quick whiff.
He’s too confident by half, she thought as the scent of sweet honey filled her senses, so delicious she could almost taste the nectar the flowers produced. But when she closed her eyes, the smell shifted to one of burnt wood and dying embers, and the face she pictured wasn’t masked, but open, honest, and vulnerable in a way that this crown prince could never be.
Two more houses to go before her big reveal.
Two more houses of excruciating anticipation.
Two more houses and then her mate would appear.
19
Rafe
Three houses down, Rafe thought, shivering in the cold as he huddled close to the bonfires they’d set up in the streets in an attempt to keep the wait a little warmer.
It wasn’t working.
He needed to move. Needed to get his blood flowing. Needed to focus. Because the next few days would decide the future of his house and his brother’s life, and he needed to be ready. As he stared at the doors towering a hundred feet away, however, all he could think about was who might be waiting on the other side with white wings that were just another pair in the crowd.
Was she in there?
Was she watching?
Would she see?
Not that it mattered. He’d be gone in a few days, home. She’d stay here. They’d never see each other again. But even as he reminded himself of those simple facts, Rafe’s mind wandered to her silken fingers as they shifted over his skin, running through his feathers, emanating a prickling heat only someone with magic could understand.
“Where are you going?” one of his raven guards asked. There were twelve waiting with him, uninterested in trying to pretend he was their prince. They stood by his side only because Xander had ordered them to be part of the show.
“Huh?” Rafe blinked away the vision of green eyes as he returned to the world, glancing down toward the voice. He was five feet in the air, wings pumping, and he hadn’t even realized it. “Oh, um…”
The guard frowned at him. Without Xander, there was no need to keep up the pretense that they had any affection for him at all. But in an odd way, Rafe preferred this to the careful show they usually put on. He’d rather be honestly hated than dishonestly tolerated, especially when it meant he didn’t have to pretend either.
“I’m going to take a peek,” he said as he pushed hard with his wings, not giving the ravens any time to stop him as he soared into the air, rising over the entrance hall to look through the domed crystal roof and
at the floor below, genuinely curious.
The House of Prey had shown up unlike any of the other houses—their crown princess and sole heir had come alone. No performers. No posse. No help. That alone had piqued Rafe’s interest. Add the fact they were also the first house without an obvious act, and he was sold. The House of Song would, well, sing. The House of Paradise would, no doubt, flit and flaunt their extra plumes. And the House of Flight would… Well, whatever they performed, he was sure half the nectar they’d been carrying would end up in their stomachs by the end of the show.
But the House of Prey? They were notoriously isolated, even from each other. Aggressive in a way the other houses weren’t. Their royal family lived alone in a castle at the center of their great hunting plains, while the rest of the families lived scattered through the woods. They’d be presenting furs as an offering, but the performance portion? That was a mystery.
When the doors opened, Rafe could see the blurred outline of the crown princess as she soared into the entrance hall, rich, brown eagle’s wings larger than any he’d seen before. She kept them wide as she floated through the crowd, not even bothering to pump because, well, birds of prey didn’t have to. The skinned carcass of a bear was draped over her shoulders, its head worn like a hood as she drifted, unbothered by the weight. Soon enough, she disappeared into the hollow of the atrium. Rafe caught a glimpse of her wings lazily flapping as she rose, no doubt circling the palace core, and then he saw her twice more at the very end of a death dive, rearing back seconds before her head splattered against the floor, not once losing hold of the fur on her back.
Rafe dropped back to the ground as he imagined the words being said inside by the King of the House of Prey, an eagle just like his daughter: May I present Thea Pallieus, born of the god Pallius, Crown Princess of the House of Prey. May we gift our offering to the god Aethios in the name of Pallius, god of the hunt. A bear skin and other furs to keep you gentle doves nice and warm in this barren winter wasteland you’ve been forced to call home, all so someone is around to give the ever-demanding Aethios the endless amounts of love and attention he requires so that he doesn’t drop all of our homes from the sky and let them vanish in the Sea of Mist.
Or, well, something like that.
Rafe sighed as his feet touched gravel, shifting his weight from one side to the other, anxious to reach the end of the night. The more quickly the trials came to an end, the more quickly he could put the ring back around his brother’s neck, go home, and forget this trip ever happened.
The towering front door of the crystal palace slid open, and the troop of owls that had been in line before him disappeared inside. He’d overheard their crown prince’s name, Nico, as well as that of his sister, Coralee, and he already knew the House of Wisdom’s offering would be a carafe of oil and a blank parchment where all the mate matches would be recorded at the end of the trials to be taken to their secret library for safekeeping. They were the guardians of history, the archivists and academics, serving Meteria, the god of intellect, which of course meant their performance would be a total snore—and something he had no interest in observing.
Instead, he turned back to the dozen ravens around him, trying to find the words for a rousing speech—the sort Xander might have made had he been where he should have been as the rightful crown prince.
All Rafe came up with was, “I know most of you don’t like me, but this isn’t about me. It’s about our house, about giving Taetanos the respect he deserves, so let’s all try to remember that and get this thing over with. All right?”
Admittedly, not the best, but it would do.
Rafe sighed and shook his head as he turned, wishing Xander were there, wishing Xander were with him. But he was alone. And the only thing that kept him going was the anticipation of the queen’s face when he brought a princess home for her son. He would be the savior of the ravens, an outcast no more.
The door swung open.
Rafe flew inside, not bothering to turn and see if the guards followed, trusting them to do exactly what he was doing—honoring the request of his crown prince.
The hall was nearly silent as he entered. There was only the gentle shifting of air as thirteen sets of wings flapped, not putting on a show—not yet. But still, he could feel the gaping stares, the curious eyes. By the time they had cleared the first half of the hall, a buzz of whispers started to follow them, growing into a soft hum to match the beat of his wings. Being gawked at didn’t make him uncomfortable. He was used to it by now. But his throat went dry as he struggled to keep his gaze forward, fighting the yearning pull to search the crowd for a set of ivory wings that was sure to stand out from the pack.
Stay focused.
Stay on task.
He swallowed, resisting the urge as they crossed the remainder of the hall and entered the atrium. Rafe dropped to his feet and his guards followed, the click of their boots loud in the silence. An excited prickle in the air grew as he let the silence stretch, let their anticipation grow, let them wonder if that was all the ravens had to show, or if they were hiding something more—the god call these doves and other houses had heard so much about. He let the air thicken until it felt almost suffocating.
Then he released his raven cry.
The guards followed, each having been chosen for this ceremony specially because his ability to unleash the god call.
Gasps of shock and awe filled the silence. The gazes that had been curious turned confused and marveled as their eyes grew blank, unable to focus on the world, pulled somewhere else by the music in his call, a music his god had provided. As the high-pitched shriek bounced from wall to wall, echoing across the chamber, reverberating until it grew so loud even he found it deafening, Rafe got to work.
He had twelve onyx stones in his pocket, soft enough to crumble at his touch. One had a diamond hidden inside, but he had no idea which. That was part of the game. Taetanos was, after all, the god of fate, so he would decide.
While the raven cry lingered, Rafe made his way around the room. Lost in their trances, the other princes and princesses were completely unaware of him as he grabbed their palms, dropping a stone inside each. It was hard for Rafe to tell anything about the royal heirs as they sat behind their feather masks, their expressions emptied by his call. He could tell even less who would be the best match for his brother.
In the back of his mind, he heard Ana’s voice, a sweet, melodious tune promising that the princess of her house would be a good match for him—fierce and charming. And though he’d scoffed at the idea, he couldn’t get it out of his mind now as he circled the room, jumping from prince to princess, depositing his little gift. Drawn by a gut instinct he didn’t quite understand, he found himself stopping at the princess of the House of Peace last, landing softly before her throne and reaching for the hand gently cradled in her lap. He lifted her slender fingers, brows drawing together at how familiar they seemed as he dropped the stone into her palm, and froze. Something in his chest plummeted as he stared at her dark skin, made somehow richer by the onyx rock he’d settled in her hand.
Don’t look up.
Don’t look up.
But he couldn’t stop his gaze from rising. It skimmed the metallic fabric of her gown, the graceful arch of her neck, and traveled over the lush lips below her ivory mask to the emerald eyes open in eager wonder.
Rafe couldn’t move a single muscle.
He remained there, kneeling before her, caught somewhere between horror and disbelief as she blinked a few times, her eyes clearing as the power of the raven cry faded. Soft voices filled the room, and still he remained, a bird who had flown right into a trap he’d never seen coming.
Her eyes began to sparkle with mischief and mirth. A smile curved her lips. With his hand still beneath hers, she formed a fist, crushing the stone he’d so carefully placed. When her fingers opened, a perfect, dazzling diamond sat in the center of the ashy dust.
Somewhere in the world, Taetanos was laughing, Rafe was sure. But
when he finally stood, the only sound he heard was the soft giggle spilling from her lips, striking him like a knife to the gut. He stumbled back to the mosaic floor and knelt before the offering basket, holding a gilded dagger above his head like a gift to his own executioner.
20
Lyana
The reveal couldn’t have gone more perfectly had she planned it herself. Well, she had played a part for sure. But Lyana couldn’t help but think the gods must have had a hand in the rest, because the moment was just as divine as the diamond still sparkling in her palm.
Her prince retreated swiftly and knelt with his offering, but the sensation of his fingers lingered on her skin, as did the sight of those eyes growing wide with shock. She had hoped to get a smile out of him, or some sort of sign that he was glad to see her, that her surprise had been a welcome one, anything really, even the slightest wobble of his lips.
Oh well… She sighed softly, undeterred.
The Queen of the House of Whispers spoke loudly, and for some reason, Lyana thought she heard a hint of disapproval in the woman’s tone, as though distaste made her tongue heavy and her voice sharp. “May I present Lysander Taetanus, born of the god Taetanos, Crown Prince of the House of Whispers.”
Her eyes still on the prince, Lyana couldn’t help but notice that he flinched as the queen said his name. In a beat, the grimace was gone. He spread his obsidian wings and dipped into a low bow as he placed the gilded dagger in the offering basket. The other twelve ravens stood in a line behind him, a wall of black, all of them garbed in ebony jackets, trousers, and boots, not a lick of color on them aside from the pale ivory or muted tan of their skin. The only thing that made the prince stand apart was the royal seal dangling from a chain around his neck and the mask on his face.
The Raven and the Dove Page 12