The Raven and the Dove

by Kaitlyn Davis

  Her body fell, as though the string that had been holding it aloft had suddenly snapped.

  Xander jumped to his feet.

  The cries of a thousand ravens stopped him cold. Every bird in the sacred nest leapt from the trees at once, a black cloud flooding the cage, the flapping of their wings an ominous roar as they searched for a way to get through the bars that had held them for their entire lives. There was no way out, no escape for those ebony feathers casting shadows in the sun.

  The ground lurched violently beneath him.

  Xander joined his brethren in the sky as the nest shook, the swish of leaves and the groan of the earth joining the rustle of a thousand wings. Fissures snaked up tree trunks. Branches cracked and fell. Solid dirt crumbled, filling the air with dust, and the god stone quivered where it hung, suspended. At the center of it all, Lyana remained unaffected in an odd mix of peace and pain. The ground beneath her trembled, sending her body this way and that as her eyes remained closed and her wings limp.

  When the ground fell still, the priest knelt beside her. A hand emerged from his robes to gently brush her cheek, and a victorious smile curved his lips, elation glowing in his eyes. That was when Xander noticed the muddy boots, the robes that were far too small, and the sun-kissed face.

  He dove.

  “What did you do to her?” Xander shouted as he crashed into the priest, grabbing a fistful of the man's clothes, pumping his wings and using his weight to keep him flat against the floor. “What did you do?”

  The man offered a smile made of razor blades, sharp enough to cut. “I did nothing, raven prince. This is her destiny.”

  “Who are you?” Xander pressed his forearm to the man’s throat, making him choke on a sound eerily close to laughter. “Where did you come from?”

  “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, truly I did,” the man said with a sigh, as though he were the one pinning Xander to the ground. “But I can’t leave any witnesses.”

  Xander frowned, confused.

  Then he gasped.

  A sensation like nothing he’d ever felt in his life passed through him, as though a ghost had reached into his chest and latched on to his soul, closing a fist around his heart, stealing the breath from his lungs. A bond was severed, disconnecting his mind from his body. The priest pushed and Xander flew back, wings useless as a wave of pressure sent him stumbling over the ground, off balance, legs and arms no longer responding. His mind screamed to fight. He tried to beat his wings and kick with his legs, but it was useless, like running into a stone wall armed with nothing but the feeble hope of toppling it.

  The priest stood, eyes focused and bursting with gold sparks of lightning, then took a step toward Xander.

  When the man looked toward the ground, Xander dropped to his knees. When he widened his eyes, Xander’s spine curled and his arms snaked behind his back, as if tied with invisible string. His wings arched above his head, as if in the middle of a rapid descent. Phantom fingers lifted his chin. The white feathers pinned to his chest suddenly felt like a target on a practice field. His heart pounded, thumping against his ribs, because he knew without a doubt this stranger wasn’t interested in playing games.

  Another man stepped out from the shadows of the grove, then a woman. They stood to either side of the leader, paying him no attention, focusing on the princess by their feet, who was still lying lifeless against the ground.

  Lyana!

  No sound crossed Xander's lips, even as everything within him ached to fight, his voice trying to scratch and thrash and crawl its way out.

  I’ll save us! I’ll figure this out!

  But he couldn’t.

  And he wouldn’t.

  Because he didn’t even know what this was, didn’t even know what he was fighting. And for a brief moment, Xander wished Rafe were there—a desire so intense and so unwanted it burned across his thoughts with searing pain.

  Rafe would have found a way to act.

  He would have unleashed his raven cry.

  He would have used his magic.

  He would have done something.

  But Xander wasn’t his brother. He had no god-gifted cry. No illicit magic. No battle-hardened instincts. And there was nothing he could do but freeze in horror, bound by invisible hands, as the man ripped the priestly robes from his shoulders, revealing a coarsely woven jacket and an array of blades along his belt. A shiver ran through Xander as a small dagger was pulled free.

  The man walked forward, grim determination on his face.

  Xander switched his gaze to Lyana. Her chest rose and fell. Her mouth parted. One of her legs twitched, then her eyelids fluttered open. Those emerald irises, dazed and confused, found him across the room. A wrinkle appeared on her forehead as she pushed her palm against the stone, sitting up.

  I’m sorry, Xander thought.

  I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.

  The man drew back his arm, though Xander barely registered the way the sharp edge of the blade caught the light of the sun. Odd how the mind wandered in that last second of existence, stretching it into a whole lifetime of dreams. He and Lyana speaking their vows. The cheer of his people as they returned, a mated pair, the beginning of a new age for his house. The two of them at peace in their little haven of books and windows, a joining of two different sides. The sight of a smile finally returned to his mother’s lips as she held her first grandchild in her arms. Teaching his son how to read while Lyana trained their daughter how to fight. The laughter that would have returned to his quiet streets. The light and warmth that would have filled the dark halls of the castle. And lastly, the two of them, side by side on matching thrones as they watched their heirs fight for their own mates, small smiles on their lips as their eyes met, remembering the pain and confusion and heartache of the early days, and how it had all given way to a life of so much more.

  He saw all of that.

  Then just as quickly it was gone.

  The blade plunged into his chest and Xander fell back. He stared through the bars at the top of the sacred nest, finding trees and sun and open sky, distantly hearing Lyana’s scream as his vision grew dim.

  Then it faded.

  He faded.

  Entirely.

  63

  Rafe

  As soon as the tremors stopped, Rafe jumped to his feet, heart in his throat.

  Xander. Lyana.

  Were they alive? Were they all right?

  He had to go. He had to find them. He had to be sure.

  Consumed by panic and fear, he didn’t hear the whistle until it was too late. The arrow sank deep, slicing through the wing joint in his back, eliciting a hiss through clenched teeth as he tried to fight the blinding flash of pain.

  Rafe spun.

  Beneath his skin his magic flared, racing to heal the wound. His eyes were sharp as they scanned the back corner of the room. Was it a guard sent by the queen? He couldn’t even articulate the idea that anyone had been sent by Xander.

  When his gaze landed on his foe, he slackened, overcome.

  “Cassi?” he asked, mouth falling open as the owl stepped from the shadows, bow already drawn with another arrow. All the warmth in his heart turned into a void. There was only one person who would have sent her to do this deed. One person, and he couldn’t even think her name for fear it would cut too deep—for fear he would never recover from that dark truth.

  Cassi didn’t answer, anyway.

  She just let another arrow fly free.

  Rafe dove to one side, snapping his wings close to his back so he could roll across the floor, gritting his teeth as the wound hurt with the heat of molten iron. He stopped on his knees, crouching low, and reached to remove the arrow still lodged in his back. Again, Cassi stretched her arm, preparing another strike. Rafe whipped his twin blades from their scabbards and jumped to his feet. By the time the arrow was in the air, he was ready, using the edges of his swords to swat it from the sky.

  He charged, focus acute and blades blazing.


  But his heart wasn’t in it.

  Rafe stopped before crashing into Cassi, sure he could have used his size and skill to overwhelm her, but not trying. Because it was Cassi. His friend, he’d thought, after so many hours spent on the practice fields together.

  “Why are you here? Why are you doing this?”

  Cassi discarded the bow and reached for her sword, silver eyes as sharp as the blade in her hands. “It’s not personal, Rafe.”

  He snorted and stepped closer.

  She stepped back and to the side.

  They circled, locking eyes as they sized each other up in the narrow space of the room. Rafe was used to fighting in open skies and large arenas, where he could fly and swing his arms without fear of obstacles. But this was different. His mother’s rooms were modest. The floor was littered with furniture half-eaten by flames. The light was poor. The ceiling low. And already, the air had grown cloudy with the dust wafting up from their footsteps.

  “We both know I’m better with a sword,” he said, trying to give her a way out of the mess she’d started.

  Cassi lifted a single brow, tilting her head. “Do we?”

  She attacked.

  Rafe jerked back, surprised at her speed. Cassi swung, the arc wide over her head. Rafe met her blow with both swords raised, taking the force of her assault easily. But he realized too late that the move was a distraction. As soon as his blades met hers, she dropped and spun, reaching for a dagger hidden at her back and cutting a deep slice into his thigh. A cloud of dust burned his eyes as she pumped her wings, retreating before he could counterattack. Magic flared, traveling down his body to the gash.

  “You lied,” he said simply, trying to gauge her reaction. As he spoke, Rafe took a few steps to the left, so his back was to the balcony. The tear in his wing was healed enough for him to fly, he hoped. Enough to get away. “About needing my help with a sword. You lied.”

  “I lie about a lot of things.” Cassi shrugged. The words and the gesture were casual, but a tight gulp followed, revealing a different emotion.

  “What other things?” He was buying time to take a deep breath, preparing to release his raven cry. Those few precious seconds of her confusion were all he would need to get away.

  “There’s a whole world you don’t know about, Rafe,” Cassi murmured, her gaze flicking over his shoulder. “But you will.”

  She threw the dagger in her hand.

  He had no choice but to step to the side once more to avoid the blade, and now the balcony no longer presented as an easy dive behind him. Before he found his balance, she tugged another knife from her belt and sent it flying. The point landed in his abdomen, making him stumble back into the wall. Cassi swung her blade. He barely had time to lift his forearm and catch the blow with the hide of his jacket, laced with metal to act as a shield. He pushed her away with a kick to the chest and stood, ripping the dagger so his flesh could reseal, grunting as his magic flowed, bringing cool relief to the fire simmering beneath his skin.

  But Cassi wasn’t giving him time to heal or time to take the breath needed to release his godly cry. After so many hours of sparring with him, she knew exactly how he’d attack and how he’d retreat, exactly where he’d go, as though she’d catalogued every minute of their time on the practice fields, storing it for this very moment. She was fast, incredibly fast as she dealt different blows, fighting in a way he wasn’t used to—not going for the kill, not going for the big, debilitating wound, but taking small jabs here and there whenever the opportunity provided, enough to make his magic slow and laborious, stealing half of his attention away.

  And she had an advantage.

  She fought with heart—with purpose. A fire lit her eyes. Energy reinforced her movements. Determination hardened her gut.

  But Rafe was empty.

  He was alone. He’d already lost everything. Did it matter if he lost his life, too?

  No one would even realize. Xander thought he was leaving, never to return. Lyana had snuck from his room that morning without so much as a goodbye. The queen and everyone in the House of Whispers would rejoice to hear the fire-cursed bastard had finally fled their small isle, disappearing without a trace.

  Maybe he was always meant to die in this room, surrounded by his parents’ ashes—the spot where he’d first cheated the master of death. Taetanos always won in the end. If Rafe knew nothing else in his life, it was that there was no vanquishing the god of fate. There were only moves and countermoves, all leading to the same inevitable place.

  A vicious sense of irony pierced his heart.

  Rafe gasped and looked down, surprised to find the pointed end of a sword protruding from his chest. Cassi pressed a boot to his shoulder, crunching his wing as she pushed, sliding her weapon free. He fell face-first against the ground, crashing like a sack of beans whose string had snapped, nothing left but to lie there and blink as he watched his blood spill over the dusty tile floor, ready for the end. She pressed a knee to his spine, holding him down, and leaned close enough for him to feel her breath against his ear.

  “I’m sorry, Rafe,” she whispered. “Truly, I am. This is going to hurt. But you’ll survive. I promise. You’ll survive, like you always do. And I hope someday, maybe, you might find it possible to forgive me.”

  At first, the words didn’t register.

  Then she grasped the bones of his left wing and snapped. He bucked beneath her, trying to dislodge her as the terror of the truth hit, sending a cold wave through his veins.

  This wasn’t the end.

  It's not personal, she'd said. I lie about a lot of things. There's a whole world you don't know about, but you will. You'll survive.

  Cassi didn’t mean to kill him. She had a plan—one that was bigger than him, bigger than Lyana, bigger than the ravens and the doves and this kingdom above the clouds—and he was the only one aware of her treachery. Xander wasn't safe. Lyana wasn't either. Cassi had been fooling them all and if he didn’t escape now, they'd remain ignorant of her duplicity—vulnerable and in danger. He had to fight, if not for himself, then for them.

  "No!" Rafe shouted with newfound vigor.

  A raven cry hurtled up his throat and Cassi stilled behind him, disoriented by the godly call. With a pump of his right wing, he rolled just enough to grab her arm and throw her from his back. By the time her eyes cleared, he'd snatched a dagger from the floor and plunged it into her side. Cassi gasped. Rafe took the advantage, no longer seeing her as anything but foe, and scrambled to his feet. With his right wing limp, he had no choice but to take to the halls.

  He made it two steps before a blade slashed his ankle, severing the tendon, and he fell, forehead hitting a bedpost on the way down. Mind swimming, he crawled toward the door. Cassi launched onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck to cut off air. He jabbed his elbow into her wound. With a grunt, she released him and toppled to the side.

  The exit was close, only a few feet away. If he could just get there, he might be able to lose her in the underground halls, a maze he knew like the back of his hand. If he could just—

  A knife drove into his lower spine.

  Rafe's vision flashed white, blinded by the agony, and his legs crumbled, useless. Cassi was on him in an instant. He was disoriented, weak, and paralyzed from the waist down. Magic flowed in his veins, but not enough. Though he arched and twisted with all his strength, Cassi held him down. A rope tightened around his wrists, securing them behind his back.

  "I've been told this might help," she said as she grasped his hair and yanked his head from the floor to slide the hilt of a dagger between his teeth. Her face was grim, her lips thin, her eyes hard. Without another word, she gently set his chin back against the floor.

  When the knife made the first cut into the joint of his wing, he bit down into the worn leather, fighting the pain with pressure, an inhuman sound escaping his lips. Then the second incision came. Then the third. On and on, until mercifully, the world gave way and he slipped into his dreams, goi
ng to a place where his mother laughed with him, holding his hands as they danced around her room, his brother and father by their sides, all four of them happy and united, then deeper still, to a small halo of light in an otherwise endless abyss where two palms created starlight in the dark and a soothing voice whispered, telling him to hold on, because this fight wasn't over.

  The war was only just beginning.

  64

  Lyana

  “No!” Lyana shouted.

  The world came into perfect clarity as the dagger plunged into Xander’s chest. She didn’t know what happened, or how they’d gotten here, or why she didn’t remember, but her blood sang with power and she knew she would do whatever it took to save him.

  He fell back, still.

  Too still.

  Her head swam.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Her gaze darted around the room, searching for something, anything, then landed on the stranger to her left and the dagger he was wearing on his belt. Without thinking, she tore the blade free and threw it, aim unflinching, focused on the man holding the bloody knife.

  He spun.

  The dagger stopped an inch from his heart. Just stopped cold, hovering in midair, subtly vibrating. He watched it, unconcerned. Lyana’s jaw dropped. The blade did too, clanging uselessly against the ground. That was when she saw the mossy sparks glittering in the air to her left.

  Lyana turned.

  On her other side, a woman she hadn’t even noticed held her palm forward, dark olive magic simmering at her fingertips.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the man who had been disguised as a priest murmured, drawing Lyana’s attention back toward him. Her gaze dropped to the body by his feet and the pool of blood already spilling onto the ground.

  She was afraid of many things, but not of them.

  “Get away from him,” she growled, voice throaty, possessive, and beautiful in its ugliness, as though torn all the way from her gut.

  Lyana stood, whipping the strangers around her with her feathers as she flew the few yards to Xander’s body. Dropping beside him, she expanded her wings to hide them from sight.