Finally, he let the conversation die. I moved the steak around my plate with my fork. Once, Iyla would have nudged me with gusts of wind from where she perched on the patio railing until I tossed her a snack. Without her, without Estrel and my mother, the patio felt empty, the table too big.
The patio door opened, and servants cleared away dinner before bringing us each a slice of chocolate cake. Ericen eyed his as if it might bite him.
“What? Is our dessert not good enough for you either?”
“We didn’t have sweets at Darkward.”
“That explains a lot.”
He barely seemed to notice the insult, instead taking a bite of the cake. His expression didn’t change as he ate it, and he didn’t say a thing, but he finished his slice before I did mine and watched me eat every last bite.
Then, as if he’d simply been waiting for me to finish, he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a folded letter with Illucia’s royal seal. He slid it across the table to me, but I didn’t take it.
“This,” he said, “is a letter to General Castel. She leads the army currently sitting on your border.”
A chill dripped slowly down the back of my neck, turning every muscle to ice. He continued, “In it are instructions to destroy your outposts for ten miles in every direction and to leave no survivors but one, who will be sent back here as proof that my order has been carried out.”
My breath slipped in and out quick as a wingbeat, my jaw aching from clenching it so tight.
“Say whatever you’d like to me, Princess. Snap and curse and insult until your throat is raw. But remember why I’m here. Remember there’s an army sitting on your border full of soldiers who have been trained to do one thing their entire life: kill.”
The word echoed with promise. He was playing with me, trying to make me feel powerless. It worked. The situation felt slippery, out of my control.
He left the letter on the table and stood. “We leave for Illucia the day after tomorrow,” he said and stalked back inside. His presence lingered, the space he’d occupied as solid as if he were still there.
I sent a servant to Caliza to convey the news of my imminent departure and Ericen’s threat. Then I ordered the letter burned. Only once every fragment had turned to ash did I go upstairs.
* * *
I couldn’t sleep. Ericen’s threat had followed me upstairs and draped itself across my shoulders, whispering promises of burning towers and bloodstained earth.
Tomorrow. I had tomorrow, and then we left for Illucia.
I knelt before my armoire, the egg cradled in my lap, my fingers skimming along the shell. Its soft humming gave me little comfort in the face of everything that stood before me.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow was my mother’s birthday. Or would have been. Now it was my last chance. There was no guarantee I could hatch the egg, so we couldn’t risk denying Razel. But if I could figure out a way to hatch it before I left, I wouldn’t be forced to leave tomorrow for Illucia, the spoils of a phantom war.
There had to be a way.
Tucking the egg away, I dressed in boots and a cloak before slipping out of my room. The hallways were quiet, the sona lamps burning low against the darkness. I plucked one carefully off the wall, holding it at arm’s length as I traced my way to the nearest stairway leading to the upper levels. Moonlight poured in through massive windows, illuminating the stairwell and revealing dust and cobwebs thick as my hair.
I stepped out two floors up. The stone walls were bare, the hallways empty. Any art and furniture had been relocated to the bottom floors or sold. My footsteps echoed in the unfilled space, trailing me like ghosts. A shiver trickled down my spine, and I held the sona lamp higher.
It felt strange being in the upper levels again, and I made a point of walking more softly. Making noise felt wrong, like any sound might shake more than dust free from the walls. So many memories slept in these halls. I half expected to see shimmerences, the spirits that dwell in forgotten places, floating in the air in wisps of silvery smoke.
The upstairs library was at the end of the corridor. Perhaps the downstairs one hadn’t had the books I’d needed because they wouldn’t have been moved down there. They’d have been left to gather dust in the hopes they could be forgotten.
I pushed open one tall oak door, the image of a crow carved into the wood. The sound echoed in the high-ceilinged library, and I paused in the doorway. Rows of half-empty shelves spread out before me like a sea of tombstones. Several long tables sat near the back of the room, only visible by the beams of moonlight trickling in from the tall, narrow windows.
I stepped forward, turning up the gas on my lamp, and began to search.
Nearly half an hour later, I had a sizeable stack of books set on one of the back tables, my sona lamp casting a warm orange glow across the page of a tome spread open before me. I’d searched for anything to do with the crows, focusing mainly on instructional texts. I’d even found several with chapters about hatching, but each of them skipped over the details of the actual process, and nothing hinted at why they hatched simultaneously.
Hours later, my eyes strained in the darkness, and a throbbing pain gathered behind one temple. Each useless book was like a nail in my coffin.
Sliding another failed book to the side, I reached for the last of my pile. It was thin, with a cover so worn that most of the title was illegible, only the word Magic decipherable on the faded leather. I’d expected it to be on the different types of crow abilities, but as I scanned the first page, I realized it wasn’t a book at all but a journal written in a large, looping scrawl.
“Little is understood about how magic truly worked for the Sellas before their disappearance,” I read quietly to myself. “But one aspect scholars agree on is the existence of magic lines, or hereditary magic. After thorough research, I believe these magic lines create a connection across generations, perhaps similar to the way a crow and a rider are linked. And like other traits vary among family, growing stronger or weaker along the line, so too can the magic line manifest differently, even among siblings.”
I read faster, skimming through the journal beneath the fading glow of my lamp. It was short and half-finished, consisting mostly of Sella lore and history the author used to support their claims. If they were right, this might explain why riders typically came from the same families over the course of generations. Maybe whatever it was the crow latched on to was passed down from parent to child.
Could the way to hatch the crows be related to these lines somehow?
Footsteps echoed outside the library. Frowning, I doused my lamp and moved behind a nearby bookcase. The footsteps grew louder, and a light appeared down the center hall between the shelves. I peered around the edge.
Ericen stood in the doorway, glancing from bookcase to bookcase as if trying to decide where to start. I cursed silently. He was everywhere; I couldn’t escape him. Surely, it would only be worse in Illucia. He was in my head, in my thoughts and my emotions. He’d burrowed underneath my skin with his vicious smiles and barbed, caustic words, and everywhere I went, there he was.
I stepped into the glow of his lamp. “Need help finding something?”
To his credit, he didn’t jump. Only drew a sharp breath, the line of his jaw tightening. “Anthia. What are you doing up here?”
“That should be my question.”
His eyes narrowed, and he turned back the way he’d come without a word. I hurried after him, pulling the library door shut in our wake.
“No witty comeback?” I asked. “No clever explanation?”
He kept walking. “I wanted something to read.”
“There’s a library downstairs.”
“A small one.”
I snorted. “I can’t imagine what you’d be looking for that you’d just assume it wouldn’t be there.”
He didn’t respond, and a chill tr
ickled down my spine. I actually could imagine something. Information from a bygone time. The sort of thing left in a forgotten place.
I cut him off, forcing him to an abrupt halt. His blue eyes looked silver in the moonlight, the shadow of his broad frame stretching into infinity.
“How did you even know there was another library up here?” I asked.
“I suggest you move.”
“I suggest you talk.” I held his gaze unflinchingly. He stared back, his eyes searching mine. “What are you looking for?”
After a moment’s pause, he said quietly, “I feel bad for you.” I bristled reflexively, but he wasn’t mocking me. His eyes had softened, his shoulders lowering. “You have no idea what’s happening.”
He didn’t wait for a response before brushing past me. I let him go, unsettled and confused by the feeling writhing in my chest.
Eight
The next morning, I lingered in bed for several minutes, a familiar heaviness weighing me down. I left for Illucia tomorrow, and my books had yielded nothing definite. I left for Illucia tomorrow, and I couldn’t hatch the egg. I left for Illucia tomorrow, and today was my mother’s birthday.
Missing her was a dull ache, like a bruise in my chest that throbbed anytime I remembered her.
Kiva had told me a thousand times it wasn’t my fault, but some days, I couldn’t keep the regret at bay, couldn’t stop the heavy snake from slithering up my shoulders. I knew better than to think I could have convinced my mother not to go after the eggs, but I still wished I’d tried. Maybe she would have listened. Maybe she’d still be alive.
I felt myself sinking. Felt the familiar weight pressing me so deep inside myself, my body hardly felt like my own, until drawing air felt like breathing water, and I wondered what might happen if I simply stopped.
The door clicked open. I expected Kiva, so when I saw Caliza, her eyes red from tears and her cheeks flushed, I stared. She’d barely closed the door when I started crying. Fumbling with my sheets, I tumbled out of bed, meeting her halfway. Warm arms encircled me, and I buried my face in Caliza’s chest as she pulled me close, each of us seeking the others strength. My knees wobbled, but she held me up until I was able to find the will to stand on my own. Several minutes passed before I drew back.
“I don’t know how to hatch the egg. I leave for Illucia tomorrow, and Mother is—” I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to finish the sentence.
Caliza released a quiet breath before leading me to my reading chair by the window. I collapsed into it, drawing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. She sat down across from me on the ottoman, a hand on my arm, squeezing tight. We stayed there for what felt like hours, and the familiar snake curled around my shoulders.
“Get that look off your face.”
I almost jumped at the sharpness in Caliza’s voice. “What?”
“I know that look. You’ve had it almost every day since Ronoch. It’s the look you get when you’ve given up.”
I turned away. Guilt gnawed at my insides, even as the quiet voice in my head promised this was for the best. Giving up was easier. It was better not to try, not to care.
“Thia.” The forcefulness of Caliza’s voice pulled my gaze.
“What else am I supposed to do? There’s nothing in the library, no one else to ask. There’s nothing left!”
“There’s you.”
My jaw clenched. “Like I said. Nothing.”
“If Ericen said that to you, you’d punch him in the face, and rightfully so. It’s a lie.”
“Maybe it’s not. If I can’t hatch the egg, then what use am I?”
Caliza shifted in her seat, facing me. “Do you know why I wanted the crows to accept me so badly?” I shook my head, and she continued, “Because I was jealous of you.”
I laughed, but her face remained impassive. “I’m serious, Thia. I was jealous of the future you had waiting for you. A life of magic and flight, respect and strength. While you prepared to harness an ancient power, I prepared to shackle myself to a life of politics and planning. Don’t get me wrong,” she said quickly when I started to protest. “This is what I wanted. But it’s not quite so impressive as soaring hundreds of feet in the air on the back of a legendary beast.”
“It’s pretty damn impressive to me,” I muttered.
She smiled softly. “Those reasons could have made me jealous of any rider, but I wasn’t. It was only you. Because I, like everyone, knew what you were.”
“A delinquent?”
“A storm.” She locked gazes with me. “A tempest of lightning and thunder with the kind of heart found only in legends. A heart full of kindness and courage and strength. And when I looked at you, I saw only the woman you would become. The leader you would become.”
She took my hand, holding tight. “Don’t let Razel win. Don’t let her silence the storm inside you. I might be queen, but you were meant to be so much more. Crow or no crow, one way or another, you will fly. You were always meant to rule the sky.”
I stared at her, my hand holding so tightly to hers, it had gone numb. When she spoke, it was so easy to see what she saw. To see the future I could have had, the leader I could have been, and how I’d let it slip away, day by day, sinking deeper and deeper into oblivion.
Don’t let Razel win. Don’t let her silence the storm inside you.
I swallowed hard, closing my eyes until the burning behind them stopped. Then I drew a long, slow breath and let it out. When I opened my eyes, fire burned through every inch of me, and yet I felt strangely calm.
“You’re right.” A smile tugged at my lips.
She smiled back. “I usually am.”
* * *
My hunt for Kiva ended in the hall outside Caliza’s office. She had stopped abruptly, hand clapping against her hip where her sword should have been. She’d forgotten it.
Kiva never forgot her sword.
That’s enough. Before she could fully turn around, I tackled her through the open door of a nearby empty sitting room. She stumbled but kept her feet.
“I can usually hear you coming,” she said with a frown.
I took in her sloppy braid, her rumpled uniform, and the spot where her sword should hang, its absence so notable, the emptiness felt like a void. This wasn’t Kiva; it was an imposter hiding in her skin, like the creatures from Sella stories that were no longer told.
Catching on to my intentions, Kiva tried to slip away. I blocked the door, arms folded. I’d waited long enough.
“Talk,” I ordered.
“I have nothing to say.”
“And crows can’t fly. Come on, Kiva. Something’s eating away at you.” Literally, judging by the growing shadows beneath her eyes. I unfolded my arms, stepping toward her. She recoiled, and the space between us stretched. Every inch felt like a talon in my chest. I never should have waited.
“What happened that day?” I asked softly. “Please, Kiva. Let me help you.”
She held my gaze, unblinking, her silence trapping my breath in my throat. Then finally, she blurted out, “The man I fought is dead.”
“What?”
“He didn’t escape.” Her voice broke. “I killed him.”
I stared at her. Repeating the words in my head, I tried to force them into making sense. Though Kiva had been a member of the guard for several years before Ronoch, she’d never seriously hurt someone before. Never killed. Until now.
For me.
“You saved my life.” My voice came out hoarse. “Those men tried to kill me, and you saved me.”
Her hands curled into fists. “It’s not—I don’t feel—” She turned, toppling a nearby chair with a swift kick. “How in the Saints’ name am I supposed to protect you, to become captain, if I can’t handle killing one man?” She sent another chair skidding across the floor. “I felt sick for hours afterward! I sti
ll do. I feel like a mess.”
“You look like one too.” I tucked the escaped hairs from her braid behind her ear. If only I could fix the damage inside as easily. Kiva always knew what to say to me; all I wanted was to do the same for her.
I tried to smile. “There’s nothing wrong with that though.”
“Nothing wrong? I can’t implode every time I kill someone!”
“I didn’t realize you planned on doing it often.”
“I’m not! But if I need to…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
I set the chairs back on their feet and settled into one, patting the seat of the other. Kiva dropped into it, pressing her head into her hand, messy blond hair tumbling into her fingers.
When I was upset, I needed Kiva to shake me out of it, to break my pattern. On the much rarer occasion that she needed me, I had to take a different approach.
“If we’d had this conversation a few days ago, I’d have said you were worrying about something you shouldn’t,” I began slowly. “But now, there’s a real possibility our lives will be in danger again, and maybe it’ll come down to you or someone else. And that’s not your fault.”
Kiva had probably thought these things herself, but words could be so much more powerful coming from someone else. I’d told myself a thousand times to get out of bed after Ronoch, but without Kiva’s help, I might never have.
“Your guilt is a good thing,” I said. “If you ever don’t feel it, that’s when you should worry. But you can’t let it destroy you. You’ve worked too hard to get where you are, and I need you there too much. That day proved it. I needed you to protect me, and I’ll need you more than ever in the next few weeks.”
The truth of my words settled in my chest like leaves fluttering to the earth. I couldn’t do this without Kiva. “You’re more than my friend, Kiva. You’re my family. And whenever you need me, I’ll be there, and, if worst comes to worst, you can repeat all this nonsense back to me, and maybe we’ll be okay.”
She held my gaze like a lifeline, the pain behind her eyes fading. Then slowly, she leaned forward. I caught her in my arms, holding tight. We were like children again, Kiva seeking refuge from her mother’s critical gaze. She didn’t cry; she never did. She just stayed in my arms until she didn’t need to anymore, then I helped her fix her braid and smooth out her clothes, and we left the room together.
The Storm Crow Page 8