The Storm Crow

by Kalyn Josephson

  I paused a step away, the implication of my own words catching up to me. I’d said I would need her in the next few weeks, but… Drawing a deep breath, I said, “I leave for Illucia tomorrow.”

  “You mean we leave tomorrow.” She didn’t even blink.

  “We?”

  She smirked. “Yes, we.”

  Something loosened in my chest, and I let out a breath. I hadn’t asked Kiva to come, afraid if I did, she’d say no. She had a life here, a career, a dream—I knew what it was to lose those things.

  Still, I should have known better than to think she’d choose them over me.

  “Do you know where your mother is?” I asked. “I’ve been thinking, and I have an idea.”

  It was time I stopped living in the past and started preparing for the future.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, everyone I’d asked for was gathered in Caliza’s office. Kiva leaned against the wall beside the desk, Caliza behind it with Captain Mirkova a rigid force at her side. In one of the chairs across from them, Lady Kerova, head of House Kerova, sat poised like a swift bird, her hands folded in her lap. Tama, delicate tattoos of the Jin guilds, curled up her neck and along her jaw in red and gold ink that shifted when she smiled.

  I hadn’t stood face-to-face with one of the house leaders in weeks. Seeing her, memories flashed: her gentle smile whenever I tried and failed to sneak up on her, she and Estrel playing games of dice at the patio table late into the night, her shadow crow materializing suddenly from the darkness to startle me in an endless game, Caliza peering at her around corners, her childhood crush obvious to everyone except her.

  Next to Estrel, she’d been my mother’s most trusted friend, as well as her war advisor.

  I didn’t sit. The last few days had awoken something inside me once smothered by ash and grief, and a wild energy coursed through me.

  “I have an idea,” I began. “And it’s a little absurd.”

  Four pairs of eyes rested on me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt what Caliza had been talking about that morning. I felt the storm in my veins.

  “I want to ally with the other kingdoms against Illucia.” I looked at each of them in turn.

  Caliza and Captain Mirkova exchanged looks. Lady Kerova’s expression remained serene as ever.

  Kiva grinned. “I like it, but there’s no chance Korovi will help. They’ve got their heads too far up their—”

  “Sakiva!” Captain Mirkova hissed.

  Kiva scowled. “What? Am I wrong?” she asked.

  The captain looked as if someone had carved her from stone. Arms crossed, jaw set, every muscle honed by years of training drawn taut.

  “They won’t give a damn about another kingdom,” Kiva spat. “They don’t even care about their own people.”

  Captain Mirkova said something low and furious to Kiva in Korovi, and Kiva shot something twice as hot back, leaving both women red-faced and white-knuckled.

  “It’s worth a try,” I pressed, my tone turning desperate. “Snow and mountains won’t keep them safe from Razel forever.”

  Captain Mirkova quickly regained her composure, leaving her daughter fuming silently. She regarded me with pale eyes, considering.

  “It’s an interesting idea,” Lady Kerova said in her silken voice. “Something I once considered. But Jindae and the Ambriels have been beaten down and torn apart. What remains of them likely resents Rhodaire for not aiding them when they needed us most. Their faith in us is broken.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Jindae had been our allies for years, stretching back to the war with Illucia that killed my father before I was born. It seemed like the natural conclusion for us to work together.

  “So we restore it,” I said, meeting Caliza’s gaze. She nodded, and I looked from Captain Mirkova to Lady Kerova. “I found a storm crow egg.”

  Lady Kerova drew a sharp breath, and Captain Mirkova’s eyes widened.

  “Do you know how to hatch it?” Lady Kerova asked.

  “Not yet, but I’ll figure it out,” I said.

  “And you think this will be enough to mend these broken relationships?” Captain Mirkova asked.

  I lifted my head. “Even our own people practically worshipped the crows as gods. They believed in their power the same way they believed in the Saints. To the other kingdoms, they’re legends.”

  “Legends that left them to die,” Lady Kerova said softly. There was something tight in her voice, like an old memory lodged in her throat. Her mother was Jin. Had she wanted to send aid when they were attacked?

  “But they still believe in their power,” I said. “I believe in their power. A storm crow can rain lightning down on an army or hail bigger than my fists. It can change a field to mud, turning soldiers into archery practice. But more than magic, a crow could be a symbol. A symbol that Rhodaire has not given up, and neither should they. A symbol we can rally around.”

  A soft smile turned Lady Kerova’s lips. “You remind me very much of your mother when she was young.”

  I straightened beneath her gaze, her words weaving a complex web of emotions inside me I couldn’t begin to decipher. “Kiva and I think the Jin princess survived Razel’s massacre and is leading her people. Can you find out?”

  Lady Kerova nodded. “I will reach out to my family in Jindae. Some are involved with the rebels.”

  “Trendell may be willing,” Caliza said. “I wrote Kuren about the egg yesterday.”

  I looked to Captain Mirkova, Kiva staring at her as if trying to pierce a snowstorm.

  “I will go to Korovi,” the captain said, her words hewn of ice. They left me wondering what I’d just asked of her.

  “What about the Ambriels?” Kiva asked.

  “They are not worth it,” Captain Mirkova replied.

  Caliza nodded. “Even before Illucia attacked, they were highly dependent on the empire and already had a strong relationship. What remains of their high council is corrupt and loyal to Razel.”

  “My shadows have heard whispers of Ambriellan rebels,” Lady Kerova said. “Masked riders in the Verian Hills on Illucia’s coast who have been disrupting shipments of goods from the islands.”

  “Could you send someone to get in contact with them?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then do it. Tell them I want to set up a meeting.”

  Caliza straightened. “That’s not safe. Forget whether these people are trustworthy or not; if Razel caught you…” She trailed off.

  The back of my neck prickled, but I didn’t give the fear purchase. “I won’t waste any more time, Caliza, and I won’t hide while other people fight for my kingdom. I’m doing this, no matter the risk.”

  She didn’t argue. Out of the corner of my eye, Kiva grinned at me.

  “You should release the Jin prisoner in your dungeons to my custody,” Lady Kerova said. “I will take him with me to Jindae as a show of good faith.”

  “What about the prince?” Captain Mirkova asked. “If he discovers the prisoner is gone or who he left with, it will raise suspicions.”

  “Then we convince him the prisoner is dead,” Caliza suggested.

  “He won’t believe we executed him without a trial,” I said.

  “Then we convince him he took his own life to protect his people’s secrets,” Lady Kerova said. “Leave it to me. I’ve had a shadow on him since he arrived who can feed him false information.” As leader of the Kerova Wing, she commanded the division of our army responsible for spies. Even without their crows, her shadows were still unsurpassed.

  “Has your shadow learned anything about the prince?” I asked. “I caught him snooping about the castle halls last night.”

  Lady Kerova’s face darkened, a disquieting look on her normally serene features. “The prince has proven himself difficult to follow. My shadow h
as lost him twice already.”

  Kiva frowned. “Shadows don’t lose their marks.”

  “It would appear the prince is skilled in disappearing,” Lady Kerova replied. “His shadow is still unsure how he managed it.”

  Another thing about Ericen that didn’t make sense. It was about time I learned a little more about him, and our weeklong journey to Illucia would be the perfect chance.

  We finished discussing some of the specifics of our plan, including the passwords Lady Kerova’s shadows would use to identify themselves. The swift messenger birds they raised and trained would be our main source of communication, our letters containing benign conversation on one side and true messages hidden in invisible ink on the back, only to be revealed by firelight once the ink was coated in a special black powder.

  There was one topic I’d selfishly avoided addressing so far. Taking a breath, I asked, “What do we do with the egg?”

  Caliza frowned. “I’d assumed you were taking it.”

  “Into Illucia?” Captain Mirkova asked, saying exactly what I’d feared someone would. It didn’t make sense for me to take the egg, not when I didn’t have any idea how to hatch it.

  “We may not have a choice,” Lady Kerova said. “I may not have been privy to the secrets of crow hatching, but I believe it is something only the royal family can do. Why else would we bring all the eggs to the royal rookery, where often the current king or queen is the only one present when they hatch?”

  Jittery anticipation filled my veins. This sounded like what I’d read about magic lines in that dusty journal. If only the royal family could hatch the crows, then it had to be me or Caliza.

  My hope dwindled. “So then the egg stays with Caliza.”

  Caliza snorted. “I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with it, let alone if I actually managed to hatch it. It’s a risk sending the egg with you, but if only one of us can hatch it, we have a much better chance if the one trying is you.”

  The others nodded, and relief swept through me. “And what if I figure it out? I’ll need a way out of Illucia.”

  “Part of this plan relies on you finding a way to obtain some level of autonomy,” Caliza replied. “If you can’t, there will be no meeting with Ambriellan rebels or even much room for working on the egg. But if you can get it, we can get a ship into Port Maranock just outside Sordell to bring you home.”

  And if I couldn’t, then I might be stuck in Illucia permanently. For a moment, I let the implication settle. Drawing a deep breath, I said, “If the other kingdoms ally with us and I can’t escape, Razel will use me against you.”

  Kiva stiffened, her hand going to her sword as if to battle the words. She would fight with me if that happened, and the thought eased the twinge of uncertainty in my chest. We would fight together, as we always did.

  I locked eyes with Caliza, steel meeting steel. “If that happens, I want you to do it anyway.”

  My words settled across the room like feathers drifting down from the sky. What had started as my selfish desire not to marry Ericen had turned into a volcano waiting to explode into all-out war.

  Caliza nodded. “I understand.”

  Either the remaining kingdoms banded together against the empire, or we all crumbled beneath it.

  Nine

  I waited on the patio for dinner that night, my mind so packed with the day’s revelations, I almost missed the harsh whispers coming from the hall. Recognizing Ericen’s voice, I rose and slipped to the door, pressing against the wall to listen.

  “I don’t really give a damn what you think,” Ericen growled.

  A shiver prickled at the back of my neck at the low, primal danger lurking in his voice.

  “You have orders,” replied a voice laced with disgust. “Even you wouldn’t disobey your queen and Valix.”

  “Watch yourself, soldier.”

  The other man snorted harshly. “Engaged to a Rhodairen, rejected by your own mother, distraught over the death of a worthless Jin. I’ll speak as I wish, Princeling.”

  There was a sharp crash and a grunt of pain. Before I could move, Ericen rounded the corner. I froze. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, blocking the firelight from behind and casting him in shadow. He stared down at me, the sharp cut of his icy eyes softening with surprise. I’d barely registered any of it before he regained himself and swept past me to the table.

  Inside, his guard clambered to his feet, holding a bloody and likely broken nose. He glared furiously before retreating into the castle.

  I sat down at the table. Ericen still didn’t speak. Even as the food arrived and we filled our plates with roast chicken and vegetables, he remained subdued. I kept catching him staring into the distance or sometimes at me. Every time, he made a point of smirking before focusing on his food, which he pushed around his plate.

  Engaged to a Rhodairen, rejected by your mother, distraught over a Jin…

  It seemed Ericen had taken Lady Kerova’s bait. But to be bothered by it?

  “Find anything interesting in the library last night?” he asked suddenly. “Or were you just reading for nostalgia?”

  I eyed the prince, trying to fake indifference even as my heart raced. I’d forgotten to put the books back. Did he suspect what I’d been looking for? “This again?” I asked. “You’re awfully interested in my life.”

  “Shouldn’t I be interested in my future wife?”

  I snorted. “I give you full permission to ignore me. Besides, this game is getting old. So why don’t we skip the part where you try to use my past to hurt me?”

  Ericen started to respond, then stopped, eyes narrowing. He went back to pushing his food around, hand tight around the fork as if it were a weapon. The silence stretched. He looked like he was trying to work himself up to something, to make a decision.

  To follow orders? I frowned. Illucians didn’t disobey orders.

  Ericen set his fork down. “It’s too bad the man who attacked you died before revealing who sent him.” His voice was low, his words tight. The emotion had drained from his face, leaving him eerily calm. It looked wrong. “Apparently, your people are just inept at keeping things alive. It’s lucky for you my mother’s been gracious enough to offer this alliance. You should be more grateful.”

  My hand tightened around my knife.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh well. One less rebel in the world.”

  “You’re a bastard,” I said.

  Ericen stared at me, lips parted, before they slowly formed a smile. “You Rhodairens are very blunt.”

  “No. You Illucians are just conniving monsters.”

  His smile widened. “True.”

  I blinked. Surely, I hadn’t heard what I thought.

  The prince leaned back, an arm over the back of his chair, and met my gaze without wavering. “Maybe I’m not half as bad as you think, Princess.”

  Was this another part of his game? He looked and sounded so genuine. No cruel smile, no frost to his gaze. He said it simply, matter-of-factly, and yet I still couldn’t believe him. This was the man who’d threatened to have his army attack to prove a point.

  “You’re not what I expected,” he added quietly. In the dim light, he looked haunted, his muscles tight and eyes soft and full of exhaustion. For half a breath, I saw someone else entirely.

  Then, as if suddenly remembering himself, his eyes glazed over, and his smirk returned, that other person vanishing like a phantom in the night. “But I suppose you’re not half of what you once were,” he mused.

  I shook away the image I’d had of him, focusing instead on the sharp lines and lupine features of the warrior before me. How could I ever have seen anything else? “At least my soldiers treat me with more respect than a pile of feathers, Princeling,” I said.

  He stiffened. “Do they? What about your people? I imagine they’d take issue with a princess
who turned her back on them.”

  I scowled, but his words settled deep. I stood, picking up my plate. “You can eat alone.”

  * * *

  I finished dinner in my room with Kiva, where I relayed my conversation with Ericen. We’d cracked open the windows, letting in fresh evening air sweetened by the scent of fruit trees, and I’d piled my pillows at the end of the bed and plopped down. She sat on the floor, her sword in her lap.

  “I think you’re imagining things,” she said when I mentioned how difficult it had seemed for him to talk tonight. As if he hadn’t wanted to say those things.

  “Maybe.” I rolled onto my stomach to face her, releasing a breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “It was inevitable. The world is reaching a breaking point.” She pulled her sword from its sheath, the black gold rippling like molten night. The tension that had seemed permanently ingrained in her face earlier that day had subsided. The dark circles under her eyes remained, but she looked better.

  She met my gaze, her pale eyes soft. She knew what I was thinking; she always did. “In Korovi,” she said quietly, “my first kill would have been celebrated. In Miska warrior tradition, I would have a ceremony, and the sword that spilled my enemy’s blood would be named.”

  I stayed perfectly still. Kiva rarely talked about Korovi. All I knew was her mother had been forced to leave while pregnant with her, shamed by scandal for breaking their most sacred laws. Which was probably why the captain had looked like she’d rather walk barefoot on glass than return to Korovi for aid.

  Kiva ran a cloth along the length of black gold. “A Miska warrior of my age without a named sword would be a disgrace.” Her lips twitched into a small smile. “Of course, I’m already a disgrace, and in Korovi, I’d never have been a Miska warrior.”

  The Mirkova line was an ancient one, a powerful one. Kiva’s grandmother practically ruled the snow kingdom, and as a noble, Captain Mirkova was forbidden to marry. Believed to be daughters of the goddess, Lokane, noble women in Korovi had children by chosen suitors outside of marriage, then devoted their lives to the goddess as priestesses or leaders in the government. The two roles were so intertwined, it was nearly impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.