The Storm Crow

by Kalyn Josephson

  My eyes flickered to his wound. “Is that why you don’t get along with her?” I asked.

  He stiffened. “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Everything.”

  “Ah, yes, the expert on people is the girl who’s avoided them for half a year.”

  “See?” I threw up my hands, and his fingers curled into fists, as if trying to draw back the words.

  He was saved from answering by the arrival of our food. A platter of short ribs, a bowl of mashed potatoes and garlic, and a salad with tomatoes and goat cheese, along with the plate of thick bread that seemed to accompany every meal in the kingdom.

  I picked up my fork and knife but quickly found the knife to be unnecessary. The beef was so tender, it practically fell apart. I was so focused on it and intent on ignoring Ericen that his next words were like a shock of ice.

  “Tell me about the crows,” he said quietly.

  I nearly dropped my fork, my answer leaping out reflexively. “No.”

  He didn’t look surprised, but he did seem bothered by my answer, his brow furrowing. I didn’t care. No matter who he was, kind or cruel, I would not talk to an Illucian about the crows. I couldn’t.

  We finished dinner, which Ericen paid for despite the cook’s protests, and stepped back out onto the bridge. Rather than return to the carriage, Ericen directed me to a shop across the street nearly shrouded in trees.

  “I didn’t get dessert, because I figured you’d like this place.” He held the door open for me.

  Bakery was too small a word for what surrounded me. Glass case after glass case filled with pastries of every kind, the air thick with the smell of sugar and freshly baked bread. Where a moment ago, my stomach had been achingly full, I now wanted to try everything I saw.

  “We can get some to take back too.” Ericen smiled at my slack-jawed expression, and I faltered. That smile, that real smile, was like a glimpse of gold veined in stone. It made me want to trust him.

  We spent the next ten minutes stuffing a box with pastries, the woman behind the counter letting us taste whatever we wanted along the way. We tried nearly everything in the shop: a lemon tart with berries on top, a chocolate mousse with caramel chips, an oatmeal cookie with swirls of butterscotch. By the time we left, a box of pastries tucked under my arm, I could barely move.

  Mist had begun to gather along the bridge, turning the sona lamps into spots of blurred color that blended into each other like paints on a canvas. People talked and laughed, walking arm in arm along the pristine sidewalks.

  Something was missing. I paused, scanning the length of the street. There were no patrols, no soldiers on duty.

  And not a single Jin or Ambriellan.

  The mist prickled at my skin. Up here was a world of light and color, while a few streets away, people slowly forgot what those words meant as they toiled beneath a regime that cared nothing for them.

  Ericen slowed as we passed the tavern with the music. “Do you want to dance?” he asked.

  “What?” My thoughts were still on the contrast between the city’s areas. He didn’t seem to hear me, instead taking my hand and pulling me into the tavern.

  The tables had been cleared aside, leaving a space filled with people spinning and hopping to the music. I set my box of pastries on an empty table a second before Ericen drew me into the throng. I nearly resisted, but the music pried at the tension in my shoulders and demanded I let it out.

  We couldn’t have stood out any more: he dressed in his Vykryn uniform, dual swords across his back, and me with my brown Rhodairen skin, so much darker than the pale faces around us.

  It wasn’t difficult to pick up the moves. The pattern was repetitive, and I’d done a similar dance once when visiting the Ambriels. We hopped and spun, skipped and twirled. I couldn’t help but laugh at the incongruous sight of Ericen armed to the teeth and dancing in time to the music.

  Half his attention seemed to be somewhere else though. He kept scanning the crowd, his bright eyes narrowed. I missed a step while watching him, skipping to the side when I should have gone forward, and collided with a burly man beside me. I stumbled, and Ericen caught me before I could lose my balance entirely.

  “Watch it!” Ericen snapped at the man, who scowled.

  “Maybe your Rhodairen whore should keep an eye on her feet.”

  Ericen surged toward him, and despite the man being a head taller, pinned him easily against the wall. The music stopped. People stared, the dancers nearest us backing away to create space.

  “Maybe you should learn a little respect for your future king,” Ericen snarled. The violence in his voice startled me.

  The man’s eyes found the emblem on Ericen’s chest and widened. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Please forgive me.”

  I touched Ericen’s shoulder; it was solid as marble. “Leave him. It’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

  Ericen didn’t listen. “It’s not me you need to apologize to.”

  The man’s eyes shifted to me. My cheeks burned. “I’m sorry, my lady. Please forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven,” I said hastily. “Ericen, let’s go!”

  He gave the man a final shove, then released him. I grabbed his arm, barely remembering to seize my box of pastries before tugging him out into the cool night. It had started to rain again, a thick mist obscuring the buildings and road. By the time we climbed inside the waiting carriage, we were drenched.

  I set the box beside me and wiped my soaking curls out of my face. Ericen sat rigid with his arms crossed in the corner. This was the prince who’d faced Razel, the one who’d seemed determined to prove something.

  “That was unnecessary, you know,” I said. “I ran into him.”

  “He called you a whore.”

  “Welcome to the life of a woman. Men say stupid crap to us all the time. So don’t try and tell me that was about defending my honor. It was about defending yours.”

  Ericen scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “I see the way people treat you. You’re the prince of Illucia and a Vykryn, and people still don’t respect you.”

  He bristled. “It’s none of your business what my people think of me.”

  “It is if you’re going to use me as an excuse to demand respect from people!”

  “Just because you don’t give a damn what your people think of you doesn’t mean—”

  I snarled, and he slammed his fist into the side of the coach. Without a word, I tore open the carriage door and leapt out. I moved blindly back the way we’d come, my skin hot with fury and shame at Ericen, at my own foolishness, at this whole damn situation.

  I’d been so focused on considering the ways he had changed since Rhodaire that I’d missed the ways he’d stayed the same. He was still a product of his culture, utterly concerned with respect and pride. It hurt him that his people disregarded him, which made his anger nothing but loneliness and disappointment made manifest. I’d done the same thing—except where my pain became depression, his became anger.

  “Stupid load of shi—ow!” I stumbled back, ready to curse whatever brick wall I’d just run into. Except it wasn’t a wall—it was a young man. Or what one would look like after standing in a rookery during a thunderstorm.

  Each strand of his hair looked as if it were trying to escape the one next to it, sticking up despite the rain, and he wore an ill-fitting tunic under an emerald-green vest with homemade pockets sewn haphazardly across the front. His brown pants were stained with more colors than a rainbow, and he clutched a bundle of papers against his chest. The rest had fallen to the ground when I’d struck him.

  He blinked at me with wide green eyes. “Sorry, I wasn’t—I mean, are you—”

  I cut him off. “It was my fault. I wasn’t looking.” I bent down to pick up the now damp papers and caught a glimpse of the title writte
n in large, shaky scrawl: Lab Assistant Needed.

  “You’re a scientist?” I stood, offering him the papers.

  “Yes. Sort of.” He took the stack, warm fingers brushing mine. “An inventor, really.”

  He looked more like a soldier or a street fighter. He was as tall as Kiva and twice as thick, with the distinctive golden tan skin of an Ambriellan.

  “Anthia!”

  I stiffened at Ericen’s voice, immediately starting forward. Ericen’s hand closed around my arm. I felt the heat of his touch, the strength of his hold, but before I could even move, the Ambriellan boy stepped forward. He seized Ericen’s wrist, wrenching it free. In return, Ericen dislodged his hand from the boy’s grasp and grasped a sword handle. All in barely more than a wingbeat.

  No one moved. The air felt tight and packed between us like quicksand threatening to suck us in. Mist danced in wisps, curling and winding, obscuring and revealing. I moved ever so slightly between them.

  “Ericen, let it go,” I said, voice low.

  The prince’s eyes flashed. “He grabbed my arm—”

  “And you grabbed mine.”

  His jaw tightened, eyes switching from me to the boy at my back. I could feel his body behind me, sense his tension, and hear the sharpness of his breathing.

  Slowly, Ericen lowered his hand.

  I faced the boy and almost faltered. The bright sea-green of his eyes had turned hard as jade. There was something in them. Something familiar that made my chest ache. He’d crushed the flyers into a roll in one hand, the fingers of the other quivering at his side. Both were peppered with thin white scars.

  He saw me looking and tucked his free hand deep into a pocket. Guilt swept through me. I hated when people stared at my burns.

  “Sorry.” I met his gaze. The hardness had vanished.

  “It’s okay. I just—they always—I mean I can’t—” He stopped. Let out a sharp breath. Shook his head. “Will you be all right?” His eyes flickered to Ericen.

  “I’ll be fine. Good night.”

  He nodded. I smiled, and he returned it before I followed Ericen back to the carriage with a glower.

  Fourteen

  Ericen and I didn’t talk on the ride back, and I left him at the carriage the moment we arrived at the castle. I knew the way back to my rooms well enough to manage it on my own, but each Illucian soldier I passed in the halls, their bodies heavy with weapons, made me regret not having a guard with me.

  Sealing my uncertainty inside, I kept my head high and met the gaze of everyone I passed. Their pale eyes burned with the same hatred that simmered inside me, but I refused to look away. Who knew what they’d been given permission to do or what rules they’d risk breaking.

  With half my mind on my night with Ericen and the warmth of the Ambriellan boy’s body beside mine, I almost didn’t notice the voices drifting down the corridor. As I grew closer, they turned sharp and loud. I slowed. Someone cursed, a loud thud following, then the harsh ring of metal sliding against a sheath. My stomach dropped, and I dashed around the corner.

  My door guards stood beside Kiva, Sinvarra drawn. Shearen and three other Vykryn faced them, hands on their weapons.

  “The queen—” he began.

  “Are you serious?” Kiva’s voice cut across his. “If you think your queen’s orders mean anything to me, you’re stupider than you look.”

  “What in the Saints’ name is going on?” I hurried forward.

  Kiva’s eyes didn’t leave Shearen as she responded, “He says Razel ordered your guards sent home.”

  “That’s Her Majesty to you, Korovi dog,” one of the other Vykryn hissed.

  Shearen smirked. “You don’t have enough soldiers to resist us.”

  “We have enough to kill the three of you.” Kiva lifted Sinvarra.

  I laid a hand on her shoulder, my mind spinning. Razel wanted my guards sent home. Tendrils of ice crept down my spine, but I pushed back my fear. If this fight started, it wouldn’t end until one side was dead or severely injured.

  I couldn’t refuse Razel’s order. Shearen knew that. Razel knew that. I drew a deep breath and addressed my other guards. “Go with him. Tell everyone else to follow the orders they’re given. I’ll talk to the queen.” The words were knives in my throat, but I forced them out steadily.

  The guards bowed. Kiva stiffened beneath my touch but said nothing.

  I faced Shearen. “Bring me to Razel.”

  He smirked and then nodded at one of the Vykryn at his back. She sneered as she pressed past me.

  “Come on,” I said to Kiva. She sheathed Sinvarra, her movements stiff with frustration, and we fell into step behind the Vykryn. My mind ripped through options for what to say. Was this in response to Ericen taking my place in that fight?

  We stopped outside two ornate oak doors, the dark wood carved with a pair of rearing horses. A Vykryn soldier stood on either side.

  One soldier inclined her head, saying tightly, “Your Highness.”

  “I need to speak with the queen,” I said.

  “The queen is in council. No one may disturb her prayers.”

  “Too bad.” I surged forward, but the guards closed the space between them, blocking the door.

  The other Vykryn’s hand went to his sword, and Kiva’s went to Sinvarra. “Give me a reason,” the soldier growled.

  Before I could respond, the door swung open. Auma appeared in the doorway, a fresh mark reddening her right eye. Kiva’s lips parted with surprise, then curled into a snarl worthy of a Korovi ice bear.

  Auma hesitated, meeting Kiva’s gaze, before she bolted down the hall. One of the guards caught the door, holding it open as Razel stepped into view. Her lips twitched into a smile. “Thia dear, do come in.”

  The two Vykryn stepped aside to let me pass but blocked Kiva once I was through. The door slammed shut.

  Razel’s rooms dwarfed Kiva’s and mine. The lounge consisted of a single large square room of dark wood and golden metal. The left side of the floor had a shallow indentation in it, with two short, carpeted steps leading down to where a massive black desk stood before a hearth roaring with a fire taller than me.

  Above the mantel hung a portrait of a young girl with golden hair and a beautiful black horse in an open field of long grass and wildflowers. The girl’s arms hung about the horse’s neck, a smile on her lips so warm, I almost didn’t recognize the young Razel.

  A life-sized black stone sculpture of a rearing horse occupied the left-hand corner of the room. Several golden dishes lined the base, a small prayer cushion sitting before it.

  My eyes narrowed. Was that blood in the dishes?

  The queen glided up to me, her icy eyes outlined in kohl. She wore a beautiful black dress with a golden bodice, the hilts of her moonblades resting like wings on her back. My gaze snagged on a series of thin slices on the backs of her forearms. They’d stopped bleeding but still shone red in the firelight like bloody smiles.

  My stomach turned as I realized what they were: sacrificial cuts. Illucians believed praying to Rhett gave you strength. The more you prayed, the stronger and more skilled you would become. But first you had to offer that strength to Rhett. The strength of your blood.

  “Did you need something?” Razel’s tone twisted dangerously.

  I forced my gaze away from her cuts. “Where did Auma get that mark?” It wasn’t the question I’d come to ask, but it spilled out nonetheless.

  Razel gave me a considering look. “How I punish my servants isn’t your business. Tell your Korovi friend the same. I heard the two of them had dinner this evening, and I don’t appreciate her distracting the girl from her work.”

  “You hit her, didn’t you?”

  A smile ripped across Razel’s face like a jagged cut. “I won’t repeat myself. Now, I assume that’s not what you came for?”

 
I scowled. “You ordered my guards sent home. I want to know why, and then I want them returned.”

  “Whatever for? Do you feel unsafe?”

  Something about her faltering smile, about the wild look to her gaze, made me pause. I’d felt unsafe from the moment I left Rhodaire, for the months before it since Ronoch—now? Now, I felt threatened.

  “You have my guards to protect you, my servants to look after you, and your friend remains. I don’t see any need for your people to stay.” Razel swept toward the fire, and the light danced across the moonblades strapped to her back. She stopped before the flames, looking back at me.

  The orange light played tricks across her pale skin, creating shadows that turned her face hollow and gaunt, like a skull lit by a candle. I gritted my teeth and stepped closer to her and the fire.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I said. “And I won’t let you control me either.”

  Razel’s eyes flashed, and she grinned like a hungry jungle cat. “Let’s be honest with each other, Thia dear. This is your home now, and it’s my territory. If I wanted to hurt you, a few of your soldiers wouldn’t be able to protect you.”

  A chill straightened my spine, and I took a step back.

  She advanced. “I’ve been gracious with you, and I see no reason why that can’t continue. I’ve given you free rein of the castle, promised warm clothes for you, and allowed you to keep you dearest friend at your side. But make no mistake.” She seized my scarred wrist, dragging me toward her with surprising strength. “I’m not my son, who I hear has been more than tolerant of you, the spineless fool. Continue testing me, and I’ll happily treat you like the crow-loving dog you are.”

  She stepped back, hauling me a step closer toward the hearth and wrenching my hand toward the flames. The warmth of the fire taunted my skin. I gasped, pulling back, but her hold only tightened. Something feral and distant gleamed in her eyes, as if she stared into a different world.

  “I offered your sister peace, but I’d love nothing more than to send the army sitting on your border to crush what remains of your family and friends for Rhett and my people, for the lives of my family.” She pulled my arm closer to the fire until the flames snapped at my fingers.