The Storm Crow

by Kalyn Josephson

  I fell asleep to the knowledge that it was time to find a way out of Sordell.

  A soft touch at my shoulder woke me. I opened my eyes, expecting sunlight and Kiva’s face. Instead, I found night and the shadowed form of Auma a foot away, nearly enveloped in darkness.

  I bolted upright. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “I have something for you,” she said, holding out a small envelope.

  I took it, expecting more of an explanation, but she only waited. Pushing myself back against the headboard, I opened the envelope and withdrew a letter, finding a fake message from Caliza.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked.

  “It was intercepted by the queen.” Auma’s eyes were pools of shadows in the faint moonlight.

  “And you…stole it?” My half-awake mind struggled to parse what was happening. “Why?”

  “It did not belong to her,” Auma stated simply, as if that were the only reason that could possibly matter.

  I wasn’t going to argue with her. “Razel’s going to notice this is gone.”

  “I will take the blame if she does.”

  I studied her. “I don’t understand you. You’d risk your safety to bring me this, but when you’re around Razel, you pretend to be weak. Why? I know you’re not afraid of her.”

  “Strength comes in many forms,” she said. “The lion fears only the fox.”

  A Trendellan proverb. There was no greater advantage than being underestimated for what you lacked in physical strength. It was the quick, quiet predators you never saw coming.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Auma inclined her head. “I have another message as well: Myzae.”

  I went stiff. Myzae. The Jin used the same word for both art and magic, and it was the password we’d decided on for news related to Jindae.

  “The Jin princess will hear out your proposition in Trendell.”

  “What? How? Auma!” I hissed, but she was already gliding from the room on silent feet. By the time I untangled myself from my covers and dashed across the room, the common room door was swinging shut.

  My heart fluttered, my breath thinning as my mind raced to catch up. Somehow, Auma was connected to the Jin rebels. She knew what we were doing. I looked to Kiva’s closed door. Was that why she’d stayed close to Kiva? Was she a spy?

  Whoever she was, it seemed she was on our side. As were the Jin, for now. They would listen, like Diah would listen, but would they truly pledge their people’s lives to this alliance?

  The unanswered questions stretched out before me like a dark, endless hall. Most importantly of all, why had Razel confiscated my letter? Did she suspect me, or was this just another method of control?

  I retreated to my room for some powder, then approached the dying embers of the fire with care. Coating the paper in the powder, I unfolded the letter and held it as far away from the fire as I could while still illuminating the invisible ink.

  Thia,

  I talked to Lady Kerova about Res’s magic. She says this is very common with orphan crows. Without his mother or eggmates around to learn from, you’re his only source of guidance. She also said without his eggmates to challenge him for dominance, he might feel like he doesn’t need his magic. Apparently, some crows just need a little push. I have no idea what that means, but she said to focus on the bond between you and you’ll figure it out.

  Good luck,

  Caliza

  A push? I closed my eyes, reaching along the cord to Res and receiving soft thrums of sleep in response. The feeling flowed through me in a soothing rhythm, like the ebb and flow of the tide.

  I prayed Lady Kerova was right.

  Twenty-Five

  I skipped training that morning, eager to get to Caylus’s and put Lady Kerova’s advice into action. Leaping from the carriage, I burst into the bakery to the scent of sugar and lemon and raced up the stairs, a wrapped parcel of chicken from Tarel in hand. The door was already opening when I reached the top.

  “Res was going wild like he does when you’re close,” Caylus explained with a smile.

  I grinned, slipping past him and nearly barreling straight into Res, who cawed happily, lifting and lowering his wings in a flutter of excitement and nudging my empty hand with his beak.

  “I don’t suppose there was any inexplicable lightning last night?” I asked.

  Caylus closed the door and glanced out at the clouded sky. It was a clear, sunny day by Illucian standards, patches of blue among the gray. “Sorry,” he replied. He retreated to the kitchen island where he picked up a chocolate chip scone from the counter and tore off a piece, tossing it to Res.

  I stared at him. “Scones? Scones are not part of a crow’s diet!”

  “We ran out of chicken,” Caylus said simply, as if that explained why he was now feeding Res sugar and flour. “He wanted breakfast,” he added.

  “All he ever wants is breakfast,” I replied with a groan. “And lunch and dinner and a thousand snacks in between. You’d think all that energy would make for some nice lightning.”

  In response, Res ruffled his tail feathers and snatched another piece of scone from Caylus’s hand. His beak was almost as large as Caylus’s palm now, but he moved with a delicate grace that left me unconcerned for the safety of Caylus’s fingers.

  I released an overdramatic sigh and handed Caylus the package of fresh chicken. “My sister said a friend of ours thinks he needs a push.”

  “What sort of push?” he asked, returning the scones to a box along with the chicken.

  I shrugged, glancing at Res, who was eyeing the box. Taking a deep breath, I focused on the cord between us. Pulses of contentment slid down from Res, intermixed with excitement and craving. Lady Kerova had said to use the bond between us to push Res into using his magic.

  I sent a nudge down the cord. Res paused, silver gaze switching from the scones to me, but nothing more. No spark, no gust of wind. I looked helplessly at Caylus.

  “Maybe you just didn’t push hard enough?” he suggested.

  I focused on the link again. It hummed, pulling at the spot just below my rib cage, and I imagined myself traveling down it. I thought of reaching into Res, of finding the magic lying coiled deep inside him, and—

  The floor rocked violently. The connection between us shuddered, and I stumbled back, gasping for breath. The room rocked again, and I nearly lost my footing when Caylus seized my arm, steadying me.

  “What’s happening?” I asked. But even as I asked, I saw.

  Out the window, the once cloudless sky had turned darker than dusk as heavy clouds materialized from thin air. A powerful gust of wind rattled the windowpanes, screaming as it whirled down the street. Thunder boomed, echoing like the march of an army.

  And before me, Resyries crackled with lightning.

  * * *

  Res stood in the center of the room, his wings lifted, the tips pointed down. I gaped at him, unable to think, unable to move. The wind howled louder, coming alive in the room. It lifted plates and food and utensils off the island, swirling them about the room in a massive whirlwind. Outside, lightning crackled across the sky.

  My hair ripped free from my braid, buffeting my face with sharp, tiny lashes. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  A warm hand found mine, and I felt Caylus beside me a moment later. “The opposite!” he yelled, and my shocked mind struggled to understand. “Do the opposite!”

  The opposite of what I’d just done. I nodded, reaching out for the cord, and recoiled with a cry. The link vibrated viciously, the feel of it sharp and hot as the lightning erupting around Res’s body.

  Despite the way the thought made my stomach turn, I seized the cord through the pain and pulled. Res let out a cry, sharp as the snap of bone, and the link shuddered.

  A burst of energy barreled through me, throwing me backwa
rd. Caylus caught me as my vision blurred, then cleared. Res stood before me, the lightning gone, his silver eyes back to their usual stormy gray, wings lowered to his sides as things came crashing to the floor.

  My lips parted as I took in the chaos. Shattered pieces of plates and bowls littered the floor, scones and cakes torn apart and scattered. A bread knife had been driven into the wall right where Caylus had been standing. Outside, broken branches hung at awkward angles on trees along the street, leaves scattered like flower petals.

  What in the Saints’ name had just happened? The ground had shaken. Thunder alone couldn’t do that. It was like—

  “Caylus?” A voice called from outside the door. “Caylus, what’s going on in there?”

  We both spun for the door. The locks were undone. Caylus had forgotten them in his excitement to see me. I shot forward, but it was too late.

  The door opened.

  Twenty-Six

  The new girl from the bakery stepped inside.

  I froze, my mind racing as she surveyed the room. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t know.

  “What happened here?” she asked, her face growing slack as she took in the damage, her eyes sliding across the island, to me…and right over where Res was standing.

  She looked at Caylus expectantly.

  My breath shuddered, and I locked it in my throat. Had she not noticed Res? I glanced at Caylus, carefully sculpting my expression into something calmer.

  Caylus blinked at her, startled. At least she wouldn’t find his behavior strange; he was always a little strange.

  “The storm,” he said, and that was it.

  The girl’s brow furrowed. “The shaking did all this?”

  “Yes,” I said too quickly. But half my mind was on trying to understand how she hadn’t noticed the three-foot-tall crow behind me.

  Her gaze fell on the knife sticking out of Caylus’s wall. She placed her hands on her hips. “You were doing another one of your experiments, weren’t you?”

  “That too,” I said. “The shaking messed it up. It exploded.”

  Her expression grew hesitant. “This’ll come out of your pay, Caylus.”

  He nodded, but his face had gone empty. His mind was somewhere else, likely wondering the same thing as me: why in Saints’ name didn’t she care about Res?

  Giving the room a final sweep, the girl let out a sigh of resignation and stepped back out onto the landing, closing the door behind her.

  For a moment, the room was utterly still. Then I bolted for the door and turned lock after lock so fast, I scraped my knuckles. Slumping back against the door, I faced the room.

  Res was gone.

  My heart stopped. I blinked, thinking it a trick of my vision, but he wasn’t there. Yet I could feel the cord pulsing between us.

  “I swear he didn’t move,” Caylus muttered, brow furrowed.

  “Res?” I called hesitantly.

  In the corner, the shadows looked strange, like a distorted reflection in a rippling lake. A spot behind my temple began to pound, and I pressed my fingers to it, blinking to clear my vision.

  Then the shadows moved. They shifted like ebbing fog, growing and stretching until a piece pulled apart from the rest, coalescing first into wings and then a body and tail and head and—

  “What—?” I gaped at Res as he finished detaching himself from the shadows.

  Caylus’s eyes widened, his head tilting in consideration. “I didn’t think storm crows could bend shadows.”

  “They can’t.” My voice strained on the word. None of this made any sense. Was that why the earth had shaken? Had Res somehow used earth crow magic too? But that was absurd.

  “Interesting,” Caylus muttered to himself. His fingers tapped along his leg in thought.

  I took an unsteady step toward the island and dropped onto the nearest stool. Res let out a low caw as I buried my head in my hands, trying to parse this impossibility. Surely, the shaking had just been a result of Res’s magic releasing after being pent up for so many days. But that didn’t explain how he’d disappeared.

  “We’re not stopping, are we?” Caylus’s voice drew me from my thoughts. I blinked at him, and he nodded at Res, who looked completely unfazed by the sudden rush of magic. In fact, he looked stronger, his posture straighter, his feathers darker, as if not using his abilities had been hurting him somehow.

  I felt cautiously along the cord between us, questioning gently. Was he okay? Res let out a low coo and lifted his wings, stretching them wide as if insulted by the question.

  A grin slid across my lips. “I need a pen and paper.”

  Caylus retrieved them for me, and I began scribbling out a plan at the kitchen island. “There are different programs for different crow types,” I told him, knowing he’d want every detail. “We have basic sets of maneuvers for them to start out with, to get a feel for their power and help strengthen the bond between them and the rider.”

  His green eyes glimmered with curiosity. “What’s first?”

  Facing Res, I focused on the connection between us. “A spark.” As I spoke, I sent a thought down the cord too, imagining Res producing a small spark of lightning. It was one of the most basic storm crow maneuvers, a simple show of energy that many newborns produced on reflex.

  Res cocked his head.

  “Focus on the source of power inside you,” I said, repeating words I’d heard Estrel whisper to hatchlings first discovering their magic. “Imagine it as an extension of yourself.”

  Res swayed, sending groan-like sounds along the cord, before spreading his wings and falling flat onto his back.

  I blinked. He lifted his head gently, as if checking that I was looking, then let it flop back down.

  “Is he okay?” Caylus asked.

  A low rumble in Res’s throat mirrored the vibration of feeling he sent down the cord between us. Something that translated loosely to food food food.

  I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I crossed my arms. “You’re not getting anything until you make some more lightning, you overgrown chicken.”

  Another cooing noise reverberated in Res’s throat.

  Caylus turned, withdrawing the box he’d tucked the chicken into. The moment the air caught the scent, Res snapped upright, flaring his wings to flip himself over in a show of agility that left me staring. Caylus tossed him a chicken slice, and he caught it, swallowing in one gulp.

  “Sucker,” I muttered.

  “More after you’re done,” Caylus told him.

  Res straightened, and like a dam releasing a river, lightning erupted around his body, singeing the air in a crackle of sparks and jagged cracks. Caylus leapt back, but I grinned wildly as the yellow-white energy surrounded Res like a spiderweb. Then as quickly as it came, it vanished.

  I expected Caylus to be afraid, but he was staring at the crow with a mix of bewilderment and utter fascination. Leave it to him to be curious about something that could fry him alive.

  Res clicked his beak, cawing softly, and I turned back in time to see Caylus break from the trance he so often lost himself to. He tossed Res another chicken piece, and the crow gobbled it greedily.

  Caylus went to toss Res a third piece, but I stepped between them. “Hold up! I said a spark, not a ball of lightning. You have to be able to control it.” Erupting into a flurry of searing energy hardly seemed conducive to crow riding.

  Res huffed but did as I said. Or tried to. Every time he made to coalesce the lightning, it sputtered wildly. More than once, Caylus and I had to duck behind the island to avoid getting shocked. It took several more tries before Res managed to maintain the energy in a spark at the tip of his beak before releasing it in a snap of sizzling air. Caylus gave him the next chicken slice, and around we went. We worked on the spark of lightning several more times before doing a few
wing exercises to help strengthen his muscles.

  It would take a while for Res to truly master the basics of his powers, but we wouldn’t be able to try anything more advanced until we were away from Illucia.

  That storm had been too close a call.

  * * *

  I helped Caylus clean the kitchen before returning to the castle. Apparently, everyone just thought the weather a freak storm, despite the sky being almost clear of clouds. With sunlight streaming down to illuminate the dark stone streets and deep green foliage, Sordell almost looked peaceful.

  Even its buildings wore masks.

  Despite the sunny day outside, the castle corridors still prickled with cold. A breeze brushed my skin. I looked up for the source, slowing as I approached Kiva and my chambers. Tension crept up my shoulders. Something was wrong. The door hung open at an awkward angle, and I glimpsed an overturned chair.

  I shot forward, silently cursing myself for not carrying my bow and arrows.

  The room was empty, and it was a mess. Chairs overturned, plants knocked askew, slices deep into the couches. One window had been broken, letting in the cool breeze.

  “Kiva!” I moved deeper into the room, checking her room, then mine. Nothing. I sprinted back into the hallway and almost ran straight into a servant. “Have you seen my friend?” I demanded.

  The girl stiffened. “She was escorted to see Her Majesty this afternoon.”

  My heart stopped as I sprang past her, darting out into the hallway and down to the great hall. Razel wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her rooms either. By the time I reached the throne room, my throat was raw.

  The two guards outside the doors didn’t stop me from bolting through. Razel stood on the dais, arguing in heated whispers with Ericen. Shearen stood at the foot of the dais, smirking. He had a growing bruise around his eye, and his left forearm had been bandaged. Beside him stood Auma, her face impassive as ever, head bowed. Bruises peeked out from the edges of her clothing and darkened her face.

  My footsteps echoed like thunder in the high-ceilinged room, and all four sets of eyes snapped to me.