by Kayla Maya
BRYN’S STORY IS
ONLY JUST BEGINNING . ..
Find out what awaits the storm wielder in this highly anticipated sequel
Bryn has done the impossible, stealing the king's mask from underneath his very nose, but she’s far from done with the Order of the Crow, or rather, they are not done with her. They want Bryn to return the mask to Sister Grace’s hands, hands that have killed far too many innocent lives for less. And if that weren’t enough, her confusing thoughts of a certain Disciple of the Crow has led her to the Crystal Kingdom, the last known location of North.
EXCERPT FROM SONG OF CROWS
CHAPTER ONE
The inner street of Boreal was more lively than usual. Many of the city folk rushed from shop to shop, eager to grab what they could before winter set in. The truth of the matter was that winter had already arrived in the form of tiny snowflakes as they drifted down from the sky to the cobblestoned street, coating the ground with snow. A cloaked wanderer meandered by, shoulders bent and head held low as they walked through the street. A beautiful Kieger Mustang ambled behind, shoulders shaking from the cold wind that tore through their protection, or what little they had. The cloaked wanderer gripped the horse's reins, bringing it to a halt under a bridge where a poster was driven into the brick wall by a rusted blade. The poster was a picture of a young woman with long, raven hair that tumbled past her shoulders, her almond-shaped eyes wide, and lips turned down in a frown.
The wind picked up, tearing the wanderer’s hood from their face. Dark hair fell from the loose ponytail, curls whipping in her face. Bryn quickly swatted at her hair, amber eyes burning as she yanked the blade from the wall, tearing the WANTED poster to shreds before allowing the wind to carry it away. Bryn watched as the pieces rode the current before they departed in several different directions. Apollo huffed, nudging his head on her shoulder, frost emanating from his nostrils.
“I know boy.” Bryn ran her hand down his snout. “Let’s get you someplace warm for the night.”
Bryn began to shiver as the night crept in, and with the city-wide curfew. Luckily, Bryn’s destination was not too far, and it was also easily assessable. Hailey’s home was nestled in the middle of the city, a set of stables built to the side for their horses. Bryn handed Apollo’s reigns to a young boy before she made her way back out into the street. No sense in him catching a cold, Bryn told herself. Better off just me. She made sure she kept a firm handle on her purse before she wandered into the depths of the city, where all the hooligans and thieves awaited.
The Black Bull’s, a band of thieves that lived in Boreal, thrived in a run-down old tavern, overseen by an old man. So long as the thieves paid their rent each month, the old man did not care that they lived there within reason. Bryn had done many missions for the Black Bull’s in order to get information from them, ranging from information of a certain disciple for the Order of the Crow to leading news from Serena. Bryn pushed open the tavern doors, ducking as a chair flew through the air and out the open door to the already snow caked ground. She rubbed her arms, trying her best not to shiver as she went to the bartender. The Bull Tavern was more lively tonight than normal, no doubt to keep warm from the cold that threatened to consume them in fever chills and other elements. All the tables and chairs were occupied, save one upfront beside two large, burly men that yacked and coughed and drank their fill and then some.
Bryn ignored the catcalls and shoulder touches as she made her way to the bar, where she took her seat by the two burly men. Halbert, the bartender, was a wiry old man that spoke of many a time when he would “run” around with his many women and bespoke of tall tales of ancient magic and faeries. While Bryn had always scoffed at him for his fantasies, she still couldn’t help but smile as the old man had grown a place in her heart. He, like the rest of the thieves, held a rather large, tattoo on their right shoulders of a bull’s head with two massive horns on either side. And, just like everyone else, he had a hard-inner core rather than a soft exterior. Halbert smiled a toothy grin as Bryn took her seat, a glass of water already sitting on the top of the bar awaiting her.
“Howdy, Bryn.” Halbert’s southern twang often gave her a good laugh since she had never heard of such an accent. “How’s the pickins’?”
“As to be expected.” Bryn shrugged, dowsing her drink in one gulp, casually ignoring the two goons that sat on either side of her, both eying her with keen interest. The one on the right had a tattoo of the bull on his right shoulder but held a trident tattoo on the top of his left ear, right where his massive scar led down to his jaw. The one on the left was average enough; of course, he too held the bull tattoo. “Is Clyde here tonight?”
“Why does it concern you?” The goon on Bryn’s right asked.
Blood and bones, Bryn thought. Why must I always encounter the trouble makers? She sighed and pushed back her seat, feet slightly apart as she said, “It is my concern and my business only. I’d ask you kindly leave before you really make me mad.”
“Eh?” The goon with the trident tattoo elbowed the average goon. “She sounds like she wants to take us.”
“Actually, I rather not. I am busy and have places to be. Now if you would be as so kind as to—”
“Clyde gives the orders, girly,” Trident guy said. “Especially when we don’t bloody know who you are.”
“You asked for it.” Bryn angled her head in two directions, hearing a crack and pop as they worked out the muscles before she ducked and used her height advantage to sidestep Trident Guy, before landing a blow to Average Guy in the kneecaps, causing him to whimper in pain. Bryn cracker her knuckles bobbing and weaving from Trident’s blows. Eventually, she got close enough to a table where a group of Bulls scampered away, allowing her ample time to kick it. The round top skidded along the floorboards before it crashed into Average Guy’s face. Bryn winced when she heard a crack as his nose broke, blood spurting and howling as he clamped a hand over his broken nose.
She whirled around in time to dance around Trident’s sucker punch. Bryn used a vacant chair to swing it at Trident, hitting him in the gut before hitting him once more in the back with a now broken chair. Unfortunately, that did not keep him down. With a groan, Trident stood on shaking legs, arms raised as he charged at her again. Bryn dropped to the floor, sweeping out with her leg so that it caught his, pushing him face-first into a table that broke upon impact, blood coating the ground. Bryn wiped her hair away from her face as she panted, waiting for anyone else to join in on the fray. She was satisfied that no one wanted to add to her quickly growing body count, both alive and dead.
At one point in Bryn’s life, she had hated the thought of killing another human being, especially those who did not deserve it. However, life on the run had hardened her shell and made her moves all that much quicker. Since the night she had escaped Serena, of course, with the help of a certain disciple, Bryn had taken many names and even severed ties with those she had once cared for deeply. Now, under the full alias of the Raven Thief, Bryn had wandered around the Boreal kingdom in search of clues to North’s whereabouts, and of course, Lord Anderson’s. After she had fled the castle, Queen Elora had sent a bounty out for Bryn’s head. Of course, no one knew her true name, just the alias she was given all those years ago. Lord Anderson, or should she say that Jonas had gone into hiding after Bryn’s departure, no doubt laying low until the thief was in Queen Elora’s clutches.
After killing nearly a dozen or so men, the idea and thought of blood no longer churned Bryn’s stomach, but rather, hardened her ability to control the storms, now that she could use herself as a conduit and shoot electricity through her entire body. Bryn was a Cyclone, a breed of human that was able to control the weather, or storms more accurately. She, like the rest of her dying kind, was the most powerful of magic casters, which also placed a rather large target on Bryn’s already targeted back. The tavern was quiet, save for the sound of water dripping from somewhere in the room. Halbert coughed up a laugh, bringing the entir
e tavern into a fit of laughter. A few moments later and a large, dark-skinned man waltzed into the tavern, brown eyes bright with curiosity as he surveyed the room, eyes resting on Bryn and the two unconscious men on the floor.
“Raven Thief, can you not refrain from harming a member of the Black Bull’s and the Power Trident?” Clyde, the Leader of the Black Bulls asked.
She couldn’t help the smile that formed along her face. “I tried really hard this time, Clyde. They just refused to listen to me.”
“It is hard to swallow that yer can pack a serious punch!” Halbert hacked. “Mighty hard indeed.”
Clyde rolled his eyes. “Care to take this into my office?”
Bryn followed the thieves guild leader into his massive office space. It was also rather cramped from all the souvenirs he had harbored from his oversea journeys to his cross-country journeys he had gone on. Honestly, Bryn didn’t see a reason why he had to have a large stuffed grizzly bear from the mountains in Serena, nor did she see reason as to why he held a large budding cactus from Alkali. Still, she would never say such worries to the King of Thieves they said in the depths of the streets. Bryn was considered the Queen, but more alpha male than Clyde since he recently started a guild in honor of his name. There was a desk cluttered with various paperwork, his bookshelf behind him filled to the brim of knowledge from the various countries, including those not on the map or registered within the Five Kingdoms. He gestured to the seat across from him, arms folded over his massive chest.
“So, what brings my best thief into my home?” Clyde sounded bored, but his raised brow told a different tale.
Bryn rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket, revealing a trinket that was stolen from the Lord and Lady of Markeen. A smaller, desert region set off to the east of Alkali. Luckily, the ruby encrusted trinket, with an owl enamored into the silver, was in transit from Markeen to Boreal, and Bryn, being the Raven Thief, was hired by Clyde himself to retrieve the jewel and return it back safely. Why would the King of Thieves send out her? She couldn’t tell, but it paid good, so she had accepted. After nearly two weeks earning the Lord of Markeen’s trust with her skills in seduction, she was able to steal the jewel right out from underneath his very own nose. No doubt, he had returned home empty-handed and a very angry wife to deal with as well.
“I believe you owe me twenty pounds for this.” Bryn placed it on the table.
“How about fifteen.”
“Eighteen. Especially for all the trouble this caused me.”
“Sixteen.”
“Eighteen. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine. You draw a hard bargain, don’t you, kid? Here.” He handed Bryn a rather large purple purse full of coin before he pocketed the jewel. “Now,” he clasped his hands on the table. “I believe you’re also here for some information regarding a certain disbanded disciple from the Order of the Crow?”
“I am.” She slid two silver coins in his direction, a small smirk playing on her features. She rather enjoyed this game of cat and mouse. It gave her a sense of purpose; you could say the least. “Any news?”
Clyde eagerly took the coin. “Last I heard, a guy matching the description you gave me was seen wandering around Serena before they lost his trail.”
“Not good enough.”
“He was seen going west.”
“That’ll do for now.” Bryn stood, but Clyde’s next words halted her to the spot.
“Why do you care for this boy so much? Does he mean anything to you?”
“No.” Bryn lied, her eyes stinging from unshed tears. “He’s no one.”