The Crow Rider

by Kalyn Josephson

  I needed space from them, and there was one surefire way to get it.

  A chorus of surprised shouts trailed Res and me into the air. I leaned close to his body, eyes closed, focused on the thrum of the bond between us, on his power and strength and the rush of the wind.

  I let every weight drop from me, stone after stone, until there was only me, Res, and the endless sky.

  We flew for hours. Over Eselin and out across the countryside, skimming the tops of the Calase Mountains and diving low through valleys thick with golden grass. By the time we circled back to the royal complex, I felt lighter than air.

  Spotting a grassy plateau terraced into the base of one of the hills the complex sat on, I directed Res toward it, and we alighted effortlessly, out flight coordination seamless.

  Res sent a questioning pulse down the line as I dismounted and removed his saddle, dropping it into the grass.

  “I thought we could practice some magic out here,” I said tentatively.

  He reared back, huffing, a staccato beat of refusal pounding along the cord. An undercurrent of fear punctuated each pulse.

  “It’s okay, Res.” I stepped toward him, but he drew away, his anxiety flaring. He shook his head, an uneasy trill reverberating in his throat. I retreated, and he calmed slightly, enough of an indication that he was still afraid of hurting me, of losing control.

  He was afraid of his power, and I didn’t know how to help him.

  One step at a time.

  “You’re okay,” I said, letting reassurance and comfort flow down the bond. “We’ll work on more flying instead. Okay?” His breathing slowed a little, his nerves settling as he lowered his head.

  “Shouldn’t he be doing that already?” asked a voice. “I would have sworn that’s what the wings were for.”

  My gaze snapped up to find Ericen descending a path that curled around the hill. Two monks from the cells walked at his back, and his hands were bound before him. He looked pale and exhausted but otherwise unharmed.

  Seeing my confusion, Ericen nodded back up the path. “Your friend, the Corvé, convinced them to let me out for some exercise.”

  Estrel.

  Was this her way of apologizing?

  “Actually, his wings are just for feigning injuries.” I gently lifted one of Res’s wings and released it. He played along, letting it flop like a discarded cloak to his side. The joking eased the riling anxiety inside him, the bond settling back to a steady hum.

  Ericen halted at the edge of the clearing, the two monks second shadows at his back.

  I raised an eyebrow at them. “If you give him enough space to breathe, I promise you he won’t bite.”

  “For now, at least.” The prince held my gaze as he spoke, and my breath caught. I cleared my throat in an attempt to cover it up, but the amusement in Ericen’s eyes said he’d noticed. The two monks exchanged looks but retreated into the shadow of the hill, granting us a little privacy.

  Ericen rolled his shoulders, and I winced at thinking how sore they must be from being bound in the same position for so long. “It feels good to move.”

  “I’m sorry about all this,” I replied. “And thank you for telling me the truth.”

  He looked surprised. “You believe me then?”

  “I figured your imagination didn’t extend as far as mythical beings and mysterious powers.”

  He grinned wickedly, his eyes half-lidded like a lazy cat’s. “Oh, you’d be surprised what my imagination can come up with.”

  A flush crept into my cheeks, and I spun about to face Res, only to almost impale myself on his beak. He’d been standing right behind me, peering at Ericen with blatant curiosity. I gestured vaguely at him. “The crow likes you. I figure if we’re wrong, he can just fry you with lightning.”

  Ericen laughed.

  I refused to turn back around, the heat in my face unrelenting. He’d always been able to get under my skin, but these weren’t the barbed, caustic words that had once made me want to punch him. These set my skin aflame in a very different way, and I had no defense against it.

  My conversation with Auma last night crouched in the back of my mind, waiting for me to face it.

  Decisions take courage.

  I’d decided to trust Ericen, that much I knew. But what that truly meant, I wasn’t sure.

  “You said something about flying,” the prince said. “Can I see?”

  “Good question.” I stared pointedly at Res, who huffed and flopped his pretend injured wing, clearly having expected a long break after our flight. “I promise chicken after.”

  He perked up at that, and I rolled my eyes.

  I approached the edge of the hill, peering over. The side had been terraced, creating a line of sloping drops and plateaus like the one we stood on. Res could glide straight to the bottom or land and take off several times to practice control. A valley rested at the foot of the farthest terrace, a trickling stream tracing through it, before the hills reared up into the Calase Mountains that protected the city’s back.

  Ericen appeared at my side, his shoulder brushing mine. Once, I’d refused to even talk to him about the crows. Now, he stood beside me as mine trained.

  “What?” Ericen asked.

  I blinked, realizing I’d been smiling. “Nothing.”

  Res snorted in amusement, sensing the lie.

  “Shut it,” I muttered. “You’re a seven-foot-tall pile of feathers.” He cawed, and I gestured to the edge of the plateau. “After you.”

  It felt strange to smile right now. To laugh. But I leaned into it, letting myself take that first step.

  Ruffling his feathers in a way that made him look comically inflated rather than intimidating, Res hopped up to the edge. He snapped his wings open, narrowly missing knocking me down the hill—a fact I didn’t think was an accident—and leapt.

  Res glided down, alighting effortlessly on the ground at the base of the terraced hill.

  “Now what?” Ericen asked.

  “He comes back up.” I sent an image to Res of him using his wings to hop onto the terrace above in one powerful burst. It was a strength exercise he hated. Sure enough, annoyance at the work involved flickered back, which I didn’t grace with a response.

  With a hard flap of his wings, he leapt over the edge and onto the plateau. He glanced up at us, measured the rest of the effort required to get back to the top, and plopped onto the ground.

  Ericen snorted. “Impressive.”

  I swatted his arm, which was a lot like hitting stone.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s not fair. I’m defenseless.” He lifted his bound hands, and I resisted the urge to say he was about as defenseless as a wolf missing a tooth. It would give him far too much satisfaction.

  “I can’t deal with you and the crow. I don’t know whose ego is bigger,” I grumbled.

  “Well, at least I can back mine up.” Ericen’s voice rose, floating down to where Res had started picking pieces of grass free with his beak. The crow perked up, indignation flashing down the cord.

  With a huff, he snapped his wings out and leapt up to the next terrace, and then the next, not slowing as he ascended level after level. Then, as he landed on the one before us, he beat his wings in a powerful flutter and flew over our heads. He nearly smacked Ericen in the face with his tail, but the prince ducked in time.

  Res flapped his wings, catching a draft that carried him up and out. He soared over the valley. An undercurrent of sheer joy hummed along the connection.

  I only realized I’d closed my eyes and lifted my arms when I felt the heat of Ericen staring at me.

  I peered up at him. “What?”

  A smile crinkled his eyes. “You looked…peaceful.” He said it almost longingly.

  I cringed before it occurred to me that Ericen didn’t know what’d happened today. He�
�d never known about the alliance meeting, and he didn’t know that it had fallen apart. It felt good to stand next to someone without that weight.

  “Can you feel what he’s feeling?” He nodded at Res.

  “An echo of it,” I replied. “I wish I could show you.”

  The truth of that statement caught me as off guard as it did Ericen, who stared back at me with parted lips.

  A pulse of delight was all the warning I had before Res brushed by us, wings nearly slapping us both in the face. He let out a cackling caw, spiraling up high into the air before letting himself fall. He caught himself a hairsbreadth from the ground, the grass swaying beneath his current.

  We both laughed.

  “That’s incredible,” Ericen said.

  I grinned back.

  * * *

  We spent a couple of hours sending Res through flight drill after flight drill. His skills were developing at an impressive speed, his control over the wind as effortless as if his magic guided it.

  We watched as he glided in lazy circles above the long, thin trees dotting the valley below, the sky slowly darkening into a sea of stormy blues. In that comfortable silence, I finally said the thing that had been nagging at me since we fled Illucia.

  “You didn’t call the guards,” I said softly. “When we were escaping. You could have called the guards on the grounds to stop us, but you let us go.”

  “Is that why you decided to trust me?” he asked, the weight in his voice pulling my gaze to him. He made for a forlorn figure with the backdrop of the mountains now cast in purple shadows, and it struck me how alone he truly was now. He’d always been somewhat of an outsider in Illucia, but at least then he’d had a purpose, a goal.

  I knew what it was to lose those things.

  I pushed aside the urge to tease him, the solemn weight in his eyes too heavy to budge with anything so light.

  “I trust you for a lot of reasons,” I replied. Months ago, I would never have believed I could say those words to him. Now, they felt right.

  “You missed the Centerian, didn’t you?” I asked.

  Razel had made Ericen a deal: if he won the kingdom’s bloody sword tournament, she would make him Valix, leader of the elite Vykryn soldiers of Illucia. It was what he had been working toward his entire life.

  He shrugged, a wistful smile pulling at his lips. “I thought I’d give someone else the chance to win. We all know no one could have challenged me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There’s that familiar arrogance. I was starting to think you’d reformed entirely.”

  He gave me a lazy grin. “Never.”

  I laughed. “I could use a little bit of that right now.”

  He frowned, and I hesitated. Telling myself I trusted him was one thing; actually doing it was another. But I had to start somewhere.

  I told him about the alliance.

  By the time I finished explaining how it’d failed, the little furrow had appeared between his brows.

  “How foolish can they be?” he demanded. “Trendell has only remained neutral in this war because my mother has allowed them to. If she takes Rhodaire, she’ll come for them next. They’re condemning themselves.”

  “They don’t see it that way,” I replied. “They think we’ll lose even if we fight, so they should protect themselves as much as possible for as long as possible.”

  Ericen snorted derisively. “Fools,” he said again. “They won’t have another chance like this.”

  Something red flashed on the hill at his back. I barely had time to make out Elkona staring down at us, arms crossed and with the expression of a thundercloud, before she turned away.

  My stomach swooped, but my fists curled tighter. Maybe I’d gone about this all wrong from the beginning. After all, what did Elkona really know about me besides what my mother had done?

  There is a strength to you that lifts others up, and that’s what this world needs right now. Not another politician. You.

  I’d walked into a room of people and tried to politick my way to an alliance, but I’d never been good at speaking at people. I needed to speak to them.

  One step at a time.

  If I could befriend the Illucian prince, a boy born to be my enemy, then I could befriend Elkona too.

  Twenty

  Early the next morning, Res and I joined Kiva and Auma for breakfast on the pavilion, where they played a game with painted cards Auma had taught her back in Sordell.

  “Have you seen Elkona?” I asked as Auma placed a card with a silver fox wreathed in thorny vines on the table.

  Kiva scowled at the card, but Auma’s expression remained stoic as ever as she looked up at me. She’d make a fantastic dice player. “There’s a training ground down by the cells to the left. She’s there.”

  As she spoke, Kiva played a card, to which Auma laid down another from her hand without even looking.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Kiva’s curses followed Res and me down the winding cobblestone path.

  A distant, heavy thudding reached my ears. The repetitive cadence was familiar. It was the bite of steel into wood, the solid thud like a second heartbeat. I followed the sound down the curving path.

  The thudding dulled as I approached, emanating from a plateau on the opposite side of the hill that mirrored the one Res and I had been working on. It was a small, personal training ground, with several posts for practicing sword fighting and hand-to-hand combat, a circle of packed dirt for sparring, and several targets set up for knife throwing, a favored skill of Trendellan soldiers.

  Stripped to the waist save for a midriff-baring wrapped cloth, her hands wrapped to the elbows, stood Elkona Kura. Again and again, she struck one of the wooden posts, which had been padded with feathers and encased in cloth to soften the blows, though the princess didn’t seem to care a bit about the pain. She swung with incredible power, her muscles rippling beneath tawny skin that gleamed with sweat.

  The long braid of her hair, woven with beads of glass that glinted in the sunlight, bounced against her back with each strike. With a cry of frustration, she spun about, driving her armored boot against one of the pegs on the post, snapping it in two.

  She panted, her shoulders rising and falling in quick bursts. The signet jade ring she’d worn on her hand now dangled from a silver chain around her neck.

  Slowly, she turned to face me. Her expression was sharp as cut glass.

  “Spying, Princess?” she asked.

  My first instinct was to snap back at her, but I forced it down. Looking at Elkona was like looking in a mirror. She was angry and hurt and damaged, and she wanted to set the world on fire. Hot words would only fuel the flames.

  “That was pretty impressive.” I nodded at the broken training post. “You’re quite skilled.”

  “I know.” There was no haughtiness in her tone, only hard fact. “That still does not explain why you have come here.”

  “I heard a familiar sound.” My eyes sought the glint of metal at her feet. Lying sheathed at the base of the post were two moonblades, the handles bone white, the curved blades masked. She must have switched to hand-to-hand combat before I’d arrived.

  Her gaze followed mine, and she smiled dangerously, as if imagining what she could make those blades do to me.

  “Whatever you feel about me, whatever you feel about Rhodaire, standing against this alliance will only hurt you and your people,” I said softly.

  Her hands curled into fists, her smile turning vicious. “How kind of you to tell me what is best for my people. If only your mother had had such concern for her allies. Perhaps then my family might yet live, and the Kovan Forest might still stand. Perhaps we might have even been friends, you and I.”

  “We still can be,” I said, descending the short flight of stairs to the terrace. Res crooned, ruffling his feathers nervously as I stopped befo
re Elkona. She towered over me, nearly as tall as Kiva, though she was all wiry muscle compared to Kiva’s broad frame.

  “Friends must trust each other,” the princess replied. She had the voice of a snake charmer gone rancid, as if she might have once been able to talk a man out of coin and drink, but something had twisted and rotted.

  “I could learn to trust you,” I said. “In fact, I’ve been told I’m rather good at trusting people I shouldn’t.”

  Her dark eyes evaluated me. The fire from before had vanished, replaced by an emptiness that sent a shiver skittering across my skin.

  Without warning, she struck out, backhanding me across the face. The blow stung, pain radiating through my cheek and jaw. I tasted blood at my lip.

  Res cawed loudly, his wings flaring wide. I threw up a hand, warning him away.

  I’m fine, I told him. Let me handle this.

  Unbothered by Res’s response, Elkona considered me with a tilt of her head, as if waiting for me to turn tail and run. I didn’t. I faced her, not raising so much as a finger to the spot of growing soreness on my face, and met her gaze.

  A challenge sparked in her eyes.

  I struck first, but she dodged with a spin, counterstriking. Knocking aside her punch, I barreled inside her guard, forcing her to stumble back. She spun with a kick to my head, but I ducked and stepped to her side, driving a fist into her unprotected ribs. She let out a hiss of pain laced with delight.

  We were in the sparring ring now, hard-packed earth beneath our feet. Her hands were quick. Quick to strike, quick to retract, quick to block. All her motions flowed into one another, a steady stream of strikes and counterstrikes, ground given and ground gained.

  I recognized early that she was trying to grapple with me. From what I knew, a lot of Jin fighting styles relied on using the enemy’s strength against them. Avoiding her grip proved half the battle, knowing that if she got me to the ground, I was done for.

  “You’re better at this than I expected,” she said through heavy breaths as I escaped her near hold.

  I grinned. “I know a trick or two.”

  I made her pay for every missed hold, striking her ribs, her stomach, her back, until something closed around my wrist, jerking me to a halt. In one smooth motion, she had me on the ground, stray rocks digging into my back. My shoulder screamed in protest as her knee found my chest, driving the air from my already laboring lungs, and the hand on my wrist twisted painfully.