The edge of Cassi’s lip twitched. “What are you going to do with all that free time on your hands?”
He stretched his wing back to nudge her playfully. “You’re one to talk. What will you do?”
Something vulnerable hung at the end of his question. Would she move out of the palace? Would she find her own mate? Her own life? Would she forget him?
Oh, sweet Luka, I don’t deserve you, she thought, fighting back a heavy sigh. He and his sister were far too trusting, far too naïve. But Cassi was a different sort, and almost nothing she did had the luxury of innocence.
“Actually, I thought I might ask to go with her,” she said tentatively, as though unsure of what he would think. This scheme had in fact been set in motion a long time ago. An owl in a city of doves? An orphan? And now the ex-lover of the soon-to-be-mated crown prince? There was no place for her in the House of Peace. No place for her except by Lyana’s side, just as she’d planned. “If she and her mate will have me, of course.”
“If she’ll…?” Luka shook his head, eyes wide with joy and the slightest bit of relief, perhaps because she’d be out of sight and therefore out of mind, or perhaps just because it meant she’d be happy. “Of course Ana will have you. I think it’s brilliant, if that’s what you want. Have you told her?”
Cassi shook her head. “I’m waiting for the perfect moment.”
Luka wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing once before letting go. “Trust me, she wouldn’t dream of saying no. She loves you.”
As I do.
The words were there, hanging between them—words he wanted so badly to say. Cassi looked away, at the floor, at the bed, at the wall, at anywhere and everywhere except at him. Luka watched her for a few seconds, then stood up and left without another word.
She fell back against the pillow. Her black-and-white wings unfurled, spilling over the edges of the bed as all her muscles gave out and a throaty sigh coursed through every inch of her body.
Sometimes, she hated her life and the choices she had to make. But there was a bigger threat at play than anyone in the world above knew. Greater than the fire god they feared so much. Greater than they could imagine. And she had to do her part to stop it, no matter how difficult it would be, because as far as she knew, she was the only one who could.
“Oh, Cassi? My dearest, bestest friend in the whole wide world?”
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there, perfectly still, exhausted and worn out. But the sound of that singsong voice gave her new energy—not that she’d ever let Lyana know it.
Instead, she groaned, feigning pain. “You’re here already?”
Exuberant as always, Lyana jumped onto the bed, making Cassi bounce with it. “I am. So it’s time to get up, because we have a big day ahead.”
Cassi couldn’t help but grin. Her best friend's joy was infectious. And it was only in the time she spent with her that she could live in the moment, forgetting for a while that this was a role she’d been ordered to play.
“Let me guess?” Cassi drawled, eying Lyana, who was leaning over her with a grin about as wide as she’d ever seen, green eyes sparkling like gemstones. “Does this big day include ensnaring a poor, unsuspecting raven prince who is just hoping his mysterious rescuer might come back to heal his aching wounds?”
“Indeed, my friend, it does.”
14
Rafe
Rafe had no idea how long he waited for the girl to return. He’d lost all sense of time, surrounded by nothing but the dying glow of fire and the encroaching gloom. Sleep came and went in waves as pain woke him, and he used the little bits of energy he had left to heal whatever wounds he could, his magic acting almost subconsciously. But when she did arrive, she entered like a storm, blowing through the silence with an energy that crackled, palpable and overwhelming.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as she swept into the halo of firelight, wings flapping embers and ash into the air, sending a wave of glittering sparks into the darkness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. But, well, you know. Anyway, I brought some more food and water, a little more wood, though you should be out of here relatively soon, and… Wow.” She stopped short when her eyes landed on his face, jaw falling open. It promptly closed as a smile tugged at her lips, one she visibly struggled to control. “You look…clean.”
An amused grin widened his cheeks. “It’s amazing what a difference water and a fresh rag can make.”
“I’ll say." She coughed, clearing her throat, but her gaze lingered on his features, slowly taking them in.
Why does she look so excited? So eager?
There was something calculating, maybe even mischievous, sparkling in those bright eyes he’d been unable to remove from his thoughts.
Rafe didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Food?” she asked.
“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”
“Water?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Should I spruce up the fire?”
“I’m not cold.”
“What about—”
“Please,” Rafe interjected, quickly losing patience—which was easy, since he rarely had any. “Could we please just get on with the healing?”
She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, as though considering his request. The tops of her white wings perked, lifting and spreading as her face struggled to remain neutral. “Yes, of course. Let’s get on with the healing. If you could just take off your shirt and turn around?”
Rafe frowned. “Why do I have to take off my shirt?” The fire was warm, but he could still feel the bite of cool air through his layers and layers of clothes. “You did just fine on the bridge.”
“On the bridge,” she countered forcefully, clearly unused to being questioned, “you were near death and I didn’t have time. But I’ll work faster and better if I can see what I’m doing.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut in quickly, “You do want to fly again, don’t you?”
Rafe shut his mouth.
The girl sat waiting, a brow pointedly arched—the image of someone who usually got her way. Unfortunately for Rafe, he was in no position to argue. He was at her mercy. With a sigh, he began undoing the knots on the furs she’d given him, before moving on to the buttons on his jacket, then the clips at his sleeves. Piece by piece, his clothing was discarded, while she watched silently, eyes following his fingers, making him feel on display. The air seemed to thicken, as though the fire had flared without them noticing. His fingers turned cumbersome as his pulse beat just a little faster, and they slipped once or twice on the slick metal fasteners. As he eased his shirt around his wings, the cool air over his skin almost felt welcome, eliciting a sharp intake of breath—not just from him. A small gasp reached his ear, making him turn back to the girl. Her eyes were on his abdomen, drifting lower, and lower.
He cleared his throat.
She looked up.
“Should we…?” He trailed off, shoulders writhing despite the pain the small movement brought to his wing joints.
The girl jumped like a spring suddenly unleashed. “Yes, let’s. Why don’t you, or I could, or we…” She paced back and forth for a moment, then stopped. “Can you just turn a little bit, so your back is to the light, and I’ll sit right here, and, yes, this is perfect.”
He moved while she spoke, listening to her clothes and feathers rustling as she got behind him. Rafe watched the flames flicker against the stone wall, following the orange glow as it danced across hard edges, making them appear soft. Beyond that halo, the darkness swallowed any other hint of light. The world outside their circle was nothing more than shadow, as though this little pocket of reality existed apart from everything else.
He started when her fingers touched his skin, the barest skim.
“Oh, I’m sorry, are my hands too cold?” she asked, her voice a little higher and sharper than before.
“Uh, no.” Rafe's heartbeat became thunderous, so loud he was sure
she could hear it too, though she said nothing.
Neither did he, as she pressed her palms again his shoulder blades once more. They were warm and soft, making his skin prickle. His spine straightened. Every nerve in his body turned alert as her fingers shifted, silk brushing against him as she ran them down the center of his back, feeling every muscle along the way and around the edges of his abdomen before sliding them up. Rafe clenched his teeth when she found the base of his wings, gently moving her hands along the edges of his feathers and over his broken bones, sending waves of soothing calm into the ache.
He was burning. Something molten had unleashed and was coursing through his blood, setting his body alight. Rafe was almost surprised he wasn’t giving off steam.
The world was too quiet—just the crackle of the fire and the soft, melodic lull of her breathing. He had nothing to focus on but her touch and what it stirred within him. Even the pain wasn’t distraction enough. They were strangers. Complete and total strangers. Yet the moment felt more intimate than any he’d experienced in his life. And he had to stop it before he went mad.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, far too loudly to sound casual.
A giggle spilled from her lips, the sweetest sort of melody. “I’d rather it be a surprise.”
He tried to turn around. “A surprise?”
“Stay still,” she ordered, holding him firmly by the shoulders. Using a single finger, she drew a circle onto his back, then another, two loops that intertwined, repeating them on and on. “Are you excited to be mated?”
A surprised cough made its way up his throat. She drew her hands back.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, not meaning to scare her away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… I guess I haven’t thought about it much.”
“Haven’t thought about it?” she wondered with unabashed shock. “With the courtship trials so soon? It’s all anyone my age has been able to talk about.”
Oh, right, I’m supposed to be Xander, he remembered. Crown prince. About to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Well, any bidder really.
I’m not Rafe, the bastard no raven girl would want.
Uncomfortable, he mumbled, “I’m just leaving it up to the gods, I guess.”
“No specific princess in mind?” she pressed, amusement sneaking into her tone. “My princess is said to be quite charming, though I haven’t met her myself. But I hear she’s clever, maybe a bit mischievous.”
Rafe snorted, unable to stop himself. “Sure, because a dove would surely pick a raven.”
“Hmm.” She paused. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Even so, a pampered princess from the home of Aethios himself?”
Rafe shook his head, trying to imagine such a girl with Xander. She’d be too full of herself. Too spoiled to make it among his people. Too used to sticking her nose in the air to ever look down and understand how the House of Whispers worked. Most of all, she would never understand Xander. The House of Peace was too perfect, too virtuous. Even a mischievous dove princess was still a dove. She would never understand the trick he and his brother intended to play.
“I can’t see that mating happening," he said.
She pinched his skin painfully, making him jump.
“Ow.”
“Oh, sorry, my mistake,” she commented offhandedly, clearly unconcerned. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Can you tell me about your home?”
“The castle or the people?”
“Both.” She practically breathed the word, wistfully sending it into the world. “I want to know everything.”
“Everything?” He laughed. “That could take a long time.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. Rafe felt there was some hidden meaning in those words, one he couldn’t determine. The idea brought a shiver to his skin.
Or maybe the cold did that.
Yes, definitely the cold. The heat from the fire wasn’t at all stifling. Not at all.
Neither was her magic.
Nor her hands.
Nor her touch.
“Um, there’s not much to know, really," he began. "Pylaeon is the heart of the House of Whispers, the city of spirits as we like to call it, because, well, I’ll get to that. The city itself is nestled in a valley between two mountains, and there’s a river that runs straight through the center before splitting into a moat that flows around the castle and then cascades over the edge, into nothing but air. The water comes from a massive waterfall stretching across a wide cliff face at the other end of the valley. We call it Taetanos’s Gate because it looks like an entrance to another world, especially at night, with the moonlight glistening off the water. We believe lost spirits travel to Pylaeon in search of rest, so we lead them through our city to the river, which in turn leads them to our god. Where he takes them, no one knows.”
“That sounds magical,” she said dreamily.
“Not magical,” Rafe replied as the image of a powerful force even greater than nature came to the forefront of his mind. “Godly.”
“And what about the castle?”
Rafe switched the painting his imagination had crafted, replacing certain colors and shapes for others as he spoke aloud, “The castle is terrifying at first, but then, somehow welcoming, like my god himself. It hangs at the edge of our isle, built on the rocks, teetering on the edge of life and death, as we do. Every room has a balcony, so that inside, with a fire lit, you're safe and warm—but just a few steps away, there’s nothing but open air for thousands of miles above and below, a reminder that we’re small players in a much bigger game.”
“Game?” she asked. Her hands had stopped moving. They rested warmly in the hollow groove between his wings, palms half against his feathers and half against his back.
Rafe stole another glance over his shoulder. She was too entranced to see anything but the visions dancing through her head, the visions he’d spun. An almost childlike wonder was alive in her innocent, yearning gaze, igniting a spark in his own chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Not since his parents had died. Not since he’d grown up too soon.
“We like to think of Taetanos as the god of fate, not of death,” Rafe said softly. The glaze in the girl's eyes disappeared as she looked into his. “We call life a game, because we each have our own wants, our own desires—but he sees everything, he knows everything, and he leads us down our destined path. We fight back sometimes, we make moves, and so does he. On and on it goes until, in the end, he wins, like he always does. But still, we keep playing. What other choice do we have?”
Again, her fingers brushed his feathers, but she didn’t look away.
He couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to.
“What do you think this is?” She paused to swallow. “His move or yours?”
His, he silently answered. Definitely his.
Because Rafe ached to fly, to soar, to get out of the darkness and back to his brother, back to the role he was comfortable playing, back to the sidelines. But there was a weight in his chest keeping him there, keeping him still, keeping him so lost in the fire reflected in her eyes that he couldn’t find his way out even if he tried.
For a moment, he thought he could hear his god laughing.
Then he realized it wasn’t laughter, but the soft whistle of a bird call—a signal he recognized. His move. His life. His brother calling him back.
Xander?
Rafe tensed.
His head whipped to the side, pulled by the noise growing louder, coming not from his imagination but from the other side of the darkness. He opened his mouth to call out in response, when a hand covered his lips and an arm slid around his throat, stronger and more ferocious than he’d expected. Rafe froze as the icy edge of a blade pressed into his skin, instantly recognizing the kiss of steel.
“Be silent,” the girl ordered. “Don’t say a word.”
15
Cassi
From the outer edge of the darkness, Cassi cursed, torn between returni
ng to her body and remaining the ethereal dreamwalker, torn between wanting to protect her friend and needing to learn the raven’s secret for her king. They’d been together for an hour already, and she was no closer to finding out what he was hiding.
She was supposed to be standing guard at the entrance of the cave. She was supposed to be watching her best friend’s back. If they were found, it would be her fault. If anything happened to Lyana, it would be her fault.
Yet standing there in her invisible body, a bit of pride burst from her as she watched her princess pull a knife on the prince, holding the blade so close the edge dug into the skin of his neck, nearly slashing it.
She doesn’t need my protection.
Not anymore.
Although Lyana often preferred to live in the clouds, her feet were very much grounded on the isle. She knew when to push her limits and when to protect them at all costs. And Cassi liked to think she had a little hand in that.
Not sparing them another glance, confident in her friend, Cassi flew back toward her body by tugging on the line tied to her soul. But she didn’t sink into her skin and end the dream. Instead, she burst through the entrance of the cave, still little more than air as she raced into the channel.
She saw no one.
Drifting with the wind, she rose higher and higher, until she was even with the sky bridge. And there, she spotted who had made the call.
A flock of ravens.
There were ten of them, maybe a dozen, and they were traveling fast—traveling straight toward her. At the front, she could see a man, strong grooves of determination carved into his stony face, eyes sharp as they swept over the frozen tundra.
It was only a matter of time before they reached the edge. Only a matter of time before they saw the cave, if they were looking hard enough.
Cassi dove, crashing back into her body so that she woke with a gasp, bolting upright, scrambling to separate reality from the magic. She blinked, once, twice, then reached for the quiver on the rocks and latched it to her back. She flattened her wings to the wall at the edge of the opening and drew back until her tan skin was even with the shadows. Taking a calming breath, she lifted her bow and notched an arrow.
The Raven and the Dove Page 9
