The Storm Crow

by Kalyn Josephson

  “You’re better than I gave you credit for,” he said.

  I’d just about regained my breath enough to talk. “You’re not.”

  He laughed, the sound strangely rich and menacing at the same time, and rose, offering me a hand. I let him lift me to my feet, my back protesting.

  “You need to work on your counterstrikes,” he said. “You fight like a poorly trained Jin.”

  “You fight like a brick wall,” I growled back, fully aware that didn’t make much sense. But it was the only way I could describe his curt, solid movements and sturdy stance.

  He laughed again, and I simmered, hating that he was right. The Jin fighting style used an opponent’s weight and movements against them, making them skilled dodgers, like me. But they also knew how to end a fight.

  I sought the connection with Res, knowing it would calm me. It flooded into my veins in a quiet rush, stronger than it had been yesterday from this far away.

  “Next time,” I said, “I’m bringing my bow, and we’re doing this with weapons.”

  Ericen grinned. “Deal. In the meantime, let me show you a few moves.”

  By the time I returned to my room, I was so exhausted and sore, I nearly missed Kiva at the dining table. She’d fallen asleep there, her head resting on her forearms. Someone had tucked a blanket over her shoulders.

  Twenty-Two

  Kiva and I trained together and ate breakfast, and then I ordered the carriage to take me to Caylus’s. I took a detour through the kitchens, where Tarel and Lyren already had a bundle of chicken waiting, along with a parcel that smelled of sugar and orange.

  When I unwrapped it, I found a batch of freshly baked orange cakes dusted in powdered sugar.

  “The prince said you liked those,” Lyren said. “I had an old recipe from a Rhodairen friend.”

  I smiled. “You have a Rhodairen friend?”

  Tarel snorted at the word friend, and Lyren ran a hair through his silver-specked hair with a laugh. “There was a time our people traded in more than blood and steel, you know.”

  I knew, and I hoped one day we would again.

  * * *

  Caylus and I sat shoulder to shoulder before Res, taking turns tossing him pieces of chicken. Caylus had made bergamot tea, and we’d devoured the entire parcel of orange cakes in a matter of minutes.

  “Do these have whiskey in them?” Caylus had asked, already covered in powdered sugar.

  “They’re soaked in it,” I replied. “But most of the alcohol burns off when they’re set on fire.”

  He blinked. “Set on fire?”

  I smirked, remembering something Estrel had once said. It’s like you in a dessert. Zesty, sweet, with a dash of flames. My heart panged at the memory. “It caramelizes them,” I replied.

  I tossed Res another piece of chicken, which he snapped up eagerly. He’d grown overnight and was already starting to flex his wings and shift rather than just lay about.

  “Has he shown any signs of magic?” I asked Caylus. When he shook his head, concern flickered through me. Storm crow chicks often sparked weak lightning or coalesced patches of mist sporadically.

  He’s only two days old, I reminded myself. It wasn’t unheard of not to have seen magic at this point. Still, the sense of unease I’d woken with simmered in my gut. A crow without any magic wouldn’t inspire much confidence, and securing the other kingdoms’ aid was Rhodaire’s only hope.

  Res struggled to stand, revealing legs lined in glossy black scales. He almost made it before collapsing back into the blankets with an indignant squawk. The cord between us tugged with an indistinct sensation.

  I grinned. “We’re going to have to start working on strength exercises,” I told him.

  Caylus perked up, eyes bright. “What kind of exercises?”

  “Mostly for his wings,” I replied. “We’ll start with basic movements to stretch and strengthen them and then move on to drills that simulate flight.” Had Res been born before Ronoch, his mother would have taught him most of this, though he wasn’t the first orphan crow to be raised by a rider. Hopefully, I wouldn’t make a poor substitute.

  Caylus’s curiosity dimmed, his gaze switching from Res to me. “Once he’s strong enough, you’re going to leave,” he said softly.

  “Come with me.” The words came out on reflex, and only as the idea settled in my chest like the piece of a puzzle did I realize how much I wanted him to say yes. But I was asking for more than his company. I was asking him to involve himself in something so much larger than us. Something where he’d have to fight again.

  One of the things I liked most about Caylus was the open honesty in his face. He never hid his true feelings. That knowledge was little comfort as his expression turned hesitant and uncertain.

  Before he could answer, someone knocked. Cursing, I pulled the edge of the blanket over Res, willing him into silence. Frowning, Caylus rose and padded downstairs. Several lock clicks later, I heard the door open, a rushed exchange of whispers, and then two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs.

  Diah entered after Caylus, her mask in place. She slipped into the room on steps light as air, then put her back to a wall, facing us both. On her leather belt hung three identical tiny knots of black rope.

  She traced my line of sight, and for the first time, I noticed something strange about the eye on the black half of the mask. It looked dull.

  She touched a hand to the ropes. “Ambriellan death knots,” she explained. “One for each soul that was lost.”

  Ambriellan knots were a superstition, the various colors and knot work designs representing different things, from good luck to safe travels. These looked like wisps of shadow, curled in on themselves like someone protecting their heart.

  “I was sorry to hear about your friends,” I said. Had their loss driven her here? Maybe she was starting to realize she couldn’t do this alone.

  Diah straightened. “Such is the cost of war, as you will soon come to know.”

  Her words settled inside me like stones sinking to the ocean floor. “If we help each other, that cost might not be so high. Trendell has agreed to host a meeting and hear our proposal for an alliance. Join us there. Make your choice then.”

  Slowly, Diah nodded. A knot in my chest released like a line snapping. We were moving forward.

  * * *

  After giving Diah the date and location, I returned to a letter from Caliza at the castle. This time, I skipped the fake visible conversation and flipped the letter over to sprinkle powder on the invisible ink on the back. Kiva hovered beside me as I read quietly aloud by sona lamp:

  Thia,

  I am so proud of you, and I know if she were here, our mother would be too. Thanks to you, we have a real chance to protect Rhodaire.

  A letter arrived from Captain Mirkova. She said she sent you one too. I know it’s not the answer we wanted, but we can still do this. She’s staying in Korovi to proposition them for supplies.

  I’ve convened the council.

  I paused, exchanging looks with Kiva. Rhodairen rulers only convened the council during wartime, when the heads of all the houses gathered in the castle. They would eat and sleep there instead of their own homes, working together to prepare Rhodaire for battle.

  I kept reading.

  Illucia now occupies five towns on our outer border. My letters to their general and Queen Razel have gone ignored. Lady Turren has suggested we poison the towns’ water supply, as well as those of any neighboring villages (I’m starting to suspect she may be just as merciless as her father was). She says our greatest advantage is the heat, as he believes the Illucians are unprepared for a Rhodairen summer. But I’m not sure I can do that. It would mean evacuating the towns and quite possibly making them unlivable. I don’t want to destroy people’s homes.

  Lord Rynthene has stripped one of his ships of identifying ma
rks to send for you. It’s currently docked near the border in a fishing village on the coast. Elair. Do you remember it? Mother took us there once on our way to the Ambriels. You ate so much fried fish, it made you sick.

  I miss you. Stay safe, and send word the moment you’re prepared to leave.

  Love,

  Caliza

  Kiva tossed the letter into the fireplace, nudging it with the metal poker until it turned to ash. “Things are getting worse,” she said. “How much longer until we can move?”

  “A few more days,” I told her. “Res is still too fragile.”

  Kiva stabbed the hot coals with the poker. “Let’s pray Rhodaire has that long.”

  * * *

  My mind strayed as Ericen and I ran through drills in the misty courtyard. Even as I focused on the correct steps and forms of the new moves he’d taught me, I held tight to the cord with Res. It’d grown even stronger, and the more I focused on it, the more I felt him there.

  The link between us thrummed, filling me with a sense of annoyance. Not my own but his.

  It wasn’t the first hint of emotion I’d felt from the crow. It’d taken me a while to realize the wisps of feelings weren’t my own, and even now, I couldn’t always tell the difference. But with each passing minute, the connection between us grew stronger, like a rope pulling taut, and more and more of his emotions flared to life along it.

  His magic had to be close to manifesting. I could feel it.

  I only prayed it was enough to seal this alliance. Enough to stop Illucia.

  My gaze flickered to Ericen, who was moving through a series of sword poses. The Centerian was in two weeks. If everything went according to plan, I’d be long gone by then. Would he be strong enough to win? And if he did, would he serve at his mother’s side in this war?

  Would he fight against me?

  As though he felt my eyes on him, the prince paused in his drills to face me, his bare chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “Taking notes?” he asked with a catlike grin.

  I didn’t smile. “What if you lose?”

  “I won’t,” he replied without hesitation.

  “I’m serious, Ericen.” I folded my arms, the chill of the thickening mist sending a shiver down my spine.

  His grin faded, and he drove the tip of his sword into the soft earth at his side. “So am I. Losing isn’t an option. Why do you care?”

  Why did I care? Ericen might not be as horrible as he’d led me to first believe, but if war broke out this instant, he would still be my enemy. I’d told Kiva I thought I could trust him in time. But how much time did we really have?

  I don’t want to be your enemy. That was what he’d said to me that night in the stables.

  Maybe he didn’t have to be.

  Twenty-Three

  With each passing day, the weather grew colder as Res grew stronger, but he never showed the slightest hint of magic. Even as his fluffy down molted into feathers of iridescent black streaked with midnight blues and purples and he struggled about his blanket, his thin wings opening and closing and pressing against the ground like a pair of arms to steady himself, no gust of wind came to his aid, no spark of lightning erupting in his frustration.

  I sent a letter back to Caliza expressing my fears, then threw myself into my training with Ericen. We met each evening, trading blows alongside stories about past teachers and lessons. The ease with which we talked made the ground feel unsteady beneath my feet, as if it were constantly changing its tilt, uncertain of which way to send me, and leaving me unsure where I stood with the prince.

  My afternoons I spent training with Res. Caylus and I had created a miniature obstacle course for him, using chicken as bait to encourage him from one point to the other. When he was strong enough, I carried him to the bottom of the stairs, then sat a few steps up with a handful of chicken.

  Frustration ebbed along the link alongside a distinct feeling I’d identified as hunger. “Up the stairs then,” I told him, waving the chicken.

  In response, he let his wings droop and hung his head.

  I stared at him. “Are you begging?”

  Caylus stuck his head out from the workshop. “Oh, um. That might be my fault.”

  I gave him an exasperated look, and he smiled sheepishly. “I mean, he just…well, look at him. He looks so sweet and adorable when he does that and I—” He bit his lip as my expression hardened. “Well, the point is I think he expects it to work now.”

  I groaned, covering my face with my hand. “Fantastic. Now he thinks being adorable will get him whatever he wants.”

  “He’s not entirely wrong.”

  “Caylus!”

  Caylus’s face flushed, and he muttered something about boiling liquids before fleeing back into the workshop. I glowered at Res, who’d given up on his show of poor little me while we’d been talking but resumed drooping the moment I looked at him.

  “Up the stairs or no chicken,” I said, folding my arms. It took a few minutes, but Res finally gave in. The first stair presented a struggle, but once he figured out he could hop up each one, he reached me quickly. I gave him chicken, then climbed farther up the stairs, and we repeated the process until we reached the top.

  “Great,” I said. “Now let’s do it again.”

  Something like a groan ground down the cord between us, and I laughed. Was this what Estrel had felt like, pushing me through drills?

  We repeated the exercise until Res was breathing heavily and his wings drooped from exhaustion instead of dramatics. He’d figured out that if he fluttered his wings as he leapt, it gave him an extra boost, which meant he got to the chicken faster.

  It would be a couple more weeks before he could fly, but each new tiny indication that he was growing closer made me shiver in anticipation.

  * * *

  A week and endless training sessions later, I sat with Caylus in his workshop, marveling at how much Res had grown. He stood taller than my waist and could eat more than his weight in chicken and did so happily. In fact, he was obsessed, flopping to the floor whenever I refused to give him more and lifting his wings like a sheet to protect his food as he ate. We’d had to start getting chicken from other sources than just Tarel, lest he start wondering why I needed so much.

  Res hopped over to where I sat, sending Gio hissing and scurrying away. The kitten clambered up Caylus’s leg, scurrying along his side until he’d reached the safety of his shoulder.

  Res nudged my hand with his beak. His movements were already smooth and lithe, the strength and grace of the crow he would become evident in the growing cords of muscle along his lean form. Unlike normal birds, crows had almost reptilian bodies, making them thicker and sturdier than their featherlight counterparts.

  I pulled a piece of chicken out of the pouch in my pocket and tossed it to him. He swallowed it one gulp and nudged me for more, making a low throaty noise reminiscent of Gio’s purring.

  By the time we escaped and reached Trendell nearly three weeks from now, Res would be almost full-grown.

  Caylus looked up from the drawing he’d been working on, the slightest tremor in his large hands. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked the other day.”

  It took me a moment to realize what he meant: the day Diah had come. The day I’d asked him to leave with us.

  I rose, joining him at the workbench. My arm brushed his, and this close, I remembered the thrill of the night Res had hatched. The night Caylus and I had kissed.

  He slid his hand over, and I met it with mine, our fingers interlacing. His skin was rough, lined with so many scars. Tilting his head forward, his deep green eyes met mine, the stray auburn curls dipping above them turning nearly red in the sunlight.

  “If you…you know…if you still—” He bit his lip, and my fingers twitched. I longed to touch his lips, to trail my fingers along the line of his jaw.
“I know about your engagement, and I know it’s not what you want, and I’m okay with this if you are, and—” He stopped again.

  “If you still want me to go with you, I will,” he said unwaveringly.

  Without hesitation, I replied, “I do.” And kissed him.

  For one perfect moment, it was just my lips against his. It was sweet, safe silence, and a promise of something better.

  Then Gio yowled as my shoulder pressed into Caylus’s, catching the cat’s tail, and Res let out a demanding caw, the cord between us tugging.

  I laughed against Caylus’s lips and felt him smile back. I pulled away, but he captured my face in his hands, their broad expanse forming a gentle cocoon. Heat fluttered through me, my body waking up bit by bit like a fire sparking to life. By the time we pulled apart, my throat was raw and my lungs burned for air.

  Caylus’s hands slid away, and I captured one in my own, smiling as Res nudged me again. I tossed him a piece of chicken from the pouch, and he snatched it out of the air with the dexterity of a hunter.

  Physically, he looked perfect. He was bigger than I’d expected him to be, even for a male crow of his age. Full-grown, he’d be massive.

  But his size wouldn’t be enough.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, watching as he hopped over to his water bowl to drink. “He should be showing signs of magic by now. I’ve never heard of a crow taking this long before. What if something’s wrong with him? What if Ronoch damaged him somehow?”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Caylus replied.

  I snorted. “You would say that. But this is magic, not science. Who knows what the rules are?”

  “We’ll figure it out.” Caylus squeezed my hand.

  “I hope so. For all our sakes.”

  Twenty-Four

  When I returned to the castle that evening, I had a letter for Caliza telling her Res was strong enough to move. The letter would take two days to arrive in Rhodaire, then a day for her to contact the ship in Elair, and two days for them to sail here. We only had to make it five more days.