The Storm Crow

by Kalyn Josephson

  “Where’s Kiva?” I halted at the base of the dais, ignoring Shearen’s growing grin.

  Ericen started to answer, but Razel cut across him, her eyes flashing. “This again, Thia dear? I thought we understood each other. Propriety would have you wait to be announced and to bow before addressing me.”

  “What did you do to her?”

  Razel raised a single golden eyebrow, expectant. Her lips pulled into a thin smile. She waited.

  Who knew what she’d done to Kiva, what she was doing to her right now? I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, but I had no choice. My nails dug into the palms of my clenched fists, and against every fiber of my being, I bowed.

  Shearen snickered quietly. I drew a short breath and straightened, meeting the queen’s cold gaze.

  “Kiva,” I repeated through clenched teeth.

  Razel stepped back and dropped gracefully into her throne, lounging like a satisfied jungle cat. “Your friend is in the castle dungeons—”

  “Why—”

  “Don’t interrupt me.” Razel’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She turned and, in a voice smooth as Ambriellan whiskey, said, “Bring the girl.”

  Shearen bowed and struck out for a door in the far corner. My eyes followed his steps with growing anxiety. He was limping.

  “If you’ve hurt her—”

  “I’d advise you not to threaten me either.” Razel’s tone changed, sounding almost bored. She leaned back, peering down at me like a goddess passing judgment. Her hair glowed from the firelight, but her eyes were as icy as ever.

  The silence stretched. In it, my gaze switched from Razel to Ericen, who looked ready to jump out of his skin, then to Auma, whose impassive mask had started to crack. She kept casting split-second glances in the direction Shearen had gone. My mind raced my heart. Was this about the storm? Did they know about Resyries?

  I checked the link between us. It hummed stronger than ever, layered with contentment. At my frantic touch, he tugged questioningly, but I pulled back.

  The sharp sound of sliding metal shot through the room. Everyone except for Razel flinched, all eyes falling on her as she twirled an unsheathed moonblade around one finger. Then a door opened. I whipped around to find Shearen leading Kiva by her chain-bound hands. She had a bruised jaw, but otherwise, looked unharmed. I let out a breath. That explained Shearen’s state—he’d gotten more than he bargained for with Kiva. He’d probably needed help.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “She’s fine,” Razel answered before Kiva could speak. I caught Kiva’s eye, and she nodded before her gaze sought Auma. She took in the bruises, the scratches, the fresh blood at Auma’s shoulder, and a dangerous stillness settled over her. By the time she faced Razel, a silent, deadly promise prowled behind her eyes.

  The queen rose fluidly to her feet, the moonblade clasped in one hand. I focused on keeping my feet rooted to the spot, afraid if I moved an inch, I’d charge Razel. “Are you going to explain what this is about now?”

  Razel paused at the base of the dais as Shearen and Kiva arrived beside me. “That, Thia dear, is what this is about. You see, I thought you and I had come to an agreement, but it seems you are intent on pushing your limits with me.”

  “What are you talking—”

  Quick as a wingbeat, Razel had the moonblade at Kiva’s throat. My cry of surprise came out silent as the air evaporated from my lungs. Kiva stiffened, eyes dropping to the blade. Razel smiled, and seemingly content she had my attention, lowered the blade. Behind her, Auma had taken a step forward.

  “It seems you only respond to shows of force,” Razel said. “Not surprising. I’ve come to realize power, control, and violence are most of what your people understand.”

  You’re one to talk. I managed to keep the words inside my head, but I couldn’t stop my face from contorting with fury.

  Razel tilted her head, considering me like a lamb for slaughter. “You think I’m the monster, don’t you? Yet you’re the ones who sent soldiers to decimate entire families, to tear them apart in front of the ones they love.”

  “Those soldiers weren’t under orders—”

  “Is that what your mother told you? That she didn’t know Lord Turren was planning to kill not only my family but countless Illucian innocents? Innocents like Shearen’s mother?”

  Shearen paled, swallowing hard.

  “Of course she didn’t,” I said.

  Razel laughed. “Poor dear. You’ve been lied to. Your mother knew full well what Lord Turren was doing. She gave the order.”

  My stomach flipped, and the ground tilted, even as my mind screamed she was lying.

  “Enough.” Ericen’s voice was quiet but strong. I clung to it, reassuring myself Razel was only trying to get inside my head.

  She rounded on him. “You’re right, Eri. That’s not why we’re here.” She twirled the moonblade, eyes roving over Kiva. “We’re here because my servant refuses to tell me what she’s done with the letter she took from my room.”

  My eyes flickered to Auma, who to my surprise had shed her meek exterior entirely. She stood straight, hands clasped so tight, the knuckles had turned white, as if her hands couldn’t be trusted not to wrap themselves around the queen’s throat. Razel had clearly tried to beat the information out of her to no avail.

  “What letter?” I asked.

  Razel smiled dangerously. “I was hoping you’d make this difficult.”

  She glided over to one of the two hearths housing a strong fire and pulled a key out of her pocket, tossing it into the flames. Tension crept up my shoulders and into the back of my neck.

  “I can take your friend away whenever I want. I can take your kingdom whenever I want.” She stalked toward me. “I can make you do whatever I want, whenever I want, because if you don’t listen, if you continue to defy me, I will take everything from you.”

  My throat closed.

  Razel twirled her moonblade and smiled that vicious, sharklike smile. “Retrieve the key.”

  “What?”

  Razel stepped past me, holding the edge of the moonblade to Kiva’s chest. “The key is to your friend’s shackles. Get it, or I start carving her pretty snow-white skin.”

  My mind refused to process Razel’s words. I stared first at her, then Ericen, whose face had gone pale, before settling at last on the flames. They snapped like liquid orange teeth, waiting to tear me apart.

  I have to get the key.

  The words slowly sank in. Panic rose in my chest, my heart thundering in my ears. The tether between Res and me roared to life, and he pulled for my attention.

  “I’m fine, Thia. Don’t—” Kiva’s words dissolved into a hiss. Razel had dug the moonblade’s grip spike into Kiva’s skin below the collarbone.

  “What is it they call children like you in Korovi?” the queen asked sweetly. “Okorn? Perhaps I’ll carve it here.”

  “Stop.” My voice was barely more than a whisper, and I hated myself for it. Hated myself for being so afraid, for letting her win, for waiting long enough for her to send a bead of blood trailing down Kiva’s chest. I swallowed hard, gathering my voice and strength. “I’ll give you the letter.”

  “I know you will.” Razel lifted the blade to Kiva’s neck. “Now get the key.”

  “Thia—”

  Kiva fell silent as I caught her gaze. I held it a moment longer, then faced the hearth and stepped toward it.

  The key sat at the base of the hearth. It hadn’t been in the flames long enough to glow, but I’d have to reach through the fire to touch it. My mind drifted, remembering the acrid smell of burning skin and singed hair, the sharp, white-hot pain like thousands of needles digging into my skin.

  The flames swirled and snapped, as if daring me to try and get past them. My nails dug into my palms, sweat building on my skin. I can do this. The fire crac
kled, making me break out into a cold sweat. Res’s call along the line was distant.

  Calm down. You have to do this. The key is iron; it won’t be that hot yet. One of Caylus’s experiments had taught me that. Some metals heated faster than others. Iron fell somewhere in the middle. The longer you wait, the hotter it gets.

  But no amount of science could change what else I knew: the fire was too hot. If I reached in, I’d never use my hand again.

  A low hiss broke my concentration, and I whirled around. Razel had drawn a sharp circle in Kiva’s skin, and blood ran in little rivulets from the wound. Kiva gritted her teeth and caught my gaze. In it, I found the strength to face the fire again.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I crouched and snatched the key out of the flames with my scarred hand, the fire so hot, it felt cold. The feeling barely had time to register before I’d pulled my arm free, the key clutched in my palm. Then my mind caught up to my body. I screamed.

  My hand sprung open of its own accord, but the key didn’t fall; it’d been seared into my palm. I shook my hand wildly without thinking. The key clattered to the ground, taking the first layer of my skin with it and leaving behind a key-shaped burst of angry red and white over the scar tissue of my palm.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was distantly aware of Kiva screaming and Ericen yelling, of someone laughing and my own sanity slowly slipping, and behind that, something else. Something I couldn’t process.

  Suddenly, Kiva was beside me, and I wondered when I’d fallen to my knees. My right hand clutched the forearm of my left, my eyes pinned on the key-shaped design, my breath refusing to come. Pain ripped through my hand and wrist like a thousand shards of glass tearing through my veins.

  I stared at the burns, distantly registering that Kiva’s hands were free, that Razel must have unlocked her shackles, that the key I’d pulled from the flames hadn’t been for her restraints at all.

  A shadow fell over me, and from far, far away, Razel’s voice reached me. “Next time I see you, wear your gloves.”

  Then something shifted inside me. My vision blurred, then went black.

  Twenty-Seven

  I woke in the healer’s quarters, the room heavy with the sweet scent of the murkwood root used in pain tonics.

  At first, I didn’t move, didn’t even open my eyes. Something was wrong. For some time, I lay there, letting my mind slowly remind me what it was.

  I’d been burned. Badly.

  The memory came back gradually at first, then all at once. Razel’s laughter, Kiva’s screams, the fire, the key, my hand—I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, desperate to block out the image of the key clinging to my seared skin.

  I gave myself another moment and then forced my eyes open.

  My hand had a loose bandage on it from my fingers to my wrist. It’d been propped on a pillow, and there were several jars of herbs and ointments on the table beside me. I recognized the murkwood vial, which explained the thick and heavy feel of my head.

  Asleep in a chair on the other side, her mouth open and emitting snores, sat Kiva. The mark below her collarbone had stopped bleeding.

  The bed I lay in was small but comfortable and warm, a single sona lamp burning dimly. No one else was around.

  I looked again at my hand, and panic rose inside me, as white-hot and raw as the burns themselves. I gasped, hot tears threatening at my eyes. Kiva bolted upright at the sound, blinking rapidly, then sprang to her feet. “Thia!”

  “I’m okay,” I whispered, but my voice broke, and suddenly, I was crying. Kiva dropped onto the bed and pulled me into her arms. I melted into her and cried until my throat turned raw and my nose began to run.

  When I was able to breathe normally again, I slowly sat back and wiped my tears with my good hand. Kiva gave me a cloth to blow my nose and a glass of water. I drank it all, then set the cup aside.

  “How long was I out?” I asked.

  “Just a few hours. The healer said your hand will be fine. The burns…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing. I remembered looking at my hand and not understanding.

  “They’re not as bad as they should be,” I finished for her.

  She nodded. At least I hadn’t imagined that, as little sense as it made. Still, I didn’t want to see yet.

  “What happened to Auma?”

  Kiva bit her lip. “I don’t know. She vanished in the commotion, and I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Vanished? With three Vykryn right there and two more at the door?”

  Kiva’s dark expression told me she’d had the same thought and had already followed it to its inevitable conclusion: Auma was not who we thought she was. I’d nearly forgotten what she’d said about the Jin princess, but before I could tell Kiva, the door opened.

  A nearly full moon illuminated Ericen in the door frame. He stopped when he saw me awake, the color draining from his face. He was a ragged mess, his hair nearly as chaotic as Caylus’s and his clothes unchanged.

  Kiva stiffened. “What do you want?”

  “To check on her,” he said quietly.

  “Great. You can go now.”

  Ericen ignored her and stepped deeper in the room, eyes on me. “Can we talk?”

  Kiva started to protest, but I cut her off. “Yes.”

  She looked down at me, frowning, but grudgingly climbed off the bed and made for the door. As she passed Ericen, she leveled him with a glare fit to kill before stepping outside. The door slammed shut.

  Ericen took her seat. “How are you?”

  I wished my eyes weren’t red and puffy. “Fine. What do you want?”

  “To apologize.”

  “It’s not your fault your mother’s a monster.”

  He winced. “I’m sorry, Thia. Part of the reason she did that was because of me. I—” His jaw tightened. “I said something that made her angry. This was her way of showing me she was still in control. She did it to hurt me.”

  I let his words sink in. She did it to hurt me. Because my pain hurt him. Because he cared, more than I wanted to admit. Afraid of where my thoughts were leading, I said quietly, “And to hurt me.”

  “You’re not breaking like she expected,” he said. “In Illucia, subordinates obey, and those who don’t are punished. She’s treated the other kingdoms the same. It’s all a power play. That’s even why she has those moonblades. They belonged to the queen of Jindae. They’re trophies.”

  “And she thinks Rhodairens are cruel?” I asked. “She makes soldiers out of children and workhorses of their parents. How can she say she’s never torn a family apart?”

  Ericen snorted softly. “She thinks it’s an honor for them. They all get to serve the great Illucian Empire, to serve Rhett. Especially the children. They get the greatest honor of all, serving in our army. She even thinks it’s a better life for them. Jindae was racked with civil war between the guilds before we took over—”

  “The king and queen were making progress on that. Before them, Jindae’s rulers were horrible people. But they were changing things!”

  “I know, Thia. I’m not supporting it. I’m just…telling you how she sees it.” His voice dropped, as if he didn’t quite understand himself why he’d said the words. “My mother’s always been a volatile person, but she’s been getting worse.”

  “And you?” I asked. “What’s her excuse for the way she treats you?”

  He stiffened, edges turning sharp as a blade. For a moment, I thought I’d gone too far. Then he said, “She hates me.”

  I lifted my gaze to his face, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  The words came pouring out of him. “She says every time she sees me, all she can think about is what those soldiers did to her family. She says I look exactly like my father, that I’m just a reminder of him. She sent me away to Darkward as soon as she could, breaking years of tradition of training the royal c
hildren in the castle. She seemed to think if she treated me terribly enough, I’d disappear, and so would her memories.”

  “That’s horrible.” My hands trembled. “Is that why you’re going along with this marriage? You think it’ll change the way she treats you?”

  “At first.” He smiled faintly. “But despite your best efforts, my feelings toward you changed while I was in Rhodaire. I tried to make you feel powerless, but you stayed strong. You didn’t care what I thought. You said what you wanted, and you didn’t back down.” He leaned closer, eyes falling to my lips.

  My face grew hot, and I looked away. I didn’t know what I felt toward Ericen anymore, but it wasn’t what his eyes implied he felt. His words made my chest ache. This wasn’t how I’d been expecting this all to go when I’d come to the home of my enemy.

  When I didn’t respond, Ericen stood to go. My throat tightened as I tried to school my expression into something that didn’t betray every emotion hurtling through me.

  “Why does your mother want us to marry so badly?” I asked. “It won’t give Illucia control of Rhodaire. Are you going to hold me hostage to convince Caliza to hand the kingdom over? Because she won’t do it.”

  His eyes glowed silver in the moonlight trickling in through the high windows. “I don’t know why she’s so determined to have it done. Maybe she just wants to establish a connection.” His tone was short, curt, like a person who’d made himself vulnerable and felt uncomfortable about it.

  I should have said something back.

  “I don’t think your mother ever intends for you to rule Illucia.” There was only one way establishing this connection between our kingdoms would do her any good: if Illucia conquered Rhodaire, deposed Kuren and Caliza, and appointed Ericen and me in her place. Then Rhodaire would be under her control, but it’d have a Rhodairen queen. A smooth way to handle a hostile takeover, but it also meant Ericen would be king of Rhodaire, not Illucia.

  Ericen’s jaw tightened as he saw where my mind had taken me, deep scarlet flushing his pale skin. Without a word, he stalked for the exit.