Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(18)
The great corvid cried out, and the mass of crows answered.
She launched herself upward. The entire flock rose behind them, Kutssah included. They left the rookery as one great body of beating black wings, ascending skyward.
* * *
Okoa’s estimation proved correct, and they arrived in the air over Tova in a matter of hours. They flew in low, coming in from the northwest, crossing over Tsay. He scanned the sky for eagles, knowing that Golden Eagle could have put patrols out, but he saw no riders, only people below in the streets gaping up as the mass of crows passed overhead. He smiled grimly. Word would travel quickly to the Golden Eagle matron that they had returned.
He motioned for the Odo Sedoh to take the flock and continue across the canyon and to the aviary at Odo. He knew Benundah would deliver the Odo Sedoh there safely. He planned to follow but wanted to get a glimpse at Titidi and Kun before he landed.
He banked to his left, and to his satisfaction, Benundah did not follow. He straightened on Kutssah’s back to watch them go. Once he was sure they were safely away, he turned his attention to the districts below him. Titidi was quiet, a handful of people on the streets, pointing up at him as he passed. Another matron warned, he thought, and then he was over the Maw, skimming the Eastern districts, and approaching Kun.
Keen eyes swept the air, looking for any sign of winged serpents, but the sky there was clear, too.
“Home, then, Kutssah.” He patted the great crow on her neck.
Something streaked past him, rising from below. He caught a glimpse of jade and turquoise scales, undulating feathers. He cursed and pulled Kutssah up hard. She cried out as another serpent darted past them, this one so close the breeze from its passing rippling his hair. And then he was face to face with two Winged Serpent riders. They wore armor, thick sheets of green scales that covered chests and arms, and their matching helmets sported twin horns to match their beasts. One of the serpents flared a feathered mane of ruby and citrine and hissed, its forked tongue ululating in warning.
“Peace!” he cried, but he did not know if they could hear him. Of all the clans, Winged Serpent and Carrion Crow were closest. They shared a border, had traded freely with each other for generations, and Carrion Crow had been the first clan to answer Winged Serpent’s plea for aid in the War of the Spear. Such bonds were not forgotten.
The riders did not attack, and Okoa’s heart rate calmed. Kutssah squawked loudly. She was impatient, eager for battle. He held her steady, legs braced, body hunched low at her neck, ready to act. A minute passed. Two.
Okoa understood. They were only there to send a message. He nodded an acknowledgment of the warning and turned Kutssah away from Kun. They let him go and did not follow, and the tension drained from his limbs as the crow brought him home.
The Odo Sedoh was there in the aviary, waiting.
“The crows heard Kutssah’s cries and were disturbed,” he said by way of greeting.
“I ran into Winged Serpent.” Okoa slid the saddle off Kutssah’s back.
“What did they want?”
“To warn us to stay away from Kun.” He glanced around the aviary. The flock was all here, making themselves at home. But he had expected stable hands to meet them, the troughs to be full. “Has anyone come? They had to have noted our arrival. And yet no one is here to greet us, to care for the crows.”
“Perhaps we are not welcome.”
“Or something is wrong.”
“Would the crows not alert us? Are you not safe in your own house?”
It was a question that cut to the quick. All the distrust and uncertainty he had felt in the days after his mother’s funeral came rushing back. The unexpected bubble of peace he had found at the monastery evaporated, and once again the Great House pulsed with foreboding. “You don’t understand.”
The Odo Sedoh tilted his head in that way he had, as if waiting for Okoa to explain. And he wanted to. Skies, he wanted to.
He fought the impulse to tell Serapio everything, to let out the secrets he’d been holding under his tongue, desperate for there to be someone with whom to share his burden of ruinous knowledge.
He had worried about bringing Serapio back, aware that he was dangerous, but now he felt a desire to warn him of what waited for him in Carrion Crow’s halls. But how could he? His suspicions of murder would make no sense. The letter with the single broken glyph, Esa’s lies about their mother’s death. Lies upon lies that were allowed to fester. How could he trust anyone with this secret that he held like ruin in his heart? He wanted to shout it from the rooftop of the Great House, muster every Shield to investigate and find his mother’s killer, and bring them to justice. But the truth was he had only a cryptic letter penned twenty years ago to support his suspicions, and if he accused people now, it would only destabilize what was already a precarious situation. The Watchers were no more; he would not find justice there, and things had become too complicated to risk his reputation by accusing the Sky Made with baseless claims. He needed proof, and then he would not hesitate.
And there was the reality Okoa feared most, that he dared not whisper, even to the Odo Sedoh. Someone inside Carrion Crow had murdered his mother. And his worst fear of all was that his sister had a hand in it. And if that was true, then what? Accuse her outright with no evidence? Rip his family apart? Damn Carrion Crow to infighting over who would take the matron’s throne if Esa was deposed? And if he failed in his accusation, he would no doubt be declared anathema and banished, and as much as he had stayed away from the politics of Tova and his family, this was his home, and he would not abandon it. Part of him wished he had never read that letter that Chaiya had brought him at the war college, and another part called himself a coward for his inaction. Again, it came back to proof. His sister deserved that much. He did, too.