The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(19)

I gestured to our right. “We’ll go into the Thereal Wing first.”

“The wings are named after each of your Saints, aren’t they? And they correspond with a type of crow?” Ericen asked. “So this would be the wind crows?”

Fire hurtled through my veins, but when I shot Ericen a sharp glare, the anger vanished abruptly. He wasn’t looking at me, and his normally cool expression had warmed into a look of curiosity, until he caught my gaze. The look of interest disappeared, replaced by a slight sneer.

I scowled. “Yes.”

We followed a broad street that circled the castle and cut through each wing, forming a circle around the inner city. In the fading chill of morning, street performers gathered in the shade of side streets. Shops set in bright, colorful buildings propped open doors, and the soft hum of a violin resonated through the air as a musician tested the strings.

The Thereal Wing was known for entertainment. That hadn’t changed, but a subdued atmosphere hung over the usually lively wing. The street no longer teemed with visitors, and the echoes of distant music sounded like a melody of pain and sadness.

Ericen scanned everything with an imperious look, his back straight, head held high, exuding a confidence and strength I longed for. As he slowed to behold a gymnast warming up, I caught sight of a familiar blue building at the street corner.

I urged my horse toward it subconsciously, staring but not seeing. Memories flashed: sneaking out with Kiva to go dancing, music as quick as a heartbeat after a flight, a crow painted in sunset colors across the building’s side…columns of fire, smoke choking the air, the screech of crows and screams of people.

I slowed my horse outside Rua’s. The door to the pub was chained shut, the windows boarded. Thick vines obscured the crow painting, its vibrant colors muted.

Already, the hope I’d felt setting out dwindled away. Each boarded-up window and crumbling building I saw leeched more of my strength. I braced my hands on the back of my saddle, shoulders curving, head bowed.

Aris had been a city of wonders. A place people came to from all over the world to trade, to learn, to live. Now it was slowly fading, drifting into nothing like an abandoned ship into the night.

In the distance, what remained of the Thereal rookery loomed like a pillar of shadows.

“Why don’t you knock that down? It’s useless now.”

My spine went rigid, and I turned to look at Ericen. He stared at the remains of the rookery with a critical frown. When I didn’t respond, he glanced at me.

Every muscle turned to stone. “Say something like that again and I’ll—”

“What?” he asked. “What will you do, Princess? Yell? Curse? Hurt me?” He laughed, and the sound ripped into my chest like talons. “If you so much as touch me, if you push me too far, I’ll end this engagement and Rhodaire’s future along with it.” His eyes glinted like sunlight against the tundra. “Give me a reason.”

My words turned to ash in my throat, smothering my breath. Fire and frost danced along my skin like the waves of a fever as I fought to move, to think, to breathe. But all I could picture was the army on our border, the rows and rows of cavalry and archers who would kill without thought or mercy.

Ericen shook his head pityingly. “What am I saying? This is the girl who’s been hiding in her room for months. You’re not going to do anything, are you? Cowards never do.” His gaze flicked over me again before he kicked his horse into a trot down the street.

A heartbeat. Two. Still, I couldn’t follow.

Coward.

I’d leave him lost in the streets, spook his horse into throwing him off, lead him down a dark alley and—No. He was right. I couldn’t do so much as scratch him, or he might end everything. Somehow, I had to stay calm, had to keep from letting him push me off the edge.

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, I urged my horse onward.

We passed through the Kerova Wing, once home to the shadow crows. The clatter of our horse’s hooves echoed like an unanswered call, the hot air still and thick with humidity, making me long for the mist water crows used to trail in their wakes as they soared overhead.

“There’s not much to see here,” Ericen said. His rough voice stuck out like a dove among crows.

“Then let’s move on.” While Ericen saw nothing, my eyes found only shuttered windows and smoke-stained walls, all blurring with memories of a night filled with fire and blood.

We went through the Turren Wing next, once home to the battle crows. Smiths called prices above the din of hammers and conversation, standing behind tables laden with weapons or in open doorways to larger storerooms. Thick heat wafted from outdoor forges, now small and hand-fed. There’d been a time when the Turren smiths shared the heat and power of the central forge, a massive structure at the heart of the wing that had fed countless other forges. Without fire crows to keep it blazing, it now lay cold and dormant.

Ash smudged the stone and brick buildings, sparks crackling like snapping bone. I stuck to the center of the broad streets, well away from any flames, and focused on my breathing. We still had over half the tour to go; I couldn’t lose it now.

Ericen cast a disdainful look down at the beggars lining the streets. Half the shops were closed, many sellers ousted to small tables along the main road without enough money for rent. He had no idea what these people had once done, the magic they’d once created.