The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(20)

The first time I saw a battle crow armor up, its feathers turning sleek and metallic, I’d screamed. At four years old, I’d thought the crow was dying. Then it’d released one of its gold-veined black feathers like an arrow, and a Turren smith had dropped it into a melting pot over a simmering fire. When Estrel had explained it was how we made black gold, a rare metal stronger than the finest steel, I’d prayed to the Saints for a black gold weapon of my own.

Estrel remembered. She gave me my bow for my tenth birthday.

Ericen slowed his horse to walk alongside mine. “Does it unsettle you, knowing your people could betray you again at any moment?”

My head snapped toward him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh? I know before either of us was born, a group of your Turren riders attacked my mother’s family on an unsanctioned mission to avenge your father’s death. I know they were relieved of their crows and Lord Turren was banished.” He moved his horse closer, the hot flesh of the beast’s muscular body pressing against my leg. I couldn’t move away without threatening to step on the items laid out for sale or the people tending them.

Ericen continued, his voice soft and slow, savoring each word. “I know when my mother came to Lord Turren, offering him the power and prestige he once had, he sold his loyalty to her, and his men’s loyalty, and helped us destroy every single crow.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away, trying to block him out, to block the memories out. After the fires had burned to cinders and only the smoke remained, people had wanted blood. Caliza had to show them she was taking action, but nearly half our army came from the Turren Wing. The people she needed to enforce the hunt for traitors had been suspects themselves.

And I’d done nothing but hide in my bed.

Coward.

Slowly, I became aware of something digging into my skin and looked down. I’d twisted the reins around and around my wrists and hands, tethering myself to the spot.

Ericen let out a low, rumbling laugh and dismounted with two of his guards to look at the weapons set out for sale. I stared at my hands, adrenaline leaking from my muscles like water from a punctured jug.

Today was only the second day of my time with Ericen. I couldn’t face an eternity with him.

Loosing a quiet breath, I unwound the reins to reveal angry red and white flesh and stiff fingers. I massaged my hands and scanned the crowd, spotting Ericen at a nearby table and his men at the one across from it.

Even without black gold, Turren weapons were still highly sought after, but the glowering eyes of several smiths made it clear Ericen and his men weren’t welcome. Others, desperate for any coin, called them to their tables, forming a line of tension that turned the air thick.

Ericen’s guards didn’t pay him any attention. The prince ignored them equally, investigating a pair of slim daggers with tiny sapphires set into the hilt. I eyed the weapons. What would happen if I plunged one into Ericen? Nowhere fatal, just somewhere very painful.

If you so much as touch me, if you push me too far…

The words echoed in the hollow space inside me, and I longed to run from them, to hide. The sensation of angry, questioning eyes pressed in on me from all directions. I tried to meet them, but every black stare that gazed back replaced my emptiness with a white-hot weight.

My horse shifted nervously underneath me, whinnying. Smiths and sellers glared at the Illucians with open hostility, more than one with a hand on the hilt of a weapon. A Rhodairen man to Ericen’s left leaned to a woman beside him, muttering. His expression looked wrong.

A sharp clatter rang out. My gaze snapped to a nearby stand, where one of Ericen’s guards had carelessly tossed a dagger onto the table, causing it to topple off. “Worthless,” the guard said.

A scowl broke across the smith’s face. “Pick it up,” she said.

The guard snorted and turned away. The smith’s hand shot out fast as lightning, seizing his arm. A dagger shone in her other hand.

The action rippled through the crowd, everyone from sellers to patrons to the faces watching from the shadows going still. A space cleared around the two. Hands went to weapons. The air evaporated. In the heat and dust, my guards moved closer as a hush descended.

A flicker of blue, and Ericen shattered the stillness. He shot forward, breaking the woman’s hold and shoving his guard back a step all before I even considered intervening. The smith switched her hold on the dagger, and Ericen seized the hilt of his guard’s sword from behind, unsheathing it halfway.

“Stop!” My voice erupted, and I regretted the word instantly. The last thing I wanted to do was tell my people not to hurt an Illucian, but a showdown between elite Illucian soldiers and the weapons masters of Rhodaire would end bloodily.

For a breath, no one moved. Then slowly, the smith lowered her dagger and set it on the table. Her brown eyes never left mine. “Your Highness.” She bowed.

Only once her hand returned to her side did Ericen sheathe his guard’s sword.

“We should go,” I croaked, no longer looking at the smith, at anyone.

Ericen didn’t argue, the thick silence and dark looks probably enough to convince him. He swung back onto his horse in one fluid motion. “We’re leaving,” he said to his guards.

They didn’t acknowledge him, already at the next table as if nothing had happened.

Ericen’s face flushed. “Now.”