The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(30)

As a noble, Kiva would never have been allowed to join the Miska, a unit of all-female warriors known for their unparalleled swordsmanship.

I sat up, asking carefully, “All this because your mother married?”

Kiva snorted. “All this because she married a Northman from beyond the Cut, and for barely a day.”

“Before they forced her to leave?”

“Before they killed him.”

I recoiled. “You’ve never told me this.”

“It’s not really mine to tell,” she said softly. “But I think I needed to.”

Sliding off the bed, I came to sit cross-legged before her. Her sword lay between us, a ripple of night against my bright carpet.

“We can name it?” I suggested. “Not for the reasons they would, but in spite of them. Maybe something from the old language. Don’t the Northmen still speak it?”

She nodded, the shadows in her eyes receding. “My mother tried to teach me. I don’t know much.” Her brow furrowed before a grin spread across her lips.

“I’ll name it Sinvarra.” The old-language word was like a growl in her throat. “It means spite.”





Ten


Caliza had organized most of my packing. She’d even supervised the removal of clothes from my closet, ensuring no one so much as touched the armoire drawer hiding the egg. The morning of my departure, all I had to do was wrap the egg in as many blankets as I could find and settle it gently into a trunk.

The idea of taking it on such a long journey, deep into enemy territory, made my stomach turn. But Caliza had been right. I was our best bet.

I folded my flying leathers on top and added my black gold bow, then used a couple of pillows to prevent the egg from rolling around. Then I locked it and didn’t let the servants carry it out until they’d sworn to do so with the utmost care. I still ended up following them down to the courtyard to watch them load it.

When they were done, I started back to my room to do a last check for belongings to take with me, my mind lost in daydreams of hatching the crow, of feeling the wind against my skin again and the endless strength of a crow beneath me.

I almost walked straight into Ericen. He caught me, and I reeled back from his touch. He grinned. “Where are you coming from in such a state? You’re practically glowing.”

I tried to step past him, but he wouldn’t let me. Scowling, I stepped back. “What, Ericen?”

“You know, that’s the first time you’ve addressed me by name.”

“Is there a point to this? Because I have things to do.”

His smile faded, as if my abruptness had bothered him. “We’re going to be traveling together for nearly a week. And if you haven’t forgotten, we’re engaged.” It took effort not to cringe at those words. “I thought you and I should…I don’t know. Start over.”

“Start over?” I laughed. “Is this a joke or just more of your games?”

“Neither. I mean it. I’m not what you think. What would I get out of lying to you?”

“The usual sick pleasure.”

He sighed, moving out of my way. “Just think about it, please. It’d certainly make traveling a lot better.”

I stalked past him, keeping my expression neutral though my mind was a maelstrom of thoughts. Flustered by the conversation, nervous about leaving, anxious about the egg, I felt like a storm readying to break. I needed air.

Diverting from the stairs, I walked quickly down the hall and out through a side door that opened onto the south grounds. Crisp morning air cooled the fire in my veins, but it couldn’t settle the turbulence gathering inside me.

One moment, Ericen dug so far under my skin I wanted to pummel him, and the next, he acted like he’d been misunderstood. I hated these games, the deception and confusion. I wanted straightforward. I wanted clear lines and paths that didn’t split.

I followed a winding dirt path through the gardens to the royal graveyard. A black metal fence surrounded dark stone mausoleums spread across thick grass, and I had to navigate to their center to find the simple grave my mother had requested. A small crow statue perched on the tombstone with wings spread, fallen leaves scattered across the grave.

For several minutes, I simply stared at the grave, breathing in the crisp morning air. I never knew what to say to my mother. In my memories, she was always turning away from me, always sweeping into another room when I was nearby, quick to put a solid door between us. Even in death, anything I could say, anything I could do, felt inadequate. Always inadequate—it was practically my motto.

“I hope you know what a mess you’ve left us in.” My hands curled into fists at my sides. “You should have told me. You should have trusted me. Now I have a chance to save Rhodaire, but I don’t know how, all because you had to do everything yourself.”

My throat tightened, but the words pushed through. “You never should have gone into that damn rookery!”

A nearby tree shook as a startled bird took flight. Leaves dislodged by its sudden movement fluttered through the air and resounding silence, settling on the grave. Something shifted inside me, like a rope given slack after an age of being pulled too tight.

“All this is because of you,” I whispered to the silence, to the earth, to the gravestone. To the memory that slept underneath. “And now you’re not even here to help us.”