The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(61)

“Are you all right?” It wasn’t until Caylus spoke that I realized he’d stepped closer. The concern on his face made me catch my breath. His first reaction had been to protect me.

All too aware of his closeness, I inspected my throbbing cut. “I need water.” He looked reluctant to put space between us, and I was reluctant to let him, but he nodded and crossed to another workbench.

I shook out my hand to ease the stinging, droplets of blood flying onto the workbench and—

“Saints!” I shouted again, leaping to my feet. Caylus whirled around, but my eyes were locked on my hand.

Lady Kerova had said only my family could hatch the crows, and there was only one thing we shared.

Our blood.





Twenty


Caylus and I stood side by side. He’d brought me a cup of water and a cloth to wash and wrap my hand, and for the last few minutes, we’d both stared silently at the egg where we’d bundled it in blankets on the floor.

“Try it,” Caylus said at last.

I’d thought the same thing a hundred times in the last couple of minutes but hadn’t said it. What if it didn’t work?

What if it did?

My entire body seized at the idea, at the possibility of what was about to happen. It seemed so simple. Could my blood really be the key? Did that mean my family had some sort of magic line?

Slowly, I unwrapped my hand. Taking a deep breath, I pressed my wound against the egg.

It glowed.

My breath caught, my muscles going rigid as the humming doubled, the vibrations dancing up my hand and arm all the way to my chest until they became one with my heartbeat. My doubts vanished; the crow inside was still alive. Gio let out a low hiss and clambered up Caylus’s shoulder.

The iridescent colors in the shell lit up, the entire thing encased in a golden sheen as the humming became a vibration.

Then the shell cracked.

“Saints!” My hand flew to my mouth. I stumbled back, a hand seizing Caylus’s arm. It was working.

The crack lengthened, traveling along the side of the shell. A piece broke off, revealing the sharp black beak of a crow chick. Then it vanished, replaced by a length of feathers.

I laughed. Once and sharp. My heart felt as if it might leap from my chest, like something huge and growing inside me was trying to get out. Joy, I realized. It was joy, as wild and powerful as a storm, and it was hope, as tentative and newborn as the hatching crow.

I flung my arms around Caylus’s neck with a scream of delight, his own coming around to encircle me. He lifted me off my feet, a deep, breathy laugh rumbling in his broad chest. I laughed again and kept laughing until the laughter turned to tears, and even then, I couldn’t stop.

Caylus set me back on my feet, but he didn’t let me go. He held me close as we watched the crow struggle. It took all the strength I had not to help it. But it needed this. It needed to fight, to grow stronger. And it did. With each movement, it cleared away more shell, minutes longer than any I’d ever experienced stretching out one after the other as it fought to free itself.

I crouched beside it, my fingers itching to pull the shell away. My legs burned, but I didn’t move, barely breathing.

After what felt like hours, the egg finally broke apart, and the crow pushed its way out in a bundle of black feathers. It tumbled onto the blanket, wet, chirping, and looking nothing at all like a creature meant to save us all.

I laughed again, the sound bubbling over me in a wash of relief and happiness that made me feel as if I could float away.

We’d done it.

I threw my arms around Caylus, and he held me tight. At his back, the sun broke over the horizon, flooding us with warmth. Still chirping, the crow swayed unsteadily, its silver eyes falling on me as Caylus released me.

A storm crow.

The hum of the magic had vanished, replaced by a small, comforting feeling in the pit of my stomach I could describe as nothing but a connection, like a rope strung between us.

“It worked.” I barely dared to speak the words. They didn’t seem real. I repeated myself, dazed. “It worked.”

I crouched down, tracing a streak of pale yellow on the cracked shell. This was why the ceremony was always done in secret. If people knew our family’s blood was the key to hatching the eggs, our enemies may have tried to use us or even kill us.

But how did we have this power? It wasn’t the elemental magic of the crows. It was something different.

I let out a whoosh of breath, then sucked it back in greedily. But no amount of air seemed like enough. I felt empty and full all at once, like an hourglass of shifting sands.

“I’ve never seen you smile like that,” Caylus said softly.

I blinked; I hadn’t realized I was still smiling.

He blushed before saying, “It looks nice.”

My smile widened, and I stood, leaning into him, content never to move again.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whispered, and he held me tighter. When at last I pulled away, I settled down beside the crow. The floor was hard and uncomfortable, the wool blankets itchy, but I didn’t care. I lay my head down beside his, taking in every detail of his small form, from the curve of his beak to the ridges of his feathers.

The connection between us emitted a faint humming, a quiet song I could listen to forever. I ran one finger over the curve of a talon, carefully, reverently. The sounds of Caylus returning to his work faded into the background until my world became enveloped by the gentle breathing of the creature before me.