The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(67)

This close, the cord between Res and me felt stronger, the connection a comfort. I knelt beside him, and his silver eyes opened. On his stomach, with his little head tucked in, he was no more than a pouf of feathers with a beak.

He cawed softly, the cord thrumming with something like recognition. One day old, and he was nearly as large as my torso. In less than a week, he would be a fledging, his wings a flurry of feathers as he fought to build strength, to learn the feel of the wind.

And then we would escape Illucia.

“We’re going to have to stock up on a lot of meat,” I whispered to him, stroking the soft feathers at the top of his head. He nipped affectionately at my fingers, and I tapped his beak, earning a quiet squawk of protest.

“What now?” Caylus sat down beside me as I unwrapped the chicken in my lap and fed Res a small piece.

“He should start showing signs of magic any day now,” I replied. “Is someone going to come knocking if he makes noise?”

Caylus looked around his haphazard workshop. “They haven’t yet.”

I rose to join Caylus at the workbench, and Res let out a low screech. His feathers fluttered as he tried to follow me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I reassured him, but when I tried to step away again, the cord between us tugged. Sighing, I returned to his side and wrapped the blankets carefully about him, then scooped him into my arms.

“Only until you fall back asleep,” I said as he snuggled into my embrace.

We spent the rest of the day working on some of Caylus’s projects, though I wasn’t much help with Res in my arms. Despite what I’d said, I held him long after he’d fallen asleep.

I’d nearly started to doze myself, lulled by the sound of Res breathing and the warmth of his body, when something struck the workbench and Gio yowled.

I sprang to my feet, whirling to find Caylus staring mournfully at an overturned beaker of yellow liquid, Gio having narrowly escaped atop a pile of books. Blood trickled from Caylus’s temple, a sharp-edged hanging basket still swaying from where his head had struck it, causing him to overturn the beaker.

“Are you okay?” I gently set the still-sleeping Res back down in his pile of blankets, then grabbed Caylus a clean towel as he dropped into a chair. He touched two fingers to his head, then pulled them back, staring at the blood.

“I think so.” He stiffened as I pressed the cloth against his wound.

“I thought measuring was my job,” I teased.

“Yes. I… You were with Res. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Well, next time, bother away.” I poked his arm.

A blush rose in his cheeks, and he averted his gaze, studying Gio as if he’d never seen a cat before.

“Maybe you ought to reorganize your workshop,” I suggested, dabbing gently at the scrape. It wasn’t deep; it’d barely required a bandage.

Caylus looked from me to the hanging basket and back again. “But then how would I ever find anything?”

“Are you saying you know where everything in this mess is?”

“Except my book on early Illucian technology. I haven’t seen that for weeks.”

I paused, staring at him. “That’s a joke.” He smiled, and I shook my head. “We really need to work on your sense of humor.”

He laughed, and the silence that followed felt comfortable and full, like a cozy room lit by a crackling fire. Suddenly, I became aware of our closeness, of my palm brushing his face, my fingertips touching the soft hairs at his temple. Caylus swayed, as if unsure whether to lean away from my touch or into it. The memory of our kiss hung between us.

I cleared my throat, turning away as a flush crept into my cheeks. Instantly, I felt the absence of his warm skin against mine. “You’ll be fine. It’s already stopped bleeding.”

I grabbed a few more towels and tossed them to Caylus, then fetched a jug of water from across the room, cursing myself as I went. I’d kissed him, and now I couldn’t manage to stand a foot away from him?

When I returned, Caylus had started mopping up the mess, remnants of scarlet lighting his golden skin. He grabbed the water jug without a word and dampened a cloth with it, cleaning quickly.

As he carried the used cloths away, I picked up some papers where the liquid had caught the edges and spread them out in the light of the wide front window to dry. The edge of his sketchbook had also gotten wet, and as I moved it into the sun, two papers fluttered out. I picked them up, careful of the damp edges.

Night incarnate stared back. A crow hovered, its wings drawn up and flared out as it landed. They curved forward, creating a cocoon around a proud figure in flying leathers. My lips parted.

Caylus had drawn my hair in a braid down my back, several curls left loose and caught in an invisible wind. The leathers he’d drawn to the tiniest pleat, and they clung to me like armor. With a bow strapped across my chest and a quiver of arrows at my hip, I looked formidable.

A rush of heat filled me from my brow to the tips of my toes. How had he done this with his shaking hands that could barely form letters? It must have taken him hours. Days.

The wooden floor creaked behind me, and I turned.

Caylus shifted nervously in the doorway. “I, um, hope I got the flying leathers right. The only drawings I could find weren’t very detailed. Makes sense. I guess the people making them wouldn’t want anyone else knowing the design, and no one in Illucia cares. But I didn’t know how accurate they were and—”