The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(70)

“Do these have whiskey in them?” Caylus had asked, already covered in powdered sugar.

“They’re soaked in it,” I replied. “But most of the alcohol burns off when they’re set on fire.”

He blinked. “Set on fire?”

I smirked, remembering something Estrel had once said. It’s like you in a dessert. Zesty, sweet, with a dash of flames. My heart panged at the memory. “It caramelizes them,” I replied.

I tossed Res another piece of chicken, which he snapped up eagerly. He’d grown overnight and was already starting to flex his wings and shift rather than just lay about.

“Has he shown any signs of magic?” I asked Caylus. When he shook his head, concern flickered through me. Storm crow chicks often sparked weak lightning or coalesced patches of mist sporadically.

He’s only two days old, I reminded myself. It wasn’t unheard of not to have seen magic at this point. Still, the sense of unease I’d woken with simmered in my gut. A crow without any magic wouldn’t inspire much confidence, and securing the other kingdoms’ aid was Rhodaire’s only hope.

Res struggled to stand, revealing legs lined in glossy black scales. He almost made it before collapsing back into the blankets with an indignant squawk. The cord between us tugged with an indistinct sensation.

I grinned. “We’re going to have to start working on strength exercises,” I told him.

Caylus perked up, eyes bright. “What kind of exercises?”

“Mostly for his wings,” I replied. “We’ll start with basic movements to stretch and strengthen them and then move on to drills that simulate flight.” Had Res been born before Ronoch, his mother would have taught him most of this, though he wasn’t the first orphan crow to be raised by a rider. Hopefully, I wouldn’t make a poor substitute.

Caylus’s curiosity dimmed, his gaze switching from Res to me. “Once he’s strong enough, you’re going to leave,” he said softly.

“Come with me.” The words came out on reflex, and only as the idea settled in my chest like the piece of a puzzle did I realize how much I wanted him to say yes. But I was asking for more than his company. I was asking him to involve himself in something so much larger than us. Something where he’d have to fight again.

One of the things I liked most about Caylus was the open honesty in his face. He never hid his true feelings. That knowledge was little comfort as his expression turned hesitant and uncertain.

Before he could answer, someone knocked. Cursing, I pulled the edge of the blanket over Res, willing him into silence. Frowning, Caylus rose and padded downstairs. Several lock clicks later, I heard the door open, a rushed exchange of whispers, and then two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs.

Diah entered after Caylus, her mask in place. She slipped into the room on steps light as air, then put her back to a wall, facing us both. On her leather belt hung three identical tiny knots of black rope.

She traced my line of sight, and for the first time, I noticed something strange about the eye on the black half of the mask. It looked dull.

She touched a hand to the ropes. “Ambriellan death knots,” she explained. “One for each soul that was lost.”

Ambriellan knots were a superstition, the various colors and knot work designs representing different things, from good luck to safe travels. These looked like wisps of shadow, curled in on themselves like someone protecting their heart.

“I was sorry to hear about your friends,” I said. Had their loss driven her here? Maybe she was starting to realize she couldn’t do this alone.

Diah straightened. “Such is the cost of war, as you will soon come to know.”

Her words settled inside me like stones sinking to the ocean floor. “If we help each other, that cost might not be so high. Trendell has agreed to host a meeting and hear our proposal for an alliance. Join us there. Make your choice then.”

Slowly, Diah nodded. A knot in my chest released like a line snapping. We were moving forward.

*

After giving Diah the date and location, I returned to a letter from Caliza at the castle. This time, I skipped the fake visible conversation and flipped the letter over to sprinkle powder on the invisible ink on the back. Kiva hovered beside me as I read quietly aloud by sona lamp:

Thia,

I am so proud of you, and I know if she were here, our mother would be too. Thanks to you, we have a real chance to protect Rhodaire.

A letter arrived from Captain Mirkova. She said she sent you one too. I know it’s not the answer we wanted, but we can still do this. She’s staying in Korovi to proposition them for supplies.

I’ve convened the council.

I paused, exchanging looks with Kiva. Rhodairen rulers only convened the council during wartime, when the heads of all the houses gathered in the castle. They would eat and sleep there instead of their own homes, working together to prepare Rhodaire for battle.

I kept reading.

Illucia now occupies five towns on our outer border. My letters to their general and Queen Razel have gone ignored. Lady Turren has suggested we poison the towns’ water supply, as well as those of any neighboring villages (I’m starting to suspect she may be just as merciless as her father was). She says our greatest advantage is the heat, as he believes the Illucians are unprepared for a Rhodairen summer. But I’m not sure I can do that. It would mean evacuating the towns and quite possibly making them unlivable. I don’t want to destroy people’s homes.