The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(71)

Lord Rynthene has stripped one of his ships of identifying marks to send for you. It’s currently docked near the border in a fishing village on the coast. Elair. Do you remember it? Mother took us there once on our way to the Ambriels. You ate so much fried fish, it made you sick.

I miss you. Stay safe, and send word the moment you’re prepared to leave.

Love,

Caliza

Kiva tossed the letter into the fireplace, nudging it with the metal poker until it turned to ash. “Things are getting worse,” she said. “How much longer until we can move?”

“A few more days,” I told her. “Res is still too fragile.”

Kiva stabbed the hot coals with the poker. “Let’s pray Rhodaire has that long.”

*

My mind strayed as Ericen and I ran through drills in the misty courtyard. Even as I focused on the correct steps and forms of the new moves he’d taught me, I held tight to the cord with Res. It’d grown even stronger, and the more I focused on it, the more I felt him there.

The link between us thrummed, filling me with a sense of annoyance. Not my own but his.

It wasn’t the first hint of emotion I’d felt from the crow. It’d taken me a while to realize the wisps of feelings weren’t my own, and even now, I couldn’t always tell the difference. But with each passing minute, the connection between us grew stronger, like a rope pulling taut, and more and more of his emotions flared to life along it.

His magic had to be close to manifesting. I could feel it.

I only prayed it was enough to seal this alliance. Enough to stop Illucia.

My gaze flickered to Ericen, who was moving through a series of sword poses. The Centerian was in two weeks. If everything went according to plan, I’d be long gone by then. Would he be strong enough to win? And if he did, would he serve at his mother’s side in this war?

Would he fight against me?

As though he felt my eyes on him, the prince paused in his drills to face me, his bare chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “Taking notes?” he asked with a catlike grin.

I didn’t smile. “What if you lose?”

“I won’t,” he replied without hesitation.

“I’m serious, Ericen.” I folded my arms, the chill of the thickening mist sending a shiver down my spine.

His grin faded, and he drove the tip of his sword into the soft earth at his side. “So am I. Losing isn’t an option. Why do you care?”

Why did I care? Ericen might not be as horrible as he’d led me to first believe, but if war broke out this instant, he would still be my enemy. I’d told Kiva I thought I could trust him in time. But how much time did we really have?

I don’t want to be your enemy. That was what he’d said to me that night in the stables.

Maybe he didn’t have to be.





Twenty-Three


With each passing day, the weather grew colder as Res grew stronger, but he never showed the slightest hint of magic. Even as his fluffy down molted into feathers of iridescent black streaked with midnight blues and purples and he struggled about his blanket, his thin wings opening and closing and pressing against the ground like a pair of arms to steady himself, no gust of wind came to his aid, no spark of lightning erupting in his frustration.

I sent a letter back to Caliza expressing my fears, then threw myself into my training with Ericen. We met each evening, trading blows alongside stories about past teachers and lessons. The ease with which we talked made the ground feel unsteady beneath my feet, as if it were constantly changing its tilt, uncertain of which way to send me, and leaving me unsure where I stood with the prince.

My afternoons I spent training with Res. Caylus and I had created a miniature obstacle course for him, using chicken as bait to encourage him from one point to the other. When he was strong enough, I carried him to the bottom of the stairs, then sat a few steps up with a handful of chicken.

Frustration ebbed along the link alongside a distinct feeling I’d identified as hunger. “Up the stairs then,” I told him, waving the chicken.

In response, he let his wings droop and hung his head.

I stared at him. “Are you begging?”

Caylus stuck his head out from the workshop. “Oh, um. That might be my fault.”

I gave him an exasperated look, and he smiled sheepishly. “I mean, he just…well, look at him. He looks so sweet and adorable when he does that and I—” He bit his lip as my expression hardened. “Well, the point is I think he expects it to work now.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hand. “Fantastic. Now he thinks being adorable will get him whatever he wants.”

“He’s not entirely wrong.”

“Caylus!”

Caylus’s face flushed, and he muttered something about boiling liquids before fleeing back into the workshop. I glowered at Res, who’d given up on his show of poor little me while we’d been talking but resumed drooping the moment I looked at him.

“Up the stairs or no chicken,” I said, folding my arms. It took a few minutes, but Res finally gave in. The first stair presented a struggle, but once he figured out he could hop up each one, he reached me quickly. I gave him chicken, then climbed farther up the stairs, and we repeated the process until we reached the top.

“Great,” I said. “Now let’s do it again.”