The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(78)

A shadow fell over me, and from far, far away, Razel’s voice reached me. “Next time I see you, wear your gloves.”

Then something shifted inside me. My vision blurred, then went black.





Twenty-Seven


I woke in the healer’s quarters, the room heavy with the sweet scent of the murkwood root used in pain tonics.

At first, I didn’t move, didn’t even open my eyes. Something was wrong. For some time, I lay there, letting my mind slowly remind me what it was.

I’d been burned. Badly.

The memory came back gradually at first, then all at once. Razel’s laughter, Kiva’s screams, the fire, the key, my hand—I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, desperate to block out the image of the key clinging to my seared skin.

I gave myself another moment and then forced my eyes open.

My hand had a loose bandage on it from my fingers to my wrist. It’d been propped on a pillow, and there were several jars of herbs and ointments on the table beside me. I recognized the murkwood vial, which explained the thick and heavy feel of my head.

Asleep in a chair on the other side, her mouth open and emitting snores, sat Kiva. The mark below her collarbone had stopped bleeding.

The bed I lay in was small but comfortable and warm, a single sona lamp burning dimly. No one else was around.

I looked again at my hand, and panic rose inside me, as white-hot and raw as the burns themselves. I gasped, hot tears threatening at my eyes. Kiva bolted upright at the sound, blinking rapidly, then sprang to her feet. “Thia!”

“I’m okay,” I whispered, but my voice broke, and suddenly, I was crying. Kiva dropped onto the bed and pulled me into her arms. I melted into her and cried until my throat turned raw and my nose began to run.

When I was able to breathe normally again, I slowly sat back and wiped my tears with my good hand. Kiva gave me a cloth to blow my nose and a glass of water. I drank it all, then set the cup aside.

“How long was I out?” I asked.

“Just a few hours. The healer said your hand will be fine. The burns…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing. I remembered looking at my hand and not understanding.

“They’re not as bad as they should be,” I finished for her.

She nodded. At least I hadn’t imagined that, as little sense as it made. Still, I didn’t want to see yet.

“What happened to Auma?”

Kiva bit her lip. “I don’t know. She vanished in the commotion, and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Vanished? With three Vykryn right there and two more at the door?”

Kiva’s dark expression told me she’d had the same thought and had already followed it to its inevitable conclusion: Auma was not who we thought she was. I’d nearly forgotten what she’d said about the Jin princess, but before I could tell Kiva, the door opened.

A nearly full moon illuminated Ericen in the door frame. He stopped when he saw me awake, the color draining from his face. He was a ragged mess, his hair nearly as chaotic as Caylus’s and his clothes unchanged.

Kiva stiffened. “What do you want?”

“To check on her,” he said quietly.

“Great. You can go now.”

Ericen ignored her and stepped deeper in the room, eyes on me. “Can we talk?”

Kiva started to protest, but I cut her off. “Yes.”

She looked down at me, frowning, but grudgingly climbed off the bed and made for the door. As she passed Ericen, she leveled him with a glare fit to kill before stepping outside. The door slammed shut.

Ericen took her seat. “How are you?”

I wished my eyes weren’t red and puffy. “Fine. What do you want?”

“To apologize.”

“It’s not your fault your mother’s a monster.”

He winced. “I’m sorry, Thia. Part of the reason she did that was because of me. I—” His jaw tightened. “I said something that made her angry. This was her way of showing me she was still in control. She did it to hurt me.”

I let his words sink in. She did it to hurt me. Because my pain hurt him. Because he cared, more than I wanted to admit. Afraid of where my thoughts were leading, I said quietly, “And to hurt me.”

“You’re not breaking like she expected,” he said. “In Illucia, subordinates obey, and those who don’t are punished. She’s treated the other kingdoms the same. It’s all a power play. That’s even why she has those moonblades. They belonged to the queen of Jindae. They’re trophies.”

“And she thinks Rhodairens are cruel?” I asked. “She makes soldiers out of children and workhorses of their parents. How can she say she’s never torn a family apart?”

Ericen snorted softly. “She thinks it’s an honor for them. They all get to serve the great Illucian Empire, to serve Rhett. Especially the children. They get the greatest honor of all, serving in our army. She even thinks it’s a better life for them. Jindae was racked with civil war between the guilds before we took over—”

“The king and queen were making progress on that. Before them, Jindae’s rulers were horrible people. But they were changing things!”

“I know, Thia. I’m not supporting it. I’m just…telling you how she sees it.” His voice dropped, as if he didn’t quite understand himself why he’d said the words. “My mother’s always been a volatile person, but she’s been getting worse.”