The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(81)

A servant had brought me a change of clothes, and once the healer finished applying new bandages, I changed, and she granted me leave without asking questions, despite her confused expression.

Kiva followed me out, and I sucked in a lungful of fresh air as we stepped outside. Mist clung to the air, obscuring some of the moving figures in the training grounds. We skirted the edge, ignoring curious gazes, and returned to our room.

Someone had done their best to rearrange it. It looked nearly spotless, as if nothing had happened. Only the whistle of wind through the cloth-patched window remained to mark the incident.

Exhausted from keeping vigil at my bedside, Kiva collapsed onto a couch and promptly started snoring. I could tell she was worried about Auma but trying hard not to show it, and we were both on edge. Tonight, we would break into the room I’d discovered. Tomorrow night, we would run for our lives.

A flash of color at the edge of my vision made me pause. A vase of bright-red roses sat on the dining table beside a small box with a note attached.

Tension crept into my neck as I crossed the room and opened the card.

Thia dear,

In case you’ve lost your other ones.

Razel

A hollow pit opened in my stomach as I pulled the lid off the box. I knew what was inside before I looked, but at the sight of the blue silk gloves nestled inside atop a bed of rose-colored paper, I had to repress a scream of fury. Seizing the box, I hurled it across the room, sending the gloves and fancy paper skittering across the floor. I turned, ready to strike the vase of flowers, and stopped.

I was angry because Razel had made me feel powerless, and that was exactly what she wanted. The bright-red flowers, the gloves, the way they’d been given as a present—it was all posturing, a power play meant to make me feel weak.

But I wasn’t weak.

Strength comes in many forms, Auma had said. She was right.

Strength was Caliza taking on the weight of a kingdom without a single complaint. Strength was Kiva’s willingness to give up everything she’d ever known to protect someone she loved. Strength was Caylus’s curious mind, Auma’s unwavering determination, and Ericen’s struggle to remain honorable in a kingdom that had forgotten the meaning.

Every day, they fought, and every day, they were strong. And I could do the same.

I’d worn gloves out of fear and shame, but I never should have. There had been nothing shameful about my pain, nothing I’d needed to hide or hide from. I’d been afraid to face what the pain had meant, that my life as I’d known it was over, that I had to choose a new path.

Kiva had done everything she could to help me see that, and I’d thought after everything, I’d finally understood. But I hadn’t shaken my past. I’d still let my fear control me. I had let fire send my heart racing and small setbacks crush my hope.

No more. I refused to let Razel control me, to let her make me feel powerless. I wasn’t powerless. I had survived Ronoch, and I had survived the loss and the depression thick as mud that came after it, and I would keep surviving them.

Don’t let her silence the storm inside you.

I clenched my fists, thinking of the way Caylus had depicted me in his drawing. Proud. Strong. A force of steel and arrows, a crow at my back.

I would not let her break me.

I am more than my emotions, more than my depression and fear.

Fire and I would never be friends, but I wouldn’t let it or the horrible memories it represented hold power over me any longer.

“I am more,” I promised myself.

Reluctantly, I gathered up the gloves. As much as I’d have liked to drop them out the window, I would wear them. Not only to placate Razel but also to show her that I could.

Someone knocked, and I answered the door. A servant stood in the hall, a box in his hands. “From Prince Ericen, Your Highness.” He handed me the box, bowed reluctantly, and left. How many presents was I to get today?

Retreating inside, I closed the door and opened the box. A pair of brand-new, fingerless leather gloves rested inside. Beside them sat a note saying he’d be at the training grounds today if I wanted to spar.

Grinning, I set Razel’s gloves aside and slid on the leather ones. They were smooth and incredibly well made, and my satisfaction at subverting Razel’s order was all the warmth I needed as I dressed in my flying leathers and set out for the training grounds in the chilly air.

As it was just after lunch, the grounds were busy, but I easily spotted Ericen in one of the grappling rings, sparring with a stocky soldier. In the time it took me to cross to the ring, Ericen had struck him in the ribs, gut, and face, dropping him to the floor.

The Centerian was days away, and Ericen looked more than ready.

The soldier was back on his feet by the time I arrived, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. He clasped hands grudgingly with Ericen and climbed out of the ring. The prince noticed me a moment later. I waved as he came to sit on the edge of the ring, his earnest expression dissolving into a smile that reflected none of last night’s despair.

“Did you get my present?” he asked.

I held up my gloved hands. “Not bad. And here I’d have expected something gaudy and gilded.”

“If you’re implying Illucians have a thing for gold, then you are entirely correct.”

Smirking, I jerked my head toward the far side of the grounds. “Do you have a second to talk? Privately.”