The excited cheers of the Umbra bordered on animalistic.
The last thing she was aware of was the Tenebrae standing and proclaiming, "Pin the conquered Princess’s wing to the wall above my throne!"
78
TOWERED MAZE
GRAVES
Graves’s spies spread wide across the kingdoms.
Every hour they waited was another hour that Luella endured whatever horrors that godsdamned bastard inflicted.
It had beenweeks.
Every night, another Umbra was dragged screaming into the cells beneath the Isles.
At the base of a towering wooden structure in one of the treetops on his home island, Graves rested a gloved palm against the bark, remembering the way he’d had Luella here.
The amulet around his neck was warm, so too was his penance for failing her—a bubbling heat that reminded him of every way he had failed. He pressed his knuckles harshly to his ribs, feeling the faintest twinge. A pale scar remained, jagged from Tharen searing it closed.
Dawn breeze swept through the treetops. He stared out at his home. Fallen were at work, flying from island to island, rebuilding with lumber and stone.
Beyond, waves crashed against the rocks. A small boat approached. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Emarelia andMerath disembark, tying the tether to a pole and beginning to walk up the steps that led to his home.
Through the rising sun, Emarelia’s eyes seemed to latch onto his, even from a distance. Her short hair tickled her chin, and her eyes seemed to challenge him.
Graves exhaled roughly, his fingers tangling around the chain of his amulet.
The shift overtook him.
In a swirl of dark feathers, he was airborne. Without looking back, he flew from the treetops.
By evening, Graves reached Syreni, the farthest he could travel in one day without rest.
As the raven flew over the sun-soaked, sin-drenched kingdom of mer and sirens, he shifted back into male form. His feet touched the ground, black cloak billowing behind him. He didn’t break his stride, boots scuffing the sand. The beach was vacant; most were inland this time of day, taking part in revels and frequenting the pleasure houses and smoke dens.
Stone steps led from the beach to the village pathway. He ascended with ease, hood drawn up.
Here, he was faceless. Shrouded in secrecy. He was not Sorren.
He was the Knight.
His amulet ensured his wings were hidden, but he would pay the price upon his return to the Isles. Day after day, he bore it. As he donned his amulet, his wings would burrow back into his flesh, and he would set off for Syreni—sometimes further—meeting with his spies and bringing back the caught Umbra.
The flight home was always his least favorite. If he journeyed back with an Umbra in tow, he could not fly as a raven, so he was forced to stay the night at an inn as he healed from the blood-soaked emergence of his wings. In the morning, he would fly swiftly back to the Isles, taking a longer route, so as not to be seen.
The stone paths glittered under the setting sun, and the distant sound of laughter echoed the lapping waves.
Syreni rose like a towered maze, white stone stacked upward, alleys twisting into hidden hideaways. Easy to get lost. It was a kingdom of many levels and stairs.
Graves took the nearly endless steps up, keeping to the shadows. The cloying, berry scent of Rys drifted from outlooks above and below, almost choking him.
He pressed his hand over the cowl on his face and ducked into a small tunnel, just before a group staggered by, scales glittering on their skin. One female swept her hair back to reveal gills on the side of her neck. Gauzy white mesh was draped over their skin, shifting in the low light that flickered on the sconces fixed to the stone alleys, revealing their nude flesh beneath.
Watching, he hovered in the tunnel.
The gilled female hooked her arm around a white-haired male next to her, yanking him down for a passionate kiss, then pulled away and ran straight for the edge of the alley. A stone ledge was at the side, and she hopped up with ease, standing tall. She raised her arms high above her head, gave a loud whoop, and dove off the side. Graves caught the glint of scales before she disappeared below. There was a distant splash. Her friends followed after her—except for one.
