Page 130 of White Raven

Yet something prickled at the back of my brain, something feeling different about the Jackals attacking us. When Onyx and I had faced them, they were crude and feral, like they had trained themselves to fight dirty. Their robes were tattered and worn, with their symbol proudly displayed for everyone to recognize who they were.

They wanted to create fear in their victims.

These robed figures were devoid of any J emblems, and they moved like trained warriors. Sleek, swift, and with precision.

The cannibals also hadn’t seemed like the type who would attack a whole kingdom head-on, instead lying in wait for their prey. For their revenge.

Brynn bellowed, swinging her sword, ripping the hood from the tall figure. The tall man held a huge hammer axe, chains with spikes hanging off the end like a whip. He wore a dulled metal horned helmet which covered most of his face. It stopped right above the lips, but had two triangular mouthguards protecting the teeth. Runes were carved in detail over the metal, though I was too far away to make out the symbols. Sharp metal horns were shaped on either side, making his tall figure even more daunting and terrifying.

There was no doubt: These attackers were not the Jackals.

“Stay close to me!” Onyx hissed in my ear, his hand threading through mine. He plunged us into the chaos of noble men and women trying to escape, while a battle raged through the small space. Panic suckled off the night air, feeding on the terror of those trying to flee. A figure rammed into me, ripping my hand from the Northerner’s, my body thudding to the ground. Frantic people trampled over me, crushing me under the sea of fear.

“Onyx!” I cried out, trying to rise back up. Another figure knocked me back down, a foot kicking my head. “Onyx . . .” My nails dug into the dirt, trying to drag my body forward. Screams of death thundered around me, blood splattering over the moonflowers on the ground.

Hands gripped my waist, easily lifting me from the ground, drawing me back into a strong chest. Dizzy, it took me a moment to register something was not right. There was no warmth from the figure at all, no thread of familiarity, nothing but the itch of a wool cape, sending a chill down my spine.

“No . . .help—” I barely got out before a cloth came over my mouth, my scream dying against the fabric as the scent of a sharp, sweet substance wafted into my brain. The man gripped me tighter as my legs bowed under me.

“No.” I tried to fight it, my muscles weakening, the drug blinking my lids in slower increments.

Duty. I could not fail my father again.

Commotion danced in my peripheral vision, everything becoming further and further away as the throng of people fought around me. Dead bodies sprawled on the ground, the bonding ritual turning into a death ceremony.

A huge draugrhest clomped straight for me, the horse adorned in metal armor that covered its forehead, runes marking it in diamond shapes. Veins protruded over its sleek black frame as it stopped just feet from me, fangs bared. The rider sat tall on its back, a hood covering their eyes, huge thorny antlers protruding out, an elaborate sword across its back. By the large, broad outline I could tell it was a man.

Panic bubbled under the surface, not fully reaching my brain, but I felt myself trembling, the man behind me holding me firmer. The figure on the horse lifted his head, and I heard myself gasp. A skull mask peered back at me. The missing eyes and nose were black pits under the shadow of his grey hood, yet I could feel his regard boring into me—commanding attention, demanding my distress.

My eyes darted around, searching for Onyx, but only a blur of metal helmets swirled in my vision, the armor on their faces depicting similar skull masks like their leader.

“Let me see her.” His raspy voice was like death walking over my chest, scraping and crawling against the stone.

“No!” A bellow barked from the crowd, my head swinging slowly to see the Night King being held by three skull faces, a blade to his throat, his torn robe bloody and open.

Slowly the skull man turned his head to him. Gavric slumped back, his eyes widening with bewilderment. “This can’t be. You’re supposed to be dead.” It was the first time I had ever seen fear on his face, his voice a whisper. “Greythorn . . .”

Greythorn. The name circled in my mind, my wispy thoughts recognized it, but I couldn’t click the pieces together, everything getting jumbled and mixed up in my head.

The skull man returned his attention to me, not even giving Gavric a response. “Bring her here.”

The soldier carried me forward, my feet dragging across the dirt, no longer able to hold myself up. The man’s draugrhest huffed in my face, his fangs dripping with saliva.

A gloved hand behind me tilted my chin up.

“The White Raven.” The man on the horse uttered in a craggy voice, chilling me. “We’ve been waiting a long time for you.” He sat back, his head dipping. “Take her.”

“Noooooo!” King Helvig’s voice bellowed, as I felt the guard behind me grip my hips again. “She is our destiny!”

“Your destiny is to suffer like we have, Gavric. And I promise you and Vorian will pay for what we endured.”

The buzz of figures, the clank of swords, pandemonium on the outskirts, figures trying to reach me.

“Never forget your duty, Wren.” King Vorian’s voice spoke in my head. “Remember all I gave you. You were nothing without me. Do not fail me.”

My elbow jabbed back into my guard’s gut, my foot ramming into his knee, meeting with jarring resistance, like I hit solid bone. A strange hollow laugh echoed in my ear as the guard lifted me up.

“No. Stop! You don’t want me.” My slurred cries fell on deaf ears, my strength weakening, yet I still clawed and scraped, fighting against the guard’s hold like a wiggling kitten as he dragged me back to his fanged horse.