Page 95 of White Raven

It was his way of trying to break the thick tension that had been weeding through the group throughout the day, poking and prodding until the pressure snapped.

It hadn’t.

The hersir of the group rode far ahead, his shoulders rigid, leading us through small villages and countryside at an unrelenting pace.

We had been riding for hours. A numbness had long since taken over my body, yet I couldn’t get my brain to do the same, mulling over and over what happened the night before. My body still feeling his touch like it was branded on my skin.

After he had stormed out of the room, I had finished cleaning up the best I could. My mind was lost in a spool of thoughts, not wanting to pluck too deeply and uncoil things better left alone. Like why did his touch affect me so much? Why did the matching rune symbols he put on his hand feel like they reacted to mine? I crawled into bed, tucking under the blankets pathetically, trying to ignore the over-awareness of the tattoo. His mark.

Sven had been the one to wake me up, awkwardly watching as I got dressed in my new clothing and taking me down to where the horses had been prepped for our travels. The Hunters ready, Onyx stomped over, dropping Munch in my hands.

“He ate more of my fucking saddle. Take him if you don’t want me to kill him.” He sneered and walked away.

“Guess you’re with me, lille ravn.” Bjørn waved me over to his horse, his gaze dancing between us with a mischievous grin. Helping me onto his Friesian, he chuckled in my ear. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” I snipped.

“He’s in a particularly bad mood this morning.” Bjørn grinned widely. “Usually, he’s in high spirits after a fight. Thinking someone got under his skin.”

The tension did not relent, and it wasn’t just from the fact Onyx wouldn’t even look at me when we stopped for breaks. I was nonexistent to him, but the rapport between Renyx, Brynn, and Onyx was also strained. A pressure hung over the group like a cloud. They were polite and spoke when needed to, but you could feel the walls between them.

A loud, squeaky fart whistled through the air, along with a tiny sigh, causing Bjørn to snicker.

“Fuck, I thought Bjørn could stink up a place, but that thing could light a forest fire.” Renyx groaned from behind us.

“Did you learn your lesson?” I picked up Munch, his tummy still puffy, struggling to digest the tough leather. “Saddles are not meant to be eaten.” My gaze instinctively flickered up ahead to glimpse the outline of Onyx’s and Fluffy’s large frames through the moonlight. “No more eating saddles, okay?”

The groundling blinked up at me several times, then pulled a piece he had hidden in his tiny hand, nibbling on a chunk of leather.

Bjørn howled with laughter behind me as I sighed, the first smile of the day twitching my mouth.

“You are a menace.” I ran my finger over his branchy head, hearing the groundling purr as he fell back asleep. Right as I tucked him back into the horse’s mane, a caw sounded in the air, startling me.

Sven cupped his mouth, making the bird call again, pointing at a sign. “We’re home!” he shouted, kicking into the sides of his horse, pushing it into a gallop.

Bjørn joined in with the same cawing sound, piercing my ear. My stomach dropped with anxiety. A sign on the side of the road came into view.

Entering Ravenshadow.

The Night Hunters picked up their pace, and I could feel their excitement. Tension slid off their shoulders in the comfort of returning home, while I absorbed their discarded strain.

The horses clopped onto a cobbled street, the bright moonlight breaking past the thinning trees, until the land came into full view before us. A gasp parted my lips, my eyes widening with disbelief and awe.

Perched on a hill next to the wide, rumbling Black Forest River, Ravenshadow castle stood over the town like an ornament. My father had me learn basic geography of our enemy to the north, though my mind had never pictured this. In contrast to the dark backdrop, it was painted in bright, saturated yellows, pinks, blues, and reds. The huge palace covered the mountain like a whimsical story with its wide turrets, dome towers, fanciful steeples, ornamental battlements, and decorative terraces. A deep red defensive wall surrounded the town below the castle, the roofs of the homes peeking up, smoke billowing from their chimneys, hinting at the large village inside the barrier.

“It’s . . .” I trailed off, still trying to take it in. I had always imagined Ravenshadow to be dark and gloomy, a reflection of the people and king living within. It was anything but. “Beautiful.”

“Not what you anticipated?” There was amusement in Bjørn’s tone.

“No.” I shook my head as the horses raced over a decorative stone bridge, torches lighting the way, shining in the water rushing under us.

We entered the bustling village, the various buildings a collision of bright blues, yellows, greens, and pinks. Where Carrion Crow had used soft pastels, the hues here were vibrant and effervescent, defying the night and challenging the moon for its brilliance. The villagers were dressed in the same colorful shades, their dark hair and features blending them into the night, while their clothes spoke in a lively song. Torches and large firepits burned brightly everywhere, giving off so much light that people easily moved around, conversing, laughing, drinking, and going about their day, comfortable and happy in the warm glow. The town was larger than Silvervale, the buildings packed in between markets, pubs, hothouses, bathhouses, food halls, and livestock pens. A few buildings rose above the rest, reaching up to the sky in three or four tiers, like a cake. Night Raven carvings were displayed in detail on the roof of each tier, like they were guarding the village.

Bjørn trotted us through the streets, my focus darting everywhere, lost in the wonder and color of the capital city. Ravenshadow was nothing like I’d invented in my head. I’d figured the selfish, barbaric king let his people live in squalor, starving and miserable, so despondent they couldn’t even hope for a better life. That was not at all what I saw.

Life here seemed similar to home.

Silvervale was laid out in a way that was more systematized and controlled, everything having an area or place. My father preferred order and sense. Ravenshadow seemed chaotic and disordered, yet the villagers went about their lives much like my people did. What I was taught jarred uncomfortably with what I saw, feeling like more foundation under my feet was breaking away. What else was my father wrong about?