Page 6 of Ravenrose

I scoff at the familiar lecture. “It’s easy for Father to say when he controls nearly half the world’s magic himself. No one would dare challenge him, and he likes it that way.”

Riven’s mouth tightens. “I wouldn’t bet on that. Tension with Miselys has moved beyond simple animosity and battles over trade routes. And Kovaria is restless; the raids along the border are only getting worse, and then there are the rumors…” My brother’s tone turns grim, maybe even bitter, before trailing off entirely.

My head whips toward him and I freeze in place. “What rumors?”

Riven looks to the sky, and immediately I know whatever he was about to say isn’t something my ears were meant to hear.

My eyes narrow and I turn around to glare at him. “What are you keeping from me?”

My brother doesn’t get a chance to answer, because just at that moment, Maksa twists in my arms, scrambling up higher until her paws rest atop my shoulders, her ears—still too big for her head—alert and listening.

“Maksa! What—” My spine stiffens, and both Riven and I glance nervously around the dirt path at the surrounding woods. I half expect my governess, Alita, to appear from somewhere in the dense brush, her favorite switch in hand.

I’ve barely regained my grip on the little wolf before she leaps from my shoulder, and the moment her paws touch the ground, the little menace takes off in a full sprint, disappearing between the trees.

“Rowan, don’t⁠—”

“Maksa!” I shout, taking off after her, Riven’s warning an afterthought at my back as I dart into the woods after her.

She was just a little thing when I found her—or rather, when she found me.

Maksa, a tiny wolf pup, just appeared one day. She sat just beyond the tree line of our little training circle, watching me shoot arrows for hours.

She was so skinny, her mostly white coat broken up by large tan patches, with tan and black freckles dusting her muzzle. A small chunk was missing from her left ear, and she was so nervous, any unexpected sound or movement made her flinch.

After I spotted her watching me, I kept up my routine of shooting, careful to keep one eye on the pup and another on the woods, should her mother be lurking nearby.

Only after a long while was she finally brave enough to step within the circle. She didn’t even try to sneak a bite of the snacks I’d brought with me. A few strips of dried meat and cheese lay out on the boulder between us. She just crept closer, watching me all the while.

I’d lost myself in shooting, and the next time I looked up, she was gone. A wave of disappointment slid through me as I scanned the trees, but there was no sign of her.

The next day, she was back. And after nearly another full day of her watching, I carefully set down my bow and quiver, moving closer.

She watched me, but didn’t run as I drew closer and closer until I was close enough to scoop the little thing up and claim her as my own.

The little princess made herself right at home. She slept on my bed, eating the cook’s meals, so long as they were prepared to her own specifications—she’s a spoiled brat.

A brat who would not survive a minute in these gods-forsaken woods alone.

Maksa flies through the training circle quick as lightning. When she reaches the trees again, she changes direction, bearing further south.

I tear after her, hastily snatching an arrow from my quiver while running through the circle and loading it into my bow—just in case.

It’s not long until I lose sight of her completely, my heart racing as panic sets in, and I slow my pace, searching through the thick vegetation for any sign of her pretty white and tan fur. After a few long seconds, I realize I’m much farther into the woods than I’ve ever been before.

“Maksa!” I call out, my voice echoing in the surrounding quiet.

I stop, holding my breath, desperate to hear the familiar sound of her whine when she wants to be picked up, or the sound of her feet thrumming across the thick mess of pine needles below. But I hear nothing, nothing besides the faint chatter of birds and the brush of the leaves in the breeze. Until⁠—

What was that?

Voices?

Hoofbeats?

I twist around, trying to orient myself off the path. Am I close to the road?

I inhale sharply, still pressing forward but slower now, growing more cautious the deeper into the woods I go. But hope rises when the surrounding trees thin, the dark forest lightening as the sky becomes visible once again. Tripping over roots on my way out of the woods, relief floods through me when I spot Maksa, sitting atop the small hillside just ahead—staring at me.