Page 23 of Heart of the Raven Prince

What use am I?

I want to laugh, or maybe cry, because the answer is bleak and resounding as it echoes in my mind and soul: nothing. I can do nothing. I am useless.

No—I am not useless. I am a fucking queen in hiding.

Holding my chin up high, I hold her gaze firmly as I say, “I am a warrior.”

She does not laugh, but the men at the door do, and I grit my teeth at their condescending tone. She rolls her eyes, crosses her arms, and makes a show of eyeing me up and down.

“A warrior? Are you saying you want to join the ranks?” She quirks a brow at me, her expression telling me she doesn’t believe a word of what I say.

“If the human bitch thinks she can make it in the prince’s army, let her,” one of the fae guarding the door calls, poking his head in as his counterpart laughs and shakes his head. “I’m sure the men would put her to good use.”

“A hunter then,” I amend, trying to hide a growl as I grip my fists tightly at my sides.

“Look, you’re doing yourself no favors by blatantly trying to gain a weapon,” the fae before me says as the men continue to laugh and jeer. I shut their voices out and focus on her. “What did you do before? What trade did you have? Something useful, unless you want to end up in the ore mines.”

“Or you can end up in my bed,” a guard calls, the other belly laughing in response.

“A seamstress."

The fae woman and I both turn to the voice. A woman standing by the bolts of material is giving me a wide-eyed look of wonder. Her bright blonde hair is pulled back tightly like all the humans I’ve seen, a silver chain dangling from her ear. She’s wearing a simple brown gown with a white apron—the style is similar to the odd fashion here, if more subdued. She’s looking at me with pleading blue eyes, holding onto a bolt of black silk like it’s a life raft in a tumultuous sea.

I know her.

She was the woman crying amongst the prisoners the night my home was destroyed. She’s from Gaelynn.

“She’s a seamstress, like me,” the woman continues, striding forward, her eyes firmly on me. Now that she’s close, I can see the charm on her earring looks like a needle with thread dangling off it.

“And just how would you know that?” the fae woman asks, blinking placidly at us.

“We worked together in Castle Windspire. We serve the queen—” she gulps, blinking rapidly against the shimmering in her eyes. “—Served.”

That’s how I know her.

My mother employed her, she is an expert when it comes to crafting beautiful gowns, but where she really shines is in her skills with embroidery. I swallow hard as a wave of grief hits me, and I wonder if she is remembering it too when I see a sheen of moisture in her eyes. Recalling my mother’s sunny sitting room, always full of her ladies-in-waiting gossiping and laughing together. Does the memory fill her with an uncontrollable rage? Is she lost completely to fury over the life that was taken from us?

I am.

“You would be wise to remember there is only one True Queen,” the fae before us says, her voice dropping so low I can barely hear it. I note her glancing at the red-eyed guards at the door, who have seemed to stop caring about making more jokes at my expense.

“Yes, I’m a seamstress,” I finally answer, turning back to the fae who simply nods and scratches something in the ledger before sorting through the pile of chain earrings. She pulls out one with a matching needle and thread charm, holding it out to me. “Are they pierced?” she asks, nodding to my ears.

I merely take the chain and slip the hook through the hole in my ear. I’m glad my mother convinced me to pierce them when I was younger, though I had little interest in jewelry. The long needle situated beside the pile of earrings seems closer to a torture device than an instrument to pierce my ears. I can’t tell if it’s covered in blood or rust, and I find I don’t want the answer.

“I can show her where to go,” the seamstress says, and the fae woman grunts out a response, shooing us off with her hands, not even bothering to look up. The seamstress grabs my hand and begins hurriedly pulling me from the stone building.

When we pass the guards at the door, one of them grabs my upper arm and halts us, pulling me tight against him as he hisses, “The offer still stands. If you ever want to prove what a good warrior you are, I'm sure I can find the perfect position for you.”

I add him to the list of men I’m going to kill and pull my arm forcefully from his grip. The seamstress hurriedly leads us away from the jeering fae, deeper into the city. My gaze darts around, taking in the ramshackle homes and the humans that dart about. They all sport the single earring, and I begin to study the varying charms in their ears. I see a knife, stalks of wheat, a hammer, a key, but the one that stands out the most is a ruby droplet. I don’t have to think hard to guess what that one might represent.

“I’m so glad to see you,” the seamstress whispers to me, pulling me close, hiding her mouth behind the bolt of black silk. “Well, not glad. Relieved. After that night, after the general took you…" She trails off, a complicated look crossing her face at the mention of the general. Swallowing hard, she continues, "We suspected the worst.”

“We?” I ask, my heart beating rapidly as I don’t dare to hope. “The others? They’re—”

“Alive,” she breathes, and my knees nearly give out as relief crashes through me. The survivors are alive. My people are still alive.

And it’s now my sole purpose to get them the fuck out of here.