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“I’d feel fucking insulted if my life is worth a mere sack of grains and a cured ham.” And none of the things hidden beneath the heavy, snow-covered canvas smelled like either. “All I want is to take a quick look beneath—”
Athudof hooves and thejingleof tack drew my attention to the man trotting along the convoy toward me. Lord Taradur sat astride a chestnut horse, which he reined around the tail of the wagon to follow behind it, the man cloaked in snow and a haughty expression.
Great, just what I needed.
“Sebian…” he grunted, brushing the flurry from a beard as red as his daughter’s tresses. “Come to rob the wagon of its wine?”
His comment brushed me the wrong way, but picking a fight probably wasn’t the way to go about this. “I was sent to ensure myself that the transport was going as planned and to inspect the wagons.”
Squinting his brown eyes at me, Lord Taradur scratched his chin, the sound harsh in the cold air, his gaze filled with doubt and suspicion. “Sent by whom?”
My muscles tensed. Good question. Who sent me? Malyr? Taradur knew full well that the prince and I were friends, so the answer seemed feasible. But the way Taradur’s eyes narrowed the longer he stared at me? If Malyr had kept this from me, chances were that this man knew.
I flared my nostrils, trying to take in whatever distinctive smells coming from the wagons might provide me with hints as to what was beneath the damn, oil-soaked burlap. “Captain Asker.”
His gaze turned as icy as the wind that bit at my face. “Turn around and fly back to where you came from, Sebian. Prince Malyr’s orders were clear; nobody is to touch these wagons, and that includes you. I will see to it that these orders are carried out as given.”
The collective unsheathing of swords and tight thrumming of bowstrings that followed hung heavy in the air, a clear warning echoing along the winding passage. This had just become a whole lot more interesting. Because Asker didn’t know, either, did he? Malyr had kept both of us in the dark, scheming behind our backs alongside humans for who knew how long.
I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. I’ll be back with a scroll carrying Malyr’s new orders.”
I shifted faster than the soldiers could gasp, lifting into the air once more. I could feel Taradur’s eyes on me, but as the distance grew, the convoy blurred into inconsequential smudges. He could go fuck himself. No way was I flying back with no idea as to what was going on here to watch Galantia fawn over that fucking liar of a friend, Malyr. How could he betray me like this?
We fought the harsh breeze blowing down from the north until we managed to glide into the safety of a nearby tree line. There we waited, roosting in the skeletal canopy of a gnarled old pine, our eyes never leaving the line of wagons as it trudged along the horizon. The sun was going down, bringing with it that damn cold that pricked and itched my marred skin. Silence fell over the Sage Passage soon enough, just like expected.Pfft… humans. No skill at navigating through the night…
When the creaks of wagon wheels made room for the laughter of the soldiers and thethudsof whatever they unloaded from one of the carts, we silently glided from branch to branch. Not a single beat of a wing fluttered through the quickly approaching darkness, allowing us to sneak up on the resting convoy.
The soldiers busied themselves around their hastily made campfires, their laughter and jests melding with the crackling of flames. Their coarse laughter punctuated with crude jokes and the occasional belch. Some relieved themselves right beneath us, but we stayed still.
Once near enough to the road, we glided to the ground, hopping over the blanket of snow as we neared one of the central wagons, silent as shadows. There we waited, and waited.
A laugh.
Loud and rolling.
In a single, communal flap of wings, we hopped onto the tailgate of the wagon. From there, our beaks poked and prodded at the canvas. Our primal shook a crown of snow off its head. Then we slipped beneath the burlap, our sharp vision slicing through the dark.
The first touch of talons on the stacked cargo sent a wave of confusion through us. There was no texture of sacks filled with grains, no piles of shifting potatoes or bundles of carrots, and not a trace of salt from cured meats.
Instead, the interior was crammed with wooden posts, an array of planks, and cold iron fittings. Rough ropes coiled like sleeping snakes around it all. Glinting hooks lay here and there, along with enormous… arrows?
Yes, arrows.
For a ballista.
Realization slammed into us like a blizzard as this came together, cutting deeper than the winter’s chill. Malyr wasn’t going to feed Tidestone; he was going to attack it. And what in the name of the goddess had he promised Taradur to gain him as a trustworthy ally?
ChapterForty
Galantia
Present Day, Deepmarsh Castle
The grandeur of the great hall unfolded before me in a breathtaking spectacle of black and white feathers as if night and day embraced each other, intertwining the dark history between our kinds with the bright hope that lay ahead. The sheer opulence of intricate details—from the bone-carved birds sitting at the center of feather wreaths to the black skulls painted onto ribbons that sprouted from between their shafts—put even the lavish carriage in which I’d traveled to shame.
And it was all for me…
The sight caused something beneath my ribs to bubble like sparkling cider, tickling my heart with an unconfined glee as I spun around my own axis, trying to take it all in. Long tables sat heavily under the weight of black cloth, woven from shadows, their surfaces glimmering with polished silverware. Crystal goblets caught the light from the towering stained-glass windows and scattered it in gleaming prisms. Garlands of intertwined twigs hung from the rafters, adorned with a collection of Raven treasures—nails and ribbons, glass shards and coins, pebbles and chestnuts.
