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Maybe. Just not with me.
Never with me.
“But she was betrothed to King Barat,” I said, stating a fact that needed pointing out if one wanted to reach clarity on who was at fault. “Had she done her duty and wed him, our kingdoms would never have gone to war with each other.”
“That’s not how fate works, sweetheart.” Boots lowered to the ground, he straightened, giving a tap at his chest. “Imagine an invisible string tied around your heart, Galantia, right here beneath your ribs, tugging you toward your mate. You long for this person with an intensity that turns every second you are not united into agony. Ever heard the story of Prince Taragor of House Khysal?”
“I have,” I said quickly and perked up, relieved I finally knewsomething. “Insanity made him tie himself to an anchor, letting it pull him to the bottom of some harbor where his ravens drowned.”
“He wasn’t insane.”
“Of course not,” I groaned. “Enlighten me, then.”
“His father ordered that he take some highborn human to wife, even though he’d found his fated mate,” he explained. “When he refused on the grounds that he couldn’t possibly live through the ache of fate urging him to bond with her, his father had the girl burned. In his grief, Prince Taragor took his life, so he may be with her in death where he could not in life. That’s how we long for our mate once revealed. An established bond only amplifies it, along with the strength of our gifts when we are close to each other.”
My ribs curled into my heart. What would it feel like to be loved with such intensity? Such unequivocal fortitude that not even death could impose conditions? I wanted to experience such a love so badly…
“Did King Barat know of their fate?”
“Oh, he knew. From what Asker told me, Malyr’s father offered several coffers ofaerymelto King Barat for the loss of his betrothed.”
“If the pull is truly that strong, why did the king go to war over it? And years after he married Queen Sarai instead?” I’d heard Father describe King Barat as impulsive, but that was still a far cry from plain stupid. “Bad blood flows between many houses.”
Sebian ran a finger over the gold-embossed spine of a book on the stack in front of him. “Why accept coffers full ofaerymelif you can just invade the lands and take the mines?”
Dread knotted my stomach, solidifying the logic in his words before I managed to call him a liar. Full body armor no heavier than a night shift, swords that could cut through thousands of enemies without dulling, ships light enough in the keel to navigate shallow waters…Aerymelwas valuable.
Precious enough for this endless war to be based on a lie?
“There was… friction between King Barat and King Omaniel long before Lady Elnora,” Sebian said. “One accused the other of putting too high a price on the metal, bleeding the royal coffers of Dranada dry to weaken them. Malyr’s father didn’t trust their alliance enough to allow for entire human armies to be equipped withaerymelarmor and weapons.”
“And thekidnappingof Lady Elnora offered the perfect motivation for the banners to eventually rally to King Barat’s side.”
My own words chipped away on my gullibility one childhood tale at a time. What if they hadn’t started the war? What if we had? After the things Cici had told me? And this account? Malyr’s utter hate for my family name? My kind?
It was possible. Plausible, even.
But was it true?
My gaze sunk to the smiling image of Queen Elnora, her dress shaded in the richest pigments of dark blue and ocean-green. “Between our accounts and yours, how can I be certain which one is true?”
“The History of the House Khysal.” Sebian pushed yet another book toward me and tapped at the name engrained into the leather at the bottom of its front. “Recorded by Talahel Surra, who also wrote…” He rummaged through the pile of books I’d brought to the table earlier, tossing them around until he grabbed the one bound in green silk, skimming through the pages with a grin curling his lips. “Ah, here it is. Ravens who give their unkindness leave to feast on rodents’ carcass often find their guts to be infested with parasites. In such case, it is advised to clean the guts with a mash of pumpkin and ground moon nettle each day for a fortnight, so the parasites might be expelled through the passage of the rectum or vent.”
My entire body shuddered. “That’s disgusting.”
“I know! Not flattering to my kind, at all,” he said and shut the book. “You can’t tell me that a Raven who writes about intestinal infestation with such candor could possibly lie about King Omaniel.”
When I spotted how Sebian pouted, as though to contain laughter, I couldn’t stop from chuckling myself. “That’s not truly written in there, is it?”
“No. He talks of feather mites, which isn’t much better. Had them once as a fledgling… cannot recommend it.” Grinning, Sebian tossed the book on the table. “You said when we came here that you wanted to learn more about us.”
I bit down my grin. “About your magic, Sebian.”
“Ah.” He gave me a playful wink. “Let my ravens get that for you.”
In a burst of shadows that made my heart stop, he shifted into his unkindness and disappeared over shelves. I stared behind him, not knowing what to make of this Raven. How could someone be infuriating one moment and kind the next? Fickle bastard.
I rose and strolled along the wall of shelves, running my finger over dozens of spines. Blue silk. Brown leather. Tooled details. Age-faded letters. Most books were written in the common tongue, though some contained the strange letters of what had to be Old Vhaer, telling stories I’d likely never heard of. What if they were all true?
