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“Your brother won’t get far. Don’t worry, we’ll bring him back to you.” A kick into my stomach sent me rolling over the stone. “Back into your cell where you belong.”
Bile welled from my throat, bitter and biting, collecting in my mouth only to drool from my parted lips and my nostrils. “Harlen?”
When no answer came, cold sweat doused my skin. Time slipped away, racing so fast, it turned me nauseous, or creeping at the excruciating pace of eternities. Pain held every fiber of my body in a tight grip, keeping me paralyzed on the ground for I didn’t know how long.
The brain-numbing screech of hinges caught my feeble focus, eyes going to a guard who held something draped over his arms. Four limbs, a body, and a head with long black hair that wobbled listlessly with the motion. Until he placed it on the ground before me, making me stare at Harlen’s black ink mark beneath his ear. A river of blood welled from his head, seeping into his abandoned eyes, turning them crimson.
“Here’s a meal for’ye, courtesy of the Lord Brisden.” With a chuckle, he turned and walked away. “A feast fit for ye ravens, ye filthy carrion feeder. Kraa. Kraa.”
ChapterSixteen
Galantia
Present day, Deepmarsh Castle
With my back pressed against the stone frame and one leg stretched out on its sill, I sat inside the corridor’s window since it offered the most light this late in the day, the book resting on my lap bound in blackened leather. It had appeared by my door the morning after the library atop a few others with no note. Not that it had needed one. The title gave away my ever-so-vexing benefactor.
Ravens: a Compendium of Gifts.
As far as gifts went, there existed four major types of Ravens: weavers, fates, pathfinders, and voids. Except for the pathfinder, all came with variations, such as voids who could absorb other’s shadowsgifts, temporarily wielding them as their own. They called them echos—a rare gift, but not nearly as rare as its third variation.
The thief.
I ran my fingertip along the lines in the book as I read…
There once was a Raven, blessed with the gift of the thief. So empty was the void at his core, so desperate for shadows, he stole the gifts of three deathweavers and wielded them as his own. Great was the power he gained for the house Khysal, crowning himself king. Greater even was the burden he carried, the rage of stolen shadows within. Until, one fateful night, they swallowed him whole, turning blessing to blight.
“Galantia,” Cici said, making me look up from the book and to where she stood before me with two young women. “Will you join us for a stroll through the market?”
I looked out the window. The lowering sun illuminated a set of tables where tankards stood about. Men lifted cups, tossed knucklebones over the rough-hewn wood, and traded coins with the wenches who kept the drink flowing. Some even danced in what appeared to be a town square, spinning circles around each other as void of grace as they were of care.
My heart ached. What would it feel like to be down there, surrounded by so much life? What could it hurt if I allowed myself a taste of it? Just once?
I closed the book and slipped off the sill, acknowledging the two females beside her with a nod. “I’ll come.”
Introductions were made as I followed them down the stairs. Outside in the courtyard, Sebian aimed a black shadowy arrow at a nearby target. A pathfinder trait, which explained why I’d never seen a quiver on him. When the arrow dissolved into thin air, he glanced over his shoulder at me as though he’d sensed me. Or… smelled me?
I dipped my head, cheeks heating at the memory of how his skilled fingers had brought me pleasure like none before. Had I wanted it? No. But I had liked it! For that reason, and the fact that Sebian seemed to be my only source of reprieve in this place, I’d decided not to hold it against him.
But it couldn’t happen again.
“Here.” Gabilla reached me her brown scarf, her fluff of black hair neatly pinned up. “Drape it over your head.”
“Thank you.” I wrapped it around me, tugging it over my blonde strands. “With your black curls, I guess you can easily blend in.”
At an elegant gesture of her hand, black shadows appeared between her fingers, weaving into a sort of cape which she wrapped around her shoulders. Shadowcloth. She was a weaver.
“Yes, I blend in easily,” she said, sharing a giggle with Cici, whereas the other girl ran off toward a store. “You, however, do not. Allow me to suggest that, out here, you keep your name to yourself. There is no love for you here.”
Oh please, there was no love for me anywhere, which made it all the easier to ignore her snarky remark. I focused on my surroundings instead, taking everything in with parted lips and a wild flurry of excitement at my core.
Whenever I’d stood on Tidestone’s outer bailey as a child, watching the harvest lanterns illuminate the faraway windows of Glosten, I’d imagined a town to smell like sweet bread, foreign spices, and roasted meat. This place quickly cured me of that romantic illusion. It smelled like shit, urine, and unwashed bodies.
And I loved it!
My entire body thrummed with energy as we passed the merchants’ wooden carts that lined the moss-covered curtain wall, craning my neck this way and that. I wanted to see it all! The exotic fruits, silky linens, and strange trinkets brought here from lands I would never visit. Where did they lay? How long would one have to travel to reach them?
I stopped in front of a cart and reached for one such trinket, running the tip along the row of small, greenish-blue stones strung onto leather. Veins of gold scattered around the beads, which reflected a hint of pink coming from the setting sun. How beautiful it was, so rich in color.
