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A cold draft howled down the hall, making the hair on the back of her arms stand on end. She studied every inch of the space ahead of her. The bees were still with her, crawling over the walls and the clothes she’d borrowed from the set of drawers beside the bed.
She wrapped her injured arm around her grumbling stomach. Her burn had improved significantly compared to the night before, almost as if she’d used a healing potion.
Where was Arkimedes? Perhaps down in the kitchen having breakfast?
Her heart fluttered at the memories of what he’d told her last night. “I will not change my mind. I love you, Nava. If you’ll have me, I will stay.”
He loved her, even without the memories of their shared past. He was choosing to be with her, at least for now. They hadn’t discussed their plans beyond defeating the demons and the man in the shadows.
Would he want to remain in the Copper Kingdom? Would she?
Her answer was simple. This wasn’t her home, and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted it to be. Why stay in a place that had only brought her pain?
She took a quick breath, shaking her head, and stepped out into the hall. She turned right and followed the path to the kitchen, tugging at the soulmate bond and letting it guide her toward Arkimedes.
The floor creaked and snapped beneath her feet. A sudden wind blew her hair into her face, just as the bees buzzed wildly around her.
Nava spun around, her heart in her throat. “Devon?” She hated how her voice sounded like that of a scared child.
The pads of her fingers prickled with nerves and magic. The hall remained empty, but one of the doors stood wide open, swaying slightly on its hinges. That had been shut before. Right?
“If you think this is funny, Devon, it’s not. You’re going to get stung,” she called out, and her aura flashed bright yellow as bees of light joined their friends, wrapping her up in a cocoon.
There was no answer. Nava took a step toward the main stairs that would take her down to the ground floor. But…
Something called her to that room. And she couldn’t resist its pull.
This was the kind of stupid behavior that caused a tragedy, and yet she couldn’t force her feet forward. Even though she knew better. Even though she was hungry and wanted something to eat.
Her mother had loved to remind Nava that her childish curiosity would one day get her killed. And once upon a time, Nava had believed her. But now she was a powerful woman—not a frightened girl.
Sweat beaded on her temple as she crept to the mysterious door. If something or someone was there, they would regret trying to sneak up on her. And if danger awaited her, she could always transfer elsewhere and drag Arkimedes out of this hellhole while she was at it.
Her power surged through her veins, making her feet light. “Is there anyone here?”
An enormous window stretched across the far wall of the small room, flooding its wooden floors with gray morning light. Tattered curtains rustled in a breeze that whispered through shattered glass.
Nava’s tense shoulders dropped as she breathed a sigh of relief. She had been ready to flee or fight for so long—the idea that a simple broken window might be the cause of this had never crossed her mind.
The room, similar to the one she’d slept in with Ark last night, held only a select few pieces of furniture: a small bed in one corner, a desk by the window, and a bookcase on the other side. Other than the mess of papers strewn all over the floor, it was empty. Chewing on her nail, Nava swallowed the remaining panic and edged closer to the table.
The scribbles on the yellowing parchment that lay on the desk were illegible. Nava skimmed the notes but couldn’t comprehend them. Quickly losing interest, she moved on to a book with brown leather binding and uneven pages.
The gilded letters on it read: The Book of the Dead. It’s forbidden by the gods to kill a Crow.
Its pages were thin and deceptively soft, the words inked with swirls of well-practiced calligraphy.
Gooseflesh raked over her skin. The Book of the Dead smelled like its name, and judging by the dust that pricked her nose, no one had opened it in a long time.
Delicate illustrations extended across each spread of pages, painted with burgundy ink that reminded her of dried blood. Roses framed the first image of a woman dressed in the Crows’ black uniform.
She was beautiful, with light hair and youthful features.
Haerion C. Windsboe. Society of Crows member since the age of twenty-two. Killed by a deserter in the Iron Kingdom. Died aged thirty-four. No family survives her.
A heavy weight settled in her stomach as she turned the page, half expecting to see her mother’s face next. Instead, she found one haunted-looking stranger after the other.
Page after page, portraits of dead Society members danced across her vision. The young and the old, each one remembered in detailed, etched drawings.
