In the former great kingdom of Raven’s Landing, Castle Fjallraven stood as a proud monument in service of the sea, the fields, and the people.
With no thanks to the silver king who has reigned since I was a lad, it’s now etched with soot. Thatched roofs burned. Hearths went cold. Stomachs remain empty. People are bought and sold. The past haunts the harbor with empty nets and the lonely cries of the gulls. Menace, evil, greed, and the demons scatter hope to the farthest fringes.
And me? I’m on the other side of the broad wall, willing a low murmur of voices not to come closer. Are they patrols? Demons on the borders? Night howls stalking their dinner?
I flatten myself against the trunk of a tree and listen. Rustling fills my ears. A howl in the hills. And a heartbeat just above me. Curious. My senses are sharp, honed by necessity. I glance up, but before I can sense whether whoever hides there is a threat, the outline of a person staggers closer.
I remain vigilant until I determine it’s not the nebulous form of a demon or the helmet of a patrolman appearing in the dark—not that they often dare to go beyond the wall. Without warning, I sidestep, pivot, and wrap my arm around the neck of the figure. He’s solid. No helmet. I squeeze tight and growl, “Friend or foe?”
“Hungry,” he croaks.
My stomach agrees.
Something pointy nudges me from behind. He has a companion. I should’ve known they’d work in pairs. I use the captive as a shield and spin around.
“Should we be asking you the same thing? Are you loyal to the king?” The second person is gaunt, hungry, a woman with ink-covered hands—the sign of a Raven’s Landing rebel.
I smile because the king’s inky punishment doesn’t reach outside the wall and I can speak freely without fear that my skin will be stained with the ink curse. “I am not loyal to the king,” I hiss with disdain.
“Then where does your loyalty lie?” she asks.
The moon reveals the blade is dull and a gust of wind suggests my foe has been drinking stijl—the black teeth in her mouth rot in confirmation.
“You should sharpen that,” I suggest, nodding at the blade.
“On your bones,” she spits.
“Not likely,” I say, discretely drawing my own blade, which is quite sharp. I keep vigilant but don’t get the sense that the person in the tree is with them.
“If you’re interested in defeating the king you should also avoid the stijl.” That’s what keeps everyone inside the wall. Well, except these two podgers. The threat of the patrol, the demons that haunt the night, and the lack of food, shelter, freedom, along with the constant craving for more stijl keep everyone compliant.
Well, almost everyone.
She grunts. “Why’re you out here?”
“Not to argue about alliances.”
The guy in my arms wiggles. “Let me go,” he says.
I shove him toward the woman.
A slight rustling sounds from above in the tree. They don’t notice.
“The king’s collectors took everything of mine, bled me dry. A nixer is what he is.” He adjusts his jacket.
I nod in agreement and exhale. These slugs are no physical threat to me and if anything, we see things similarly. “Why are you out here?” I say, volleying the question back at them.
They stand opposite me, and I see a resemblance in the shape of their eyes and the lines puckering their downturned lips. Siblings?
He says, “Food, you fool.”
She says, “Air.”
This gives me pause. “Me too, but I’ve been up here since the demon hour—nightfall. It’s nearly barren. I think you’ll have better luck over there,” I say, pointing to the next rise of hills.
“Would you now?” the gaunt guy says, licking dry lips and unwavering in his quest.
I exhale. I recognize their hunger so well. “Fine. I’ll get us dinner then leave me in peace.” I sigh and lift my bow to the tree, narrowing my eyes. I take aim and then adjust several degrees before letting the arrow fly.
A soft thump hits the grass then another. My stomach tightens then sinks as it always does when my arrow strikes a bird. “One for me. One for you.”
“Are there more?” the guy asks with a slur.
Greedy dowser. “Not tonight,” I say. “Now go.” I straighten to my full, imposing height.
The guy nods, snapping up the bird. The woman surveys me with unchecked hostility.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter and don’t move until they disappear beneath the hill.
I lean against the trunk, listening for their departure, ensuring the patrol isn’t nearby and that I’m alone with whoever remained silent, perched in the tree, through that ordeal.
“Are you hungry?” I whisper. May as well feed the village while I’m at it.
When there’s no response, I begin to prepare the fowl for dinner. “I prefer it cooked, but don’t want to risk a fire even if it keeps the demons away.” I take a gamey bite. “It’s not bad.”
The shifting and snapping of branches come from above.
“I don’t bite,” I say around a mouthful. “Generally speaking.” I swallow the meat. “If I was going to hurt you, I’d have shot you with the arrow.” And if you were going to hurt me, you had ample opportunity while I was dealing with that drunken pair.
Ordinarily, I don’t go for leaving my back unprotected, not even for a minute, but whoever is in the tree doesn’t want to be seen and those of us outside the walls of Raven’s Landing usually have a good reason.
I turn and startle as pale blue eyes stare at me from the dark. She must’ve dropped from the tree
