The next hours flurry by as we prepare to mobilize. Dusk comes early as the dying sun drifts behind storm clouds.
“It doesn’t look like the weather will be on our side,” Trotter says, closing a heavy curtain and locking up the tavern for the night.
Ten men and women, including Gerda and Grunk, remain and we discuss their positions and roles in the inner court once they leave the raven’s belly.
Later, Trotter treats us to a hearty dinner. Cider flows and a game of tiles starts, in which I win, giving my dukhs to Trotter as repayment for his generosity. He refuses them.
Afterward, Kiki and I excuse ourselves to the shed to check on the raven. On my way, I sneak into Trotter’s office and leave the dukhs in the drawer of his desk.
We settle in a nest of leftover straw, conferring in whispers, going over our respective roles in the plan, and trying to find loopholes, weak spots, and problems. As Gerda said, no one person should know the entire plan, but we trust each other.
“Aren’t you tired?” I ask. I am and cold. I blow onto my fingers and rub them together.
“A bit,” she admits. “But I’ve only been in Raven’s Landing a short time. I imagine the people here are more tired of the king’s tyranny than I am missing a night’s sleep. It’s a small price to pay.”
“What about your magic?”
“It’s unexpected,” she whispers in the near darkness. “It seems like the more I use my fae powers, the more energy and power I have.”
“You aren’t scared,” I say. I am.
“He wants us to be afraid. Right now we have the opportunity to rise above our fears and do what’s right.”
“Freedom is right,” I say.
“Love is right,” she adds.
My lips land on hers because despite her courage, this could be the last time. I tangle my hands in her hair, drawing her mouth to mine again and again, kissing her lips, her cheeks, the smooth places behind her ears. Our hands link together.
I promise myself to her, to our future, leaving no room for fear. We’re committed to freedom, maybe even to love. We melt in each other’s arms, pressed together, a wordless vow that no matter what, we’ll never let go.
Her lips part slowly and she says, “Soren, my name is Ineke.”
“Ineke,” I repeat, feeling the sound of it on my lips. In her eyes, I see not just possibility, but infinity.
“I feel like I know you now and you know me. My name is a promise to you. Only you. I won’t leave your side.” She pauses and then adds, “Not until this is over.”
“What about after this is over?” I whisper as we lean closer. “What if I won’t leave your side?”
“Then you’ll make me very happy.” Her smile warms me.
I’m so close to her lips I notice a little crescent-shaped scar on her chin and I kiss it.
I fall into a restless sleep, my dreams violent, and desperate. I try to grasp hope—that we’ll make it, save the people of Raven’s Landing from the king, the Shadow Army, and that I’ll have the opportunity to remain by Kiki’s side. I hesitate to use her full name. It holds power I’m not sure I’m ready for.
It’s still dark when Kiki gently nudges me awake. “It’s time,” she whispers, still wrapped in my arms. I reluctantly brush off sleep, wishing we could stay in the safety and warmth of this straw bed for days.
Trotter helps us roll the raven onto the street. We avoid torchlight, but several seers surround us, watching for demons. Ten members of the Rising hide in the raven’s belly, including Gerda and Grunk.
The light behind shuttered windows flickers. Overnight, Raven’s Landing didn’t seem to fall into a deep slumber while the rumors about the return of the ravens trickled like a stream of water, growing into rushing rapids.
The sky weighs heavy with clouds, masking the moon and likely, within the next hours, the sun. We move slowly through the town and toward the castle.
The ashpit, just outside the castle gate, smolders with the reminder of the king’s cruelty. Patrols assemble on the far side of the moat, standing guard. The king’s mage, Glandias, the same bald, robe-wearing woman who greeted Kiki in the daylight when she first tried to meet the king, waits for us as we proceed along the icy ground.
“You returned.” Her voice is like sour milk.
“We have a gift for the king,” I announce.
“A gift?” she asks suspiciously, her laughter liquid. “Are you turning yourselves in for breaking the law?”
“We broke the law to bring him the ravens he seeks,” I say.
Kiki’s shoulders rack with a harsh cough.
Glandias appraises her and then warily at the wooden construction at our backs. “Quite a large enclosure for such small creatures.”
“We have quite a few.”
On cue, a cacophonous kraa kraa slips between the slats. However, it must be convincing enough because the rattle of the chains to the gate clink. If the bridge hadn’t lowered, we’d be able to cross the moat on the tension floating between the patrol, the king’s mage, and us.
Glandias says, “Before I grant you an audience, I must see the birds.”
“That’s not possible,” I say, having prepared for this. “They’re not ordinary birds, as you’re likely aware. If we open the hatch, they’ll attack, again.”
I point to the scratch on my cheek, opposite the scar, courtesy of Gerda and some pig’s blood.
Glandias balks. “You expect me to allow you to present aggressive birds to the king?”
I smile, knowing this was going to be his query. “I trust the king is not afraid of a couple of little birds.” My appraising glance suggests he’s a fool for acknowledging her own fears and doubting her king.
The
