She hesitantly sits, all the while watching me with those startling, icy eyes, rimmed with faint glitter.
“A golden bird has been keeping me company on my journey. Maybe I’ll have better luck getting answers out of him.” Frustration lashes her words.
“The golden raven?” I ask.
As far as I know, the golden raven only protects the fae and they don’t cross the Raven’s Landing border. Could she be fae? I glance at her startlingly light eyes almost like ice. Fae have lavender eyes. Hers aren’t quite that color. “Are you—?”
“I am not afraid,” she says as though trying to convince herself of the last part.
“You should be,” I mumble.
Her gaze remains fixed stubbornly ahead.
“Listen, there are some people here that can do things, um, powerful things,” I hint, thinking of the seer I saw not long ago who made up some convoluted prophecy about starlight and brown bread—and strangely, that’s what I see twinkling and spilling from her eyes. Well, not the bread part.
As though the fight in her takes flight, she drops her head into her hands. “Terra? Borea? I don’t understand. My mother is gone. And I was given some note about the world ending,” she says.
“If you ask anyone in Raven’s Landing, they’d say it already has.” I lift a pouch of water to my lips and then pass it to her. Our hands brush again. Something within me feels like it’s flapping magnificent wings against my insides.
No longer on her feet, ready to fight, it seems as though exhaustion consumes her.
“We’ll stay here until the first light of dawn.”
She mumbles, “Then you’ll take me to your king.” It’s a statement, not a question.
Silence stretches between us, filling every space except my head and heart. I study her profile before looking away.
She might be fearless, but for all my robust bravado, I’m not; at least not as far as she’s concerned. I didn’t think I was afraid of anything. Turns out I am. “Take you to the king? I wouldn’t do that to you,” I whisper.
Her eyes are closed, and her breathing is soft. I hope she doesn’t hear the hammering of my heart.
My mind drifts, but I don’t sleep. I can’t. Not with her beside me. Her eyelashes brush the glitter frozen on her cheeks. Her eyebrows crest along her forehead and wisps of dark hair tease out from under her hat. Lacking the light of the sun, her skin is pale. And her lips…they’ll become the thing of my dreams.
Chapter 4
Soren
I wake with a start when a chill washes over me. A cold hand covers my mouth and ice-blue eyes stare into mine. I have the urge to throw her hand from me, but she presses her finger to her lips. Lips I wouldn’t mind on mine.
She mouths, “You were talking in your sleep.”
“Did I say anything notable?” My voice is garbled under her hand. Then I smirk, the dream returning to me in disordered pieces.
“You mentioned brown bread.” The edge of a smile teases me and then she lifts her blade, gets to her feet, and stalks through the grass.
The sun hasn’t yet replaced the moon. The foggy marine layer drifting from the sea doesn’t reveal how close it is to daylight. I get the sense we’re not alone, but her knife won’t do us much good. I glimpse glowing yellow eyes in the murk. I grab her, knocking us both toward the trunk of the tree.
This time I put my hand over her mouth and whisper, “Night howls.”
Her eyes widen as the massive and muscular, blue-black outline of three dogs approach a stone in the center of the field. They might be slow-moving from a distance, but they’re as hungry for us as I am for a warm meal—brown bread specifically.
They linger by the stone, sniffing then their figures fade against the night sky before appearing again like the mist rolling in from the sea. One lifts its muzzle and sniffs the air. Its eyes flash ochre in our direction.
They begin stalking toward us, and I clutch her closer to me. Three sets of sharp eyes come into focus. The air chills as they near. I don’t dare look away, wishing my heartbeat were as loud as the drums that pulse from the watchtowers on the edges of Raven’s Landing, repelling them. The low growls coming from their throats remind me how unsafe the hills are. I grip the knife at my waist, but I don’t dare make the first move and spook them.
I remember the story of a man who came shambling into the Roost at dusk, hanks of skin hanging from his bones, grisly in the low light. His wife and brother rushed to his aid, but he attacked them and sent everyone scattering. They bit two children before the drums scared them to the other side of the wall where they’re meant to scare us into staying inside the boundary. The king and his curses.
The strange and beautiful girl beside me doesn’t flinch when the night howls are just an arms’ length away. She stares at them and then gently whispers, “Go home,” as though it’s an invitation and not a warning.
She clutches her fist in their direction. I want to draw it back so they don’t nip, tearing her arm off, but I don’t dare make a sudden move.
Tension rolls from her shoulders.
They stand there a moment longer, studying us. Her voice is lower, commanding, when she repeats, “Go home.” It’s as
