Bound In Inked Flame (Of Crows and Thorns Saga #1)

1. Chapter 1

1

Nelle

When I was fourteen, I was promised to another.

Promised to a sullen Crowther.

It had been me they’d wanted all along—not my elder sister.

Whenever the Houses had come together and I’d been allowed to attend, for some strange reason, my gaze had always been drawn to his.

But I thought little of him and he felt the same.

Both of us were from powerful Houses.

House Crowther was old and ruthless.

Great House Wychthorn ruled over them all.

While he was a young lord raised in the art of violence, I was a princess.

A princess of the underworld.

A princess whose subjects weren’t just thieves and murderers, but stealers of souls, enders of lives.

T onight, my sister was the sacrifice for Great House Wychthorn.

“Shoes, Nelle… Shoes, ” Evelene muttered while batting her fingers at my too-big dress and the tiny bristles hooked into the grass-stained fabric.

Glancing down, my bare feet greeted me. I wiggled my dirt-crusted toes and grinned.

Our eldest sister Annalise tossed me a pair of ballet flats while shooting a pointed look— now.

I poked my tongue out in her direction and shoved my feet into the shoes. My entire body recoiled at the restricting sensation—I hated the feeling of confinement. Of being separated from the ground.

Annalise pulled a face back before moving behind my short figure, trying to tame my hair. Her fingers plucked out leaves and snagged on a knot. I winced, yowling loudly.

Evelene wiped at something smeared upon my forehead. Her thumb came away soot-stained. “She should change—”

“There’s no time. They’ve already arrived.” Annalise fussed with my hair before hissing between her teeth and flinging up her hands in good-natured commiseration. “I give up. That’s the best I can do, little sister.”

Evelene nudged me with a hip, unbalancing me, and earning herself a pinch from my wicked fingers. Our joyful laughter bounced off the vaulted ceiling as we shared cheerful grins.

I laced my hands with Evelene and Annalise. I loved my sisters. We were a trio, and it pained me we were slowly breaking apart.

Annalise was already promised to House Reska.

And no one would marry me at fourteen.

So that left Evelene. I hated that the Crowthers would soon be coming between us, stealing Evelene away.

“Girls.” My father’s baritone voice cut through the room. “Now.”

My sisters hurried over to where my mother stood next to the arrangement of elegant seating facing one another. I remained in the great room as my father strode toward me, tall and distinguished in a three-piece suit. He came to a standstill, his smooth slender fingers curling about my forearms while his sharp gaze scanned my face as if reading one of his reports. “Are you burned out?”

I’d spent the last two hours in the woods preparing for this meeting. I nodded—I’d burned myself out as best as I could, considering the circumstances of tonight.

The older I got, the stranger I’d become. My father didn’t know what to make of me and neither did I. Of late, I could hear whispers across the room as if they’d been spoken into my ear. I didn’t even need to lurk outside my father’s office to overhear his conversation. Instead, I’d lingered at the far end of the hallway and heard him inform my sisters in hushed tones about this intended visit from House Crowther. That’s how I knew the reason the Crowthers were here and what they wanted. Annalise and Evelene had been briefed, but my parents wished to keep the knowledge from me. To keep me safe from them.

House Crowther had been granted a boon. They could ask for the hand of any daughter from any House for any one of their sons. There were four brothers in total. All with unruly black hair and a mixture of violet eyes. All but for the second-eldest—Graysen—he was the only one with eyes as black as a crow’s feather. Rather appropriate, I thought. The color of his irises and the roguish waves of dark hair fitted his surname perfectly.

One of the brothers would marry Evelene. Most likely the eldest.

The Crowthers visited each of the Upper Houses and their daughters, but it was a mere formality. Everyone knew they’d pick our House for marriage. An alliance with Great House Wychthorn was more than advantageous. It was practically a promise to raise their family to an Upper House.

Resignation pinched Evelene’s beautiful face.

Jittering on the spot, I whispered, “Maybe they won’t pick Evvie. Maybe they’ll pick another daughter from another House.”

I met my father’s furious stare, shrinking a little under the anger of the man who ruled over all the Houses. Godsdammit, I’d given myself away. He now knew I’d overheard him talking to my sisters about tonight. Both my parents agreed to keep this from me. Only telling me that our two Houses would be meeting. An introduction. A formality.

“Can’t we overturn it?”

He shook his head, his severe features tightening. We both knew that would not happen.

He cupped my chin, tilting my face up. “Calm,” he advised. “Calm, Nelle, calm. ”

I nodded, rolling my shoulders to ease away the tension. My wrist was bound with a necklace of beads, not formed from glass, but made of a much stronger material—adamere. Freeing a loop long enough to slide through my fingers, I rubbed each bead between my thumb and middle finger and recited my own prayer. With each bead, each heartbeat, each breath, my mantra— My roots are deep. My strength is stone. My breath the wind. I bow to none.

My father led me over to my mother and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before he took his place beside Evelene, nodding to the servant to allow the Crowthers to enter our domain.

I didn’t like the look and feel of the Crowthers as they strode in. They were a blot of darkness in our great room with its white marble floor and walls, our antique furniture adorned in silver and gray. They seemed made of night and shadows, sucking in the light of the room.

The brothers ranged in age from fifteen to twenty-one. There was something wild and untamed about them that was at odds with their elegant suits and polished leather shoes.

The air in the light, spacious room was thick with tension. There were more of my family guards in attendance than usual. I wasn’t sure what the outcome would be and who would remain standing between us if our visitors struck. The Crowthers were enforcers who oversaw the cartels and crime syndicates for the Horned Gods. Even I’d heard the whispers about Lower House Crowther and their enhanced strength and speed. They were deadly weapons and dealt in violence. It was an art to them—death.

We stood in a row. Evelene’s arm was curled tightly around our father’s. Annalise stood beside her. Then came my mother and me.

Evelene would sit by my father. The Crowthers’ attention would be on him and her. While Annalise and I were purposely dressed in muted colors, Evelene wore resplendent burnt orange. Saint Laurent had designed the haute couture dress, especially for this occasion, and its sleek lines curved precisely to her figure. At seventeen, Evelene was breathtaking. Tawny hair burnished with gold hung over her shoulders in a cascade of soft waves. And her eyes, the color of a sun-drenched ocean, lit up further with her smiles.

We politely greeted the Crowthers, one by one.

They bowed.

We did not.

Varen, the Crowthers’ patriarch, was bigger and broader, and more weathered than my father. My father exuded power, bending dangerous men to his will. Varen felt just as powerful, but lethal in a different way.

His twin sister Valarie reflected his black hair with a few locks streaked with gray. Her violet gaze pierced through mine as if she wanted to empty my head of every single thought. My mother’s breathing was erratic. A thin sheen of sweat coated her upper lip and her hands trembled. She was more than nervous of the elder Crowthers.

Then came the brothers. Curiosity caused my gaze to slide over what I could see of their tattoos peeking beneath the collars of their crisp white shirts. They were all tattooed, though the younger brothers less so than the elder two with the ink crawling up the column of their necks. The tattoos were similar with whorls of flames, yet the patterns were individual and distinct from one another.

Lastly came their baby-sister Ferne, clinging to the arm of the second-eldest—Graysen.

Ferne was a few years younger than me, but I was short and slight for my age, so we were the same height. Like her brothers, her hair was an inky darkness. A great curtain of hair swept across her forehead and covered one eye. An eye I might have been able to see if not for the delicate white lace strapped across her brow, obscuring her sight.

As I stood beside my mother, I stared unashamedly at the other girl, unconsciously swaying my weight from foot to foot. Halfway through my mother’s conversation with Ferne, I realized the other girl was mirroring my movements. It wasn’t as exaggerated as my own, but I caught it. She lingered too, much longer than the time she’d spent talking to my father and sisters, but despite her small talk with my mother, her entire focus was fixed on me. I could detect her interest humming like a live wire, while her brother barely glanced my way. And when he was forced to answer one of my mother’s questions, he replied in a bored, flat tone.

He wasn’t as disinterested in me as he was trying to make out. I sensed his intrigue—my skin prickling with awareness—as it crackled back and forth between us .

I shouldn’t have. My father warned me implicitly not to, but I sent my senses swirling outward in a featherlight brushstroke against Graysen, curious to feel him. Sometimes, not always, I could discern the essence of the person, their soul, I suppose, like the sun on my skin. Purity was a dry summer’s heat. Kindness and sincerity were a spring afternoon. Some souls warmed my flesh like dappled sunlight on a crisp fall morning. But others, the worst kind, mostly the souls born into the Houses that served the Horned Gods, leaked a bone-chilling coldness like twilight creeping on a wintry afternoon.

This Crowther, his soul, who he was, was a contradiction. It was the cold snap before dawn. But there was warmth, a purity too, and I didn’t know what to make of it. Of him.

Whatever lurked beneath my skin purred.

Graysen’s attention sliced my way. His nostrils flared as if he suspected what I was doing and hated it.

Guilt and worry urged me to rein my senses in, much like reeling in a loose skein of wool. My fingers went for the beads twined around my wrist—a comfort and reminder to keep myself in check.

I smiled at Ferne. “You can see me.”

“I can feel you,” she replied, her voice low and raspy.

The temperature in the room dropped. Every single one of the Crowthers swung my way. Their attention was honed and frigid.

“Why are your eyes covered?”

“It makes people feel more comfortable. ”

“I’ve seen blind people before. They don’t cover their eyes.”

She replied coldly, “I don’t have eyes.”

“Nelle,” my mother hissed in warning.

But it spilled from me. “What do you mean?” No eyes? Had she been born that way? If I were to pull back the lace, would I find empty pockets of flesh?

Graysen bristled. His dark gaze brimmed with violent emotion. Ferne brushed a comforting stroke along her brother’s hand while my mother squeezed my arm so hard I almost winced. A silent warning not to say another word.

Ferne angled her head, and the dark locks of hair swayed with the gesture. “My eyes…they were stolen from me.”

I blinked. So many questions swirled in my head. The first, the loudest— Who had stolen them?

Ferne politely dipped her head, ending our conversation, and her older brother guided her across the veined marble floor to one of our velvet armchairs. His movements were gentle and precise.

The brothers gathered into a tight pocket behind their sister. The eldest stood perfectly still, his expression stoic, much like his father’s, while the two younger male siblings fidgeted, almost as if they found it impossible to remain motionless.

My family seated ourselves first as the rulers in our world of casual royalty dictated.

Then the heads of the Crowthers’ family sat, and Ferne too. The brothers remained standing behind their sister. Graysen angled himself a little in front, his icy gaze fixed on mine as if he thought I might lunge and strike her.

I snorted in derision. He caught it and knew it was directed at him. And a muscle in his jaw twitched.

I tried not to grin and failed.

Another tic.

Chancing a glance at my mother, her serene smile at the Crowthers was a little too tight. Her hand slipped inside her skirt pocket. It gave her a little reassurance perhaps to hold her vial of pills. She’d already taken two, swallowing them dry as we were readying ourselves for the Crowthers’ visit.

I eased off the offending shoes, sliding them with a pointed toe into the shadows beneath the chaise, nearly sighing with relief as I stretched my toes wide.

The younger brothers murmured to one another quietly enough that none of my family could hear, but I could.

“Is she really fourteen? She looks ten, eleven at the most. ”

“No shoes. She’s muddied. Is that…a twig in her hair?”

“Gods, she’s some kind of street urchin.”

It was me they were talking about. I gritted my teeth at the smirks they tossed my way. The youngest boy didn’t even bother to be discreet as he messed with his cell phone, as if bored with his family’s visit before it had begun.

Irritated with them, I focused on Evvie instead. She sat straight-backed and regal on a leather couch beside my father.

Annalise, reclined on an armchair, didn’t seem in the slightest perturbed since she’d already been promised to House Reska. But I could tell by an almost imperceptible downturn of her mouth she felt the same way I did. Disgusted that the Crowthers should think they were good enough for our House. That they dared to claim Evvie for themselves.

Evvie offered the eldest Crowther brother a dazzling smile.

He glanced away.

And I hated him for the slight.

The creature inside stirred with my spike of ire. I gripped a bead. Calm, calm, calm.

My mother leaned close to whisper to me to leave and go to the aviary. I rose, padding out of the great room, glad to be gone, not even bothering with a backward glance even though the attention of every single Crowther remained heavily on my retreating back. A sensation that made my skin crawl.

When it got too hard being around people, I’d seek refuge and silence outside, mostly in the woodland surrounding our estate and, if not there, in my mother’s aviary.

Her aviary was a rather grand affair. A gigantic birdcage two stories high encompassed a small grove of trees and pretty shrubs. It was beautiful and peaceful and I spent a lot of time sitting beneath a tree or on a bench, an open book on my lap, with the birds flying overhead. But they’d never be free. They might experience the wind on their wingtips, but they’d travel no further than fifty feet in either direction.

Trapped.

Sometimes that’s how I felt.

Though it was a summery night, it was still dark, so before stealing outside, I snatched up several flashlights. Stashed in my skirt pocket was a backup. I sat another in the grass near my feet, its yellowy light splashing upward, while I clasped the third flashlight loosely between my fingers.

I’d settled down to lie on the cool grass in the aviary, digging my feet into the cool earth, upturning dirt with my toes. Grounding—I needed grounding and to disappear into the void of nothingness. I squirmed, assured I’d not be called back in until they’d left. I lay staring up at the night sky prickled with faint starlight. It was a full moon tonight, and my mind was full of dark thoughts regarding the Crowthers, wondering if my mother had sent me to the aviary to ensure I wouldn’t listen to their conversation.

So when he silently entered my domain, I didn’t hear him. I only felt my flesh prickling and the creature stirring beneath my skin before his filmy shadow fell across me.

Startled, I sat up quickly, scrambling to my feet.

Graysen Crowther.

My gaze narrowed on his tall figure cut into a dark suit, annoyed that my personal space had been invaded. Darkness wrapped itself around him as if it welcomed him into its fold of shadows. He was eighteen, nineteen perhaps. I couldn’t remember. Handsome, as all the Crowther brothers were, with natural golden-bronze skin and bluntly cut features that were almost brutal if not for the supple line of his mouth.

He sketched a shallow bow, straightening to stare at me as if he’d already judged me and didn’t like me.

I glared back. He knew nothing about me.

Though the thing that prowled beneath my skin was intensely curious about him, I was not. Shoving away that prickling sensation, I ignored the hyperawareness of him that seemed to hum between us like a musical note drawn out by the strings of an orchestra.

I angrily swiped at my dress where my skirt had been scuffed with grass stains and now more dirt. Godsdammit. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced away, answering in that same flat tone he’d used earlier in the great room. “Same as you, I suppose.”

I shot him a curious glance.

Is he hiding too and needs to settle himself?

He drifted deeper into the aviary. His sharp eyes shone like an animal that hunted at night. The shapes of the roosting birds should have been indistinguishable, but he clearly made them out as his head tilted upward in their direction. “Rather a dull choice of bird,” he muttered. My mother could have chosen all kinds of exotic birds—brightly plumed parrots, lorikeets, or even hummingbirds—but she preferred thrushes and sparrows and finches.

How did he find me here ?

Is it coincidence, or has he sought me out on purpose?

Graysen twisted around, pushing his wavy hair back from his forehead, but the cowlick curled at his hairline forced a wayward hank of hair to slip over his eyes. He shook his head, flicking it back, but it wouldn’t settle into place. Arching a brow, he asked, “Why are you rarely seen?”

I tensed. I’d been purposely kept away from the other Houses. Someone like me should have been handed over to the Horned Gods at birth.

To keep me safe.

To keep me from people like you.

Instead, I offered a shrug, as if I didn’t know.

“Do they keep you caged, little bird?”

The name rankled, and I glared. “Don’t call me that.”

The way his eyes lit up, I realized I’d just done the worst thing possible. Inwardly, I groaned.

“Little bird.” He rolled the name around in his mouth, tasting it. Liking it.

I folded my arms across my chest. “If you’re after Annalise, you’re too late. She’s in love with Aldan Reska and already promised to him.”

His brows rose slowly, perhaps because I’d been so forthright, but his tone remained flat and bored when he said, “Your sister wants to marry that Reska asshole—”

“Takes an asshole to recognize another,” I muttered.

He was surprised. And he seemed to like my bite, judging by the wolfish grin. “Doesn’t it just.” He strolled closer. “If we want that betrothal overturned, it will be.”

I gasped. But my sister loved Aldan Reska. He was all she talked about. Granted, it’d become a little tiresome to hear how perfect he was. I had my own opinion of Aldan ever since I’d seen his appreciative gaze drift over the curve of another girl’s ass, but I didn’t want to admit to Graysen that I might agree with him.

“Pick another daughter. Another House,” I urged.

He didn’t smile, but there was a cruel amusement in his dark gaze as he shook his head.

I blew a frustrated breath, taking a sideways step, crushing soft grass beneath the soles of my feet. “Which one of you is this betrothal for?” Which one would Evelene be forced to marry? I’d already decided on the eldest, Kenton. A respectful choice.

“Betrothal?” He frowned, speaking the word as if he didn’t recognize it.

“Kenton,” I pressed. “It’s only right the eldest should marry Evelene. ”

“Marriage?” I’d confused him. “Marriage,” he repeated, tasting the word as he’d done with little bird. He shot me an odd look and drifted over to a birch, scratching a fingernail against the papery bark. “It doesn’t matter which of my brothers is chosen to wed. Only which one of you we choose.”

Of course. It made perfect sense to join by marriage to Great House Wychthorn. We were, after all, their rulers.

He continued. “Even with Annalise promised to Lord Asshole, there are still two daughters to choose between—”

“Two?” I interrupted. Shock creased the lines on my face.

Two daughters.

Icy fear settled into my stomach. Why hadn’t I considered the possibility that I might be desired? “But I’m fourteen.” It spilled from my lips rather wobbly sounding, just like the child I was.

“No one is going to marry you at fourteen,” he drawled as he turned to face me. For a fleeting moment, relief flooded through me, until he added, “They’ll wait until you’re a little older.”

Gripping the flashlight in my hand, I paced our small arena.

He pushed into motion.

We circled one another, confined by the wrought-iron birdcage. Grass rustled beneath my feet as I stalked, keeping a safe distance from him, while there was a predatory gracefulness to his stride.

His features were shadowed with night. No one should have been able to read him in this darkness. But I could. He despised me.

Still, it made little sense why anyone wouldn’t want my sister. Beautiful, charming Evelene. “But…my sister…”

He cocked his head to the side, a bird-like movement, and his thick brows nudged closer. “Why would we want Evelene?”

I scoffed at his idiocy. “Are you stupid? Of course, everyone wants my sister.” She was as sweet as she was beautiful. Kind and considerate. When we were curled up on my bed eating popcorn and watching a movie, Annalise would tease her about all the boys from the Houses who’d noticed her.

“She’s a simpleton with no backbone and utterly worthless.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, stilling. How dare he insult my sister? Anger seethed, and something inside me uncoiled and slithered along my bones.

An ice-kissed breeze stirred in the aviary.

Leaves rustled and branches groaned with its growing tempest.

I was a Wychthorn—he should be bowing at my feet, groveling for forgiveness. It must have shown on my face because, for the first time, actual delight shone in his gaze.

The unnatural wind ruffled his hair. “Didn’t like to hear that, little bird?”

He took one step toward me. I supposed he thought I’d yield a step.

Not likely. I moved forward. My hands balled into fists, white and burning hot, itching to bestow violence.

The bloodline of the Crowthers had bred cold, vicious hunters—their senses heightened, stronger, faster. But my temper had been stirring of late. Things had a habit of breaking around me. I was sure I could break Graysen if I wanted to. Right now, I really, really wanted to. I wanted to snap him like a twig.

We met with barely an inch between us. He was so tall that I craned my neck to glare up at him.

“You’re so young,” he said softly, though the words bit. He bowed closer, smiling. He smelled of boy and something woodsy with a promise of smoke. His scent was nice, pleasant even. My gaze flicked upward, and I realized that smile didn’t reach his eyes. They remained cold and impassive. His breath kissed my temple. “Just so you know, little bird, there’s no way in Nine Hells I’d ever fucking marry you.”

No one dared speak to me like that. For a moment I was so shocked, I could only gape back.

“Why would I want to marry an entitled mouthy brat?” His disparaging scowl took in my scrawny frame—from the top of my wild hair to the tips of my dirty toes. “Gods, you look like you’ve been dragged out of the woods kicking and screaming.”

Aghast, I whirled away, only to spin back. “What makes you think I’d want to marry a lowly Crowther? You’re no good for anything but mopping up messes.” This was something I’d overheard my mother say to my father when I shouldn’t have been listening to their private conversation. My father did not agree, but he also did not dispute it.

“A Lower House? Lowly foot-soldiers,” he ground out. “Are we deemed so lesser, so unworthy of the great and mighty Wychthorns?” He took another step closer. “We bleed for your House, Wychthorn. It’s our blood that spills so that yours does not.”

Standing there quivering, my hands fisted, I snarled, “Oh, go shove a knitting needle up your ass.” And I added something that started with mother— and ended with— ker .

We were toe-to-toe, scowling at each other. I thought he might be so angry he’d have smacked me one. My mother sure as hells would have if she overheard what spilled from my mouth. Except Graysen didn’t. He straightened, and his tight features softened. Then a sound came out of him I did not expect. A whispering huff of laughter as his shoulders jostled.

It only provoked that unnatural wind to whip faster.

I tipped my chin at him, parting my lips to hurl something cruel. My finger stabbed his way, and the movement was jerky. The beads tied about my wrist— clinked. The delicate sound reverberated in my ears, reminding me to leash my temper. Calm. Calm. Calm.

That eerie wind died.

My mother’s voice cut through the tension. “Nelle?”

We jerked apart and swiveled around to face my mother, standing beside the aviary’s door. She darted a concerned glance back and forth between us. “You’re both needed inside.”

Graysen dipped his head in acknowledgment. He spun on his heel and strode off.

My mother said nothing, but there was a stiffness in her shoulders and her hand was in her pocket, no doubt gripping those pills, as she watched Graysen’s retreating figure.

She remained silent while drawing me into a tight hug, her honeysuckle scent whispering against my nostrils as she pressed quivering lips to my temple.

Why is she worried?

As soon as my mother led me back into the mansion and down the twisting hallways toward my father’s office, I knew why Graysen and I had been sent for.

Stupid, stupid me.

The door swung open, and I stepped inside. My heart pounded in my ears. The office was large and spacious and filled with rare antiques. But with Graysen and both elder Crowthers in there too, the room seemed far too small, too confining.

My mother gestured to a dark brown leather couch where Graysen sat leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, as he fiddled with something in his hands. I watched an agitated muscle in his jaw tic as I sank beside him, making sure there was plenty of space between us.

Valarie stood close to her brother, her hands clasped before her, listening to Varen and my parents. They gathered around my father’s desk, where a parchment had been spread across the glass. When Varen stabbed a finger on the document biting out, “Eighteen years old,” my stomach sunk. It was true then. Staring askance, I arched a brow at Graysen. And he’d sworn he would never marry me.

He glared back like I was a bug he wished he could squish beneath his expensive leather shoes.

“That’s too young,” my mother appealed, wringing her thin hands.

“Eighteen,” Varen stated once more. I had a feeling they’d been arguing about this for a while now.

“Twenty-five,” ground out my father.

“Twenty,” Valarie spoke firmly. “And at nineteen, they’ll get to know one another.”

My father went to reply when Varen held up a hand to stop him. He let out a tired sigh through a nose that appeared to have been broken a long time ago. “Twenty.” But the way his jaw clenched, he was furious at giving that much. “Or I’ll take her right this moment.”

My father’s shoulders slumped. It was the first time this great ruler showed defeat. It stole my breath and terrified me.

He nodded once before leaning over the parchment and amending it with black ink and a quill. Our world held to tradition tightly. No modern-day pens for these types of transactions. Always quills and ink.

My father turned back to us, strength returning to his elegantly attired figure. “Nelle, Graysen, come here.”

We rose as one from the couch. Graysen allowed me to go first, following closely as we joined our fathers. Mine clasped something between his fingers. He waved at me to hold my hand out, and I placed it in his. His hand was warm while mine was cold.

My father held my gaze—an apology, a desperate need for forgiveness etched into his features—and then something pierced my thumb.

A knife.

The blade sliced a thin line across my thumb pad, stinging and burning the flesh in its wake. He held my hand over an ink well and beads of blood splattered into the small metal bowl. My mother pressed a quill into my other hand, gesturing toward the parchment spread upon his desk. What was it?

My mother spoke. “This is a marriage contract—”

“An Alverac,” Varen cut in, shooting a sharp look at my father.

My mother carried on speaking as if Varen hadn’t interrupted her. There was a slight crack in her voice. “Promising you to Graysen Crowther.”

I stared at the parchment. At all the words cutting across its width. I had to sign my name in my blood .

Graysen paused. For once, his impassive, bored face creased deeply in fury. For one reckless, hopeful moment, I thought he’d toss the quill down and refuse.

Do it, do it, do it —because I was too weak to go against my father.

That muscle twitched again. His nostrils flared and lips thinned before he whipped his furious gaze from his family and canted forward to sign his name in blood—a neat scratch against the parchment.

My signature was wild and wide.

My father’s smooth fingers dug into the ornate silver urn that sat on the mantle behind his desk. He blew the ashy substance onto the contract. It was the bones of our ancestors, ground to dust.

The elder Crowther must have brought a pinch with him from their ancestral home, as a moment later, a swirl of fine bone settled over our own like a thin coating of frost.

For the first time, Graysen and I shared a look, both of us reflecting the other’s horror.

I felt it then. I was sure he did too, the magic of the Horned Gods weaving around us like filament.

A rattling noise erupted inside my head, grinding against my bones—a turning of iron teeth, a clicking and a grating sensation—as if a heavy lock was sliding with finality into place.

It was done.

We were bound to one another.

There was no way out of this but death.

My future husband didn’t bother meeting my gaze as he cut a curt bow, retreating with his father and aunt before slamming the office door behind him as they left.

I was still in shock. I think we all were. My parents had vainly hoped Varen might not choose one of their daughters, and certainly not me. But why should Evelene be sacrificed to keep me out of their clutches?

Anger burned brightly.

My father was a Wychthorn, a king amongst the Houses. Perhaps not in title but in the lofty placement of our House. We were it, the highest you could rise in serving the Horned Gods—Great House Wychthorn. He could have demanded for Master Sirro to overturn this ridiculous boon.

And now, at twenty, I’d be forced to marry that egotistical brat from a House that dealt in death.

“You could have stopped them! ”

A wind that had no right to be there in the office swirled about me, circling locks of pale hair around my head and ruffling my skirt.

“Nelle,” my father murmured, his tone at once soothing and commanding. “Calm.”

Calm? Calm? How could anyone be calm about this? I’d been bartered and sold like chattel.

That creature inside me unfurled, raging with my anger, snapping and snarling— Let go, let go. Let. Me. Go!

Power surged and I unleashed it.

My mother took several nervous steps back.

My father reached for me—

I screamed.

I screamed because they couldn’t go against the Horned Gods. Master Sirro. The Crowthers.

I screamed because they’d given me away to that sullen boy and made me sign a contract that now wrapped itself around me with iron teeth.

One moment, the desk was there separating us from one another—

The next—

Glass shattered, funneling upward and tinkling against the ceiling, obliterated into tiny fragments that sparkled and shone like a rainbow as it rained down between us.

Nothing of the desk remained.

Nothing but that parchment.

Seemingly, even my wild power couldn’t overturn that.

I stumbled backward, my breathing a wet rasp. The backs of my knees caught on the couch and I fell onto the seat, bursting into hysterical laughter.

My parents exchanged urgent whispers, which, of course, I heard, but I was too busy focusing on my selfish thoughts— I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t free myself. I was a bird trapped in an aviary.

My laughter died as cold fear swept through me.

My hands clenched and unclenched and, as I made the panicked gesture, my knuckles brushed against something.

I glanced down and frowned to find something in the space that Graysen had vacated. Something that was nestled upon the soft leather material of the seat.

I plucked it carefully between pinched fingers. It fitted perfectly into the cup of my palm. Small. Delicate. Crafted from neat, precise folds of paper torn from a book. A creature with wings spanned wide, ready for flight .

Graysen Crowther had left me a gift.

A tiny paper bird.

I saw Graysen Crowther over the years when the Houses came together. We sent hate-glares every time our gazes clashed.

I was pretty sure both of us wished the other had some kind of accident, so we’d never have to marry.

I know I sure did. I thought about it a lot—him dying.

It was even tempting to go to House Simonis to buy a curse.

I wanted to, yet I never did.

At nineteen, I was glad I hadn’t.

At nineteen, Graysen Crowther saved my life.