Chapter Five
The blazing sun spills through the windows onto my face, the warmth coaxing me awake. Bleary-eyed and still exhausted, I groan as I shift, seeking refuge from the blinding, sleep-disrupting light. I find myself tucked into bed, my hair damp.
I pause. Confused.
Last night’s events crawl back to me and I groan again.
I fell asleep in the tub. With Ryc.
Rubbing my brow, I roll, daring to open my eyes. As I pull my hand away, I discover it consumed by a black sleeve. The length of the sleeve is significantly longer than my arm, and it folds itself over my fingertips. The silver ivy embroidery along the cuff tells me everything I need to know.
Laughing, I sit up, pulling my other arm above the comforter.
Ryc has dressed me in one of his button-down shirts.
Somehow.
Gods, I must have really been unconscious.
How he did it without me waking is beyond me. What a task that must have been. A wicked grin curls my lips. I’m sad I missed the struggle. I would have teased him the whole time.
Upon the nightstand sits a glass of water and a note propped against it. It’s not my name in the beautiful script I’ve memorized as Ryc’s, but rather Little Death.
Plucking the folded parchment between my fingers, I unfold it and read.
Don’t forget the north lawn this afternoon.
—Ryc
I’m glad he left the note.
I would have forgotten.
Refolding it, I set it aside. Another seven-word note to add to my small trove. Over the last few months, I’ve garnered quite the collection of his notes. Studied the swirling strokes of his handwriting. I can’t bring myself to throw them away.
Though… there’s a small problem with the note.
While brevity is appreciated, there’s no mention of why we’re meeting and my memory proves hazy.
I glance at the windows.
It’s late morning.
And Ryc’s side of the bed lies empty, long cold. He’s been up for hours already and is likely in the middle of some meeting with his Olloran lords. I won’t harass him by asking.
I can wait.
At the very least, I’m glad I didn’t oversleep.
Not that Ryc would be upset if I had—no, the damn fae is more patient than he should be. He’d give me a concerned look, one that’s too easy to imagine, while asking how I’m feeling.
His attention, his care—it’s unlike anything I’ve known.
A lot of the time, I don’t know what to make of it.
I keep waiting—waiting for the change. For the kindness to transform to contempt, the touches to turn brutal, and for his gaze to take on distance. And while it’s only been a few months, the opposite has happened.
He’s a doting, foolish fae.
Attuned to me in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
And I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the fact he’s as enamored with me as I am him. Granted, he’s more open with his affections than I.
Rubbing the sleep from my face and eyes, I yawn. If I’m going to make Lilith’s lesson on time, I need to attend to this raven now. Rising from the bed, Ryc’s barely buttoned shirt swallows me and I laugh. I cross the room to retrieve the raven, pitching myself over the back of the couch.
And pause—my heart stopping.
“What?”
The basket is empty.
The towel used to wrap the raven lies half-strewn over the side of the basket. A single pinion feather rests on the couch cushion nearby. Snatching the towel, I fling it aside. It lands on the floor near the bathing room door.
Nothing.
The raven is gone.
What in the nine hells?
Did I dream it?
No.
I couldn’t have.
My confusion quickly becomes panic and I rip up the couch cushions, the basket tumbling to the floor. Dead things shouldn’t go missing. When they do, it’s never a blessing. Without care, the cushions fly from my hands. They, too, join the towel on the floor.
Nothing under the cushions.
Could it have fallen?
Dropping to my knees, I peer beneath.
Nothing.
Flinging myself upright, my head swivels as I scan the room. The tops of bedposts, the bookshelves, my wardrobe, the curtain rods, the open bathing room door—any place a frightened bird could perch.
They’re all empty.
Every single spot.
None of this makes sense.
And why am I looking in places a living bird would hide?
I witnessed the damn thing die.
A corpse couldn’t have gotten far. And no errant soul would willingly claim the recently deceased flesh of a bird.
There, beside the foot of the bed, a small tuft of white down lies upon the floor—near invisible against the white of the rug. Scrambling across the floor on my hands and knees, I fling back the comforter. As I lower my cheek to the floor to peer beneath, the comforter slides back onto my face.
With a snarl I tear the comforter from the bed with little regard, ball it tight, and hurl it toward the door. Out of the damn way.
As it was beneath the couch, I’m again met with nothing.
My jaw tightens.
This is ridiculous.
Sitting up I heave a sigh, running my hands over my face.
Would Ryc have noticed the raven missing?
Would he have taken it?
No. He said he would have Oraphia bring me what I needed come morn.
It takes more effort than it should to resist the idea of reaching through our bond to ask about the raven. I can’t disturb him over a bird. A dead one at that.
The likelihood the corpse has been stolen for use in some necromantic or other blood magic ritual is highly unlikely in Eldoterra—let alone in Castle Erus. But going missing like this? I don’t like it. It doesn’t sit right.
The fire pops, pulling my attention, and a tiny crimson ember flies out of the hearth. It lands on the marble—beside another white feather.
Eyes wide, I launch myself across the room, climbing over the back of the couch. With stretched fingers, I snatch the fire iron as I tumble over, using it to prevent my stumble into the fire. In a matter of seconds, I reduce the fire to a dispersed pile of glowing embers.
It’s still not enough to see.
I need to get in there.
The fire iron clangs on the floor as I rush toward the bathing room. It takes longer than it should to fill the pitcher Oraphia uses to wash my hair and streak back to the fireplace. Without much forethought, I perch myself on my knees and pour the water over the embers.
Of course, I’m assaulted by the immediate dark billow of ash and steam. Coughing, I continue to pour, smothering the embers in sheer spite. With the aid of the fire poker and an eternity of baited breath and careful sifting, I’m left covered in soot.
Yet again, no raven.
No bones, no feet, no feathers.
The damn thing is gone. As if it never existed.
Setting the fire iron aside, I wipe my grainy-feeling palms down the front of Ryc’s shirt, my mind flooding with questions.
The door opens.
“Oraphia—” My hands race to my mouth, clamping over the panicked sound.
These very well may be my last moments alive once she sees the state of this room. Were I the praying kind, I’d be asking for a final forgiveness.
The door halts, caught by the comforter, barely opening a sliver.
And Eve wedges her face into the room.
“Ves,” she calls, her tone wary. She lifts her pinched face from the sight of the comforter at her feet as I heave a sigh of relief.
I get to live.
For a few minutes longer.
Shoving her way into the room, she kicks the comforter aside before closing the door behind her.
“Tired of the—” She stops herself short as she turns and sees me then the mess that is my quarters. “What in the nine hells?”
I should probably attempt to explain this…
“Listen—”
“Oraphia is gonna have your a—”
“I’ve lost—”
“Your mind,” Eve bellows incredulously. “You’ve lost your godsdamned mind!”
I heave a defeated sigh. “Sanity is subjective,” I offer with a rather weak smile.
Glancing around the room, it’s easy to see how she’d arrive at such a conclusion. Couch cushions strewn about, bed torn apart with blankets on the floor, a disaster in the hearth and—I glance at my blackened hands.
Perhaps mess isn’t strong enough a word.
Catastrophe might be more suitable.
With a dry, disbelieving laugh, Eve ventures farther into the room, plucking one of the discarded couch cushions from the floor along the way.
“I’m not sure I want to be here when Oraphia arrives.
” She slings the cushion toward the couch where it lands in a cockeyed fashion.
“You did this.” She points at me. “Not me. I’m not taking the blame for this one.
Not with Oraphia. You’re on your own in explaining…
whatever this is.” She gestures in a wild, ambiguous swing.
“Then you should leave,” I say, the grimace on my face plastered there as she pitches over the back of the couch, slapping the cushion into place. “Oraphia is due any minute.”
Her eyes light up. “Well in that case, I guess I’m staying,” she laughs as she swings herself around the side of the couch and throws herself into the recently re-cushioned seat. “If I leave now and she sees me in passing, she’ll hound me through the halls once she’s done with you.”
Oraphia is… something else.
I’ll give her that.
Eve crosses an ankle over her knee as she settles into the seat, a smarmy smirk on her face.
“This is all you,” she says, raising surrendering hands to her chest as she looks me over. “You’re a fucking mess.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” I reply, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“How ‘bout you tell me what happened?” she counters.
“I lost a raven.”
Her head tilts to the side in a slow tip with my answer. She gives me a scrutinizing stare as if I’ve spoken in a foreign language. And before she can launch the sharpness lying upon her tongue, I continue.
“I tried to save the damned creature last night.” Her scathing stare grows more severe. “I failed. It died. I kept it overnight to tend to it this morning.” I point to the overturned basket on the floor a few feet away.
She drags her stare to the basket and back.
“You lost… a dead bird?” Her question truly emphasizes the less than sane aspects of this whole situation.
Unable to find the right words, I nod.
I lost a dead bird.
Rather morosely comical now that I think about it.