Caged By Fallen Crows, Part Two (Of Crows and Thorns Saga #3)

Chapter 1

Nelle

Steam curled lazily above the sunken bath, the warm water lapping at our skin as we faced each other. Graysen rubbed the flat of his fingers across his mouth as he intently scanned my face. In a low, gravelly voice, he asked, “Are you sure you know where to find Florin?”

I nodded, grinning.

Anticipation coiled tightly through my body while he took his time thinking it over.“Okay, little bird,” he replied at last. “We’ll go to the city.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

A delighted squeal burst out of me. I flung my arms around his neck and peppered his face with tiny kisses while he laughed.

Water splashed everywhere as I shoved off his lap and hauled myself out of the bath, snatching up a fluffy towel to dry myself in frantic, excited swipes before fleeing to my bedroom to dress.

Beyond the window the sun burned fiercely, turning the sky into a hazy shimmer. Graysen had set the air conditioner on, leaving the room deliciously cool against my bare skin as I let the towel fall away. Outside, though, the unseasonably hot day encouraged light, summery attire.

I practically skipped to the bureau, tugging open a drawer to pick out a pale yellow dress.

My excitement wasn’t only because Graysen had unintentionally handed me a puzzle piece I prayed fit with something rare in my possession, but because I was escaping my cage and stepping outside into the real world. A world I rarely visited.

In a flurry of limbs, I pulled the swing dress over my head.

The light cotton whispered down my body as I flicked my damp locks free of the collar and fastened the tiny buttons.

Exhilaration trembled wildly along my bones.

I snatched up a hairbrush, dragging it through my hair quickly before tossing it aside.

For the first time since being captured by the Crowthers, hope sparkled as bright as the blazing sun, vanquishing the shadows in my soul.

I grabbed the old tome Dustin Reed had given me from beneath the stack of romance novels and plopped onto my bed’s bare mattress, the sheets long since dragged into my wyrm burrow.

Taking a steadying breath, I tried to calm my overexcited nerves.

As soon as Graysen had triggered my memory of the Purveyor of Rarities, I’d been itching to check this book. And something else had surfaced from the depths of my mind, the way Sage knocked the book from my bed days ago, and how it had fallen open exactly where I needed it.

I perched the book upright on my lap, its spine resting in the slender gap between my thighs, and let go. It parted like a concertina, gilded pages fluttering until they settled with that billowing, sweetly musty book smell I loved so much.

It fell open to Zrenyth’s Mites.

Chewing my lip in curiosity, I repeated the action, closing it up and letting it fall open.

I got the same result.

And again—the same once more.

My fingertips traced the crinkled bumps on the page, moving up to the creases in the corner where it had once been dog-eared.

I flipped the tome over, running my touch down the spine, feeling how loose the binding was.

I’d suspected it had been broken sometime in its long life, but now I wondered if the snapping had occurred far more recently.

Perhaps the very night Dustin handed it to me.

I pinched a fat wad of parchment and let it go. The pages fanned free, a soft whoosh of air ruffling my skirt. They flicked by too fast to read, but I wasn’t looking, I was thinking.

All the things I’d read about in this book tripped through my mind.

Different, different, different…

Same, same, same…

This book contained a collection of otherworldly creatures with unique qualities, like the Brunnie, but also strange, desirable items, gruesome body parts, and weird antiquities.

Rarities.

I turned the book upright again and let it fall open naturally. The tome had two distinct authors, and the latter—with considerably neater, more legible penmanship than the flourishing calligraphy of the former—had written about the mites.

Of the two, they also catalogued the more peculiar items. A scribe, perhaps, recording all the weird and wonderful things someone like the Purveyor of Rarities might possess. And if so, then this Horned God would have Zrenyth’s mites.

I drummed my feet on the floor in excitement.

Holy Skalki, thank you!

Although my cage remained locked, I’d found one of the keys.

On the opposite page to Zrenyth’s Mites was information relating to the Tears of the Brokenhearted. My gaze wandered over the words on that page, not really seeing them as I thought on, planning and scheming.

A heartbeat later, my curiosity sharpened on something I hadn’t noticed before. Something wet had splashed onto the parchment, smudging the ink and warping the midnight-ink words. I traced the splatters with a fingertip.

Tears, I realized.

Someone had cried while reading this very page in the old, dusty tome.

A pang of sympathy speared through my heart as I wondered what awfulness had befallen the reader, making them weep over this particular entry.

The sound of muffled footsteps and Sage’s excited yaps tore my attention away. Tapping my fingertips on the parchment, I called out, “Who were you with when you were at the Purveyor of Rarities?” If Graysen had been a child, surely he’d have gone with an adult.

From behind the closed door, Graysen answered, “My mother.”

A jolt of surprise snapped my spine ramrod straight.

“From what I remember of the moment, she seemed to be his friend.”

My mouth fell open. “Your mother was friends with a Horned God?”

“It would seem so. I don’t even think my dad knows about her friendship with him. That’s why I want to find Florin,” he called back.

Tabitha Crowther had secrets she kept from her family?

As reluctant as I was to admit it, Tabitha was becoming more and more fascinating to me.

My gaze dropped to the page splayed open on my lap, and as I retraced the smudged ink with a fingertip, I wondered yet again whose tears had warped the words.

Closing the dusty old tome, I rose and set it beside the other novels near the reading lamp on the bedside table. Striding toward the door, I pulled it open and lingered on the threshold.

My gaze drifted to Graysen’s bed, the black lacquered wood glistening in the sunlight.

The wyrm burrow had been dismantled. He’d remade the bed and folded the sheets and blankets I’d stolen from my own, stacking them neatly on the leather couch.

Along with my messenger bag, which he’d retrieved from where I’d dumped it on the floor before I ordered him to undress last night.

The tips of my toes curled into the carpet as an echo of the sway swept through me.

After soothing him from that cruel nightmare, I’d lost myself somewhere along the way.

As I’d confessed earlier, the sway wasn’t awful at all.

I slipped into that harmonious, dreamlike state once more and distantly felt his commands, the intrinsic pull to please him, please myself too.

Until he’d crossed the line with Sage.

I fidgeted with the tiny button on my dress, relieved all over again that I still had full authority over myself during the sway.

The frivolity near the kitchen area drew my gaze to Sage bouncing on his hind legs, forepaws tucked neatly as he begged.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching Graysen play with my wraith-wolf.

He wore his usual dark t-shirt, jeans, and heavy boots.

His raven-black hair was almost dry, the curls delightfully disheveled.

Warmth rolled through me at the memory of last night, his lips caressing my cheek, the heat of his body pressed to mine.

Oh gods…

I flapped the neckline of my dress to cool my flushed skin and forced myself to get a grip before I did something ridiculous like pounce on him again.

Graysen raised a hand with a boyish grin and twirled a finger. Sage immediately threw himself across the floor, rolling over and back again before springing to his paws, tail wagging furiously.

A subtle double-click of Graysen’s fingers, and Sage keeled over with a dramatic thump.

My wraith-wolf lay deathly still.

And I blew out an annoyed breath and crossed my arms over my chest.

The little show-off had even perfected a blank stare and let his fat tongue loll out while he played dead.

Graysen’s soft chuckle shivered over my skin. He crouched and raked his fingers over Sage’s side, ruffling his ghostly fur in a vigorous petting. “Good boy,” he murmured.

While it was sweet, it also pissed me off. My godsdamned wraith-wolf was such a pushover for him these days.

Shoving off the doorframe, I approached the pair and cleared my throat. Sage’s head popped up instantly, and Graysen’s gaze slid toward me over his shoulder.

Drawing to a standstill, I clicked my fingers, ready for Sage to join us on our escapade. My wraith-wolf’s muscles bunched as he surged to his feet.

“He’s not coming,” Graysen informed me, wariness shadowing his dark eyes.

My stomach dropped and my smile slipped. “Insurance,” I replied weakly. “So I’ll return to the Keep.”

He nodded as he rose, walking closer. “You won’t be able to run if that’s what you were thinking of trying.

” That thought had crossed my mind, but he was too cunning to falter in keeping vigilance.

He proved it a moment later when he reached out and thumbed my collar.

“You’ll only get a short distance from me before this will snag. ”

The sour sting of betrayal thickened my throat. After the sweetness of this morning, I’d forgotten what I truly was to Graysen. A pawn to save his mother.

“Okay,” I nodded, swallowing down the hurt. “Sorry, puppy.”

Sage flopped onto his belly with a sad whine.

Graysen arched an eyebrow, gaze dipping to my feet. “Shoes might be a good idea today.”

Shoes!

My mouth gaped open, then puckered into a pout. I wiggled my toes, glaring at them. He knew how much I hated wearing shoes.