Chapter 13
Gods, he would have made one hell of a Rider, if fate had chosen it for him.
The war eagle beneath him screeched, the sound cutting across the snowy sky...and Kinlear threw his head back and practically howled along with it.
This was living, even if the snow stung his cheeks and the icy cold was like a dagger to his lungs. Even if it broke every damned rule his father had laid out for him since arriving back at the Citadel.
This was the kind of reckless freedom he’d read about in books. The kind he saw in his own dreams.
He relished it. He screamed his joy right into the wind, as if he could become one with it, as if he could sprout wings himself and finally leave all ---
“By the Gods, Kinlear!” The Rider in front of him shouted. “Not in my ear!”
“Sorry,” Kinlear muttered, and the magic of the moment broke...as if it were a candle, blown out.
It was Indriya that guided the war eagle, not him. It was Indriya that had been given trusted orders to leave the wards behind, to head out like the knight she was – a knight he would never be -- and rescue the nomage recruits that hadn’t arrived on time.
Kinlear was only here because of his own cleverness.
And because, like in Touvre, he knew secrets about every Sacred in the Citadel...and held them over their heads like a pronged whip.
“Have a little fun, Indriya!” Kinlear said, even as a cough left his lips from the frigid wind. He gripped her waist a bit harder as she guided her eagle to the right, avoiding an updraft. Fresh snow surged in his vision, stinging his skin.
If it weren’t for the saddle, he’d have tumbled to the Thornwell forest below.
His damned legs were too weak. At least he hadn’t dropped his cane. It was tied to the saddle behind him, next to Indriya’s sword.
“The flight towards battle isn’t fun, Kinlear,” Indriya snarled. “Even less, when I know I’m going to pay penance later for letting you come along.”
Before he’d been dismissed from his duties as Eagleminder, he’d help to train Indriya’s own war mount. Couldn’t she show some godsdamned respect?
But Kinlear just chuckled, putting on that mask of indifference he wore so well. “Penance is but a moment in time, my dear Rider, and you know I’ll pay it for us both. Now...would you mind doing something about the snow?”
It truly was cold, even with the warming runes inscribed on his cloak.
Indriya bristled against him, then whispered an invocation beneath her breath. Seconds later, the onslaught of snow danced away from them, spiraling outwards as if given life.
Even her eagle screeched and tossed her head, as if she were grateful for the relief.
And Kinlear howled his joy again.
“There’ll be no more of that,” Indriya growled, “or I’ll send you—"
Her words cut off as an otherworldly scream blasted the sky ahead of them.
But it wasn’t from her war eagle. Indriya slowed for a moment, as in the distance, just over the heavy, snow-burdened trees...a cluster of winged darkness spiraled out of the woods, and away into the night.
“Ravens,” Indriya said, pushing her eagle back to top speed.
It had to be thousands of them, more than Kinlear had seen together in his lifetime, for the messenger birds were usually scattered about in small groups at their posts, in Ravenminder towers across the kingdom.
Strange, he thought, as he trailed the omens with his gaze, far too many to count.
They broke apart, scattering to the night, as if whatever they were running from, or whatever they’d come to do, was already done.
And they were omens, once more.
“We’re landing, Prince,” Indriya said, drawing his attention away as his stomach dipped. He held on tighter...and then all he saw was a world of white as the eagle snapped her wings closed and dove.
They landed in the Thornwell forest, at the top of a snowy hillside that gave them a view of the carnage down below.
Blood was splattered across the snow, dripping down the sides of the pale aspen trees. From here, he could see the dark lumps of bodies – pieces of bodies, more like – and a prison wagon already covered in snow drifts.
A few survivors were left standing, back-to-back as the wolves tried to pick them off. No weapons, no Redguard left to help them.
I didn’t see this in my dreams, Kinlear thought.
For if he had, he would have been able to stop it before it started. But that was the problem with being Veilborne.
He couldn’t control his visions. He couldn’t conjure them or sink into them when he was awake. It was only when he was lost in a deep and lonely sleep, despite how hard he’d prayed to the Five to give him clarity, or at least more control.
He’d tried for years, until his head was ready to burst, and he had tears in his eyes.
Not for the first time, Kinlear wished Magus was still with him, that the stubborn old tutor could help him make sense of his own mind.
Magus was the only one who’d ever mentioned the term Veilborne, for there wasn’t a single godsdamned book in the Citadel that covered it.
Likely, because his father had them all destroyed.
He flinched as another screech sounded to his right. But it was only a second eagle that landed beside them. The rider on its back was as large as a war bear.
“You know, you could have left him behind,” he said.
Riven, Indriya’s brother, was a powerful Ehvermage tracker. And it was his magic that had alerted him of the attack behind the Citadel, instead of on the battlefield in front.
Arawn’s back with the southern recruits, he’d said, as he’d burst into the Aviary, sword in hand, claiming his magic had scented the Crown Prince on the wind. And he’s surrounded by shadow wolves.
Kinlear forced himself upon their rescue attempt, not because he was desperate to help save his brother or be first to see him after his extended leave.
No, he’d done it because for months now, he’d scoured the entire Citadel for the woman in his visions. The raphon rider with scars on her face and shadows in her eyes, who would lead him to becoming the savior of the north.
But she was nowhere to be found, which meant she had to be elsewhere...a recruit, perhaps. And there was only one way to travel north.
“Stay with the eagles,” Indriya said, as she and Riven ran down the hillside.
“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Kinlear said, and sat alone in the saddle with nothing but the sound of the wind.
He waited, considering the raphon.
Things had gone to plan, until they didn’t.
Until someone broke into the catacombs and murdered all but one of the pups. And it just so happened that the survivor, scarred and small, the very same raphon from his dreams...was a bloodthirsty bitch.
And it became even more evident why she needed a Rider. Because, in the months Kinlear had tried, and despite every Eagleminder who’d been willing... none had been able to tame Six.
Please, let my Rider be below, Kinlear prayed to the Five now, his eyes squinted as he looked to the snow-laden sky. And if she is down there...please, let her survive this.
He’d take her in, scars and all.
She’d love him for rescuing her, the handsome Sacred Prince...
And then together they would tame the sixth beast. They would kill the Acolyte, rise to glory...
And she would be his.
He waited until the wolves went silent.
A yelp, cut off short, followed by Riven’s howl of delight—the brute loved the thrill of the hunt. And finally came Indriya’s signal for safety.
There were no more threats.
“And there’s my invitation,” Kinlear said, and pressed a hand to the war eagle’s head.
She lowered herself as far as she could to the snow.
“Good girl.” He slid down, undid his cane from the straps on the saddle, and sauntered towards the bloodshed, taking care not to fall with the damned limp in his leg.
He paused at the edge of the road.
The wolves had a feast.
There were so many bodies strung across the snow. More than he’d initially realized, from up above.
All of them were centered around a prison wagon, empty of its recruits. The back door was left half-open, several victims face-down and bleeding...as if they’d sought the enclosure of the wagon to get away. But they were all chained together.
No hope of getting away when they ran, especially when the wolves struck. They were deadly with their speed. Impossible to get away from without weapons, and these recruits, from Rendegard, no less, certainly had none.
“Well?” Kinlear asked the others. Indriya was splattered with blood, a smile on her pretty face. Riven was busy cleaning his swords in the snow. He frowned, frustrated, for he always like to keep the blades shimmering.
There were only a few recruits left standing. He scanned their faces, one by one, his hand clenched over his cane...
But she wasn’t among them.
So, he focused, with a hammering heart, upon the dead.
Kinlear paused to kneel before a man who looked almost alive. “Where’s my dear brother?” he asked over a shoulder.
Riven closed his eyes and breathed deep, pulling at his Ehvermage magic. “Nearby. Heading this way from the west, just up the hill. And... there’s another with him.”
“Redguard?” Indriya asked. “He was the only Sacred to travel south with this lot.”
“Hard to tell who he’s with,” Riven said. “So much blood marking the wind.”
“Losing your touch, War Bear?” Kinlear asked, as he used his cane to prod the victim that was face-down at his feet.
Very much dead, judging by the squelch of blood.
He grimaced and moved on to the next. Not that he could do anything of worth to save someone on the brink of death. He could inscribe a Healing rune, at least, until they could get them to the Citadel.
Body after body, he checked for her.
Not here, he thought, and his shoulders sagged in relief. A cough left his lips. He’d need to go, as soon as they found Arawn.
“There he is,” Indriya said.
Arawn came walking down the hillside, a prisoner beside him. So small, she could have been a child. It was nearly dark now, the snow blurring his form.
Kinlear knelt, turning his back on his brother.
His heart was suddenly in his throat.
He shouldn’t have come. He felt weak when he was near Arawn.
Arawn, splattered in black blood, broad and tall and gods be damned, still looking like the king he’d soon be.
Kinlear was nothing close to that.
Not in his waking moment, at least. He held back a cough as he tested another victim’s neck for a pulse. And then he wondered how he’d get out of here without looking like a child who’d snuck away from their father’s castle, instead of how he wanted to look.
Fierce.
Bold.
Unbroken.
He stiffened when Arawn’s footsteps approached, and then that voice he knew all too well called his name.
“Kinlear!”
He sighed, forced his weakness away, and stood, wiping the snow from his trousers as he turned to face him.
And then every part of him froze. He felt like he was floating, or perhaps he was falling...
Because the person at his brother’s side...
The one who stood with her chin high and her scars all bold and beautiful and so very perfect as to mark her as a survivor of something just like this...
It was her.
The raphon rider from his dreams.