Chapter 2 #2
Bran landing on the mossy stone beside me breaks me from my thoughts.
He’s already got his wire-rimmed glasses in hand, pushing them up his nose like some memory of a human habit he refuses to let go.
He’s handsome in the way farmers’ sons are—broad-shouldered, sun-browned, eyes a trick of light between green and gold.
He dresses quickly, shirt buttoned to the throat, not a wrinkle or fleck of dirt in sight.
You could put him at a banker’s desk, and no one would guess what his hands are capable of.
He gives me a sidelong glance. “You’ve been watching her again.”
I don’t bother answering. Of course I have.
He smirks, but there’s hunger in it. “She grows more beautiful by the day.”
Next comes Sable, materializing at a sprint, not bothering to dress. He tumbles to the ground with a rumble of laughter, rolling naked through the wet leaves. Mud streaks up his back and down his thighs. Of all of us, he’s the one who never learned shame. Or maybe he just likes to show off.
He’s the youngest by a day or a year, depending on which lie he’s telling. He’s all limbs, laughter, and trouble just waiting for a reason.
He sprawls on his back, his arms flung wide, and grins at the sky. “What did you see tonight, Shade?”
I bare my teeth. “Get dressed.”
Grim appears next, silent and already clothed, even his boots laced tight.
His hair is long and as black as a funeral veil, his skin ashen from too many years without sunlight.
The only color on him is the tattoos winding up his arms and over his collarbone: ravens, skulls, and things too twisted to name.
He doesn’t look at me or the others, just picks a tree and leans into the shadow, crossing his arms and watching everything with that flat, dead stare of his.
Onyx and Rune arrive like two phantoms in the dark.
Onyx is first, as silent as ever. He looks like he’s carved out of granite, but there’s a patience in his stride that separates him from the rest of us.
He wears his hair cropped tight to the skull, blond under the moon.
There’s a softness around his eyes that most mistake for weakness.
That’s a lie. Onyx could break you in half and not break a sweat.
Rune trails after, a study in contrast. The night loves him.
It softens his sharpness and makes his gray eyes look nearly silver.
There’s a quickness to his movements that’s hard to miss, but he’s always been more shadow than substance.
He’s already cut the sleeves off his shirt, baring the tattooed runes that climb his arms and shoulders, black and blue as bruises.
Magic whispers in the air around him, a weak trickle compared to the flood Raisa is capable of, but impressive, nonetheless.
Talon comes last, a spectacle as always.
He shifts in mid-air, goes from raven to man while still falling, and lands with a bone-rattling crunch.
Six-four, all muscle, with hair coppery in the moonlight, and a jawline hard enough to split firewood.
He’s naked too, but Talon makes nudity a threat.
He stands tall, his hands on his hips and his steely eyes sweeping the clearing like he’s already counting casualties.
“You’re late,” he says.
“No,” I say, “you’re impatient.”
He snorts, but the challenge in his eyes is tempered with something like respect.
Sable cracks his knuckles. “What’s the word?”
“She touched the gate on her own.”
“Let’s just take her and be done with it,” Talon grunts.
“She needs to believe leaving is her idea,” Bran says. “It’s the only way she’ll trust us.”
Stealing her would be easy. We could have done it a thousand times by now. But there is no artistry in theft, and no lesson, either. Real pain is having the one thing meant to be broken under your thumb defy you. Lessons like that linger.
I intend for the king’s lesson to sting for eternity.
“She already trusts us,” Sable argues.
He’s partially correct. Her trust is innocent and pure, given because she knows no better. But if she had an inkling that the ravens who carry her secrets are more than mere birds? If she knew what we did? What we wanted? No, she wouldn’t whisper her secrets to us then.
“She’s smarter than you give her credit for,” Grim rasps to Sable. “You saw the way she spoke to us today. She senses more than she says. Even if she doesn’t understand why, it makes her nervous. Forcing her will shatter what trust we’ve built.”
“Then we’ll make the castle intolerable, give her a reason to want the forest,” I say.
“How?” Onyx asks.
“The taste of freedom,” Rune says, his voice soft. “And the weight of chains.”
I catch his gaze and nod. “We let her slip out, just long enough to be caught with us. The king will lock her in the tower again.”
My brothers stir uneasily at the thought of her locked in the tower. The same violent thoughts echo in my mind, but if we want her to follow us willingly, there is no other choice.
Talon grins, his teeth white against the mud on his chin. “Another battle with the king’s men?”
“No blood,” Bran snaps. “Not in front of her. We’re not monsters.”
“Speak for yourself,” I mutter, earning a chuckle from Sable.
Onyx steps up. “If she’s scared, she’ll never go along with us, Shade.”
I turn to face him, eye to eye. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been watching over her since she was old enough to walk. I know what makes her run. I know what makes her freeze. I know what she wants.”
He holds my gaze a moment, then nods and backs down. Smart.
Rune picks at moss on a branch. “The magic in the forest is strongest this time of year. Once she leaves, we can take her anywhere. No one will be able to find her, not even the king.”
Talon’s lip curls. “I still say we just grab her and be done with it.”
“No,” I say, my voice sharp as a blade. “She has to want to leave with us. If she doesn’t, we’ll never break the curse.”
That silences my brothers. Every one of us hates the curse, but I hate it most. I’ve felt the weight of it since it was spoken into existence, felt the way it locks my bones, binds my blood, makes me half a thing when I could be whole. The only way out is through her. And I want out.
Talon paces, his muscles bunching under his skin. “So we lure her. And then what?”
I let the question hang, scanning their faces. All of us are hungry for something—freedom, revenge, purpose, maybe. But when it comes down to it, we’re all the same. We want to be real again, and we want her.
“When she’s out, we keep her moving,” I say. “Never let her get comfortable. Never let her look back. She won’t know what she is until she’s far out of his reach.”
Bran murmurs, “You’re sure you’re right about her?”
“Positive.” I press my thumb into my palm, feeling the skin split until a trickle of blood oozes out. “Look how much she’s already accomplished.”
No one says anything as they stare at my hand. They can’t. They were all there the day she whispered change into existence, partially freeing us. For the first time that day, we were more than monsters, chained forever to wing and feather. We were human again. At least, partially.
Eventually, Rune flicks his twig away. “Then we’d better make sure she’s able to slip out and get her taste of freedom.”
Sable smirks, already plotting. “I can keep the guards chasing phantoms next time she tries the gate. They won’t notice she’s missing until she’s gone.”
“Good,” I say, looking at each brother in turn.
“We need to deal with the gate to allow her to escape. Sable, Onyx, and Bran, when she makes her move, you take the guards on the south wall. Grim and Talon, you watch the orchard. Rune, you’re with me at the gate in case the king’s magic has any surprises. ”
Everyone nods except Grim, who scowls but says nothing. But he’ll do as he’s told. He always does.
“Any questions?” I ask.
Talon barks a laugh. “What happens if she doesn’t take the bait?”
I bare my teeth again, letting the rage shimmer under my skin. “She will. If she wants to live, she will.”
It’s not a threat on her life, but simply a statement of reality. Her future depends on breaking the curse as much as ours does. My brothers know this. She wasn’t made to be her father’s broken, obedient doll. She was meant to change fate and break kingdoms. And we’ll help her do.
My brothers scatter, melting into the woods with a rustle of leaves. I wait until the last shadow is gone before I let myself unclench.
I close my eyes and picture Raisa in her room, twisting my black feather between her fingers, not knowing how close we are. Not knowing she’s already halfway ours.
She craves freedom. We’ll give it to her.
And when we do, she’ll belong to us.
All of us.