Chapter 4
Death had found her.
The shadow wolves stood twenty paces apart. They’d decided to flank her, so she couldn’t pick a direction to run.
And now they moved forward, closing in on her as one.
Each step of their enormous paws left marks of crimson in the snow. The blood of the others from her group still steaming as white tumbled down around them, filling the spaces in between.
Shadows seemed to undulate across their fur, dripping and regathering with each breath as if they were specters given life.
Twin clouds of vapor snaked from their nostrils, which flared as she realized they were scenting her.
Smelling the terror in her blood.
She took a half step back, nearly dropping the dagger in her fear.
She wanted to scream, but she had no voice. It abandoned her as a low, terrible growl rumbled from each of the wolves’ throats.
Her eyes went right to their claws. Each one was jagged and cracked and as long as the dagger in her hand.
Those were the claws that had marred her, that had forever changed the curve of her jaw and her face. Those were the claws that had murdered her parents and countless others in her village.
These shadow wolves – these monsters – had stolen everything from her.
Please, she thought to the wind, to the five gods who had never listened. Please, send something to save me.
She held the pathetic blade before her as they closed in.
If there was ever a time I needed you to hear me … don’t let me die like this.
The wind howled in a sudden gale force.
And then the sky erupted in sound.
Ezer glanced up and gasped. Because the forest was utterly filled with ravens. Hundreds soared above her at once, appearing from all directions as if the night itself had grown wings.
They circled overhead, a tornado of darkness as they screeched in unison. It grew so loud that it canceled out the snarl of the wolves, the howling of the wind, the roaring of her blood in her ears.
Tears slid down her face.
At least she would die to their dirge.
She would die to the requiem of her ravens.
Ezer thought of a crisp autumn evening in Rendegard, a few days before Ervos was summoned to the war. They stood together in the Aviary, a raven on Ezer’s shoulder.
‘They listen to you,’ he said. ‘Someday, you’ll make a fine Ravenminder in my place.’
‘And what if I don’t wish to become what you are?’ Ezer said. ‘I’ve got dreams of my own, you know.’
He’d chuckled then, his booming laughter causing the birds around them to stir. ‘And what is it that you dream of, Little Bird?’
‘Elsewhere,’ Ezer said. The raven nuzzled her cheek. ‘A place where the wind is wild and free. Where I can find answers about who I am. Where I can write the better half of my story.’
She would find out who she was, and make it mean something.
Maybe she’d make a friend, fall in love, start a family of her own.
She didn’t care, so long as she chose her own fate.
Ervos had smiled sadly and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. ‘For now, your place is here, with me. Making a real difference in this war where you are safe and sound.’
‘And when the war is over?’ Ezer asked.
‘I’ll take you elsewhere myself,’ Ervos promised. ‘Wherever that may be.’
Elsewhere never came. But Ezer imagined she’d see it soon enough, in death. The ravens continued to screech as the wolves reached her.
She felt the wind from their current on her face. It dried her tears as their song rumbled in her bones. She lifted Arawn’s small blade.
Go for the throat, he’d said.
She would not go down without a fight.
She screamed as she swung. But she never made contact.
A whoosh sounded – a flutter of furious wings so strong it ripped her dark curls free of their braid, and suddenly the darkness filled her vision. She was an anchor in a sea of silken wings that parted around her.
And the wolves were suddenly engulfed in ravens.
‘Ezer,’ the wind whispered. ‘Look.’
They were like soldiers, glorious, winged warriors as they pecked and clawed and fought for Ezer’s life with no care for their own. They went for the wolves’ eyes. They shredded those terrible batlike wings, cutting through the membranous skin like it was made of fine paper instead of flesh.
Shadows stretched outwards and away as the ravens tore them apart, pecking at the wolves so fast the shadows didn’t have time to regather and heal.
She watched in amazement as the wolves fell.
As the shadows melted into the snow like oil … and then faded in a puff of black smoke.
They were gone.
Gone.
Ezer stood frozen as the ravens soared away … and then there was only silence.
She’d asked the gods for help out of desperation, not truly believing they’d listen.
But the birds – her beautiful, black-as-night ravens – had saved her.
The cacophony stopped just as suddenly as it started.
Two sets of enormous paw prints were the only sign that the wolves had ever been there at all. Hundreds of black feathers softly settled upon the snow.
Magic, she thought.
It was the only explanation she could come up with.
Flakes tumbled lazily down from the sky, landing on Ezer’s nose. The ground was already filling with it, covering the imprints of shadow wolf paws that had been left on either side of her.
A deep inhale to remind herself that she was still alive, and Ezer found her heart settling.
Her vision came back to normal as the panic left her bit by bit. And a strange blanket of peace – a feeling she had not felt in ages – washed over her.
‘Minder!’
The sound of a human voice would have been so sweet, were it not his.
He was still far enough away that she couldn’t see him, but the prince called out again – ‘Minder!’
She whirled to find Arawn sprinting through the trees. He hadn’t noticed her yet. His eyes were wide and wild as he rushed through the woods, following the path of her footsteps.
‘Ezer!’
It was the first time she’d ever heard him say her name. The first time she’d heard anyone say her name in ages.
Something deep within her winked open, and she realized what a miracle it was that she was here … alive.
And it was all because of the birds.
Arawn practically skidded to a stop as he noticed her standing there. His chest rose and fell as he looked her up and down from twenty paces away, as if searching for injuries.
He looked nothing like the polished prince from earlier.
Now he looked like the bringer of death.
Black blood splattered his cloak and painted the strands of his hair that had come loose from his long white braid. One side of his cloak and tunic was ripped through, revealing the hardened muscles of his torso beneath, the V that crept towards his waist, and – gods.
This was more like it.
No sooner had she thought it than she shook herself, disgusted with the wave of desire.
She couldn’t possibly be admiring him in this moment.
‘Would you stop screaming?’ she said. Her voice came out in a raw hiss. ‘You’ll call the wolves back.’
The sound of her voice seemed to shake him, and he looked down at the pile of feathers surrounding her.
‘What happened?’ he said.
Not quite a question. A command.
And something about her recoiled at that. It was her story, her birds, her strangety that had saved her. And perhaps that truth was the only thing she’d ever had to call her own.
‘Birds got in the way.’ Ezer breathed out.
A half-truth to cover a whole lie.
‘Birds,’ he said, and lifted a brow like he didn’t believe her for a second.
Gods be damned.
‘The wolves … must have run when they heard you coming.’
‘They don’t run.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘They certainly don’t leave their victims behind alive.’
‘Then perhaps I’m not a victim.’
She wasn’t even sure what she’d meant by the words, but they’d poured out of her like a second breath.
‘I told you to run,’ he growled, his eyes falling to the dagger still clutched in her fist. They narrowed, like he didn’t trust her. ‘I’ll take that back now.’
‘I didn’t ask for it in the first place,’ she scoffed, and tossed it at his feet. ‘And I did run.’
‘Into the woods, alone, instead of to the others!’
‘The others?’ She held out her arms, because they both knew what the fate of the others had been. ‘Death, Firemage, was not something I intended to meet today.’
She told him nothing of the ravens, nothing of the strange lingering sense that she had somehow controlled them, that with a desperate thought thrown into the void … they listened.
Perhaps her magic was not so petty after all.
And with the way he was staring at her, into her …
‘Why didn’t you use your fire against the wolves?’ she asked.
‘I did.’
She raised a knowing brow. ‘You struggled to call upon it.’
He was the prince of Lordach. The warrior with flames in his hands, already famed for his efforts in battle at such a young age.
He was …
Absolutely offended, by the sour look on his face.
‘I didn’t struggle,’ Arawn snapped.
She placed a hand on her hip. ‘You most certainly did. And then you ran.’
‘To help the others,’ he growled in frustration. ‘To carry out my command as a Knight to—’ His brow furrowed as he seemed to realize what direction she’d been heading in. ‘Are you deserting?’
‘I …’
The sun was almost entirely gone, the forest so thick with shadows that even the snow seemed to darken as it fell between them.
It blurred everything like they were inside a snow globe, freshly shaken.
‘Well?’ Arawn asked.
Ezer sighed. ‘I won’t be another name on a scroll.’
She’d go as far from the war as possible. She’d discover the truth about herself and her past.
And then she’d finally write her future.
‘Minders don’t fight in the war,’ Arawn said. ‘They certainly don’t die on the front lines.’
‘And yet my uncle, who you said I am to take the place of, would argue against that statistic. I have no one left because of a war he didn’t fight in.’ She fixed her stare upon the prince. And she felt the brokenness in her own words when she whispered, ‘No one.’
He opened and closed his mouth again.
‘I … understand.’
Rage unfurled within her.
‘You understand nothing,’ Ezer hissed.