Chapter 5
Ezer had never seen war, but she imagined the aftermath would have been something like this.
Bodies were strung across the snow. The wolves had shredded half the wagon’s worth.
The prisoners who had chosen to become soldiers hadn’t even made it to Augaurde, and they’d already been ripped apart piece by piece.
So much blood, so much death.
And …
More Sacred had arrived.
Arawn greeted them as if he knew them well.
There were three others checking the survivors who would soon become soldiers.
A Sacred woman, with dark skin and pale white braids, a strip of light leather across her brow. She bore a white and blue crest behind the mark of wings on her chest – the mark for a Watermage. But there was yet another crest beside that.
It was in the shape of a war eagle’s talons, poised for the kill.
Ezer’s eyes widened.
She was a Rider.
And so was the other one beside her. He was enormous, even larger than Arawn, if that was possible. He bore red behind his traditional winged crest, which marked him as an Ehvermage. They often specialized as healers but could make fine trackers as well.
Ezer looked around, searching for a sign of their eagles.
Gods, it would be like a balm to her soul. A way to wash away the horrors of today, if she could just lay eyes on one sacred bird, every feather woven by the gods.
The last arrival was kneeling beside a prisoner, his bare hands pressed to the man’s throat as he checked for a pulse. His back was to Ezer.
His cloak was white like the others, but he had an interesting gold thread woven on the fringes, and gold silk on the inside of his hood.
Her heart skipped a beat.
An Eagleminder.
The Lordachian army had several different wings, all of them trained in specific areas since they were children.
There were Knights, like Arawn, and Scribes, who trained in the true art of war by inscribing runes upon objects – beautiful, curling script in the Godstongue.
It was so vast a language, the runic dictionary took up an entire floor of the Citadel’s library.
If it weren’t for the Scribes, the Minder towers across Lordach would have been leveled long ago.
Like the Knights and Scribes, Eagleminders were born in the Citadel, but there was little known about them. As a child, Ezer often pretended she was one. That her ravens were just tiny fledglings, readying themselves to go into war someday.
But seeing an Eagleminder in real life …
‘Kinlear!’ Arawn called to the kneeling Eagleminder, and he stood, swept the snow from his cloak and trousers, and turned to face them.
It was an effort not to let her jaw drop.
It was like staring at a different version of Arawn.
His hair was dark, where Arawn’s strands were white. Tall and lean, where Arawn was all bulk of brutish muscle.
But the face.
The face was the same.
Kinlear Laroux. Arawn’s twin brother.
The other prince.
He had a walking cane in one gloved hand, an eagle’s head as the handle, which he used to push himself up to full standing.
He was undeniably handsome, a softer version of Arawn, with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks.
He had dark, messy curls that looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed.
Even the white tunic under his cloak was rumpled, the top three buttons undone to reveal pale skin beneath, as if he were dressed for spring instead of an Augaurdian winter.
Not as massive as his brother, but still chiseled enough to prove he’d had his fair share of combat training, as any prince would.
He was a curious, wild sort of being.
The kind that people probably whispered about in the Citadel’s halls, for where Arawn was exactly as he seemed … Kinlear Laroux felt like a walking mystery.
The kind she’d love to unravel.
She could only imagine what he knew of the War Eagles. What he’d done, and what he’d seen. His cane only served to the mystery surrounding him, as did the small, corked vial he wore on a necklace around his throat.
‘You shouldn’t be here, Kinlear,’ Arawn said. ‘It’s cold.’
Kinlear shrugged. ‘This is Augaurde, brother. Everywhere is cold. And besides, I’m as warm as a furnace, with the runes on my cloak.’
He stopped before them, digging the tip of his cane into the snow. It was a lovely thing, finely carved to look like the long feathers of the eagle’s tail swirled all the way down to the ground. ‘You were due back yesterday. What happened?’
Ezer found herself glancing back and forth between Kinlear and Arawn.
They were polar opposites.
One, rigid and untouchable, the other, as wild as the wind.
‘The journey was slow,’ Arawn said. ‘Plenty of stops along the way, to visit with the garrisons across the south. They’re not faring well.’
She must have slept through each one of them.
‘If they’re faring at all.’ Kinlear sighed and blew a curl from his face.
‘Well. It’s been terribly boring without you here.
No one to tell me to keep my cloak pressed, or to polish my boots.
’ He inclined his head towards the other two Sacred.
‘No one to stop me from paying penance for going a bit too overboard on Absolution.’ The one night a month that the Sacred were permitted a single release from their rigid, law-abiding life, allowed to imbibe upon winterwine – a northern delicacy – until sunrise.
Kinlear chuckled. ‘A few Riders were more than happy to allow me a chance to join the thrill of saving you. It’s a wonderful thing, being the hero. Not that you’d know.’
‘I had it under control,’ Arawn growled.
‘The body count begs otherwise,’ Kinlear said and lifted his chin. ‘At least I got to see one of my fledglings, all grown and in action.’
The War Eagles.
Ezer looked past him, searching the woods for a sign of the glorious beasts.
But it was too dark, the snow coming down thicker now.
They needed to leave, to find safety and warmth, and yet all these Sacred seemed perfectly at ease amidst the blood and gore and death.
Kinlear’s grey eyes slid to Ezer and brightened, curious as a bird’s. ‘And who do we have here?’
‘Our newest Ravenminder,’ Arawn said, and for some reason he took a step closer to her. Enough that the edge of his cloak brushed up against Ezer’s arm. ‘Brought in from Rendegard.’
‘Ah, a Ravenminder. How very …’ Kinlear looked her up and down, as if cataloguing her every detail, ‘… charming.’
A spike of heat went through her.
Being an asshole must run in the family.
‘Spent a bit of time with the omens, have you?’ Kinlear asked.
‘If by omens, you mean ravens, then yes,’ Ezer said. ‘In some ways, the messenger birds are just as important as the War Eagles.’
Kinlear raised a dark brow. ‘A clever sentiment, albeit a false one.’
‘It’s true, I can assure you,’ she said.
His chiseled jaw twitched, as if he weren’t used to being challenged. ‘Is that so?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s called communication, Prince. I’m no soldier, but I’m well aware that this war would already be lost without the ability to communicate. You have the ravens to thank for that.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And their Minders.’
Beside her, Arawn made a choking sound, as if he couldn’t believe the words she’d just spoken.
‘And quite a communicator you are,’ Kinlear said, crossing his long arms.
They stared at each other, one Minder sizing up another.
She waited for his gaze to slide to her scars, for him to curl his lip in disgust as so many did. As if they saw her scars instead of the person behind them. As if she were merely an afterthought to the wounds on her face.
But this prince never broke her gaze.
Instead, he smiled, a devilish thing, and he conceded by bowing his chin.
‘Welcome to the north, then. A size up from Rendegard, for certain.’ There was a hint of mischief as he added, ‘And of course, I’ve been so rude.
Allow me to introduce myself to you as Kinlear Laroux, Sacred Eagleminder and most loyal servant of Lordach. Though most call me the Handsome Twin.’
Arawn grunted beside her.
‘Nothing against you, brother. I’m just relaying what the good people of Lordach say.’ A slight cough left Kinlear’s lips as he turned to his twin. Seeing them together … two princes, surrounded by carnage and crimson snow …
It was enough to make her dizzy, with how much had shifted since leaving her tower behind.
‘I’m due back in the Aviary,’ Kinlear said. ‘I’ll speak to you soon. Alone, Arawn.’
Then he looked to Ezer and winked. ‘Ravenminder.’
‘Eagleminder,’ she said back.
Arawn’s fists uncurled as his brother turned away.
‘We’ll escort you safely back, sir,’ the Sacred woman said to Arawn. ‘Eyes in the sky.’
Kinlear spun and walked off into the woods, the sound of his cane crunching against the snow. The other two Knights bid Arawn goodbye and fell into place behind Kinlear.
‘An interesting character, your brother,’ Ezer said, for Arawn was still at her side, watching Kinlear walk away.
‘Yes,’ Arawn said curtly. ‘As talented an Eagleminder as I’ve ever met, despite his … edges. But I suppose that’s the best way one can stand out, when you’re never to rule.’
Ezer glanced up at him. ‘Why wouldn’t he rule?’
Arawn sheathed his blade. ‘Because. He was born seconds after me. By Sacred law, he’s not permitted to wear the crown.’
She sucked in a breath.
‘Ezer.’
Her ears pricked up at the sound of the whisper as the wind skirted past her ears.
But there was no wolf that appeared, no danger in sight.
There was only Kinlear’s cloak as he walked away, softly glowing with gold runes as the wind tugged it from his hip. Enough to reveal the weapon sheathed there.
Ezer gasped.
Suddenly, she wasn’t here anymore, standing in the frigid north.
In her mind, she was back in her tower in Rendegard, curled in her cot and her chains as a sliver of moonlight kissed her scars.
Because Kinlear, Eagleminder and second-born Prince of Lordach …
He must be the faceless man she had seen, every night in her sleep for the past two years.