Chapter 20
The next day, when Ezer woke, she received the news.
It was given in the form of hushed whispers, of worried looks and shock and for some, even poorly veiled smiles.
‘What’s going on?’ Ezer asked as Izill wheeled in the day’s breakfast.
‘You haven’t heard?’ Izill wore one lovely, long braid today, and she twisted the end nervously around her fingertips.
‘Zey took an eagle early this morning, when she wasn’t slated to fly.
Nobody noticed until it was already too late.
’ She locked eyes with Ezer. They were red, like she’d been crying.
‘I’ve served her my entire life. She wasn’t always awful.
Not all at once. At one point … she was a part of us. ’
‘Where did she go?’ Ezer asked, heart racing. Her eyes flicked to the book she’d left on Zey’s trunk last night, not wanting to bother the Eagleminder again.
But she already knew, even before Izill said, ‘She was last seen going north … towards the Sawteeth. To defect.’
‘Did anyone go after her?’ Ezer asked.
Izill shook her head. ‘Her eagle came back without her, and there’s no telling if she made it, with how heavy the day’s snows have been.
Even if there was a body to recover …’ A sniffle as Izill looked away and whispered, ‘She would have been left for the wolves to devour. She made her choice. She’s gone. ’
Ezer placed an awkward hand on her shoulder and sat there silently while Izill cried.
She should have been horrified. Perhaps she even should have been relieved the Eagleminder was gone, for Zey had not had a shred of kindness to share.
But in her mind, in her heart …
She hoped that Zey was out there, somewhere. Alive.
Free.
News of Zey’s defecting had spread across the Citadel like wildfire. People whispered about the marks on her hands, the harshness of her words, the way she’d failed in her demonstration with the eagle, and perhaps that was why she’d run … because she couldn’t handle the embarrassment.
Some said she’d gone with no hopes to defect, but rather to escape her vows to the gods entirely. To die as she pleased.
Her story became a spectacle. A rumor.
But no one beyond Izill seemed to care about the absence of her as a person … the yawning emptiness that should have been present in their eyes, knowing one of their own was gone.
It put Ezer in a foul mood, made her breakfast tasteless, her conversations short. Zey’s face stuck in her mind as she left the dorm behind.
She couldn’t quite place why until she came into the courtyard and stood before the ancient frozen tree. Her breath clouded before her as she stared at the swords plunged into the snow, one for each of their fallen comrades.
She reached her hand into her pocket, feeling for the stone she didn’t dare leave behind in her dorm. It was like a comfort now.
An anchor that kept her grounded.
The stone warmed almost instantly.
Will there be a sword for her? Ezer asked. She gave no greeting, no hello.
And she was breathing too hard, panicked for some reason she didn’t quite understand.
For Zey? No, Minder. His voice sighed gently against her mind, and she closed her eyes, leaning into the safety net the sound of it had become.
When a Sacred leaves their post and their vows behind, no matter the reason …
they are dead to us. They are forever gone, wiped from the records. As if they never existed at all.
That would explain why Ezer had yet to find anything on her mother or father.
So nobody mourns her, Ezer thought back.
They mourn. His voice was unusually gentle.
Just … not where others can see. To do so would be to show some sort of allegiance to Zey’s choice, over our allegiance to the gods.
He was quiet again, and she thought he’d gone until his voice whispered, with an almost palpable wave of sadness, She made her choice. We must learn to live without her now.
She didn’t think he was speaking entirely about Zey.
The stone went cold.
How many others, Ezer wondered, who had spent their lives here, trying and failing like Zey, were dead without anything to remember them by?
And then Ezer wondered, with a lump in her throat …
Would anyone mourn me?
She hoped Izill and Arawn would, and Kinlear was more a mystery now than ever. But beyond them …
Her loss would be like the countless other names on scrolls. There would be no sword plunged in the snow. No stories told.
And she hated the thought of it. Of fading away, forgotten to time.
Snow kissed her nose and cheeks as she looked skyward. Past the Citadel, to the normal world she’d been plucked from. Full of nomages and Ravenminder towers and so many innocents, who would all die if she did not succeed.
War had stolen too many lives.
It had left too many children like Ezer behind.
They’ll sing songs about you, Kinlear had said. The Raphonminder who changed the fate of Lordach.
And as the snow fell around her, and she followed the pull of the wind towards Six …
She decided, then and there, that she would be remembered.
No matter what it took.
After that, Ezer spent every second she could with Six.
Each day she arrived, she found Kinlear missing, even when his deadline of five days had passed. She supposed it should have been a relief that he hadn’t yet returned. Her dreams were a warning that she could not trust him.
But it only left her with a sizzling sort of fury.
He’d been quick to throw her into service with Six … but hadn’t the decency to return to check up on her progress in person. Like he couldn’t be bothered.
He left a letter for her each new day, written in lovely black ink.
And with each one, he now sent gifts.
Piles of books tied in delicate silk ribbon.
Heaped bags of milk chocolates, or fresh strips of polished leather to hold her curls back in a braid, like he’d learned her likings. Like he had eyes watching her.
It was both a comfort and subtly veiled threat.
She took the gifts anyway, grateful for something to do with Six to pass the hours. She read the books aloud as she walked, and discovered Six had no patience for romances. No, she liked cold, blood-soaked thrillers instead.
‘You may be a raphon, but I’m not certain this content is appropriate for a creature not even a year old,’ Ezer told her.
Six had left a pile of waste upon the romance books in response, and so thrillers it was.
Ezer brought in a wheelbarrow and mucking rake, and cleaned Six’s cage. It was exhausting work, and her sore arms throbbed as she cleaned the shavings, despite Six’s annoyance.
The raphon hated the mucking rake and had even tried to swipe it from Ezer’s hands with a paw.
‘It’s not a weapon,’ Ezer said as the pup twitched her tail twice – a very obvious no.
Six still sat there, glaring at the rake as if it were a snake.
Ezer supposed she shared the same look when Arawn handed her a training sword each night.
‘This place reeks of death, and I’m not certain I’ll survive another few hours in here with you. Now move, please, so I can clean it all up.’
The raphon scurried away, tail twitching near her face as Ezer continued to clean.
She managed to take Six’s measurements for a saddle, another dance that had Six skittering away from her – even knocking her against the wall and earning her a sprained wrist. She’d gone to Alaris to fix it, and the healer had only clucked her tongue like a disapproving grandmother.
‘Progress is slow, then?’ Alaris asked.
Ezer sighed, and asked, ‘Can I borrow that pair of forceps?’
The healer had offered them up, confused, as Ezer smiled and left the room.
She had discovered that she had to offer a shiny bauble to Six as a gift each day:
Alaris’s silver forceps. A tiny golden teaspoon from her breakfast.
A copper candlestick from her dormitory.
Even a book with gilded edges, courtesy of Kinlear’s daily gift.
They were silly things, but they were all glowing and shimmering and to the raven side of the raphon, each one was utterly irresistible. And Six had been perfectly pliable when given such gifts, enough that Ezer could lift her paws, and touch her tail, and polish her scarred beak.
Enough that Six finally bowed her head and allowed Ezer to get the halter close enough to slide it on.
And when a full week passed...
Kinlear still didn’t show.
But he had sent another letter back with Izill. Ezer practically growled in frustration as she tore it open.
It was beginning to feel familiar, the being left behind sort of thing. The waiting.
Dearest Raphonminder,
My messenger informs me that you are making slow, if any at all, true progress with the pup.
Consider this a gentle reminder, while I am away.
The fate of Lordach rests on your shoulders.
With Fervor,
Prince Kinlear Laroux
‘Sorry,’ Izill said with a wince, as she handed Ezer another gift.
This time, it was a shiny golden bangle for her wrist.
She gave it right to Six.
Yet another week passed, and Ezer practiced haltering and un-haltering the raphon, until they reached a perfect little dance together.
Six skittered away, tossed her head, slashed her paws.
Ezer cursed at her, earned some sort of wound, and in the end, she had to offer up a shiny item until Six finally relented and allowed her a chance to buckle the halter over her neck and beak.
Each afternoon, Ezer spent curled up in the library, warmed by the fire and the smell of old books, until her training began.
She spent hours researching Sacred magic, hoping to track down someone who could share visions with a beast of any kind.
She’d even had the librarian search through the archives of those born in the Citadel.
There were hundreds of books, names scribbled in ancient ink.
But her eyes had crossed after only a few tomes.
‘You’re distracted,’ Arawn said, on another night inside the training room.
Their routine was now something she’d begun to look forward to.