Chapter 4
Raven
It’s interesting to think that Orpheus and I came fully dressed for running the gauntlet when our other siblings didn’t, our preparation obvious in every piece of carefully selected gear.
“The terror twins strike again,” he says, bumping my shoulder with enough force to make my scales ripple beneath the leather.
I laugh, the sound bright with anticipation and nervous energy.
“They won’t know what hit them.” We fist-bump as we walk through the gates side by side, our footsteps echoing off the ancient stone in perfect synchronization.
I look around the interior as we cross the courtyard to head out the back gates, cataloging every detail with the thoroughness Mother drilled into us.
At the top of the posts are the trophies Abraxis had left for Mom to see he was worthy—skulls and weapons that gleam like deadly promises in the afternoon sunlight.
Black dragons flex like that, displaying their victories like jewels.
Reds will show the female their hoard or might, Bronze will shift and show off their pretty scales that shimmer like liquid metal.
Greens will bring a kill for their intended mate, the fresh blood still warm on their claws.
As for the other species, I haven’t met too many outside of the yearly gathering, but the displays are a more private thing, intimate gestures of worthiness and desire.
“Welcome to the gauntlet.” Callan stands at the top of the structure, looking down at the eight of us who have arrived, his voice carrying the authority of someone who has survived what we’re about to face.
The gauntlet looms before us like a mechanical beast, all steel, and shadow and the promise of pain.
Mom steps forward in her fighting leathers.
The black material fitting her like a second skin and her swords strapped to her back, the hilts worn smooth from years of use.
“Shadowcarve has a long-standing tradition of weeding out the weak. Only the strong will survive here.” Ziggy’s twins are here on the rampart with the other students or survivors of Shadowcarve.
Their faces carrying the particular look of those who have faced death and lived to tell about it.
“Partial shifting is allowed to survive. There are only two ways out—on a stretcher or out through the hatch at the top. May Tiamat protect you.” Mom’s voice drips with power as she moves off to the side, every step graceful as a hunting cat.
Leander is on the platform and welcomes the first student with the kind of smile that promises suffering.
I spread my wings, feeling the familiar rush of air beneath the membranes, and land on the wall looking down to study the gauntlet once it’s set in motion.
Every whir and clack is catalogued in my memory in relation to where the dot is on the tracker, the mechanical symphony telling me stories of crushing gears and swinging blades.
“You look like your mom when you study it,” Abraxis says, flying up to sit next to me, his wings creating a gust of wind that carries his familiar scent—leather and steel and the faint metallic tang of old blood.
“Know your enemy and know how to defeat it. I hear rollers, something swinging...” I pause, listening to the mechanical heartbeat of the killing machine below.
“A floor that drops away and something that gets fired.” I tilt my head several more times, my enhanced hearing picking up every mechanical nuance, every deadly promise hidden in the clockwork rhythm.
“Those things are definitely in there,” Abraxis says as he stares at the torture device before us, his voice carrying the respect of someone who understands exactly how many ways this machine can kill.
Orpheus moves to the platform and salutes before disappearing into the gauntlet like a shadow swallowed by deeper darkness.
“He’ll be fine,” I smile, and one thing we didn’t tell the parents is that he has talons in his human form.
They’re much smaller than mine, but they are there nonetheless, deadly little secrets hidden beneath human skin.
“How can you be so confident?” Abraxis asks as we leap off the wall, our feet hitting the ground with soft thuds that speak of perfect balance and predatory grace.
“All of you trained us,” I laugh a little and motion to my dad, feeling pride swell in my chest like dragon fire.
“I’m Thauglor’s daughter, his heir, blood of his blood.
” I say it loud enough for my father to hear me, and he beams with pride that makes my heart soar.
“My mom is a six-time gauntlet winner when they had females running two gauntlets.” Mom smiles hearing me, her expression fierce with maternal approval.
“I am Mommy’s little monster and Daddy’s terror. Some machine isn’t going to stop me.”
I walk toward the gauntlet, and Corvis steps between me and the stairs, his massive frame blocking my path like a wall of muscle and determination. His silver eyes seem to burn like twin stars, blazing with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Please reconsider.” His voice is deep and rough, caught somewhere between a purr and a growl that sends shivers down my spine despite my determination.
I watch his eyes drop briefly, locking on the new blades strapped to my ribs, the metal gleaming against the black leather.
Does he know it’s a mating present? The thought makes my stomach flutter with something I can’t quite name.
“We’ve trained for this.” I tilt my head, looking up at him, noting that gone is the smile I would usually see when he looks at me.
His face is impassive, almost cold, like carved stone that refuses to reveal its secrets.
I reach up and place a gloved hand on his cheek, the leather warm from my skin, and he leans into it with a desperation that makes my chest tight.
That’s new, this hunger in his touch, this need that seems to radiate from his very pores.
“I will not die today,” I say, laughing a little at the absurdity of his worry.
“Besides, who else is going to kick your ass in sword training if it’s not me?
” I run my thumb from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of stubble through my glove and the way his jaw clenches under my touch. “Trust me.”
He exhales loudly; the sound carries defeat and resignation, and gives me a slight nod before closing his eyes and moving out of my way. Losing his warmth leaves me feeling strangely cold, though I push the sensation aside.
As long as I’ve known Corvis, he’s been overprotective of me, but this feels different—more intense, more desperate.
I look back down at him as he stares up at me like someone murdered his puppy, his expression so devastated it makes my chest ache.
My heart hurts seeing him that upset, but I know this needs to be done.
I turn back to Leander as I pull my face mask up and tie it in place, the familiar weight settling over my features like armor.
“You know the drill.” The way Leander says it, I know there are live threats, poisons, and moving pieces inside that could kill me in a dozen different ways.
I nod my head at him before letting my silver talons extend, feeling the familiar burn as bone and keratin push through human fingertips to reveal the weapons beneath.
I step inside and shift my eyes to my dragon’s, the world suddenly becoming sharper, more vivid, as predatory vision replaces human sight.
I see the moving pieces and choose to leap to the ceiling, using my talons to crawl along the beams, the wood cold and slightly damp under my claws.
There’s something alive up ahead—I can smell it, a musty, predatory scent that makes my scales prickle with warning.
I use my wings and drop to the ground silently, my feet touching stone without so much as a whisper of sound.
Creeping forward, I see movement in the shadows ahead.
Two dire spiders, their bodies massive and glistening with venom that catches the dim light.
One is turned to stone—probably thanks to my brother and his stone gaze.
The other is pacing around, its legs clicking against the stone floor in a rhythm that speaks of hunger and patience.
I take a step back, and a click sounds, sharp and mechanical in the silence. Without thinking, I leap up and narrowly miss getting impaled by bolts firing out of the walls on both sides, the metal projectiles whistling past my ears close enough that I can feel the displaced air.
I guess Mom was serious about upping her gauntlet game this year.
Looking back, the spider is gone, vanished like smoke into the shadows.
“Shit.” I made a rookie mistake—I took my eyes off my target, exactly the error that gets shadowblades killed in the field.
There are two choices, well realistically three.
First, charge through the room and hope to get past the spider.
Second, wait it out—dire spiders, if I remember right, are not the most patient bunch.
Three, use myself as bait and get it to reveal itself, then kill it.
Throwing caution to the wind, I leap down and land close to its dead partner, the stone corpse cold and lifeless beneath my boots.
A high-pitched scream fills the air, the sound so shrill it makes my teeth ache, and I hear its legs moving across stone like claws on glass.
It shoots webbing at me, and the sticky strands hit my thigh, clinging to the leather with the tenacity of liquid cement.
I lower my mask and then stretch my jaw, partially shifting my mouth, and build up acid, feeling the familiar burn as my body chemistry changes.
When the spider charges, its massive form bears down on me like a nightmare made flesh.
I spit acid in its face before dropping some into my hand to wipe the webbing away.
The acid hisses and bubbles as it hits, filling the air with the acrid smell of burning chitin.
I burn half of its face off, and its spinning in circles, screaming in agony that echoes off the walls.
Reaching back, I draw my matched swords.
The blades sing as they clear their sheaths, and charge.
Two quick swipes with my swords, and I sever the legs on the right side, black ichor spraying across the stone.
Then I cut what’s left of its face off, the head separating with a wet sound that makes my stomach clench.
Using the tip of my sword, I pry the fangs out of its melted head, the venom glands still pulsing with deadly toxin.
I slide both into the pack on my lower back before putting my swords away and starting my climb, my hands, and feet finding purchase on stone slick with spider blood.
I reach the roof, and Ziggy is standing there waiting for me, his grin wide with pride and relief. “There’s my terror.” We laugh together, and out of all of Mom’s children, I was the least problematic—ironic, considering what I just did to that spider.
“That’s me,” I say, smiling as I walk to the edge. “I'll meet you down there.” I wink before I turn and spread my large wings, feeling the familiar rush of air beneath the membranes, and glide down to my family, the wind carrying me like a dark angel returning to earth.
Before anyone can get to me, I walk over to my parents and offer them each a spider fang with poison gland attached, the venom still gleaming wet and deadly. “My gift to you.” They hug me and kiss my temple, their warmth, and pride wrapping around me like a blanket.
“Corvis was worried about you,” Mom mentions, motioning to where he’s standing by himself, his posture so rigid with tension that speaks of barely controlled emotion.
I walk silently across the courtyard, my feet making no sound on the stone, and hug him from behind, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face against his back.
“I’m back.” His body is tense in my arms, every muscle rigid as steel, and I let go as if touching him burned me, confusion and hurt flooding through my chest. “Oh goddess, you found your mate. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know...”
I back away with my hands up, my heart breaking at the thought that I’ve somehow violated the bond between him and another.
It can be the only explanation of why me holding him made him stiffen like that.
Why my touch suddenly seems unwelcome. Before anyone can stop me, I take flight, my wings carrying me up and away from the pain in his eyes and the confusion in my heart.
I messed up big time. I can only hope his mate is understanding, that my years of casual affection haven’t ruined something precious.
If I ruined his chance to have his mate, I will never forgive myself.
The thought follows me into the sky like a shadow, dark and unforgiving as the mountain peaks that surround us.