52. Chapter 46
Chapter 46
Raven
O ur travels took us through the farmlands of the Flesh. Short, rocky hills hosted goats and herds of sheep while small flat fields grew beans and other crops. Blissfully few observers watched us pass here. I grew used to riding and felt almost comfortable as we approached the border between the Blood Lakes and the Flesh.
Caelan, on the other hand, was anything but relaxed. He couldn’t tolerate the slow pace required by the wagons and rode up and down the line, snapping irritable commands at soldiers I’d only ever heard him speak kindly to before. Whenever he came up beside me, he glowered in drawn-out silence. Even his behavior at night had changed. On our way to the Fakoury manor, we’d whispered and played and even cuddled each night, building something deeper between us than the wary sizzling attraction that had been there before. Caelan was growing to trust me. Just a little more of this and he might even give me back my daggers, or at least let me wander freely near other weaponry I could use to kill him.
But after our dinner at the Fakoury manor, he went cold. Several nights in a row, he chained me and sent me to bed without a word. Something was amiss.
I should tell Farad, I thought, but then I reconsidered. I’d told Lusa about Caelan’s altaya and she and Farad turned right around and betrayed me. I had no idea what was bothering Caelan. I couldn’t barter with knowledge I didn’t even have.
I broached the subject as Caelan rode beside me one day. Keeping my voice low so only we would hear, I said, “My prince, what haunts you?”
Caelan startled. My words had tugged him back from a place deep inside his thoughts and he took a moment to process them. Then he laughed. “Haunts me, you say. Like a spirit that was meant to pass on but lingers. Yes.”
Well, that told me nothing. “Whose spirit?”
Caelan glared, his mouth pinched in a tight line. I felt sure the answer to that question would reveal much, but equally sure he would not answer. I redirected.
“Are you worried about what you’ll find in the Blood Lakes?”
Caelan shrugged. “Rebels, hopefully. Since I know they’re there, not finding them would be failure.”
“What will you do with them?”
“Why?” he snapped. “Are you hoping I’ll extend mercy?”
“No,” I said levelly. I’d always found it best to stay calm when faced with a man in a temper. “I know better than to expect that. I am curious, though, how you'll feel as your bird tears out their eyes and entrails. I know you don’t like killing—”
“Innocents,” Caelan interrupted, the word hurled at me, though quietly. “These rebels are no innocents. They’re traitors.”
“So was I.”
Silence.
I sighed. Lowered my voice even more and leaned a little towards him. “Something is bothering you, my prince. I will keep your secrets, if you wish to tell me what it is.”
Caelan’s sharp eyes burrowed into me like an eagle scanning a field of tall grass. He looked, for a moment, like he wanted to let it all spill out. But instead, he said, “Yes, you’re a vault of secrets, aren’t you, Raven? Why don’t you tell me someone else’s secrets instead of collecting mine?”
I kept my voice toneless. “Whose would you like to know?”
“Your father’s.”
My heart skipped a beat and my fingers tightened on the reins. “I’ve wished my entire life to know his mind. But I was four cycles old when he died. I don’t have a single memory of him.”
“You were raised by his allies; you’ve read his manifesto.”
“True. Second-hand knowledge, all of it, but I’ll share what I can. What would you like to know?” I couldn’t see the harm in telling Caelan what was common knowledge among the rebels, though it felt strange and uncomfortable to speak of my father to him.
“Why did he rebel against my father? They were best friends.”
I breathed slowly to calm my nerves. Of course he’d want to know the one thing I couldn't tell him. “He felt your father’s rule was unjust. He rose in defense of the common man, seeking to replace your father on the throne and offer the people a kinder ruler.”
Caelan snorted. “He wanted the throne for himself, you mean.”
“No,” I snapped, losing my cool.
Caelan’s eyes flashed and I forced myself to calm down. Starting a fight with him in defense of my father’s memory would get me nowhere.
“It is what I was taught,” I said stiffly.
“Yes, I suppose that is the story the rebels would tell,” he mused.
“And what story would you like to hear?”
“The true one. Not what my father says or what Rosa’s allies say. The real reason he did what he did.”
My hands shook and my eyes instinctively sought Farad. He was watching, as always, from the corner of his eye. “What makes you think there’s another reason?”
Caelan’s eyes took on that haunted look again. “I think he believed in something, and it didn’t have anything to do with justice for the people. I think it had to do with The Tapestry Unweaving. Have you heard of it?”
My heartbeat raced so fast it became a hum in my chest. I struggled to draw breath. Caelan knew more than I thought, though clearly not everything. Did he know what he was? The role he was to play in the coming end?
I scanned my surroundings for anything I could use as weaponry. If this conversation went on much longer, I’d have to find a way to kill Caelan right here and now. Once he knew everything, there was no way I’d ever get a chance.
Hooves pattered on stone as Farad rode up alongside us. “Prince Caelan.” He bowed. “Companion Rosa.” He did not bow.
Caelan glowered at the priest. I could tell he was not fond of him. I had to applaud his instincts, even if he didn’t listen to them enough. “Priest Farad,” he said tightly. “May I help you?”
“I was actually seeking the help of your companion, if you’ll allow it, my prince,” Farad said smoothly. “The Father sometimes offers me certain…instincts, and I have received one regarding the dragon. Nothing as powerful as your companion’s gift, of course. Merely a feeling that something is happening. I seek the use of your companion’s Sight.”
Caelan’s interest sharpened as he nodded his permission. He was fascinated by the dragon. I knew he wished he were with the party that had gone to kill it.
Farad couldn’t have heard our conversation but he’d seen the look on my face. He’d come to rescue me, turning the talk to something that interested Caelan more than the mystery around my father and The Tapestry Unweaving.
I closed my eyes and sought Asherah. Immediately, intense emotions overwhelmed me. Dismay. Confusion. She was near panic.
I struggled to breathe as her consciousness subsumed my own.
My Chosen! You were here. I smell you. I feel you. I sniffed at blood dried on shattered glass shards and keened my frustration into the air as I stamped the offending ground.
My Chosen felt intoxicatingly close in this place where their blood had spilled, but they were not here. They were still far away in the evil place. I keened my despair.
Why do you run from me and make me chase you?
I spread my wings and twisted my neck to press my cheek to the glass. My tongue lapped at the dried blood left behind.
Around me, the humans who’d come to worship me and feed me were afraid. I screamed at them, enraged—my Chosen was everything and they were nothing. They fed me and oiled my scales but my heart overflowed with yearning for another. I longed to take flight and quickly cross into the bad place to retrieve my Chosen.
But I was still too small. I must walk and practice short glides to strengthen my wings.
I launched into the air. The mortals collided with each other in their rush to follow. This pleased me, at least. They knew what it was to serve their god.
But oh, my Chosen. I taste you on my tongue and seek more. One mind. One will. One thought. I’m coming.
The hook released me and I gasped back into my own body.
Raven, I thought. I'm Raven.
I was coated in sweat as I opened my eyes to see Caelan’s worry and Farad’s calm curiosity.
“Asherah has reached the place where we fought on the black glass plains. She licked Tanead’s blood from the glass and longs for him.” Destiny had swept us all away that day.
“How many Losians accompany her?” Caelan asked.
“I saw dozens but there could be more in the tunnels.”
“Undoubtedly. And they’re almost at the river,” Caelan said.
“Yes.”
“How is the dragon, would you say?” asked Farad.
“Disturbed,” I admitted. “She longs to Bond.”
Farad bowed his head, but it was a sign of gratitude and courtesy rather than the honor shown to a royal or a lady. “Thank you.”
He kept riding with us after that, preventing us from rekindling our previous conversation. Before he left us that evening, his eyes flashed a warning and a reminder. Not that there was any need. I’d hardly forgotten that I needed to kill Caelan. Especially if he was starting to ask questions with dangerous answers.
But how to do it?
When Caelan pulled me tight against him that night, pressing his finger to my lips to request silence and hugging me as if my skin on his was all that kept him alive, I told myself that I was forwarding my cause. I was earning his trust. But as my eyes closed in pleasure and I leaned into the rare, kind touch he offered, I knew I was lying.
I submitted to Caelan to feed a hunger in me that burrowed and begged for more. I promised myself that I’d put that hunger aside when the time came. I must.
No, hissed the deep voice. I felt certain by now that it was not a memory of my father guiding me. Nor did it speak my own thoughts. This voice—this presence—was something else.
I did not know what. I knew only that it had spoken far more often since my return to Vaharilar than it ever had before. Was it the voice of destiny? An ancient seer whispering of secrets she’d taken to her grave? Another dragon recently reborn?
The trust I’d once felt in it had been replaced by a low thrum of fear. I wanted it to leave my mind. To leave me alone.
You don’t want to kill him, the voice hissed. So don’t. Stop being their pawn, Raven.
Why? I answered. I tried to make my mental voice strong, but it wavered. A fog of green light, thick and opaque, blew into my mind, clouding my thoughts. The tendrils that unfurled from it burrowed like worms. Because you want me to be your pawn instead?
The voice laughed. Perhaps. We want the same things.
I was about to retort that I doubted it, but the words would not come. I no longer knew what I wanted.
I fell into a restless sleep, haunted by my old nightmare. A high-pitched scream, endless and echoing, lingered in my ears after I woke. I blinked to clear the vision of green from my eyes, but I found it sticking to the real world, coating it with a sickening filter.
In my chest, I felt a new hook. It did not feel like the pull of Asherah, which grabbed me quickly and yanked my mind across spans in moments. This hook was thick and heavy. It carved its way into my chest and settled there, shooting sharp pains through me when I breathed. It had no obvious pull, but when I followed the string attached to it, it led me back to the blinding light beneath the Palace of the Suns.
What is this? Is a new dragon hatching?
No answer except the deep voice, tolling over and over, Come home.
Who are you? I asked angrily.
In answer, memories rose up as if a locked chest in my mind had suddenly opened. I saw my father’s dark eyes and heard my mother’s lilting voice. Her hair draped in front of me as she bent over and smiled. I smelt the sweet almonds she used to oil her skin.
My breath caught in my throat and my eyes filled with tears. I’d never remembered her before.
How? I whispered, the question tinged with desperation.
The hook twisted, searing as it carved up my soul. I can give you back to yourself, Raven. I can give you your father and your mother. I can show you who you really are. Come home and we will fly together.