Chapter 2
Rabbit blood sprayed across the icy ground, splattering my pristine white shoes and dress, soaking in the life which was just lost. Clouds drew over the assembly, flakes floating down in silent mourning to the sacrifice.
The court before me was bursting with fur-clad nobles, sipping their mead, seated in cushioned chairs.
The villagers pressed together far behind the nobles my father invited, trying to get a glimpse of the man worthy enough to marry the White Raven.
Half the town had shown up, squashing into the snowy courtyard.
The tang of their compressed unwashed bodies had me thankful the ceremony was outside.
Even in the summer months, when my father preferred formalities outside, the ground was always coated in white.
“In honor of my son’s union with the White Raven and for His Majesty the King.
” Miika, the older Blaxhall, bowed his head toward us, his voice ringing through the outside courtyard.
His dark blue eyes glinted with lust, the taste of power salivating on the tip of his tongue, ready to gorge on what I brought to his family: prestige, influence, and money.
A direct tie to the King of Silvervale, the ruler of the Day Ravens.
The animal jerked with its last breath in Blaxhall’s meaty hands before it surrendered to its demise. Keeping my gaze forward whilst red droplets sizzled into the snow, I felt every snowflake settle on my pale lashes, every breath knocking against the furs snuggling against my pulse.
My father’s hand pressed on mine in warning to keep me from appearing anything less than captivated. His fingers dug in as a reminder to keep my chin up, knowing I wanted to turn away, stand up, and demand the man bleed himself dry in my honor instead of the rabbit.
“This is how it is done, Wrennlyn,” my father would tell me over and over as a girl.
“Huginn and Muninn demand a sacrifice. We must keep them appeased. To keep you protected. You most of all should understand what happens if the White Raven isn’t kept safe.
The Night Ravens will stop at nothing to take the one who is foretold, depriving this land of the true leader, the ability to really heal this land.
” Since King Stallard and Queen Elsara had borne the only child of royal blood, it was my father’s claim to be the leader of all kingdoms. His rightful place.
“I thought they’d already forsaken us?” My young brain did not understand why we had to placate distant deities who had already turned their back on us.
“Even more reason to please them. To become their favored once more,” he stated firmly. “You have a duty to fulfill. Do not disappoint me.”
As if I could ever escape my responsibility. What was asked of me since I was a girl. Protect our destinies at all costs.
The once-powerful Messengers of the Realm—Day Ravens and Night Ravens—were the favored couriers of the original two ravens, Huginn and Muninn.
The ravens who represented “thought” and “memory,” carriers for the god Odin.
As the world grew, we became their operatives—symbols for life, death, and purgatory.
We ventured to faraway worlds and glided into dreams as warnings and signs, seen only in our spirit forms.
One day, when my father was an adolescent, our skies were suddenly shaped with featherless wings.
A new species had come into our world under their god Hodr, Odin’s son.
In the role of Hodr’s Messengers of the Realm, they took their place beside us, making a home in the West. It wasn’t long before they gained power and sway, stirring up hatred and a struggle for dominance between the species.
It was a threat to Huginn and Muninn, to all of us Ravens.
We had once been favored by Odin. Discontent simmered between the bats and ravens, until it detonated into war.
That was almost two centuries ago, when Kings Helvig and Stallard came together to campaign against our enemy in the Shallow Fields to the West. The battle lasted for three days, during which together the Ravens defeated the Leatherwings tribe in a glorious victory.
However, when the Night King drew the knife across Greythorn’s throat, the sky cracked and the earth shook, cursing the soil and dividing the skies in anger.
Our world was separated into everlasting day, eternal night, and undying dusk—the Night Kingdom of Ravenshadow, the Day Kingdom of Silvervale, and the Dusk Realm of Shadowfyre.
My tutors taught me that because of our offense against the will of the gods, Huginn and Muninn stripped us of magic, our feathers, and banned us from ever leaving our world.
The seers’ foretelling of the White Raven came soon after. The Leatherwings’s blood was still warm in the dying soil when the runes showed them a child of royal blood, their magic breaking the curse, healing the land, and uniting the tribes as one.
A dead carcass flopped at my feet, the limp rabbit staring blindly up at me.
Gritting my teeth, I lifted my eyes away from the animal, staring off to the high snowy peaks of Silvervale, the lake tucked between the mountains reflected the pregnant clouds above.
The older Blaxhall stepped to the side while a younger, taller one took his place, tugging a pig behind him.
Another sacrifice in my name, my father’s honor, the kills we’d feast on at the dinner tonight where I would officially be betrothed to Brynden Blaxhall, becoming his wife in a day’s time.
Brynden’s long white-blond hair was intricately braided and tied back, and his full smile and bright blue eyes captured my attention.
Brynden was pleasantly handsome compared to the many others who had offered themselves in marriage.
It wasn’t a terribly high bar, since most were older than my father.
Though his constant smile and bewildered expression made him appear none too sharp—which was funny, since his family was the top fabricator of swords and arrow tips.
“Your Majesty.” Brynden bowed his head to the king and then to me.
“White Raven. I offer this sacrifice to Huginn and Muninn in hopes they bless us with a happy union.” He smiled bigger as he took one of their specially designed knives to the animal’s throat with a proud glee.
The pig’s squeal ripped at my chest, the pained sound wiping out any favor I held for him.
Did Huginn and Muninn really want a pig to die in their name?
Wasn’t it more blood spilling onto the soil?
When did they say they needed swine or rabbit’s blood to keep them appeased?
I watched in horror as the pig struggled and whined, fighting the urge to leap off the dais, tackling the eldest son and preventing him from taking the poor animal’s life.
“My daughter appreciates your sacrifice.” The king’s voice was tight, his thumb digging into my skin.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat, forcing a smile onto my face.
All eyes were on me, the king’s court watching the spectacle with fascination, a play put on in their honor instead of ours.
Father and I sat on a platform like performers, the snowy castle and forest behind us like a backdrop. “I thank you.”
King Stallard snapped his fingers to the thralls standing at attention behind his fur-lined chair, ready at his beck and call.
Lost in my thoughts, my head jerked when two figures moved into the periphery of my vision, their dark features a scream of color in a pale world. My spine straightened when the two Northerners walked toward the dead animals.
The shorter one still had to be well over six feet tall, with a heavy limp in his gait. His dark hair was cut short to his head, revealing his round face, discolored cheek, and mutilation running down the back of his neck, disappearing under his tunic.
Yet it was the one in front my gaze was drawn to.
Taller by several inches, his broad shoulders strained at the grey tunic, his thighs stretching his breeches.
I recognized him as the thrall I had encountered in the hallway.
Standing up, he was more massive than I’d thought, and his chiseled face and intense gaze made him seem more vicious than others.
No doubt, if given the chance, he would slaughter every man, woman, and child here.
By the glare directed my way, he would start with me.
The Night Ravens were known to be barbaric and cruel.
They captured Day Ravens to torture for fun.
I grew up hearing horror stories, the brutality in how they hunted us near the border of our lands.
My father declared it was only fair that we took them as obligatory thralls.
At least we didn’t murder them for sport.
“They are here to kill us, Wren. They want to see our kind destroyed like the Leatherwings,” he would state. “After the divide they changed, became vicious ruffians. You can never trust a Night Raven. Ever. You hear me?”
“Yes, Father.”
“No, repeat what I said.”
“You can’t ever trust a Night Raven.”
“You ever encounter one coming for you . . .” He leaned in. “Do not hesitate. They are soulless fiends. You kill them before they kill you.”
The way my father talked about the Night Ravens and King Gavric, it seemed so preposterous we were ever allies with them. Being in constant darkness did that to them? Corroded their minds?
My fingers clenched into balls, watching the two Northerners pick up the carcasses, blood and entrails smearing down their tunics.
The thrall from earlier tossed the large swine over his shoulder with little effort, his jet-black eyes lifting from the ground to me.
Covered in guts, his feral stare pierced me like a dagger.
As if he just stepped out from a bloody battle, and I was the last of his kill.
The glower he sent was a wish that the carcass over his shoulder was me.
The same buzz hummed in my chest from earlier, the same unsteady feeling. With it came the same disgust and outrage at his boldness.
I do not back down to lowly thralls, and I certainly do not fear Night Ravens.
My scowl speared him back, my lips twisting with condescension.
“Thrall.” I flicked my chin high, the chilly wind blowing my long silvery strands. “Hurry and drain the blood. That meat better be tender and immaculate for me and my betrothed’s dinner tonight.”
His jaw rolled, intensity burning in his gaze, and he appeared ready to respond, but instead he slowly dipped his head, turning away from me.
“Tonight, we feast! The betrothal rite begins when the sun hits the northern horizon,” my father declared to the court, pointing at the cloudy sky.
Cheering and excitement rose from the well-dressed spectators.
Since the sun never went down here, we measured time from when it was lowest in the sky and moved across to the opposite horizon, sunrise to sunset.
The king continued to speak, but my attention wouldn’t break away from the thrall. Watching the pig slump against his back, blood soaking into the cotton shirt and dripping down into the snow, leaving a trail behind him.
Why did I feel oddly disappointed, like I wanted him to respond, to fight back?
“Wrennlyn.” Father’s voice cut through my thoughts, directing my gaze to see him standing up, his arm waiting for me to take it.
Rising, I laid my hand on his arm, tracing his measured, graceful footsteps off the dais, where once we were out of clear view of the court, he dropped my hand.
“I expect you to be much more attentive to your betrothed tonight. Their family is offering you a lot of safety and comfort.” Father faced me, his perfectly trimmed beard so smooth and soft-looking, it reminded me of when I used to run my tiny hand over it as a little girl.
It was comforting, allowing me to feel closer to him.
The rare moments he let me see a gentler, kinder side to him. A father, not a king.
“I promise, Your Majesty.” I curtsied.
He exhaled, his shoulders lowering, noting my detached response to him.
“This is for the best, Wren.” His palm cupped my cheek. “I’m doing this for you. For our kingdom.”
“I know.” I didn’t know. Wouldn’t keeping me here be safer under the king’s guards?
A presence by my side caught his attention. “Your Majesty.” Sarina curtsied, smiling brightly at my father. She made sure her curves were on display as she did so. Her eyes glinted with mischief addressing me. “My lady.”
Dropping away from me, he stepped back, his gaze roaming thoroughly over my handmaiden. “Sarina.” He cleared his throat.
“A ceremonial bath and dressing are waiting for you, my lady.” Sarina’s energy was bursting at the seams. I could tell she wanted to grab my arm and run off, giggling over something.
“Oh.” He nodded, his disposition losing any warmth he had a moment ago. “Of course.” He dipped his head at me. “Run along. I need you at your best tonight, Wrennlyn.”
Giving him one last shallow curtsy, I reached for Sarina, both of us rushing off.
“Oh Huginn-Muninn,” Sarina squealed in my ear. “Brynden is so handsome!” It would mean more if she didn’t think almost every boy around our age was handsome. “I can’t believe you get to bed him.” She elbowed me. “Maybe tonight you can get a good taste of what your marriage bed will be like.”
“Sarina!” I hissed, peering around to see if anyone had overheard her, twisting around to see if we were out of earshot of the king.
Vorian Stallard stood in the same spot, staring in our direction, but his notice was not on me.
It was devoted entirely to Sarina.