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Gods, I’d never evenkisseda man. Certainly never touched a man.

Find your bond.

No sooner than I allowed the thought to scrape through my brain, a shrill, anguished scream rose over Raven Row.

Chapter8

The Storyteller

Cuyler wastedno time and unsheathed a dagger. He flicked his eyes to my boot, a silent command that I needed to do the same. The knife from a small ankle sheath was in my grip in another breath.

We abandoned the burial grounds and cut through the sickly wood back to the main road of the Row. The faint hint of woodsmoke grew, though I saw no fires nearby, no stoves.

“Calista.” Cuyler took hold of my arm and aimed me toward my tenement.

A shock, the kind that stopped the heart, rammed into my chest. Blood fae watchers muttered curses and surrounded me on either side. The people of the Row were silent. Almost as though they’d known this would happen all along.

Near the shoreline, perhaps fifty paces from my crooked, debauchery-ruined building, a stone torch spluttered with a flame, black as a starless sky.

“No.” My knees went weak.My family. They were under attack. Thoughts tumbled in my skull. Their faces slid into my consciousness, one after the other. Ari and Saga, they would be frantic. Little Mira. Was she properly hidden in those troll burrows her father had spent turns designing?

The twin terrors of the East. They always wanted to be at their father’s side. Would they use their unmatched skill with those damn whalebone picks I’d gifted them and chase after the Shadow King and Queen? Would they fall?

My Kind Heart. My Cursed King. Tears blurred my eyes. They’d all fought so damn desperately for love, for peace. What would happen to them now? My final thoughts settled on my Sun Prince. His missive, still in my pocket, burned like hot coals.

He’d sensed danger. No. I wouldn’t let this be when his nightmares came to pass. He wasn’t going to lose Torsten. He wouldn’t lose his son.

Heat scorched through my veins, from rage or fear, it didn’t matter. I wanted blood. I wanted bones. I wanted death for anyone who dared lift blades against my damn royals. Every surface of my skin ached in heat.

“Act, or take the blade to our throats yourself.”

I knew that voice. “Olaf?”

The old aleman pinched a brown pipe between his teeth and scrubbed a dirty cloth in a drinking horn. He was slender and bony like the weakling trees in the burial grounds, but his beard struck his belly and was beaded in bone beads the Rave warriors of my past once used.

I didn’t think he cared much for drying the horn, more he used it to keep his hands busy while he sneered at me. The bastard valued Stefan, and had always been kind. Now he looked utterly murderous.

“The end has come to us. Shall we greet the gods, little one, or do you prove whose blood runs in your veins?”

“How do you know?” My voice was shrill, desperate, but I didn’t understand. I’d learned the truth of my bloodline ten turns ago, but I’d never told anyone in Raven Row. I didn’t want trouble from the Mad King, or any foolish bastards who thought I had some royal treasury hidden in my tenement.

Olaf pointed at the bloody moon. “All tales must come to an end; ours comes now.”

At his word, the air grew icy and harsh. Gooseflesh prickled on my arms. Across the horizon, inky ribbons of dark skated across the sea. Violent tides tossed about like a stagnate wave, but through the shadows appeared the shape of different ships and vessels. Sharp bows, jagged hulls. Endless, tattered sails of blood red.

On the sea, I could see the ships I’d once been forced upon before. Dark clouds gathered in an angry storm, concealing the vessels from sight until I wondered if I’d imagined it all, until through the darkness I saw his eyes. A silhouette in the storm, but the massive spectral emerging to the surface was undeniable—Davorin was returning. He’d taken refuge in the sea, no mistake, amongst those damn sea fae, and now emerged stronger than before, new armies at his back.

Bleeding gods.

“Cuyler, do you see that?”

“See what?” Cuyler was gawking at the flame.

How the hells could he not see a damn sea army approaching?

A swift gust of wind pummeled against me. I closed my eyes, bracing, but another burst knocked me backward. What the hells was happening?

I tried to cry out for Cuyler, but my voice was swallowed in the storm. I tried to open my eyes, but dust and pebbles and bits of dried leaves beat at my skin. The whole of my Raven Row seemed to be turning against me. I could hardly stand in the torrent, how the hells was I supposed to fight an army?