Page 1 of A Thousand Burning Ravens (The Queen Who Bleeds Stars #1)
“I HAVE HEARD you called ‘The Queen Who Bleeds Stars’.” Something that might have been a compliment, were it not delivered by a fallen Fae God, haunts the captain’s memory.
He pictures her, standing in the throne room. A Ruthless Queen. A Queen of Wrath. A Queen Who Bleeds Stars. A Queen who teeters dangerously on the edge of just bleeding. If he does not find answers on this mountain today, she will bleed it all—the stars, the wrath, the ruthlessness; but most importantly, her life, and her memories. It will all bleed out, right into the palms of the Blood Stealer.
It is a thick curling mist; the kind that tricks you into thinking a shallow breath is caught in your lungs. The skeletons of trees have long since been stripped of their foliage, and nothing living has been seen in two days. It is difficult to tell if the shadows in the snow are blackened cliffsides or the slumbering beasts that belong to the Blood Stealer. There is nothing to suggest to a soul that hope lies nearby; and yet, if their plan goes accordingly, hope there is.
The group of three has been swallowed in the mountain’s crevice, a test of mental and physical fortitude well underway. The two heading up the rear, quivering from both cold and fear, follow their bold leader, hoping his confidence is enough to deliver them to the Seer. Though he is thigh-deep in freezing snow and the possibility of crashing beneath the surface into an unseen and deadly cavern is fair, Captain Bryar Monroe presses onward with unwavering conviction. For death is imminent, whether delivered by a nasty fall here, or because fear dissuades him and he returns to the wreckage that is home. There is no choice but to move onward and hope the Gods and Goddesses favor him. Or more so . . . favor her.
When at last the mouth of the cave appears, wide and gaping with sharp icicles forming teeth overhead, the weary travelers cease movement. Motivated as he is, even Bryar is taken aback by a deep, eerie chill running down his spine.
Who lurks within? Some accounts claim she is a sightless beauty, her pale irises lost in the whites of her eyes. Others tremble as they tell of her ghastly face, sunken into itself and shrouded in the blackest of matted tendrils. In any regard, all descriptions of the Seer are scarce, as those who conquer the mountain are few. As far as Bryar is concerned, any accounts could simply be tavern fables, and he has wasted precious time.
There is only one way to find out, he thinks to himself, ignoring the bickering of his peers behind him.
“I am not going in before you. I have more to live for,” Rhyland spews, running an exhausted hand over his dark, frozen features.
“That is quite a comforting reflection of you as a friend,” retorts his lifelong friend and danger-detector, Callum.
“Though I value you deeply and will miss you when you are gone, I have aspirations which I am not ready to give up on, Cal. I am not dying here today.”
Callum snorts and draws a dry length of cloth from his pack which he wraps around a stick to make a torch. Brows pressed together, Bryar watches, amused, a spark of fire tingling at his palms.
“If you mean bedding that boy from the market,” Callum scoffs. “I would not sacrifice your best friend for it. I do not think that will happen.” A hot glow of fire appears from his palm and sets the torch ablaze. “In any case, do not talk about me like I am already dead— “
“Callum,” Bryar interjects, holding two hands ablaze before him. “Why are you making a torch?” Bryar can answer his own question. Training for the king’s guard drills it into a soldier that they cannot rely on their magic for everything; thus, they are required to do everything without magic, saving their abilities for only the direst of moments. Callum takes to the rules better than most.
Rhyland rolls his eyes, watching as the two men exude a supernatural heat, melting the snow around them. “I get it. I am the only one here without massive flames to throw around. Can we get a move on now?”
With a brief, nervous smile, Callum snuffs the useless torch and ignites his palms. “You might not be able to light a torch, but you can make me forget this Gods-awful experience once it is over, and I will thank you for it.”
The entrance carries a freezing draft of wind, a gale that welcomes doom into the darkness, ushering them deeper. Each step inward feels like a gamble. Does the Seer truly live in this Gods-forsaken cave on the side of a thankless, frozen mountain? Or are they walking willingly into the mouth of some hungry beast? A beautiful face in his mind overpowers concern and Bryar disregards his doubts, urging Callum and Rhyland to keep close. It is a mere dozen steps later when his light extinguishes, and Callum and Rhyland find themselves standing alone.
When Bryar was a boy, he and his friends would jump off the highest cliff point along the edge of the bay, diving into the depths of the ocean. That feeling of your heart catching in your throat as you catapulted yourself into the dark oblivion of the ocean is the closest feeling he can conjure in comparison to this. One moment he is braving the unknown with his comrades, the next he is free-falling into a black state of mind, suspended in nothingness. Then, she is before him.
The Seer is neither beautiful nor is she a hideous sore upon the eyes. She is entirely faceless. Although, the form is there, the features are not. Black hair, long enough to engulf her entire being, shrouds her body, leaving only a pale orb visible, where her face should be.
“Forgive the assault on your person,” her silky voice breaks the silence. “I welcome only those with dire need into my presence.”
“I imagine my companions’ needs to be as great as mine,” Bryar answers, thinking of the questions Callum has for the Seer. Bryar attempts to collect his wits, though greatly distracted with the question of whether he is standing or floating. The sensation of not actually being here is overwhelming. Is this truly a physical location, or has he simply fallen through her portal?
“You forget,” she whispers, sending chills past his shoulders, “I see all.”
“Forgive me,” Bryar responds. “I am weary, and . . . I fear, short on hope.”
“Then ask your question,” the Seer insists, long fingers reaching out to brush his forehead. He hesitates, wishing that for all the many miles and days spent hiking up this awful mountain, he had thought more carefully how to ask what he needs to know. Be it weariness, desperation, or something deeper within the most concealed parts of his heart, the simple question asks itself, before he has time to ponder it.
“How do I save her?”
The orb of a face grows gaunt, and the white grows whiter. The air chills, and yet Bryar is overwhelmed with the heat growing in his middle, as the pressure of the Seer’s power saturates what already feels like a small space. Her voice lulls in and out of silky sweet and a deeper one, the prediction of the Gods flowing through her.
“You can not save her.”
For the briefest moment, Bryar’s heart slumps deeper than his shoulders do. To have braved this perilous journey, and find it is a fool’s errand, feels like a sharp dagger to the stomach. But then, she speaks again.
“It is you who will be saved, washed in a purifying fire. And because of her , it is a great many who will be saved. After a thousand burning ravens fill the skies with their embers.”
“But how? And who? And a thousand—what?”
“Bryar Monroe.” She breathes his name as though it is something forbidden. “She does not need anyone’s help. What she needs, she will find already within her.”
Defeat hangs heavy in the air around Bryar. “So, we do nothing then?”
“You do as you have always done. Forsake not your convictions, and in the hopeless months to come, do not be divided. But most importantly, though you say you are short on it, have hope.”
Bryar’s journey back to his comrades is a fitful one, his consciousness plagued by the memory of his queen. The moment which set his feet upon this treacherous mountain path. Only to return to the queen and tell her she already has everything she needs inside her. It is laughable. Nevertheless, it is what he has been given, so they better damn well find an effective way to use it.