Page 15

THE WINGS OF THE RAVENS

GAVREL

“ I won’t deny your logic is sound,” Neoma admitted, one hand cupping her chin. “Void vermin are slipping in, and the full moon is when embers are most potent.”

We huddled around one of the many rickety tables strewn about the rowdy pub dubbed The Boggy Grog . It wasn’t more than a large box with a bar along the back, and crisscrossing wooden poles nailed to the ceiling and walls.

With fingers flying over fiddle strings, a lively trio of musicians sang, their jaunty music bouncing off the walls. Throughout the space, candles flickered and shadows danced over the secrets and laughter being shared.

I leaned back in my chair, pushing my tongue against the back of one incisor. “We need to figure out what is weakening the veils between the realms.” I looked around the table. “I have my suspicions.”

“Go on then. We’re not getting any younger. Or sober-er.” Breena snorted, taking a long swallow of her brew .

Rhaegar covered his mouth with the lip of his pint glass, shoulders shaking. At least someone found her funny. I blinked slowly at her, and the damned woman smirked, tapping on the tabletop.

Beside me, Seryn’s eyebrows lifted, and she angled closer to me. “The dungeon?”

My fingers twitched, itching to pull her to my lap. Instead, I nodded, thinking of the mass of amber hidden within the obsidian cliff.

“Care to elaborate?” Marek scoffed as he approached, setting another round of drinks on the table.

Breena cocked her head. “The fecking dungeon,” she shot back at him, rolling her eyes as if he were an imbecile.

He scowled, jaw ticking while he took his seat.

For a moment, my lips pinched. I was certain she didn’t know about the underground chambers. She wouldn’t have remembered them, regardless.

“The cells beneath Morpheus’ palace,” Seryn explained with a bemused smile.

Breena’s eyebrows shot up, mouth forming an O.

She smacked Seryn lightly on the arm. “Was I invited to traipse around the wee dun—?” She paused, collecting herself as Marek glared at her.

“I mean, of course, the fecking dungeon.” And then the blasted woman winked at him. Marek’s eyes narrowed to slits.

I leaned forward, my voice low. “Something is caged in amber at the bottom. Every full moon, the Elders siphon energy from it. I think it may be the key to why the portals are weakening during that time. The Order always had more trouble fending off Void creatures beyond the veil in the Weald during lunation.”

Neoma, Rhaegar, and Breena all sat straighter, giving one another knowing looks. Marek crossed his arms tightly over his wide chest.

With one eyebrow cocked, Seryn added, “Melina has Elders Guust and Strom imprisoned down there as well. Constantly wiping their minds clean for Ancients know how long.”

“Damn. We knew they were holed up in Surrelia, but this is worse than we feared,” Neoma hissed .

“Two fewer Elders to deal with, I’d say,” Marek muttered.

His grandmother swatted his biceps with the back of her hand. “If we can’t get to them all, Ascension will be damn near impossible.”

Seryn’s shoulders slumped inward as she looked around the room uneasily. “Ascension? Wouldn’t it be better to dismantle them completely?”

For a moment, Neoma’s mouth was caught between her teeth before she continued, “Ascension must occur. Not only does our history confirm this, but our prophecies as well.”

Marek grumbled a curse under his breath, his scar pulsing at his temple.

Ignoring him, Neoma sat back, clasping her hands on the table.

“The very fabric of our world depends on balance being maintained.” Seryn’s mouth slackened, and she ran a finger over her chin while Neoma went on, “Without honorable leaders, ember is a festering blight on the human realm. We’ll tear ourselves apart as we once did. Well before the land claims us.”

Movement caught my eye when a short, curvy woman with dark blonde, wavy hair whispered into one of the musicians’ ears.

She seemed familiar somehow.

The man nodded enthusiastically and leaned back to shout something behind him at his fellow performers. Lilting notes swayed over a spirited melody. A weighted hush fell over the room.

Seryn flicked her attention over her shoulder, eyes widening as she caught sight of the female. Her hand gripped my wrist. “I know her. She … she was in the Winnowing,” she whispered.

I squinted at the female as she ran her hands over the bodice of her dark kirtle, her chest rising on a deep inhale.

The memory skittered through my awareness.

The Druik with the purple aura during the final trial.

She had been one of the last competitors, and Seryn’s ember had drained her after the woman had attacked Kaden.

Marek’s elbows thumped atop the table as he leaned in. “You know the half-borne?”

Neoma shot him a glare .

“What?” he muttered. “That’s what they’re called when they have mixed embers.”

Neoma ignored her grandson. “Her name is Caelora Aundyne.” The older woman’s eyes softened. “Her Haadran mother passed on long ago, and luckily, the girl found her way here. She never knew her father, but he hails from Pyria Island.”

“Fire and water. Huh, well I’ll be damned. Never met her or a half-borne before.” A look of curiosity spread over Breena’s face.

“She keeps to herself mostly,” Neoma added. “I’m surprised to see her out, but I recall her fondness for music as a child. It was the only way to make her less fidgety when she first arrived.”

Rhaegar grinned as the melody swelled, and his pint plunked against the wood. “Have you heard of the Hollowed Stars prophecy?”

“Ancients, not another bloody foretelling,” Seryn muttered.

I set my glass down, swallowing. “Go on.”

He adored storytelling, especially when he’d had an ale or five.

“The Korax believe the era is finally upon us—to take our stand. We’ve prepared over the last few decades.

It’s been said that the Fates themselves gifted the founders of the cause a divination, and it has guided us over the turns.

Listen.” He nudged his chin toward the musicians.

My pulse hummed just under the skin of my jaw as rich, dulcet tones spilled from Caelora, her voice ringing over our heads. Although the words bounced merrily over the fiddled notes, they were ominously morose.

Behold the call of the end,

When lo, the Aetherbind’s seams do bend.

As withered roots the earth doth take,

The battle ’gainst the curse shall break.

A group to our left joined in, their voices harmonizing with Caelora’s as their lifted cups swayed above their heads.

Dark beasts through veils shall creep ,

And dreams shall rot in mortal sleep.

Unless the stone of light shall fall,

Within obsidian, night devours all.

Rhaegar and Breena joined in. And then more. And more. Seryn’s hand found my wrist again, my heartbeat hammering into her damp palm.

Lest rise Dark Reaping from the scars,

Make haste with hollowing of the stars.

Earth harvests breath and misted pyre,

And flame be quenched by blackened fire.

One shall be two, and two turn three,

To break the curse o’er land and sea.

When the final threads are fully weaved,

Only then shall Khaos be cleaved.

The entirety of the pub filled with every citizen’s shouted words, grins, and cheers peppering the final chords.

So speaks Kosmos!

All at once, the buzz of energized chatter and glasses clinking scattered around us. Of course the people of the Perilous Bogs crafted a jaunty song out of an unnerving prophecy. I shook my head, lingering unease simmering within me.

Quietly, Caelora left the musicians, settling in a shaded corner with a goblet between her palms. Looking curious and remorseful, Seryn caught Caelora’s eye.

I swore the female flinched as they regarded each other, but the moment passed, and she looked away, fixating on her cup with a somber expression.

“She wouldn’t remember,” I told Seryn. “Her memories would have been erased after the Dormancy. ”

Seryn sighed as we turned to the others.

“Er, well, that prophecy doesn’t sound great,” Seryn muttered, taking her hand back and clutching her neglected cup.

Rhaegar held up his fist, his thumb uncurling. “It’s a warning passed down through the generations. Every omen has come to pass. The Withering. The Ancients vanishing. The Void creatures.”

Rhaegar’s fingers joined his thumb as he listed off the omens. Breena added, “Now, the stone of light. The amber trapped in the dungeon.”

My second-in-command took a long drink from his cup as his ring finger straightened. Neoma squeezed his forearm. “We’re at the last bit finally … It’s the path to save our world,” she said matter-of-factly, her eyes twinkling with wisdom and a quiet strength.

“Perhaps.” Marek snorted. “Perhaps the Fates were bored. Or perhaps our insurrection was inevitable, regardless of their whims.”

“Enough,” she snapped. “It’s the only hope we have.” Marek sighed, bowing his head to his grandmother sheepishly, but with a clenched jaw.

Seryn leaned back in her chair, scrutinizing the older woman. “I can see why you’re their leader.”

“Oh?” Neoma’s mouth puckered.

Seryn’s head tilted to one side, genuine curiosity lining her words. “How did such a responsibility fall on you?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands. What with my husband passing on, and my daughters gone.”

Seryn lifted her head. “I meant no offense. I’m genuinely in awe of you.”

Neoma’s shoulders relaxed. “When … when Marek found me.” She glanced at him.

“I’d been helping Druiks take refuge in Helos for many turns.

My husband and I had a lot of practice …

in keeping secrets. Even when he died, the need to keep doing so—to do what was right—lingered.

The rebel cause had always been simmering, albeit unorganized. ”

She brushed her palms together as if that was that. “A few others and I took it upon ourselves to help the Korax take shape. To unify. To discuss strategy. The rest is history.”

“And she so humbly forgets that the original followers collectively chose her as the leader. The head Raven,” Marek added, pride lining his surly face.

Lost in thought, I studied the room of lively patrons. Surely, some were listening to our conversation. Did no one fear repercussions? Obviously not considering their choice in music. The hair on my nape prickled.

Seryn glanced at me with a look of concern and then around the tavern.

“Haven’t you realized yet?” Neoma chuckled, sweeping her right arm in a wide arc while the other cupped her glass. In the dusky candlelight, dark iridescence rippled over her wing tattoo, making it appear as if she were about to take flight.

My eyes narrowed at the older woman. Hers flashed mischievously. “You must have suspected. Otherwise, a commander with your skill would have asked the question already.”

She was right. I knew it deep in my bones. Seryn’s confusion surfaced as she looked from me to Neoma.

The others at the table held their pints up, and everyone in the pub mirrored them.

Hints of feathered tattoos poked from under collars and sleeves throughout the room.

Caelora’s warm, golden-blonde waves snapped behind her as she left the pub, a flash of dark ink peeking out from her nape.

Breena held her chin-length hair to the side and showed Seryn the dark feather tattooed behind her left ear.

Rhaegar unbuckled his wrist guard from his left forearm, revealing an inky, opalescent bird on his deep brown skin.

Its wings wrapped around his wrist, cuff-like.

Seryn’s eyes were wide now, realization capturing her.

Neoma continued after taking another sip, “Helos is where the Korax was born. Where believers and Druiks find refuge and hide in plain sight. We speak freely … because we’re all Ravens here.”

A chorus of jovial salutes and clinking glass rent the air. My mind swirled with the possibilities. With the number of rebels—mortal and embered—harbored in the city, our odds against the Elders and their sycophants significantly improved.

A thundering chant rang through the tavern, louder than when they were all singing earlier, and then rippled outside along the walkways. “May the wings of the raven carry you!”

And in that moment, I hoped they would.