Page 33 of Reign of Stars and Fire

I’d expected a deal, a few bits of help. To form a connection to the woman of the West was never a thought.

“Said what I said,” she whispered through a groan in her sleep. The girl rolled over on her shoulder, so her body faced me.

I froze, listening.

Lips parted, she seemed to drift back into a deep sleep until words slid through once again. “A new . . . line. A new tale. Blood . . . Eli . . . will rule this land.” Calista winced in her sleep. “Spark in your heart.”

With another groan, her face softened, and only gentle breaths filled the room.

Did her tales of fate speak to her during dreams? The name Eli seemed familiar. I pushed it to the back of my mind as something to ask later and turned to finish until my eyes snagged on a black petaled rose tucked beneath the pallet keeping Calista’s mat off the floorboards.

I rinsed my mouth and carefully made my way to her bed. The rose on the mantle had petals dried like old parchment. My thumb and forefinger pinched a creamy petal on the new rose. Cool and soft as velvet.

Around the vibrant, thorny stem was a black, satin ribbon.

“Toss it, Raven Queen.”

I jolted back, the rose landing in a puff of dust. Calista stared at me, eyes wet and wide.

“What are these?” I lifted the rose.

“Gifts from ghosts. They mean nothing.”

“You don’t know who sends them?”

Calista stretched and spoke as she freed a loud yawn. “Don’t knowwhatsends them.” Scratching her head, she swung her legs off the side of her mat. “Probably an admirer. Hard to believe, but I’ve earned a few with my little snippets of destiny. A little trick I learned while I was chained in the North.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that an admirer slips into your room to leave roses?”

She snorted. “They don’t slip into my room. They leave them outside. Stefan always finds them.”

I glanced at her brother. He snored softly, sprawled out on the second mat, half naked. His bare skin gave up scars and a black ink tattoo of a sword surrounded by raven wings printed between his shoulder blades. A symbol I’d noticed more than once in Raven Row.

“As protective as Stefan is,” I whispered, “I’m surprised he brings them and doesn’t hunt down the sod leaving them. That’s how my brother was too.”

The corner of Calista’s mouth twitched. “I like when you speak of your brother. It lights up your eyes, sort of makes my heart warm too. Must’ve been a good king of fate if his memory causes such things in us.”

I smiled. “He was a wonderful king. Fair and strong. But he was an even better brother and husband. Everyone from every edge of the kingdom knew he would bring war should anyone touch the women in his life.”

“Seems like it runs in the blood.” Calista rose and walked to the basin to wash. “No one, once they speak to you, would ever doubt your willingness to burn every isle to save the Golden King.”

Her praise was a beautiful shock to my heart.

In my memories, I knew if Riot ever discovered how Davorin was slowly breaking me, the whole of the kingdom might burn. One reason I kept his slow descent into cruelty a secret; that, and utter fear Davorin would slit my throat or my brother’s.

But it was true once again. I would forsake the kingdom if it meant Ari lived. Perhaps it was selfish, perhaps it was wrong, I didn’t care.

Once Stefan roused, we packed in a hurry and abandoned the cobwebs of the tenement room before the sun rose over the dregs.

Stefan had secured a skiff through a favor he called in after turns. We loaded and lurched into the surf of the sea as the mists faded. Calm waters held for two nights. Bland food kept us full. Shanties sung by Ror, the captain, about bone ships and sea serpents kept us entertained.

By the second night, my stomach bounced with each dip into the black swells. The air was warmer, thicker with fragrance from nearing blossoms of the isles. We were close to home. Close to Ari.

A soft tune hummed in the night. Almost involuntary, but I couldn’t resist the pull of the isles the closer we came. There was nothing but the expanse of the Fate’s Ocean before me, but without reading a map, the call from the land, the voice of my glamour, spoke to my blood.

“Careful, love. Don’t want to be calling up the sea singers,” said Ror. He was thick as boulders with fae ears, a beard filled with tiny braids and bone beads, and hooded brows that hid his dark eyes.

He said few words but for the occasional offer of oat cakes and dried cheese, or letting us know where we were on the sea.