Page 2 of The Crimson Princess (The Ravengale Chronicles #1)

In this moment, more than most, I miss the days of her bursting in here and jumping on the bed, while I scolded her to stop.

They were simpler times, safer times. Times that she was na?ve and untouched by war.

“Indeed, it is,” I say, sitting down next to her, waiting for her to reveal what is really bothering her.

“Why can’t we just shut all eight portals? Why do we have to risk gale lives to protect them? And most of them are in the human world. Why can’t they protect themselves?”

“So many questions,” I say. “Third World runs parallel to the human realm which is why they ended up with all the biggest problems. We can’t shut the portals because there are cracks between Earth and the Third World that were created from the druid king’s abuse of dark magic.

And we don’t want all the evil things in Third World tormenting the humans who played no part in creating the problem, nor do they possess magic to defend themselves. ”

“I guess that would be bad. I remember when Dad used to tell me he’d send me to the Zombie Pit if I didn’t behave and then all the criminals there would eat me.”

“Of course, you know, he would never do that.”

“I know, but he loves to ground me.”

“Because you sneak out to the forest.”

“Maybe sometimes,” she says coyly. “It leads right to your old village, and I love that bakery there, the same one you love.”

“Wait on me and I’ll take you. And it will be our secret. Deal? ”

“Yes,” she says. “Deal.” But there is no light in her eyes, and she’s back to the day’s events. “How many invitations went out for the Challenge?”

“Hundreds.”

“And who decides who gets the invitations?”

“Their names appear in the Book of Life for your father to read. He hands the names to the council and invitations are sent out.”

“How does the book pick?”

“That is a mystery I’m not sure even your father understands.”

“What does it mean if the invitation has a number nine on it?”

It’s an unexpected question and my brows dip, “Where is all of this coming from?”

“I hear things,” she says. “I want to know things, too.”

“The book assigns the numbers. That person will be the ninth to compete. What is this really about?”

She twists the fingers of both hands together in front of her, her gaze dipped low. I slide in front of her and settle on a knee, catching her chin. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Raven is number nine.”

My heart sinks. Raven is her best friend.

She’s also only fifteen. Damn Killian. I know he knew she was chosen.

I know he knew she was the fifteen-year-old.

He just didn’t want to tell me. She’s also young for her age.

She has no siblings to train her, and her parents are no warriors.

She will enter the Challenge poorly prepared.

“She’s gale and all sages and highborns have inherent magic. She’s highborn. Her magic is inherent,” I remind her. “She doesn’t need to train to use it. Instinct will kick in.”

“She doesn’t get her full powers until she comes of age at twenty-three.”

“Many have competed and won their place as guardian or shadow at younger ages.”

“Even so, I’m two years younger than her and I beat her every time we spar.”

“Because you train with me and your father, but in the heat of the moment, her magic will work for her, with her. I promise. ”

“You always say practice matters. You learn your magic and it learns you.”

I want to ask her why she didn’t tell me about Raven sooner.

I could have trained Raven. I could have helped her, but the question serves no purpose at this point but to create regret and guilt.

My hands settle on her legs. “She needs to believe in herself to survive. She needs to believe you believe in her. Tell her she can win. And you mean it. Understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“No but, everything has a purpose,” I say, finding myself repeating the general gist of what Killian had said to me in the gardens, and trying to believe it with all my heart. “The book didn’t choose someone so young to strip away her life. She has a destiny, a future we do not understand.”

“Like she’s supposed to do something great, that no one else can do?”

“Exactly.”

A knock sounds on the door, and my handmaid, Marion, pokes her head in, grinning at the sight of Satima. “How about some sweet bread?”

Satima hesitates, as if it’s wrong to enjoy her favorite breakfast while Raven prepares to compete. “Live in the moment,” I whisper, “and tell Raven to do the same.”

She gives me an agreeable nod and I push to my feet and pull her with me.

A moment later, she’s greeting Marion. “I love sweet bread,” she declares and she really does.

It’s a love she developed after I told her it was similar to the human pancakes I’d tried when her father had taken me to visit each portal, though our sweet bread is just a bit nuttier.

For a while, she was downright obsessed with the human realm which is not a bad thing, considering she is the future queen tasked with protecting them from a Third World leak.

The three of us gather around my lounge table by the window, enjoying our breakfast, and for at least a bit Satima’s distress over Raven fades.

She slathers her sweet bread with syrup as Marion and I share a smile.

Marion is my age, centuries old, but she looks as youthful as a human in their mid-thirties.

In the highborn territory, she’s considered a commoner, but in my prior life, she was my best friend.

And she still is, which is why I brought her here with me.

At first, Killian resisted, but when the council shunned who they considered a commoner as his wife, he decided I needed loyalty close to me.

He was sheltering me, the way I desperately want to shelter Satima, but later today, her best friend will fight whatever comes through our portal, and I fear the outcome.

I fear she will die while my daughter watches.

I can’t stop it from happening.

And I know Killian well enough to know he won’t intervene. He wants her to learn hard lessons. He’ll say he’s protecting her, preparing her. He’ll say he’s king and this is his decision, not mine.