Page 28 of The Crimson Princess (The Ravengale Chronicles #1)

Chapter twenty-one

I can’t stay in this castle right now. I’m ready to crawl out of my own skin, emotions clawing at me, a werewolf in their own right, ravenous and rogue in the way they devour me.

I’m coming to understand that my new magic is rooted in understanding people’s feelings, their intent.

Toren was right. I’m the empath my mother was, and while I gained one of the special pieces of her magic, I lost her.

And I know now that she already knew what I’ve come to understand.

My father’s afraid of Toren. I believe that with all my being, and that fear is a beast as vicious as the ones who killed my mother.

Only his beast, my father’s beast, might get us all killed.

The book told him another king would overtake him.

When he said that to me, he all but admitted it as truth.

How do you know that ? He’d asked. That idea came to me when my father grabbed a hold of me, and did so with the clarity of a perfect diamond.

My father, our king, is not of clear or logical mind, which leaves me in a gulch of turmoil.

Deep inside I feel as if I’m being forced to stand on a ledge of brittle, aged stone with the battle between my father and Toren deepening every little crack.

No matter where I step, I could send us all tumbling into oblivion.

My father and Toren need to come together if we’re to defeat the evil who sees us as prey and I am not sure that’s even possible.

With no real plan in place, I can only focus on getting us through the Challenge without the Third World erupting upon us, perhaps killing us all. At the very least submitting us all to abusive rule. The only way I know to find control is by helping others do it as well.

I head to the arena where the Challenge will be held, where the contestants will be training.

Where Raven will be training. She is ten years older now, and she will compete in the Challenge this year, and neither my mother, nor me, can save her.

Only she can save herself, but I know from our random communication brought to us by our alternate shadows over the years that she is ready.

She has trained with the fierceness of a guardian who faces death every day of her life and I’m actually eager to see her again.

But that doesn’t come as easily as I had hoped.

When I reach the Guardian Stadium, I’m told by the guards at the doors that training has been moved to an undisclosed location.

Red flags galore.

My father is nervous, perhaps afraid someone in training is in cahoots with the enemy, using magic to pierce the portal’s security in some way. I don’t like the unease this stirs in me.

As for the guard, I could argue that I’m the princess, and should be told these things, but I decide better.

The truth is that the more I think about it, I’m not sure how Raven will feel about me showing up.

Per Mikhail, she was forbidden entry into the castle to offer condolences over my mother.

When I’d questioned Mikhail as to why, his answer was not a pleasant one.

My father despises the girl who, in his mind, sent his queen to her guardian post.

My father believes she’s why my mother is dead.

There is no question Raven is aware of the whispers amongst the gales of the same. Her battle will, no doubt, be the most watched of them all on Challenge Day.

Raven from Ravengale.

The name has become a joke at this point. Now she finally has the chance to make it legendary. And I know my mother. She believed in destiny, in the Book of Life having a purpose to all its commands. Maybe, just maybe, my mother was supposed to save Raven, and we simply don’t know why yet.

Maybe we will never know .

Whatever the case, Raven winning tomorrow will be her vindication for all that they say about her. Then she’ll move on and do something special in this lifetime as my mother always claimed she would.

In an alternate explanation, maybe my mother’s role as guardian wasn’t about Raven at all. Maybe something much worse would have erupted from the portal the night my mother passed, something she stopped from happening. I think that is probably the real truth. And I’m proud of her for it.

Tears threaten with the burn of my eyes and I seek sanctuary from the prying attention of the guards.

I enter the arena without asking permission and the guards don’t attempt to stop me.

Once inside, most gales stare down at the arena, spellbound by the magnificence below, rows and rows of seats, between them and the bottom.

I see none of its glory, only its blood and pain that I will never glorify.

I walk the long path of stone stairs and end my travel when I’m in the center of the arena, the battlefield, right beneath the portal.

I reach for it with my magic and feel no push back, no magic. No seeping hole.

My father was right.

A crack, or a hole, a problem with the portal is not the issue.

The sorceress must be testing her ability to open it, maybe she’s learning to keep it open for extended periods, something only my father could do in the past. Which might explain the bouts of fog and high activity in San Francisco.

It might also explain what happened that dreaded night that stole my mother from me.

Stole our queen from us. Something didn’t feel right that night.

And even then, my father does not do it alone.

It’s controlled, and approved by the Osiris warrior.

It is Osiris who chooses who comes through for the Challenge.

I sit down, cross my legs, and close my eyes, meditating, seeking hidden magic I do not find.

I stay there like that, trying to read a sudden shift, a hint of emergency but there is nothing.

Hours later, I’m mentally exhausted and physically stiff when I push to my feet.

I need to move, to do something productive, something that prepares me for whatever is coming.

My mother would tell me to train and I need to test my new magic.

With an inhaled breath I think myself to the forest, hoping for a blink.

It doesn’t work. I decide to walk and do it with a heavy dose of attitude. Why can’t I blink? Why?

It’s almost an hour later when I reach the forest, and by the time I’m hiking toward the pond, the frostburns are flanking me.

They are a part of me now, and I find I’m developing a growing attachment to them.

They’re more family to me at present than my own father, but I’m strong like my mother, and I will not let him destroy me.

He will not become the way I judge my self-worth.

He will not force me to marry a druid. I will not stand down, when I know he fears Toren with such fierceness that he can’t see the danger he creates by inviting the druids into our fold.

With the frostburns at my back, acting as my protectors, I kneel and drink from the pond, the gale green glow securing my path to the other side of the forest; should I so choose to travel that direction.

When I push to my feet, and turn around, I yelp to find Toren in front of me, and I notice the way the frostburns accept his presence, not at all aggressive as they were with Bellar. They treat him as if he’s me.