“The waters foretold I would bear a child of ravens.”
I tilted my head. “What does that mean, mother?”
“You resemble them in many ways,” she replied, voice soft, her eyes never leaving the current. She didn’t answer the question, not really. “Ravens are smart, my love. Incredibly so. They are bold, cunning, and ever so clever.”
My eyes lit up, swelling with pride.
She dipped her fingers into the stream, letting the water slip through her hand as if to stir the memory again. “The waters whispered your name.Odessa,they said. A girl with hair like midnight and eyes darker still.”
I listened closely as my mother tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“Odessa,” she murmured. “Child of pain, woman of wrath.”
My brows knit in confusion. The words felt strange, too heavy for my seven-year-old mind.
“I hoped the waters were mistaken…” My mother pulled her hand from the stream and softly stroked my cheek. “But the waters never lie, my little raven.”
Child of pain,woman of wrath.
I traced the spot on my cheek where my mother had touched it fourteen years earlier. Her answers had rarely been straightforward. She had a way of speaking in circles, leaving you only partially satisfied.
She had been right, at least, about one thing: a group of ravens is called an ‘unkindness’. I learned later that these birds were long associatedwith death, darkness, and ill omens. In Brier Len, skirtsfolk whispered that the gods created them to herald doom, to carry sin on blackened wings.
But I didn’t see them that way.
It had been a year since I’d last seen one of these dark-feathered birds from my childhood. It was as if my ravens sensed that Hyrall was cloaked in a darkness that surpassed even their own grim reputation.
I still didn’t know if my mother had been mad from the start. There were days when she danced barefoot under the moon, chanting nonsense, and others when her eyes sharpened, lucid and knowing. When she spoke of the waters in the forest whispering to her, she had lookedcertain.
And something about that certainty still haunted me.
Footsteps approached and I didn’t need to turn to know who they belonged to. Leya’s entitlement always preceded her, like perfume worn too thick.
“What is it you want?” I asked, not turning around.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, voice falsely light. “I’ve come to tell you something.”
I turned. “The prince has chosen to take you to Torhiel.”
Leya blinked. “How do you know that?”
“He mentioned it to me yesterday.” I tilted my head. “It wasn’t a secret, was it?”
“Oh.” Her tone faltered, the irritation curling around the edges.
“I take it you just received word?”
Leya crossed her arms. “Yes.”
“So then, you’re here to gloat?”
“No,” Leya answered sharply, her fists clenched. “I’ve come to ask you something too.”
I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What is it?”
“If I’m being sent to a foreign land for six months, I want to knowwhat to expect. And yes, I’ve already checked the library, there’s nothing about Torhiel.”
It seemed like her tone implied I might have said otherwise, but I wouldn’t have.
