It’s cold, the night clear, dawn not yet visible on the horizon. Frost lines the crenellated edges, the ornate chimneys, bites at my bare feet. I hug the blanket as I get my bearings, hearing muffled voices from below. I start across the roof and, as I do, catch my foot on something. The small candle globe Kyle brought up when we were here. It’s cold and dead, half filled with water, fragments of old leaves clinging to the glass.
I grit my teeth, blinking, hugging the blanket around me as I near the low wall that borders the roof. I don’t bother to hide. No one will be looking up here. I don’t care if they are, anyway. I am Raven, and this is my home. I hold onto that thought, pushing the others away.
I peer over the edge, my hands gripping the cold stone. Mistral is directly below. They’re fixing the last of the restraints around his arms and legs. The metal chair in which he sits is spiked and cruel, his blood already pooling on the frosted grass. His golden hair gleams, silvered by the last pale moonlight. He isn’t struggling, which surprises me.
I want him to see me.
Asshole.
I try not to think of Kyle.
My parents are down there, as is Artos Ravenna and several other Raven nobles, all of them standing in a loose semi-circle. Bertrand steps out of the shadows, holding a metal ring with spikes on the inside. I hold my breath. He puts the ring around Mistral’s neck, pulling it tight. I hear Mistral groan.
Good.
The shadows are changing from black to purple, a golden tinge to the blue-frosted lawn. The moon is gone. My mother steps forward.
‘For your crimes, Mistral, you are sentenced to go into the light. Raven claw, blood, and stone. So be it.’
‘So be it,’ the others intone. Light is glinting off the metal chair. There’s a hiss, and everyone is gone. Mistral is alone, exposed. Just like I was. And the sun is about to rise.
With a rattling clang, the shutters begin to fall. Mistral writhes, straining against the metal and spikes. But he’s too weakened by blood loss, the chair at the centre of a spreading red stain, like a poppy on a field of frosted white. His head tilts back, his eyes open wide. He sees me.
I do nothing, except watch.
His teeth clench, his clothing starting to smoke. There’s red on his skin. The sun gets brighter, rays cutting through the morning haze. I can’t feel my feet, my fingers cramped and stiff as I hang onto the stone.
There’s a whoosh, and Mistral catches fire. He screams, still staring at me as flames rage across his body and out over the grass, igniting the rivulets of blood. His body twists and blackens, his back arching, blue eyes open wide.
Then he’s gone.
Black ash drifts with the dawn.
I uncurl my fingers and stumble away from the roof edge, climbing through the trapdoor and down the stairs. There’s a hard hot ball of something choking me. I swallow it down.
I emerge from the passage, closing the bookcase, and rub my hands together, stamping my feet to thaw them out. I go to the row of cupboards beneath the bookcases, opening the first two doors. Inside are old exercise books, piles of them. I guess they’re mine, but they’re not what I’m looking for. I open the next two, and there they are. Children’s books. Stacked on the shelves, their colours still bright. Some of them I’ve read only once. I pull them out, pile after pile, until the cupboard is empty, then sit in the midst of them.
I pick up the book nearest to me. The cover shows a woman and a little girl, the pair of them holding a white kitten, illustrated beautifully against a moonlit sky. It’s in pretty good condition and I put it to one side. Then I pick up the next one. It has a picture of a princess on the cover in a pink-frilled dress, her brown hair topped with a golden crown. My fingers run over the flat painted frills and I think of the little girl, of the joy she found in a second-hand book, her soft rosy cheeks and the way she’d hugged me.
And I break.
I cry and cry, tears hot on my face, falling onto the cover of the book. I hear the door creak, but I don’t care. Let them deal with it, for once. I’m human, and humans cry warm tears of salt and silver, not blood and onyx. Footsteps come in, then retreat. I cry it all out. Kyle, the little girl, the people I’d met in the Safe Zone, the blood dancers, the Moon Harvest, the caged humans at the bar, my sheltered existence, everything in my life. I roll onto my back, the book hugged to my chest, tears running into my ears. As I cry an idea forms. I know what I need to do.
There’s a knock at the door. I sit up, putting the book to one side and wiping my face.
‘Come in.’
It’s my mother. Her red velvet gown shimmers in the glow from the candle-lamps. ‘How are you feeling?’ She sits on the floor next to me, her skirts settling like the centre of a rose, her lovely face creased with worry.
‘I’m fine. I feel fine. I mean, physically. The other stuff…’ I look down. ‘That might take a while.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘We should have checked him more carefully. But we were so pleased to see you happy.’
‘I need to ask you something.’
‘Of course.’ My mother becomes still. I reach for her hand, playing with her alabaster fingers, the silky-smooth skin reminding me of my childhood. I take a breath, then I say it.
‘I want to live in the Safe Zone. For a while. Until my coronation, at least. Wait.’ I can see she wants to say something, but I need to explain. ‘Mistral was able to get to me, to us, because of how things are there. Because of how things are for humans. It needs to change, if we’re to be in this world together. And I think that’s a good place to start.’
