As if it’s been waiting.
The raven is an elder god. There’s little to convince me otherwise.
“This your dead raven?” Eve’s bewildered laugh echoes through the chamber.
“It certainly isn’tmine,” I retort. “But, yes. I believe it’s the same.”
“At this point, I’d dare call it a familiar,” Eve counters with a shrug. She meanders up to me, folding her arms across her chest.
My brows pinch.
A familiar?
“I’m no witch, Eve,” I reply.
She scoffs. “That doesn’t matter,” she retorts, sounding rather offended. “Familiars guide anyone in need.”
First the courtyard, then the veil, now here?
If it’s truly guiding me, our intended path remains unclear.
Warbling, the raven moves toward the space between the thrones and dips its head—pointingwith its beak. As I shift toward the front, making sure to keep a wide berth, a small standing stone rack rests between the two thrones.
A rack securing a line of glass vials… filled with crimson.
In a few quick steps I cross the distance. Silver-capped and sealed into place, names lie stamped in clear script. One vial per country—perSovereign King.Aeros, Battalia, Corvallis… yet… the fourth is missing.
Erus.
“Your oath,” my eyes swing to Ryc’s, “is ablood oath?”
He nods.
“Where is yours?” I demand, stepping aside to reveal the gap between vials. “Would the other kings have returned here? Would they have seen your silver blood? Would they havetakenit?”
Would they use it against him?
Whether as proof of his lineage or in a blood magic ritual—one is as damning as the other.
Ryc, the concern heavy on his features, sweeps toward me. “Not possible. The vial was glamoured and sealed into place.”
“Considering the ease with which we gained access to the island, it would be shortsighted to assume other kings aren’t capable of the same,” Eve says, her voice low.
“They’ve no reason to return,” Cyran counters, his brows creased. “What gain would any of the council attain in doing so?”
Reaching, I pull at one of the vials.
It doesn’t budge.
With a quick swing, the side of my fist strikes the glass.
It doesn’t shatter.
Nor is there evidence on the floor below of broken glass or spilled blood. Whoever was hereknewhow to unweave this ward or spent a great deal of time figuring out how.
They certainly didn’t lack time. It’s been centuries since Ryc made his pledge. Without subsequent kings due for ascension and a lack of High Rulers, Cyran’s point stands. But I cannot and will not disregard the possibility of a thieving king completely.
“There’s little to be done now,” Ryc says and the raven warbles. “Nor should we mention our findings.”
