1
The raven arrived as it always did.
Just before sunset, to the prison at the edge of the world.
It stayed high above the black rock fortress, silent as it soared past marching guards. They were always in pairs of two, for one could never be too careful around the prisoners of Rendegard.
Past the turrets and domes, the raven flew, until it reached the southernmost side.
There, the world opened wide.
The prison’s rear wall nearly dropped off into the Sundered Sea.
A black rope bridge jutted out over the water. It was so ancient, the entire thing swayed in the breeze, and if one stepped on a board too worn from time and salt air, they might fall to the razor-sharp cluster of rocks far below or tumble into the sea.
A mercy if they drowned before they were eaten alive by the sea wyverns.
The raven cawed, skirting a bit higher as two colossal black fins surfaced above the whitecaps before slipping beneath the churning waves once more.
The bridge ended on a looming black rock isle.
It was Rendegard’s most secure block of cells, upon which stood a single tower.
The raven cawed with joy as it came into view, for it had flown long and hard against the night winds and was eager for a chance to rest its wings. It circled, beads of condensation rolling off its dark feathers like morning dew as it landed. It shook the wetness from its feathers, then hopped from the windowsill into the warmth of the highest room in the tower.
The one that belonged to the birds.
The Aviary was a stinking, stained turret, and one of many others just like it across Lordach. A place for the birds to fly to and from, delivering messages about the only thing that mattered these days.
The war.
‘You’rehere late,’said the young woman who sat waiting.
She was small in frame, a dark-haired wisp of a thing who bore the title of Rendegard’s Ravenminder.
She was the keeper of the messenger birds, at the furthest point south one could go before Lordach ended and the expanse of the Sundered Sea began.
The Ravenminder sat slumped at a table in the center of the tower, amidst piles of worn parchment and handmade quills, and overturned inkwells that had spilled their contents upon the wood like blood.
Her dark hair was a tangled mess of knots and stray bird feathers, and her grey eyes were as dull as river stones. She was, in every sense of the word, forgettable … save for the trio of raised black scars upon her right cheek.
Strange, then, that the Ravenminder bore a name as lovely asEzer.
It had once belonged to a brave and beautiful demigoddess. The very one that hung the moon in the night skies above her tower.
Ezer yawned and plucked a bit of worn parchment off her scarred cheek, stuck there thanks to the drool.
She looked down at the letter and sighed.
Uncle Ervos,it began.I’m writing to inform you that another month has passed, and yet your sorry, good-for-nothing a?—
Ezer crumbled the parchment and tossed it aside.
A pathetic start to a letter, for her insults had never boasted class. Not that she’d actually intended to send it. Her uncle had only ever written back to heroncein the two years since he’d left for the war.
She’d sent word to the front in Augaurde countless times, asking for his status. Inquiring whether he was dead or alive for so much time had passed since she’d heard from him. Of course, she sensed in her gut that he was alive, certain she wouldfeelit if Ervos had passed.
Their fates were tied.
