The stone went cold.
How many others, Ezer wondered, who had spent their lives here, trying and failing like Zey, were dead without anything to remember them by?
And then Ezer wondered, with a lump in her throat …
Would anyone mourn me?
She hoped Izill and Arawn would, and Kinlear was more a mystery now than ever. But beyond them …
Her loss would be like the countless other names on scrolls. There would be no sword plunged in the snow. No stories told.
And she hated the thought of it. Of fading away, forgotten to time.
Snow kissed her nose and cheeks as she looked skyward. Past the Citadel, to the normal world she’d been plucked from. Full ofnomagesand Ravenminder towers and so many innocents, who would all die if she did not succeed.
War had stolen too many lives.
It had left too many children like Ezer behind.
They’ll sing songs about you,Kinlear had said.The Raphonminder who changed the fate of Lordach.
And as the snow fell around her, and she followed the pull of the wind towards Six …
She decided, then and there, that she would be remembered.
No matter what it took.
After that, Ezer spent every second she could with Six.
Each day she arrived, she found Kinlear missing, even when his deadline of five days had passed. She supposed it should have been a relief that he hadn’t yet returned. Her dreams were a warning that she could not trust him.
But it only left her with a sizzling sort of fury.
He’d been quick to throw her into service with Six … but hadn’t the decency to return to check up on her progress in person. Like he couldn’t be bothered.
He left a letter for her each new day, written in lovely black ink.
And with each one, he now sent gifts.
Piles of books tied in delicate silk ribbon.
Heaped bags of milk chocolates, or fresh strips of polished leather to hold her curls back in a braid, like he’d learned her likings. Like he had eyes watching her.
It was both a comfort and subtly veiled threat.
She took the gifts anyway, grateful for something to do with Six to pass the hours. She read the books aloud as she walked, and discovered Six had no patience for romances. No, she liked cold, blood-soaked thrillers instead.
‘You may be araphon,but I’m not certain this content is appropriate for a creature not even a year old,’ Ezer told her.
Six had left a pile of waste upon the romance books in response, and so thrillers it was.
Ezer brought in a wheelbarrow and mucking rake, and cleaned Six’s cage. It was exhausting work, and her sore arms throbbed as she cleaned the shavings, despite Six’s annoyance.
The raphon hated the mucking rake and had even tried to swipe it from Ezer’s hands with a paw.
‘It’s not a weapon,’ Ezer said as the pup twitched her tail twice – a very obviousno.
Six still sat there, glaring at the rake as if it were a snake.
