Ezer lifted a dark brow. ‘It has manners now?’
Arawn’s gaze hardened. ‘Ithas a name.’
‘And so do I besidesMinder.Or does everyone always refer to you as your title, Oh Mighty Crown Prince?’
‘Oh migh—’ He paused to take a deep, calming breath. ‘You enter with me now, or you get left behind.’ He leveled his icy gaze upon her. ‘The choice is yours.’
She knew he meant it.
But she still stared at him, unmoving.
Waiting for him to meet her demand.
‘Ezer.’ He finally said her name, exasperated. ‘Will that do?’
‘Well enough,’ she said back. ‘Your … Majesty?’
‘Arawn,’ he said, and he looked like he’d been defeated. For some reason, that made her smile. ‘Just … call me Arawn.’
She stepped up to the wards.
There was truly nowhere else for her to go. At least here … she would have a Ravenminder’s tower, a space to call her own, a purpose. A job she was certain she could do well.
At least, soon enough, she would be back with the birds, who never made her feel small or insignificant or unsafe.
Please,she thought, as she stepped into the golden wardlight.Please, let me through.
Her chest lightened as the wards parted.
But she did not smile as she entered.
Because she knew, like Ervos, she might not ever make it back out alive.
6
Augaurde sat beneath her like a setting in a dream: a sweeping valley of white that stretched from left to right as far as she could see, before it spanned upwards again to a smattering of sharp, pointed cliffs covered in snow.
The valley itself was scattered with hulking white war tents, mixed through with smoldering campfires that spat smoke into the sky. Countless soldiers –not enough, as she’d expected– marched about. Draft horses dragged heavy logs on rolling carts. Mixed among them were the enormous white war bears she’d heard stories of, born and bred to love the cold. She could hear their roars from here. Some were saddled with riders atop them, while others used their brute strength to haul giant boulders across the snow.
Some soldiers practiced sparring or swordplay. They were adorned in red cloaks, the color of thenomageuniforms,born without Sacred blood.
The majority of Lordach.
Where the soldier’s barracks fell away, the valley gradually sloped back upwards, and a sweeping stone bridge led to the center of the cliffs, high in the sky. There stood an enormous castle in the clouds.
The Sacred Citadel.
It was ancient and crafted entirely of white stone. It stood so close to the edge of the cliffs that it looked like a strong gust of wind would have sent it tumbling into the Expanse on the other side.
The Citadel boasted five towers, for the five gods, each one spiraling into the snowy sky. Smaller white bridges connected the towers, rounded like the backs of sleeping dragons. The only vibrant colors came from the banners that hung from each tower, near frozen to the stones by a fresh sheen of ice. Five banners, in five colors, for each pillar of Sacred magic and the god they represented.
The Sacred Circle was nowhere to be seen. A place of legend, where twelve enormous standing stones stood in the snow, covered in runes that told the story of Lordach’s creation. Ezer wondered if she’d be able to see it from her tower.
If she’d be able to leave it, or if she’d be expected to stay locked away again.
‘This way,’ Arawn said, and his voice was like a blade as he addressed the exhausted group. It cut into the moment, broke the spell of seeing this place for the very first time. ‘To the barracks, where you’ll receive your orders.’
She never thought she would walk in the footsteps of a soldier.
