...and he deserved it.
Nearly a year after Soraya’s death, Arawn Laroux found himself on a prison wagon heading south. He found himself alone, and angry, a mask of Crown Princely care on his face as he visited every garrison his father sent him to.
As he looked at the dead and the dying and the well on their way to it and tried...andfailed... to bring his magic back to him.
He couldn’t have known that it would take him all the way south, to Rendegard.
To a prison with a dark tower, where he stood, months after Soraya’s death, with a recruiting scroll held tightly in his fist.
This is the last one,he told himself, for he was tired of life on the road.
He was tired of beinguseless.
He was tired of carrying out this extended penance from his father...a king who knew it wouldcrushArawn to send him away like an errand boy,a mere servant, with hopes that it would set fire again to the magic inside of him.
Failure,Arawn told himself.Look at what’s become of you!
He hated it, this emptiness inside his chest.
He would do what it took. Whatever he had to do, to get Vivorr to give him back his fire. But for now...
For now, he was to do his father’s bidding, a penance of its own...and obey.
So, with a sigh, Arawn lifted his hand, and knocked on the door.
He wasn’t prepared for what he would feel – how his magic would suddenly spark to life, as if it had finally awakened – the very first time he laid eyes on the Ravenminder behind it.
15
Arawn Laroux, Crown Prince of the war-torn kingdom of Lordach, collapsed backwards against the snow, his chest heaving.
Gods above, he was out of breath.
A few months away from the altitude of the north—the damned mission to escort thenomagerecruits here, as it was all he could handle these days—coupled with time away from the skies...and he swore his lungs had shrunk.
Was this how his brother felt, each day he woke and couldn’t breathe?
For a moment, Arawn pitied him, for it was like his lungs had forgotten how it felt to soar far above the Expanse. To be free from the pressures expected of him in this walking world.
He longed to be weightless again, on the back of a war eagle, leading his aerie.
He longed to befree.
Get up,Arawn told himself, as he leapt to his feet and faced his opponent.
He wouldn’t be bested, not now. Not while thenomageswere watching.
It waspartly why he came to their barracks to help train the recruits when everyone was awake, readying for another night of war. When he could be close to it, to ease himself back into the rhythm of battle that he knew and—regrettably, even loved—without feeling that tremble of fear that came from fighting a darksoul or their shadow wolves.
A Crown Prince was not supposed to beafraid.
But Arawn was.
Gods above, hewas, because what if he couldn’t heal? What if he couldneverget his magic back?
A face flashed in his mind. A face marked with hatred as she tipped her head to the sky andscreamedAvane’s name.
Arawn shook it away.
