I felt different. Stronger. More present in my skin than I’d been since dying. My heart beat steady and sure in my chest. Not borrowed anymore, not stolen. Mine. Synced to his, yes, but mine.
I was no longer death-touched.
I was death-blessed.
And I was his.
OLWEN
Mabyn returned at dawn.
I felt her before I saw her. I felt her as a disturbance at the edge of my new awareness, a wrongness pressing against the boundaries of the Raven Lands.
The ravens told me first. Their minds brushed against mine, urgent and angry, showing me images of horses and steel and a woman in black approaching the gates.
She’d brought backup.
Not a large one. A dozen men in mismatched armor, swords at their hips, crossbows strapped to their backs. Mercenaries. The kind of men who fought for coin rather than loyalty, who asked no questions as long as the purse was heavy enough.
She’d come prepared to take me by force.
Three attempts now. Poison. Assassin. Army. Each one more desperate than the last. Whatever story she’d been telling was crumbling, and she was unraveling with it.
I stood at the window of Cador’s chambers and watched them approach.
The sun had barely risen, its light weak and diffused through the perpetual cloud cover, casting the world in a monochrome palette.
Mabyn rode at the front, her black dress stark against her pale horse, her face uncovered this time. No more performances. No more grieving guardian playing to an audience.
She’d come as herself: a killer and a thief. A woman who had poisoned her niece and would see the job finished.
“You don’t have to face her.” Cador’s voice came from behind me. He was dressing, pulling on the black coat he favored, fastening the silver clasps shaped like raven skulls.
“I can have the guards turn them away at the gates. Or deal with them myself.”
I turned from the window. He was watching me, his eyes steady, his expression calm. But I felt his anger, the possessive rage at someone threatening what was his.
“No,” I said. “This is mine to finish.”
He studied my face then nodded. “I’ll be with you.”
“I know.”
I crossed to the wardrobe. The servants had filled it with new clothes while we’d been in the crypts, midnight wool and the silk of thunderclouds, dresses cut for a queen rather than a bride.
I chose the simplest one. Black, long-sleeved, high-necked. No embroidery, no jewels, nothing to distract from what I’d become.
I dressed in silence. Cador watched, and I could feel his attention like a physical touch through the bond. When I finished, he handed me a cloak, heavy black velvet lined with fur, silver clasps at the throat.
“For the theatrics,” he said. “Let her see what she made you into.”
I fastened the cloak, the silver skulls gleaming against the black wool. The weight of it settled across my shoulders, familiar and strange all at once.
I was no longer the merchant’s daughter who’d stood on the auction block a month ago. No longer the death-touched creature who’d hidden her wrongness behind petals and performances.
I was something else now.
Something better.
