But this time, my hand freezes in place. I’m not sure what sparks it, but all of a sudden, I can’t help but think that Mother must have had moments just like this one. She once trained with recruits, long before she ever set foot in battle— until one day, when she finally had to fight.
She must have been afraid, too. She must have thought of my father, or me, or Nora.
She must have wished to be anywhere else.
For the first time, it settles something inside me. This isn’t about avenging her or impressing her or failing her or disgusting her.
Because she’s not here.Iam.
The instant I have the thought, a scraver shrieks right on the other side of the shutters, and I bite back a cry, but I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. The wood rattles hard, and I press my shoulders into the wall. My hands find the hilts of my weapons.
I’m torn between shouting for Alek and Malin and holding my breath, because I don’t know what this means. I can’t tell if it’s trying to break in, or if it’s simply taken roost in the tree outside.
Either way, were we really so stupid to think scravers were only going to come inthrough the front door?
Another shriek, and this time the creature slams into the shutters, claws scrabbling at the wood. My windows are only so strong, and they can barely keep out the winter wind. They’re definitely not going to hold fast against determined scravers.
I inhale sharply and yank those blades just as the shutters rip wide and glass shatters inward. Wind blasts into the room, swirling the snow in every direction. And it’s not one, buttwoscravers that crash through the gap, bringing splintered wood and shards of ice with them. They surge at me before I have time to react— and then I’m suddenly glad for the months of training.
Because without a thought, my bodymoves, my sword swinging in an arc, my dagger thrusting. Sparks and stars have flared in my blood, reminding me of all those times I healed someone. Only this time, the magic is lending strength and speed to my skill. As if they can sense it, one of the scravers screeches so loudly that my ears hurt, and the other one regroups to attack me from the side. But this is just like all those lessons with Lord Jacob and the other recruits, only with magic.Spin. Thrust. Parry.
My sword meets resistance for the first time, and I almost falter— but then I hear Jacob’s voice in my head, telling me to follow through. I shove hard. The scraver shrieks in my face, fangs snapping toward my throat, wind screaming into the room to tear at my hair.
— Magesmith,it hisses, right to my ears.
I cringe away, but that’s all it takes for me to lose track of the other one. It’s coming at me from the left, and I don’t have enough time to pull my sword free. I go to swing my dagger, but this one swipes with its claws. I try to jerk my arm out of the way, but I know I’m not going to be quick enough.
But then an arrow appears in its throat, and its head snaps back, wings splaying wildly as it scrabbles for its neck, trying to rip the arrow free. For an instant, I can only stare.
“Stab it!” Alek shouts from behind me. “Don’t let it break the arrow!”
Right, right.The first one is still fighting against the sword embedded in its body, so I let go of the hilt and drive my dagger into the chest of this one. I slam it home so fiercely that the creature stumbles backward and crashes into the floor of my old bedroom, blood spraying.
Behind me, Malin is suddenly there, pulling my sword free of the first, using his booted foot to shove the scraver off the blade. Then Alek is pulling the arrow out of the neck of the one he shot. Blood and viscera cling to the tip, and I wait for my stomach to roll, but it doesn’t. My vision flickers, though, just a little.
Wind keeps whipping through the window, and the shrieks outside haven’t stopped.
Alek wipes the bloodied arrow on his trousers and shoves it back in his quiver. His eyes are harder than I’ve ever seen them. Malin hands me my sword, then moves closer to the window, staying off to the side so he’s not visible through the gap.
Desperately curious, I start to follow, but just as I begin to move, the Emberish soldier shakes his head. He snaps his fingers, then points at both of us in turn, then points back at the stairs.
To my surprise, Alek nods, then grabs hold of the bracer at my forearm, tugging me with him. His fingers press into my wrist for one quick second, and I feel the emotion in his grip. I swallow and attempt to wipe my blades on my trousers the way he did, and the scraver blood soaks right through the fabric.Thistime my stomach rolls. But I swallow thickly and shove the weapons back into their sheaths. When we reach the stairs, Malin goes first, and then Alek sends me after him.
Malin leads down the stairs, stopping midway to listen. From here, I can see the front window, and there’s nothing but snow outside, wind blowing fast and hard like the kinds of storms that come down from the mountains in late winter. The shrieking of the scravers is getting lost in the howling of the wind, and my heart pounds to consider thatthese creatures might’ve been in the trees in the past and we never knew it.
They were supposed to be friendly. They were supposed to be magical. They were supposed to be helpful.
But I remember what Nakiis said about how Xovaar wanted what was taken. Maybe theywerefriendly, but they’re not anymore.
I wish I could give it back. I wish we couldallgive it back.
Once we’re down in the bakery, the sound of the howling wind is lessened. We all exchange glances, and Malin finally peers out the window.
“No humans,” he says in Syssalah, and his voice is very soft, but his Emberish accent is thick. “Six scravers on the barn, but I can’t see the forge. Three in the air. Maybe more.”
“But none here,” Alek murmurs. The wind keeps whistling upstairs, but no further shrieking.
The scravers have gone after Tycho— and Nakiis.
