“Youwill tell them, in your own words.”
He kisses me lightly before we exit the car, ready to face our people.
When we enter Corvus House, I can already feel the energy of the Raven Hands. They’re assembled in the Great Hall, all of them looking different from the evening of the party. Some are in uniforms, having just come straight from work, others in jeans and sweats, and some in hijabs and shalwar kameez.
As I enter the hall, they applaud.
I marvel at how far I’ve come from having a gun aimed at me.
My face heats as Valdemar leads me to the stage.
We stand on it together, Valdemar raising my arm, and I can’t help but smile at them.
“Ding dong, the witch is dead!” a Raven Hand calls, and the crowd laughs.
“Speech!” someone else shouts.
“No, I.…” But I don’t get far, as Valdemar lets go of my hand and ushers me forwards.
And as I stand in front of my people, something awakens inside me, like it did the last time I stood on this stage and faced this crowd.
The applause and cries die down as my mouth opens. Words tumble out, and I’ve no idea where they’re coming from, but I can tell that they’re listening, all of them, hanging on my every word.
“Today is only the beginning. It marks the start of a new age, a new generation of Raven Hands who will do whatever it takes to stand up for what is right, what is just, and what is fair. We no longer hide in the shadows of a tyrant but walk in the daylight of freedom, hand in hand, side by side.”
As I say my last word, Valdemar joins me.
He looks at me, and I look at him, and we smile as he takes my hand in his and raises it in the air.
“The Raven Hands!” he calls, and the crowd chants it back.
My people.
Our people.
And in that moment, something Valdemar said to me at one of our first meetings in the prison comes back to me.
Raven Hands aren’t chosen.
We become Ravens.
