As the others returned to her side, stumbling and stunned, Sharyn swept her gaze around the ring of writing, repeating the message in her head.
Study, learn, grow. When you are ready, we will come.
It was a promise to the future set in gold.
Now, if only the world could make this come true.
Duncan rejoined her, smiling, breathless. “What do you think?”
Her friends closed around them. Sharyn had stopped where one of the spiral staircases climbed to this level, welcoming them to venture deeper. She knew they would eventually have to share this with the greater world, but for now...
This is all ours.
Duncan flicked his gaze up, then to her again. “What about it? Areyouready?”
She stared into his shining eyes, recognizing what he was truly asking. It wasn’t just about journeying into the unknown below—but about their future together.
She grasped his hand, holding tight, and answered both.
“Damn right, I am.”
81
April 6, 5:33 p.m. CEST
London, England
Moira crossed the Tower Green, gripping a Starbucks cup. Only, it wasn’t full of an over-sugared latte. Instead, it sloshed with pig’s blood. She also carried loose biscuits in a pouch snapped around her waist. One wafer—a reward for Hugh—was already soaking in the cup.
The raven sat perched on a wall on the lawn’s far side, dancing angrily back and forth on his claws.
My boyo is in an especially foul mood.
Hugh never liked his rehab sessions, but neither did Moira’s father. The old man had healed from his surgery, but a post-op lung infection had complicated his recovery, which put him in bed for a long stretch. At the moment, he was working with a physical therapist over at King’s House, trying to increase both his lung capacity and upper body strength.
Moira had used this time to exercise Hugh. The raven had mended from his heroic rescue of her, but his broken wing had healed crookedly, making it hard for him to manage more than short, uncoordinated flights. It had turned him sullen, irritable, and reluctant to take these short excursions with her. The Ravenmaster—the Yeoman Warder who oversaw the Tower’s winged mascots—had said such hesitation wasn’t due to embarrassment or pride, but more likely due to an innate desire not to show weakness, a trait that could make him an easy target for predation.
Regardless, Hugh had to keep moving.
Just like her father.
She reached the wall, fished out the soaked biscuit, and held it up. “C’mon, Hugh. A couple more laps around the green, and we’ll call it a day.”
He tilted his head and cast her a loathsome look. Then reinforced it with a string of expletives.
Moira glanced around. The Tower had closed only minutes ago. A few tourists straggled about, but luckily no one seemed to be in earshot.
She sighed and debated whether or not to grab a dustbin and use it as a ladder to reach him.
Hugh danced some more, turning his back on her. He was definitely in a mood. Then he whistled brightly, letting loose with an operatic riff—which he only did when he was happy. She hadn’t heard it in months. Something must have caught his attention on the wall’s far side, which overlooked a pedestrian walkway.
Then he dove off his perch and disappeared from view.
She grimaced, knowing she’d have to chase him down. But at least he was on the ground where she could nab him. She quickly circled around the wall to reach the walkway beyond it.
When she did, she spotted a strange sight. One of the tourists, a gentleman in an ankle-length great coat and matching cap, had grabbed Hugh and cradled him close, as if about to tuck the bird away and abscond with him.
Such manhandling was dangerous to both bird and man.
