Why would someone bind our powers? Why keep us in the dark?
Pierce’s face had gone ashen; his faith in everything we stood for was cracking in real time. “Because someone ordered them to,” he croaked.
With his lips drawn in a thin line, Grayson shook his head, stubbornly denying what was in front of us. “There has to be another explanation.”
I wasn’t so sure of that. We’d built our lives on the certainty that we were the good guys. Sure, the guard had its problems. No, Legacia wasn’t perfect. But, as guards, we stood for something—honor, courage, and protecting the lives of Legacians. As I looked at the large rectangle of freshly turned earth that was surely a mass grave, that certainty crumbled to dust.
If Legacian guards had done this, Haven had been right all along. We were villains. The thought settled in my stomach like lead. All those years of believing we served an ideal, that we protected the innocent, had been a lie.
There was nothing in the ruins of the village that could make this better. The one thing we could do—bury the dead—was already done. “We should ride on.”
We mounted our horses in heavy silence. What was there to say? We’d been fools. Haven had pointed out the guards’ flaws—not these flaws, but flaws—and we’d dismissed her, certain we were on the right side. We’d been wrong.
The road split on the far side of the village, and Flynn broke the silence. “Which way should we go?”
Did it matter? Everything we’d believed in was meaningless. Well, almost everything. I still believed in my brothers. Maybe, away from the smell of death, I could find a way to put us all back together. I rubbed my chest, hoping to ease the pain in my heart.
A crow wheeled above us, its harsh call cutting through my grim thoughts. Its dark presence felt like an omen.
Flynn tracked the bird’s flight as if he, too, felt the portent in each flap of its wings.
Grayson pointed at the wider fork. “Talin is that way.”
“The other direction?” Pierce asked.
Grayson scowled at the narrower path as if it had offended him. “No idea.”
“I say we ride toward Talin.” It made sense. Why would Haven take the secondary road?
Caw.
Flynn flinched as the crow flew closer. “I hate those damned birds.”
The crow flew at Flynn’s face.
Flynn squealed and batted his hands as if he were in a childish slap fight. When the bird retreated, he turned toward me. “Did you see that? It attacked me!” He held up two fingers. “Two words. Evil. Bird.”
I rolled my eyes. “Three words. You. Have. Fire.”
Flynn tilted his head toward the sky and yelled, “Hear that, crow? Come at me again, and I’ll fricassee your ass.”
Caw.
“I think you made it mad.” Crazy as that sounded, I meant it. The crow circled lower, its black eyes fixed on Flynn with an intelligence that seemed almost … deliberate. Like it was studying him.
“Look.” Pierce pointed at the sky. “It brought friends.”
Caw. Caw. Caw. Caw.
The crow had brought lots of friends. A veritable wall of black feathers descended, settling on the branches of the trees lining the road to Talin.
“Nope.” Flynn pointed at the crows. “I’m not riding through that.”
“Grow up, Flynn.” Grayson lifted a hand and directed a gust of wind at the birds.
Not a single crow was affected. They remained perched on the icy branches. Flapping. Cawing. Staring at us with beady eyes, as if awaiting our next move.
“That’s not natural,” said Flynn.
