I laughed. An image surfaced in my mind: him standing face-to-face with Ericen, his eyes hard as jade. At the same time, I thought of him in his workshop, his long limbs twisted into awkward positions in a too-small chair in an attempt to get comfortable, the sunlight illuminating streaks of red in his messy auburn hair, Gio snuggled on one shoulder.
He made me feel safe, comfortable, even happy, and that was all in the middle of Illucia, with the fate of my kingdom at stake.
Kiva fetched Sinvarra and her cleaning materials, then laid the sword out on the table to begin her meticulous polishing process. Someone knocked, and I rose to open the door, revealing Auma. She handed me a letter, though her dark eyes found only Kiva. I thanked her, and she bowed, slipping away.
Beside my name on the envelope, someone had writtenLokane, the password we’d decided Captain Mirkova would use for news from Korovi. Had she convinced them to help us? I tore it open, then nearly dropped it when I beheld the simple message:
No.
Upon seeing my face, Kiva rose and snatched the letter from me, then cursed so violently in Korovi, I considered asking the Saints to forgive her. Except wasn’t this just another sign there was no one there? No one listening.
“Saints-damned isolationist snobs!” she finished, chucking the letter into the fire. The flames gobbled it up with the tenacity of Kiva’s curses.
I forced a deep breath. “It’s okay. We still have Jindae, Trendell, and the Ambriels. That’s more than enough.”
“If they all agree.”
* * *
All through morning training and the carriage ride to Caylus’s, I couldn’t stop checking the connection between Res and me. Every time, the cord hummed contentedly, and I would breathe a little slower until the fear compelled me to check again.
A day old, Res’s appetite would be kicking in, so I’d visited the castle kitchens with the intent of pilfering some meat. The castle cook was already preparing meals for that evening’s dinner when I slipped into the warm, cobblestone room.
After learning his name was Tarel and asking for some cooked chicken, a man shaping dough beside the oven had grinned at me in a way that made his dimples show. “So you’re the one who’s been ordering all the desserts,” he said.
My cheeks flushed. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”
“Are you kidding?” replied Tarel as he folded chicken in a cloth for me with nimble fingers. “He’s just happy to make something other than sugarless tarts.”
It’d taken me several more minutes to escape and only after learning the dimpled man was Lyren, Tarel’s husband and the castle baker, along with how many years they’d worked there, how long they’d been married, and their opinions on who’d win the Centerian that year. By the time I’d slipped away with promises to return, I had an additional cloth wrap with scones, hard cheese, and dried fruit.
The carriage slowed outside the bakery, and I leapt out, darting inside with a quick hello to the woman behind the counter on my way up to Caylus’s. He answered the door after the first knock, as if he’d been waiting on the other side.
“How is he?” I asked the moment the door shut.
“Asleep,” Caylus replied. He had purple shadows under his eyes, and his hair had reached a new level of disheveled.
I frowned. “Did you sleep?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t want to leave him alone.”
Something warm and pleasant welled in my chest, and I smiled, taking Caylus’s hand to guide him upstairs. His fingers curled about mine, their trembling still. We hadn’t talked about our kiss, and some part of me didn’t want to. Caylus knew about my engagement with Ericen and my plans to stop it, and if he didn’t want to make a big deal of it, neither would I.
Getting caught didn’t worry me—kissing another boy was the least of my subversion.
Res lay cocooned in soft blankets of Ambriellan wool. There were more than when I’d left, as if Caylus had gotten concerned the crow might be cold. A small water bowl sat beside him.
This close, the cord between Res and me felt stronger, the connection a comfort. I knelt beside him, and his silver eyes opened. On his stomach, with his little head tucked in, he was no more than a pouf of feathers with a beak.
He cawed softly, the cord thrumming with something like recognition. One day old, and he was nearly as large as my torso. In less than a week, he would be a fledging, his wings a flurry of feathers as he fought to build strength, to learn the feel of the wind.
And then we would escape Illucia.
“We’re going to have to stock up on a lot of meat,” I whispered to him, stroking the soft feathers at the top of his head. He nipped affectionately at my fingers, and I tapped his beak, earning a quiet squawk of protest.
“What now?” Caylus sat down beside me as I unwrapped the chicken in my lap and fed Res a small piece.
“He should start showing signs of magic any day now,” I replied. “Is someone going to come knocking if he makes noise?”
