“Yes, the Raven. Now shut your mouth,” Hemlocke says, and smoke curls from his nostrils—a warning sign I recognize. His eyes shift to those of his beast, burning magenta with horizontal slits instead of the vertical ones I’m used to. Two black dots form on his forehead, and I can only assume that’s where his horns emerge.
Cautiously, driven by curiosity, I reach up and touch the spots. His skin is warm and slightly textured. He jolts backward like I’ve burned him.
“I’m sorry!” I pull my hand back as fast as I can and tighten my wings around my shoulders, using them as a defensive barrier.
“It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you to touch me.” He holds his hands up in a placating manner, his voice gentle despite the lingering smoke. Just then, the bell rings to remind us it’s time for first period, the sound echoing through the cafeteria.
“Raven, we’re gonna be late!” Thorne yells across the space. I glance up and see the skylight open as my sister approaches.
“I’ll see you later, Hemlocke.” When Thorne gets close enough, I wrap my arms around her and spread my wings wide. The familiar weight and warmth of her against me grounds me as we launch up and out through the skylight. The morning air is crisp against my face as I fly us over to the Arcanum Campus for first period.
Goddess help me—this day needs to end quickly. Between severed heads and species politics, I’m exhausted before classes have even started.
Chapter 12
Raven
It’s beenover a week since the last attempt on my life. A soft laugh escapes my lips as I look at the guard posted at the end of my hallway—his presence both comforting and irritating. The constant surveillance makes my skin crawl. Rolling my eyes, I head downstairs, my boots echoing in the empty corridor. I had only stopped back at my room to grab my other gloves with the knuckle guards and my lighter mask for today’s training.
Once I’m outside, I take to the sky, feeling the cool morning air rush beneath my wings. The sensation of flight always calms my nerves, even when everything else feels chaotic. I fly over to Shadowcarve, the familiar weight of dread settling in my stomach like a stone. I feel like there’s a noose around my neck, waiting to be yanked tight.
Flying over the wide-open courtyard, I watch the other students heading to their classes, their voices carrying on the wind. If only my life was that simple—attending classes, worrying about grades instead of assassination attempts. I land inside the gates with a soft thud, my wings folding automatically as I head to my suite.
In the back bedroom, I lock myself in and get changed into my leathers. The familiar scent of well-oiled hide fills my nostrils as I pull on the supple material. Every blade I own gets strapped to my body—the weight of steel against my ribs, thighs, and back a comforting reminder of my preparedness. The garrote wire goes into my boot. Someone wants to kill me, it’s going to be very difficult for them.
“Raven?” I hear my mom’s voice through the door, and I pause, listening intently. The tone is off—too formal, too uncertain. Mom rarely announces herself like that. She simply appears.
Heading to the closet, I shut myself inside and climb up through the small trap door I installed over the last couple of weeks. The wood creaks softly under my weight as I squeeze through the narrow opening. It allows me to exit into Callan’s office through the small storage closet. Quietly, I slide the heavy file cabinet over the hatch and step out into the office space, dust motes dancing in the afternoon light.
“Hey, Raven?” Callan looks at me puzzled, tilting his head so his good eye focuses on me. The scarred socket of his missing eye catches the light, a reminder of battles past.
“Sorry. Someone or something is in my space that sounding like Mom.” I flex my wings, and he immediately understands. We both know the same thing—Mom never announces herself. She’s a shadow when she wants to be. He straps his blade to his hip, the leather making soft creaking sounds, and we head downstairs.
As soon as I see Balor and Mom in the main room, I use the hand signals they taught me years ago. My fingers move in practiced patterns, warning them of what happened. Mom’s eyes narrow as she confirms with her own signals that it wasn’t her. We move quickly to where my room is and stand outside the door. The familiar weight of my twin blades settles in my hands as I reach over my shoulders and draw them, the steel singing as it clears the sheaths.
Callan silently counts down with his fingers, then throws the door open with a bang that echoes through the suite.
There’s no movement, but the scales on the back of my neck stand on end like hackles. Something is still here—I can feel its presence like an icy breath on my skin. Deep claw marks mar the door to my bedroom, where I was just minutes earlier. The wood is splintered and torn. Callan points to his eye, then the door, and makes a clawed hand gesture, swiping downward.
My eyes shift to my dragon’s vision, and I let her rise beneath my skin. Her presence fills the room like smoke, ancient and dangerous. A shrill scream pierces the air, making my eardrums ache. What looks like a wooden beam suddenly leaps out and runs toward the open door.
“It’s a mimic!” Callan yells, his voice cutting through the creature’s shriek.
I launch out the door, my wings propelling me forward with powerful beats. The thing shape-shifts in front of me, becoming a squirrel with twitching whiskers and a bushy tail. It scurries across the open courtyard, but three flaps of my wings and I’m on it. I drive my sword through its small body with a wet thunk, pinning it to the packed earth.
A roar rips free from my lips, the sound echoing off the stone walls as I stare at it. Its true form becomes known—a spindly humanoid creature with almost translucent white skin that looks sickly in the sunlight. Black veins run beneath the surface like a roadmap of corruption.
“Who sent you!” I scream at it as it coughs up blackened blood that smells like rotting meat.
“The heir must die...” it cackles, the sound like breaking glass, before Mom drives her sword through its skull with a sickening crunch. Brain matter and dark blood splatter across the ground.
I watch the scales ripple over my mother’s skin like living armor, green, and silver gleaming in the afternoon light. Mom is the mostpowerful female on the continent—the idea of her truly angry sends chills down my spine. When Mom gets angry, continents burn.
“Mom, I’m okay. We killed it.” I move closer and rest my hand over hers on the hilt of her sword, feeling the warmth of her skin and the slight tremor of residual rage.
“It was hunting you.” Her eyes blaze gold as she stares at me, pupils elongating like her dragon’s.
“You taught me how to survive. I’m safe because of your teachings.” I close the distance and hug my mom to me, wrapping her in my wings the way I’ve seen my father do a thousand times. I press Mom’s head to my shoulder and purr softly, the vibration rumbling through both our bodies as I try to soothe her frayed nerves.
