Keira stopped herself from further speculation as she reached into the glass terrarium where Thaddeus was watching her with his round eyes. His squat weight in her hands was a comfort, and Keira forced herself to take one deep breath.
She reigned in her frantic mind, focusing singularly on the task at hand.
The toad’s fat body folded around powerful legs. Large bulbous eyes. Soft gaping mouth. It wouldn’t do, not for what lay ahead. Instead, she thought of feathers, long black wings. Sharp beaks and powerful talons. Keen black eyes.
The raven’s caw sounded before Keira had opened her eyes. But she could feel his talons gripping her fingers. The wind brushed over her face as Thaddeus tested his new wings. Keira looked him over. She had done fine work. He appeared no less than a common raven, no trace that he had ever been anything but. Keira moved him to perch on the table. He cawed at her again, seeming to enjoy the sound.
Keira ignored him. Her bag was packed. She laced up her winter boots and threw a heavy cloak over her shoulders. Then she took a bit of chalk from her case and began to etch the precise markings onto the wooden floor. A bead of sweat trailed down her temple as she made the final marks. When it was done, her hands were covered in white powder as she wiped her brow and assessed her work. The symbols seemed right from her memory. A sour expression came over her as she wished to consult the Poratoria, just to be certain. Still, he tried to control her, even now-
Keira shook her head. She was sure of herself, of her knowledge. She had studied these diagrams for years.
With a bracing breath, she stepped into the circle, adjusting the bag slung over her back. She called Thaddeus to her shoulder, and he flapped over obediently. Keira closed her eyes and thought of mountains. Sharp, jagged rocks reaching for the sky. Powdered snow blanketing the ground. Then of battle. Steel and blood and battered shields. Spears and fire and tattered banners.
Sudden harsh wind broke against her frame, slicing her to the bone. Keira gasped at the cold, opening her eyes to behold the mountainous valley before her. The ground was blackened with mud and ash, scattered with the broken aftermath of battle. Fresh powdery snow had fallen, covering the scene in a blanket of white like a funeral shroud, as if the mountain itself wishedto spare her. Even so it was plain what had transpired here: a massacre.
Keira steeled herself against the mountain wind, bracing for what lie ahead. She needed a closer look. She needed to be sure.
Taking Thaddeus from her shoulder, she held him in her hands. “Time you learned to fly.” She lifted him up, allowing the air to catch his wings.
He faltered at first before finding the currents and soaring to the valley below.
Keira took in a lungful of the thin air, closing her eyes. She could feel her familiar’s presence as an extension of her own. She drew on the bond, strengthening it. When her eyes opened once more, it was the raven’s sight which filled her vision.
Thaddeus soared over the battlefield. The massive forms of ogres remained, but for every one of them were a dozen soldiers half buried in the snow. She tried to examine them, to find some signifier that would answer the unspeakable question pounding in her heart. In the distance were the remains of many tents. This was where they were seeking shelter, not battle. It had been an ambush. Thaddeus roosted on tent poles and wagons, broken spears and pikes only to fly again. The dead went on and on, beyond number or mercy. Too soon his wings could carry him no further.
Keira fell to her knees in the snow. Hot tears froze on her cheeks as the icy winds sliced through her coat, through her hair. It was as if she could hear the screams of the dying in the wind, their faces still playing in her mind. Even if he had somehow been left behind, there was no life in the valley now, only the countless dead. The truth ripped her apart. Her wrenched screams echoed through the pass, heard by no one but the stones.
Caspian was dead.
Keira
Keira woke from a fitful sleep feeling somehow more exhausted than when she had laid down to rest. Florian groggily agreed to tell the others where she had gone. She simply couldn’t handle the goodbyes, not with the day already weighing so heavily on her. They would have understand. And it wouldn’t be forever, Keira promised herself as she etched the familiar markings onto the floorboards. If she meant to resign her position in the Blades she would return to Grimlocke and say her final goodbyes in person… if it had to come to that.
Florian wished her, “Fair travels and fateful winds,” as she stepped into the circle, Thaddeus perched on her arm. Keira shut her eyes, trepidation churning within her as she pictured rolling grasslands and cloud filled skies. A lonely stone tower at the top of a hill. Home. Soon enough, the stuffy air of the tavern faded, and her senses were filled with the scent of wildflowers and the looming hint of coming rain.
She was standing on the familiar path leading to the tower. The grass had nearly reclaimed it, growing up the stonework more liberally than the last time she had laid eyes on it. Maybe that’s why it seemed so forbidding, why she felt smaller standing in its shadow. Of course, Keira knew that wasn’t the whole truth. The last time she’d stood here, she’d been reading that fateful letter. She’d turned into a beast of rage. Her hands ran over her cheeks, down her neck as she pushed the memories away.
Thaddeus flapped on her shoulder as she started up toward the tower. Anxiety was twisting in her stomach as she thought of what to say. It had been three years, and she still had not forgiven her guardian for what he had done. Part of her would always be angry. But he was the only family she had left…
Her steps stilled as she raised her eyes to the door. It had been nailed shut with a board. Her heart stopped in her chest as she shook her head. Terror gripped her throat like a vise. She couldn’t be too late. He couldn’t be-
All at once, Keira was running. Her magic ripped the rusted nails from their resting place and cast the board aside without a thought. The door flew open before her. The main room was darkened. But everything lay as it had always been. The chairs by the fireplace, the dining table, the bookshelves. It was just how she remembered, all but the thick layer of dust. Her presence disturbed it, sending motes of filth dancing through the air as if attempting to fill the emptiness. The corners were littered with cobwebs. Mouse droppings were scattered over the table and the floors. The Domus charm had fallen.
Thaddeus flew to the case that was once his home and squawked mournfully at the tarnished glass.
Keira stood frozen. She was too late. The only reason for the Domus to falter was if he was gone. From the look of things it had been dormant for a year, maybe longer.
How long ago had he written that letter? How long had it taken for it to find her?
At last, she took a tentative step, and then another, leaving behind footprints on the filthy floorboards. Keira felt like a ghost as she climbed the spiral steps. Behind a closed door, her bedroom remained as she had left it. A vase of wilted meadow flowers had long since decayed on her nightstand. Keira closed the door again. It took some time to gather her courage to explore any higher. She had rarely ventured to the top of thetower, where Ignatius’ private study was held. Only when she had grown older had she been permitted entry for advanced lessons.
Her hand shook slightly as she reached for the ring of the trapdoor. Nevertheless, she found the strength to pull it down. The steps unfolded, and Keira took them slowly. One by one. Her head poked through the floor of the study.
Every wall was lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. Many held books and bound collections of scrolls. Others hosted alchemical equipment, chests and jars of ingredients. There were bottled potions, many of which Keira could name, but not all. The skeleton of the cockatrice peered lifelessly from atop a high shelf as she moved below. A large cauldron lay neglected in the corner. Ignatius’s bed lay on the opposite side of the room from his large desk, the sheets lifeless and still. It had been empty for some time.
She was too late. Ignatius was gone, and she hadn’t been there.
All he had asked for was that she be there.
