KANE
IKNEW THIS TIME ITย was my rib that had cracked.
Each inhale sent the mismatched shards straining from one another
and pain radiating into the pummeled muscles of my back. Sitting up was marginally less painful, and I sucked in a slow, bracing breath.
The scent of pine and blood filled my nostrils.
When I blinked my eyes open, they raked down the cascading wall of solid, glinting ice that Iโd plunged fromโits peak still hidden behind thick white clouds, the smooth face marred only by the cracks and dents where Iโd jammed my fists and feet, unsuccessfully attempting an ascent.
First you failed them. Then you failed her. Now youโre failing again.
Anguish pierced my heart anew. Fresher, every fucking day. Wasnโt grief supposed to dull with time?
I stood, chest still constricting with two very different types of pain, and brushed snow and dirt from my backside. The motion aggravated deep scrapes along my palms. Whatever protective ward the White Crow had cast around his home atop that glacial mountain was inhibiting all aspects of my lighteโbarring me from shifting into my dragon form, halting my accelerated Fae healingโฆ
I trudged through near-blinding white back in the direction of the town at the base of the mountain. Iโd only made it a few feet when the bruises,
scrapes, and blisters across my body began to fade. My toe cut across the snow, demarking where the ward appeared to end.
I winced with the movement. The rib was going to take longer to heal.
If I were smart, or patient, Iโd retreat down to town, get a room at the unsavory, sleet-coated inn, and lie still in devastating silence until I recovered.
But I wasnโt smart. I wasnโt patient.
And I didnโt mind the pain.
I was so cold these days it was almost preferable, feeling something ache inside my bones.
Pressing my palm to the radiating volleys of pain in my side, I appraised the ice-cold mountain range for the hundredth time. Beyond bare ponderosa branches thick with hoarfrost, and snow prints from hares and caribou, that towering rise of jagged hunches rose and rose and rose, gobbling up the skyline.
โYou planning to become a dragon and fly at it again?โ a crotchety old voice called from behind me. โThat almost worked.โ
Gods damn it.
โNo,โ I growled.
And that hadnโt almost worked. It had only gotten me high enough into the air to spy the tiny stone cottage that topped the peak, observe the elderly sorcerer tending to a flourishing root vegetable garden, and then, as soon as I flew for him and through his wards, shift against my will midair and plummet to the ground.
That fall had yielded me one crushed kneecap, a concussion, and two dislocated shoulders. None of which had rivaled the experience of waiting days for my knocked-out teeth to grow backโnothing humbles a man quite like teething in adulthood.
My body shattering against packed snow hadnโt been all bad. In some ways, Iโd welcomed the pain. It allowed me to feel what Arwen had feltโ that same gruesome powerlessness. Sailing through the air, instincts screaming at me to fly despite my brainโs roaring that Iย couldnโtโ
โYouโre not going to die.โย Thatโs what I had told her. A grimace twisted my face at the memory.
So Iโd tried again the next day. And the next.
The second time I fell out of my dragon form, Iโd broken my back in two places, and lost the use of my legs. Iโd lain there for half a day, inside the White Crowโs wards, unable to heal, unable to move, untilย thisย mouth breather had stumbled across my prone form and, upon my very clear instructions, dragged me back toward town until a tingling in my calves told me Iโd started to heal.
I appraised him now as he stood expectantly with that yoke across his shoulders. The wrinkly, crumpled do-gooder was named Len and had a long face and thin lips that he used to smile far more often than necessary. A dishwasher in the townโs only tavern, Len climbed up the hill for fresh water from the well each morning, and once told me he was all too used to seeing sorry assholes like myself up here, trying and failing to reach the White Crow.
โDonโt beat yourself up,โ Len said, eyes crinkling. โItโs a feat when someone can even track the old nutter down.โ
Pressing against my aching, splintered rib, I cut a glance at him. โOn your way now, Len.โ
The older man raised his hands in mock surrender.ย โAll right, all right.
Come down to the tavern if you need to refuel.โ โWill do.โ
But I wouldnโt.
๏ฟผโFUCK.โย I GRUNTED,ย SLIDING DOWNย the face of the mountain, hands clawing for purchase against the rocks Iโd driven into the smooth ice to serve as handholds. My chest slammed into one and I spasmed for air, landing hard against the snow. Through my blurred vision, I watched several brown rabbits scatter for the powdery brush.
โYouโre going to kill yourself before you do whatever you came here to.โ
โWhy are you always here?โ I croaked to Len through a mouthful of ice. โThis is where the damn well is!โ
I craned my neck. Len gestured at the water source, yoke balanced across his back, twin pails spilling water from either shoulder. โHelp me bring these down the mountain and Iโll buy you a pint.โ
โThere isnโt time,โ I said, ragged, bearded cheek growing numb in the slush.
It had been months. If Lazarus had destroyed the blade alreadyโฆthen actually Iโd have nothing but time. A miserable, aching eternity.
I swallowed a dry heave at the thought and sucked in more frigid air, rolling onto my back with a groan.
Donโt think like that.
That sick, wounded yearning took root in my chest as it always did when her voice resonated in my head. Like bells. Like sweet music.
Arwen would tell me that I couldnโt know anything for sure until I made it to Lumera and found out for myself. And I couldnโt do that, couldnโt confront my father until I, too, was full-blooded and had a chance of destroying him.
Which was why I had to get upย the fucking mountain.
Up thereโwhere the impenetrable clouds met an icy summit.
I squinted. If there had been a sun to see, it would have sunk behind those peaks hours ago. I could tell by the dim, cerulean light dulling the snow, and the cold seeping into my bones.
In the first days of my journey to the Pearl Mountains, a few residents told me Iโd just missed the bright, clear-skied summer. It was cold year- round in the floating kingdomโsomething about the altitude, or the magic that kept the city hovering among the cloudsโbut it was especially brutal in both fall and winter months, when there were fewer than eight hours of daylight and near-nonstop snowfall. It was even worse here in Vorst, the region that served as home to the White Crow.
Meanwhile, Shadowhold was probably just reaching the tail end of autumn, the Shadow Woods likely replete with toadstools and blackberries.
Another swift kick to the gut. Thatโs what thinking of my keep felt like these days. Not because of how much I missed my people, or Griffin or Acorn. Not because I longed for the comforts of lilac soap and whiskey and cloverbread.
But because even if this treacherous, frostbitten climb was possible, even if I reached the White Crow, convinced him to turn me full-blooded, stomached whatever anguish that might entail, and somehow still arrived in one piece back to my shadowed, familiar castleโฆ
Arwen wouldnโt be there.
Her books, filled with flattened petals, unopened. The side of my bed Iโd so foolishly hoped would be hers, eternally cold. Iโd never hear that peal of laughter again, nor smell her orange blossom skin.
Iโd watch my home become a crypt.
I rolled over, burying my face in the snow, and roared until flames ran through my lungs. Until tears burned at my eyes and my chest rippled against the ground, the agony, shredding me, the guilt, the untenable sorrow
โ
โStones alive,โ Len breathed. โYou need a break.โ
โNo,โ I grumbled, spitting ice and pushing myself up from the ground. โIt helps. Iโm fine.โ
โItโs almost nightfall. You canโt scale a mountain of ice in the dark with a broken rib and a punctured lung. Are you trying to die, boy?โ
Iโd asked myself that same question so many times Iโd lost count. โDepends on the day.โ
Len offered me a flat expression. โOne pint, a hot meal, and youโll be back to falling off the mountain again by sunrise.โ
Perhaps he was right. I was slinking dangerously close to that tipping point. The one wherein my own death was looking just a bit too attractive. Where Iโd either join her or stop having to live each despicable day without her. But then her sacrifice would have been for nothing and thatโthat I couldnโt allow. In life, or in death.
Dry wind bit at my skin as I limped toward Len with a grunt. Alarm erupted on his face as I drew near, but I only lifted the pails from his shoulders and moved past him, prowling down the mountainside. Lenโs sigh of relief was audible as he stomped through the snow after me.
Vorst was barely a town. It was barely a village. That aforementioned seedy inn, a nearly bare general store, a temple, and Lenโs quiet stone tavern were all it had to offer. Populated only by those passing through, solitary lifelong merchants like Len, and the rare scholar or priest who sought remote corners of Pearl to study or serve the Stones in peace.
Lenโs tavernโwhich he made clear to me three different times on our trudge over was notย hisย tavern, but his cousin, Faulkโsโwas a frostbitten slate-gray hovel on the outskirts. I had to duck to enter, and, due to the low, slanted ceiling, hunch once inside, which sent currents of pain through my still-bruised abdomen.
With few optionsโthe grim space had only a handful of mismatched stools and one bench with a man snoring beneath itโI sat down in a back corner beside the tavernโs hearth. My table was built from an overturned pig trough. A single pillar candle melted atop it, stuffed into an empty wine bottle and flickering for its life.
โWhat can I do you for?โ Len asked, prodding at the crackling fire.
The heat permeated through my stiff, wet clothes. Remnants of ice and snow were melting beneath the layers. I removed my gloves, brushing frost from my beard and flexing my hands closer to the flames. โIโll take that pint. And whatever you have to eat.โ
Len nodded once, returning minutes later with a foamy ale and a lukewarm meat pie. One bite told me it was mostly gristle but I ate the entire thing regardless and then asked for a second. Being this far from the White Crowโs wards had bettered both my appetite and my injuries. I twisted to loosen my rigid spine.
โWant to know what Faulk tried to name the tavern?โ Len asked, pulling up a low stool across from me and draping some animalโs hide over his knobby legs.
Irritation pricked at my neck. I couldnโt tell the elderly man to scram when he had offered me the first hot meal Iโd had in days. But I really,ย reallyย would have liked to.
When I remained silent he said, undeterred, โThe Frozen Yak.โ โYeahโฆthatโs terrible.โ
โI told him every patron will think of rock-hard vomit when they eat.โ My eyes found the soupy pie before me, and I lowered my fork.
โYouโre obviously not from here, but in Vorst, yaksโโ โNo offense, Len, but Iโd prefer a bit ofโโ
โSolitude?โ
I let my silence answer his question.
Len only leaned forward. His cracked lips spread with a curious grin. โWhat do you want with the old Crow anyway?โ
The fire popped beside me and the snoring man bathed in shadow rolled to his side. I sighed like an ox. โIs it even him up there?โ
Len sniffed, the wrinkles on his face creasing with ease, as if he did that all too often. A chronic dripping nose from chronic winter. โItโs him, all right. Heโs come down once or twice. Bought seeds for his garden.โ
โDoes anyone in Vorst speak to him? Is there any way to send word?โ Len shook his head.
โNot even forโโ
โThe king of Onyx?โ
I choked on a piece of lard-laden crust.
โPeople talk,โ Len said, leaning back. โEven in towns as small as these. Your landโs been missing a king for the last two months. And not so many men can turn into dragons. Only two, by my last count.โ
Suspicion ground my jaw shut. โWhat do you know of my father?โ
Len made a face. โThis whole kingdom is made up of scholars. Heโs a Faerie, right?โ
I said nothing, back rigid, narrow fork mangled in my grasp.
โWhyโd you abandon your kingdom?โ Len plucked the knife from beside me and twirled it across his crooked fingers. โAre you not at war?โ
The rage that spiraled through me nearly blew out my fists and into the thin man. He was only spared by the equal rage directed back at myselfโ the truth in his words, all my mistakes, being forced to travel here and leave them all behind.
โI didnโt abandon them,โ I growled. โMy men are preparing for battle.
Iโm here to retrieve something we need in order to win.โ โAnd whatโs that?โ
Lenโs curiosity had graduated from mildly irritating to deserving of a fork through the throat.
โCโmon,โ he pried. โWho am I going to tell? The rodents?โ
I took a breath. โThe man I seek to destroy can only be killed by a certain type of Fae. I need the White Crow to make meโฆable to beat him.โ I said the next words very slowly, as to infiltrate Lenโs feeble mind. โCan you help me reach the sorcerer?โ
Lenโs eyes softened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually answer me. โWhy now? When youโve been at war for years?โ
I stabbed my warped fork into the soft center of the pie, ignoring him.
Two more mouthfuls and Iโd head back upโ
โIf you answer me, I might be able to help you contact the wizard. I have lived beneath him for sixty years.โ
I didnโt want to talk about her with this toad. I didnโt want to talk about her with anyone.
Lenโs eyes held my glare like he hadnโt a fear in the world. If I left now, Iโd never know if a single ounce of kindness to this man might have made all the difference. Itโs what she would have encouraged me to do.
โWe had someone else who could kill the man,โ I finally said. โSomeone very dear to me. She died.โ
Len nodded slowly, as if my coldness to him finally made sense. โMy condolences, boy. I recently lost a woman I cared for myself. Hadnโt seen her in many years.โ Len sniffed again. โStill hurts.โ
The unmistakable scuttle of ratsโ claws tinkered against the low roof and drew a grunt from the man still sleeping under the rot-holed bench beside us.
Len leaned back again, even closer to the hearth. โWhat would you give to bring her back?โ
Anything.
I only finished my ale.
โCโmon, boy. What would you give?โ Len pushed.
This dishwasherโs hunt for companionship was grating my last nerve down to a fine thread. โWhy ask such a thing?โ
โWhy not?โ
โI donโt dwell on hypotheticals.โ
Len snickered, toying with the knife still in his hands. Then he reached for my supper, and broke off a piece of crust, crumbing it in his hands and scattering it at our feet.
The fat, wiry rat crawled out of the floorboards, tentatively at first. Drawn to the scraps, but no fool. The rodent waited with practiced patience until Len scooted closer to the makeshift table and turned his back on the scene.
โWhat are you doing?โ
โI donโt want you to dwell, boy.โ Len had faced me, but his eyes were on that rat, grasping at greasy crumbs with reedy pink hands. Before I could stop him, Len lashed at the creature with his knife and speared the thing clean-through in a goryย crunch.
โFor Godsโ sake, Lenโฆโ The man was senile. And all alone in this icy, lonesome town. I stood to leave, wondering if there even was a Faulk.
โSit,โ he commanded, laying the impaled rat on the table. Its meager blood pooled around my half-eaten pie.
Mists of shadow twined around my fists. Though irritated, I had no real desire to hurt Len. But this wasโ
โAnd none of that,โ the old man said, jerking his chin at my hands. Len removed the knife, placed it on the table, and waited. I had no reason to stay, but some curiosity, perhaps some long-buried loneliness of my own, kept my feet from moving, and I watched as Len drew one wrinkled hand across the ratโs plump corpse.
With no incantation, no lighte, no otherworldly glow, the rat twitched. And twitched again. Len hadnโt said a single word when the rodentโs curved spine reattached with an audibleย crack. The long-tailed vermin released a disturbing, harrowing squeak before rising and scampering across the table. It crawled to the ground and back through the gap in the floorboards from which it came.
My heart rattled my broken rib cage. It was more than Briar Creighton herself could do.
Necromancy.
My eyes shot up to Len once more. That crinkle at the corner of his eyes. The smirk playing on his lips.
โItโs you. Youโreโฆโ
โNow answer me, boy.โ
Knees loose, I dropped back down into my seat.
The White Crow had been with me all evening long. I was a fucking fool.
And now I knew his question for what it was.
A test. One which I didnโt have the right answer to. I knew the truthโ that Iโd give anything, any limb, any life, any realm, to bring Arwen back. That I would shear the skin from my own bones, tear the world to pulp to hold her in my arms even just one more timeโ
But I had no idea if it was the response the White Crow sought.
โIโd give moreโฆโ I managed on a breath. โMore to bring her back than you could ever know.โ
โWhat if it spelled your own death?โ โIn a heartbeat.โ
โYes, thatโs an easy one, isnโt it? What about an innocentโs? What if her resurrection demanded an equal debt paidโโ
Suddenly I was back aboard a ship in the heart of the Mineral Sea, reaching for a tear-stained, blood-soaked Arwen.ย โI knew I couldnโt go through with it. Not even for the good of all of EvendellโฆDo you hear me? I was willing to sacrifice the entire world to keep you alive!โ
โYes,โ I admitted. Shame thick on my tongue, eyes down on the drying river of ratโs blood, tacky and near-black on the tabletop. โIโd kill for her. A thousand times over.โ
โAnd if I raised your lover from the soil, brushed her off and made her new, and gave you the full Fae blood that you seek? If I said neither of you had to die, then what would you do?โ The White Crowโs teeth flashed in the fading light, breath swirling in a room now icy cold. I hadnโt realized my bones were chattering.
โWould you still take your new skin,โ he continued when I remained silent, โreborn as full-blooded just as the prophecy required, and slay your father? Knowing you were fated to die, as she once was?ย Knowingย you could have lived a near eternity beside her? Would you still sacrifice yourself for the good of the realm?โ
No.
If the Gods were that cruel, and somehow this wily, wicked sorcerer could turn me full-blooded Faeย andย resurrect ArwenโฆThen, no, I wouldnโt leave her side ever again. There was no use lying to myself. Pretending to be some selfless man I wasnโt, and could never be.
โA great disappointment.โ
The breath shot from my lungs. โI didnโt sayโโ
Another swipe of that wrinkled hand and the old, nameless tavern of Vorst transformed.
When the spots cleared from my vision, my hands were braced on a rich maple dining table. Clean, polished,ย sparklingย in gentle candlelight. The room glowed with dozens of the waxy, lit pillars.
Not a tavern anymore, but a bachelorโs den: plush periwinkle settees, layers of mismatched cream rugs, exotic bottles of wine, and crystal decanters filled with spirit. Wood and leather and the smoky, spiced aroma of incense.
I hadnโt even noticed how earsplitting the endless howl of wind whistling through the mighty trees had been until it was gone. Until that roar was replaced by indulgent silence.
And that veil of frigid coldโgone. Instead, a light, warm breeze rustled loose curtains. It felt like honey in my lungs. Despite the elevation and season here in Vorst, Lenโs magic had doused the entire hideaway in temperate air.
And still, my blood chilled as my mind stuttered to a halt. Not magic.
And before meโฆnot Len. Or, still Len, but perhaps as heโd looked thirty years ago. Virile, wise, angular. The kind of man youโd trust with your life, but perhaps not your woman.
Len, the White Crowโฆwhoever he was, was no mere sorcerer. โWhatย areย you?โ
