“We like to think of Taetanos as the god of fate, not of death,” Rafe said softly. The glaze in the girl's eyes disappeared as she looked into his. “We call life a game, because we each have our own wants, our own desires—but he sees everything, he knows everything, and he leads us down our destined path. We fight back sometimes, we make moves, and so does he. On and on it goes until, in the end, he wins, like he always does. But still, we keep playing. What other choice do we have?”
Again, her fingers brushed his feathers, but she didn’t look away.
He couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to.
“What do you think this is?” She paused to swallow. “His move or yours?”
His, he silently answered. Definitely his.
Because Rafe ached to fly, to soar, to get out of the darkness and back to his brother, back to the role he was comfortable playing, back to the sidelines. But there was a weight in his chest keeping him there, keeping him still, keeping him so lost in the fire reflected in her eyes that he couldn’t find his way out even if he tried.
For a moment, he thought he could hear his god laughing.
Then he realized it wasn’t laughter, but the soft whistle of a bird call—a signal he recognized. His move. His life. His brother calling him back.
Xander?
Rafe tensed.
His head whipped to the side, pulled by the noise growing louder, coming not from his imagination but from the other side of the darkness. He opened his mouth to call out in response, when a hand covered his lips and an arm slid around his throat, stronger and more ferocious than he’d expected. Rafe froze as the icy edge of a blade pressed into his skin, instantly recognizing the kiss of steel.
“Be silent,” the girl ordered. “Don’t say a word.”
15
Cassi
From the outer edge of the darkness, Cassi cursed, torn between returning to her body and remaining the ethereal dreamwalker, torn between wanting to protect her friend and needing to learn the raven’s secret for her king. They’d been together for an hour already, and she was no closer to finding out what he was hiding.
She was supposed to be standing guard at the entrance of the cave. She was supposed to be watching her best friend’s back. If they were found, it would be her fault. If anything happened to Lyana, it would be her fault.
Yet standing there in her invisible body, a bit of pride burst from her as she watched her princess pull a knife on the prince, holding the blade so close the edge dug into the skin of his neck, nearly slashing it.
She doesn’t need my protection.
Not anymore.
Although Lyana often preferred to live in the clouds, her feet were very much grounded on the isle. She knew when to push her limits and when to protect them at all costs. And Cassi liked to think she had a little hand in that.
Not sparing them another glance, confident in her friend, Cassi flew back toward her body by tugging on the line tied to her soul. But she didn’t sink into her skin and end the dream. Instead, she burst through the entrance of the cave, still little more than air as she raced into the channel.
She saw no one.
Drifting with the wind, she rose higher and higher, until she was even with the sky bridge. And there, she spotted who had made the call.
A flock of ravens.
There were ten of them, maybe a dozen, and they were traveling fast—traveling straight toward her. At the front, she could see a man, strong grooves of determination carved into his stony face, eyes sharp as they swept over the frozen tundra.
It was only a matter of time before they reached the edge. Only a matter of time before they saw the cave, if they were looking hard enough.
Cassi dove, crashing back into her body so that she woke with a gasp, bolting upright, scrambling to separate reality from the magic. She blinked, once, twice, then reached for the quiver on the rocks and latched it to her back. She flattened her wings to the wall at the edge of the opening and drew back until her tan skin was even with the shadows. Taking a calming breath, she lifted her bow and notched an arrow.
Then she waited, arms steady, fingers itching to release, ready for the first raven who might pop into view.
16
Lyana
This is not going according to plan, Lyana thought as she held her dagger against the raven’s throat, grip firm and steady, even as guilt coursed through her. He’ll forgive me. Right?
The whistle came again, high and sharp, undeniably a call for someone. And as the prince tensed beneath her, Lyana had no doubt for whom it was meant.
“Please,” he whispered.
She winced. This was not how the afternoon was supposed to go. Lyana was supposed to charm him with her feminine wiles, seduce him with the unnecessary skin-to-skin contact she’d been enjoying immensely, mesmerize him with her magic and her gaze, and be generally enchanting. She was supposed to learn about her new home and his whole life. She was supposed to talk herself up in preparation for the big reveal.
She was not supposed to hold a knife to his throat.
She was not supposed to threaten her future mate’s life.
Lyana leaned close, pressing her lips to his ear. “I can’t be seen.”
He flinched.
“I can’t be seen,” she repeated. He swallowed, slowly enough that she felt the blade sway over his neck. “If you promise to be silent, I’ll remove the knife. And then I’ll finish healing you so you can be on your way. But you have to promise you’ll be quiet. You have to promise I won’t be seen.”
“I promise,” he swore, his tone rich and deep and earnest. “I promise, you won’t be seen.”
Lyana hesitated for a moment before she pulled the blade away, unsure of him in a way she hadn’t been before, waiting for him to betray his word. For the first time since they’d met, he had the power—and she was trusting him not to abuse it.
The raven turned slowly, finding her eyes.
His own brimmed with understanding.
He recognized the panic in hers, the uncertainty, the hope. The clear blue of his eyes was like a mirror for her emotions, a sympathy born from shared experiences, shared fears even though they were little more than strangers. There was a connection there, born from their magic, bred from mutual secrets, solidified by a terror they both knew—the terror of persecution.
“No one will see you,” he repeated. “No one will learn your secrets from me. You have my word. I swear it on the gods.”
“Then turn around and let me finish,” she replied, keeping her voice strong because he’d seen too many of her insecurities already, without even trying. And though he was the one without a shirt, Lyana felt exposed, seen in a way she wasn’t used to. Not as a princess, or a friend, or a sister, but as a woman.
He heeded her command and presented her with his back once more. This time, Lyana didn’t linger on his flesh. She pressed her palms to his wings, basking for one moment in the silken smoothness of his obsidian feathers, somehow made darker by the fire, before closing her eyes to focus on nothing but the magic. Glittering golden sparks spread through his bones and muscles as her power sank into his skin, healing where it found pain, sealing what it found broken, closing tears and mending wounds, working with her and apart from her, as though it had a life of its own and she were just the conduit it had chosen.