Page 14 of The Exile's Curse

The granite bit into her fingers. Curse Charl to whatever hell he burned in. He had stolen this from her with his stupid need to play politics he clearly hadn't been skillful enough handle.

And curse Lucien de Roche for exposing that failure. For being so sure of what was right and wrong and for doing the former even at the cost of his friend's life.

Anddamnit. Why was she thinking of Lucien again?

The lights of the city blurred beneath her as tears stung her eyes. She swiped at them furiously.

No tears.

Tears wouldn't help. She just had to find her feet. Like after a sea voyage. Anglion was the ship she had ridden for close to ten years, and now she just had to learn to walk on Illvya's solid ground. She would do it.

No one was going to take her choices from her again.

"Hello!" A grumbling voice came from behind her, and she swung around. A raven perched on the top of the window frame, gazing down at her through curious eyes. A female, she thought, though, in truth, she was out of practice with judging the sex of a raven. Or the age. Though this one was sleek and shiny, and its eyes were dark. Young but not a juvenile.

"Hello, yourself," she said softly.

The raven bobbed its head, stretching its wings. A pale flash caught Chloe's eyes. One of the pinion feathers was white, a flare of light amongst the shimmering black. Unusual, but it happened from time to time. According to the records, there'd even been a pure white raven or two amongst the tower's residents over the centuries. They were supposed to be a good omen. But there'd been none in Chloe's lifetime. Maybe that explained why her life had gone so wrong. Or maybe the one white feather was a sign of hope that now it could go right again.

"Food," the bird said.

Chloe spread her hands wide to show they were empty. "If you go on inside, Mestier Allyn will have your dinner, same as always."

That earned her a disgruntled squawk, as though the raven wanted to her to know that humans who couldn't produce tasty tidbits on demand were disappointing. Chloe laughed.

The bird tilted its head again. "Who?"

Chloe blinked. She'd forgotten how clever the birds were. Crows that bonded as petty fams could develop quite extensive vocabularies over their magically extended lifespans, but even those who didn't serve a mage could learn to speak. Not all did, but this one clearly had.

"Chloe," she said, touching her chest.

The black beak clacked once, and the crow cawed again. Then it launched into flight, swooping down over Chloe's head before executing a tight turn and flying past her again and straight in through the window, calling, "Food."

Amused, Chloe followed. The light was dying and the air turning cold. Birds were not the only ones who needed their dinners. She had choices to make, yes, but freezing to death on the tower's walkway wouldn’t make them any easier. Nor did she want her father to come looking for her.

By the time she had drawn the windowpanes closed behind her and locked them into place, the raven was sitting on Mestier Allyn’s shoulder, grumbling in his ear as he loaded a plate with strips of meat.

"She's a feisty one," Chloe said.

"Yes. But, so far, fussy about the company she keeps. Perhaps she will become one of my breeding girls. She's from Issey's line."

"Like Tok,” Chloe said. "Who is doing very well in Anglion. Sophie asked me to let you know."

"Your father mentioned it. Well, he knew what he wanted, that one. Now he's petty fam to a queen. Hopefully he'll live a good long life." Mestier Allyn's expression turned speculative. "Perhaps Queen Sophia would like some breeding stock eventually. If she changes the minds of those stubborn Anglions about magic, they may start to want petty fams."

"They have ravens in Anglion," she offered.

"Not as smart as ours."

"No," she agreed. “They haven't had the chance to be." She watched as the crow sidled to the left and snatched a piece of meat off the plate before retreating to the top of one of the night cages. She giggled. The ravens were usually fed in their cages to make it easier to keep them safely in at night. "What's her name?"

The master rolled his eyes at the bird, his expression fond exasperation. "Mai. It should be Trouble."

Chloe laughed. "If we named all the ones who deserved to be called Trouble, Trouble, it would get very confusing."

Mestier Allyn smiled. "I cannot argue with that." He crossed to a cage and opened the door, sliding the plate into the slots built to hold it. The bird peered at him. "That's where you get the rest, young lady," he said. "Stop misbehaving or Chloe won't come to visit us again."

That turned the crow's eye in her direction. "Clo."

---