Page 39 of The Crow Games

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I demanded.

“Well, you shot me in the heart,” he said, “and Ididn’tdestroy you.”

He had a point there. But that wouldn’t be the end of it. What if this was a trick to get me to serve his god in some battle over a throne I cared nothing about? Perhaps reapers were as gifted at mind games as the divines were.

But the possibilities were so tempting. A gray and a reaper working together—who could stop us?

On the train during the feast, Asher watched me eat in his mortal form, his shadows gathered beneath the table in the dining car that reminded Ruchel of home. I was too hungry for conversation, and I didn’t particularly like being watched so closely. His eyes felt like a spotlight. But he insisted on staying, and I was too depleted and starved to eat politely.

The gaslights flickered. Darkness crept along the windowpanes. A nervous murmur carried across the cabins, and passengers fled, leaving me alone in the dining car with Asher. Not even Ruchel, starved as she was, stayed behind.

I licked butter off my lip, glancing from the shadows that ebbed and flowed at my feet to the cosmic darkness frosting the windows. The midnight shade spread and shimmered like oil, blotting out the desert beyond. The temperature dropped. I immediately recognized the suffocating hum of power growing all around me.

I worked my throat. “Is the Old One on the train?”

Asher’s brow furrowed like the question confused him. “The Old One isalwayson the train.”

“What does he want?” I whispered, certain Death could hear me anyway, but it seemed more reverent to drop my voice at least a little.

“You make us curious. He’s never had anyone try to kill him before . . . That makes two of us now.”

I assumed that since we had an audience, Asher wouldn’t want to discuss our plan, but he was better at playing god games than I was. He behaved as though nothing was amiss. Unaffected, he openly vowed that the next time I saw him, he’d have answers to my questions about Bram.

* * *

Trial number five took us to a part of Wulfram that was mostly forested. Belching geysers and sinking sand littered the narrow walkways. A rapid river carved the path we followed toward the heart of the city. Garm shaped like giant lizards slumbered in the mud. Tall trees blocked out the view of the clock tower, which made navigation a challenge, but between Ruchel’s excellent senses and water magic placed in the maps Blue drew into the earth with her wand, we made it safely through.

The sixth trial was a stretch of thin sandy isthmus that separated the Schatten’s platform from the city. Sea waves lapped at both sides of the narrow path, and hungry water devils prowled the shores. There wasn’t a good way to fight them off except to run with all your might and hope you didn’t get caught in a crowd of them. They were fast, but they couldn’t breathe out of the water, which made them reluctant to chase us far.

I wasn’t built for sprinting, but we made it no worse for wear, back into the forested part of Wulfram’s great park. A waterfall emptied into a basin of brackish water that trickled into the black lake. We took turns bathing in the waterfall with soaps Emma and Liesel had made for trade.

If it weren’t for the devils, this part of Wulfram could have been a paradise. The basin glittered, full of colorful fish. Citrus trees grew a vibrant red and yellow fruit I’d never seen before in the Upper Realm, some god experiment abandoned to grow wild that delighted my senses. The tart taste was ambrosia on my tongue, and the smell reminded me of the tangy scent of powerful magic.

The seventh trial was my least favorite to date. Heights made me nauseous. Thin rope bridges were the only path forward from a high platform down into Wulfram. The ropes jerked and moved as more bodies mounted them behind me. They were slick in places, moss and mold growing on the fibers in unexpected patches.

Weight suddenly left the ropes and screaming rang in my ears. The witch in front of me lost her footing and pulled her coven mate down with her. Prisoners dropped to their deaths in the dozens.

My coven made it safely to the ground and into a district dominated by tall industrial buildings. Thick, sticky webbing caked every corner and alley. It was full of dead garm of all kinds, including the same insects that spun the webs. They feasted on whatever they caught, including each other. As small as we were in comparison, we attracted little notice, allowing us to move quickly toward the center of the city.

“Never. Touch. The webs,” Ruchel warned me.

I had no intention of doing so. The sticky masses couldn’t have looked more treacherous if lava had dripped from them.

My revolver came in handy twice. I shot two mantis-like creatures in the face with gray bullets and killed them. We used their corpses to distract a larger spider garm away from the road we needed. I only had two rounds left.

Thankfully, the fate-weavers smiled on us. We made it to the train without using another bullet.

That night in the lounge car after the feast, I removed my pocket pistol from my boot, then I took it apart piece by piece. I cleaned it thoroughly. It didn’t need to be taken apart for that, but there was something wonderfully distracting about putting it all back together again like a puzzle. Something I hoped would renew my spirits better. I was never fully replenished, forced to battle at half my capabilities. But renewing my gray was more complicated than consuming food or favorite liquids or rest. It helped to meet my needs. It just wasn’t enough.

A good poetry book written in the old Frian language would do wonders for me.

Or a hug from Lisbeth. She gave the best hugs.

Asher materialized in the chair across from me then. Witches and beast-born outside of our coven fled at the sight of him. I appreciated how Blue’s disapproving glances immediately shifted off of me and onto him. It was a nice change of pace. Blue didn’t flee exactly, but she chose then to abandon her teacup and excuse herself for bed. The green sisters packed up their knitting hastily and followed her.

“Trouble,” Asher said, pushing back his smoky hood, his bone-white hair a stark contrast to the shadows that clung to his shoulders.

“Traitor,” I greeted amicably.

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