Page 7 of The Crow Games

I showed her my palms in a gesture meant to be reassuring, but she rose into a fighting crouch, flinty gaze bouncing from my face to the crimson stains that made my shirtwaist stick to me.

“I’m called Maven,” I said, struggling to keep a calm tone. The way she glared at me had my twitchy fingers wanting to grab for the pistol at my waist, but that was no way to make allies. I couldn’t be the only one who wanted off this train. Witches were strongest together.

“There’s no point in bothering with names here, girl,” the blue witch said. Girl? I was centuries older than she was, though Lisbeth said I looked about thirty-five, depending on how well I’d slept the night before. I didn’t bother correcting the witch. Though her tone was terse, she rose out of her fighting stance.

“I had hoped—”

“There’s no point in hope either.” She rushed out of the cabin then, jogging down the hall past more sleeper compartments, steps hollow echoes against the bone floors.

I frowned at her retreating back. Another plaque stretched across the ceiling.Serve the gods. Win the games, it read, and my stomach plummeted.

What games?

I was a stranger to the Otherworld, but it was no secret that the gods who resided here could be so cruel they made the divines in the Upper Realm seem diplomatic in comparison. But what exactly was it that they did to the prisoners sentenced to the Schatten?

I tried not to dwell on the what ifs, focusing instead on being as prepared for the worst as I could. The rest of my scrounging was somewhat fruitful. I found a satchel, a thick blanket I could roll up to fit inside, and a knife that was too dull to be very useful in a fight but would do as a tool until I had the means to sharpen it. No ammunition unfortunately.

There were plaques near every bunk. Most of them held words likelawfulnessorrestitutionor related synonyms. The next one brought me up short.

Earn your freedom, it read. The rest of the wood had been broken off. Beneath it was a swatch of bright red blood that dripped from the ceiling and turned my insides cold. I didn’t bother searching that cabin at all.

Movement echoed down the aisle, and I poked my head out of the compartment, hoping to try my luck with another prisoner. But the person pushing a cart of refreshments toward me—if they could be called a person—had no face. Smooth pale skin stretched from chin to their shorn hairline.

I leapt back with a gasp. They shuffled by, dressed like a train car attendant in a coal black uniform with bright brass buttons. A shiver rippled down my spine. I crept into the aisle, glancing back to ensure the sinister attendant continued in a direction that would take them far away from me.

I finished with the sleeper cars after that, making for the dining cars. The first was empty, but glasses of water sat beside plates of half-eaten food. Mouth parched, I helped myself to the water. I drank until my belly was so full the liquid sloshed inside me when I walked. In the next car over, more faceless attendants cleaned plates off scattered tables.

Bile rose in my throat. I stepped quickly past them into the next cabin, a lounge car with cushioned chairs. The central standing clock had thirteen hours instead of twelve like the Upper Realm. Another plaque hung under the clock. The wordsthe Crow Games are comingwere the only parts I could make out. The rest of the message had been chiseled away.

Other passengers huddled together in this car, people with faces, so I lingered. In the corner, a yellow-haired young woman clutched her knees to her chest and wept. Her slender body shook. I was too hollowed out to feel anything for her but a shared fright.

Opposite her sat the blue witch from earlier. Her hands folded in earnest prayer, lips moving with her silent words, pleading with the gods. Between her fingers she clutched a pendant. Based on its color and the clam shape, it was a symbol of Unger, god of the sea.

My attention returned to the plaque and the parts of it I couldn’t read.

“Ignore it. It was all a lie,” the blue witch groaned, “so I tore it down.”

“What did it say?” I asked.

“The winner of the games would be given divinity and made to rule the Otherworld, and other such nonsense. The gods would never bow to a mortal, of course. It’s a trick to encourage prisoners to fight. Only one coven can win the games, and the god who blesses them will take the throne and set the winners free. Nott probably put up the sign to cause mischief.”

“Good that you took it down, then,” I said, then I sighed. It was no surprise at all that the divines were fighting over a throne. They usually were. And it was even less surprising that instead of risking their own immortal bodies, they settled their differences with the blood of the prisoners who had wronged them.

I needed allies, and I needed them fast. Surely I wasn’t the only one aboard desperate not to stand alone here. I’d throw myself at any of them at this point. Perhaps if I kept the blue witch talking . . .

“Her. I want her.” The voice made me turn.

Lounging at a side table were two witches, their bodies curved toward one another in hushed conversation. I wasn’t certain who had spoken until she did so again.

“Let’s invite her to travel with us,” the witch said. She was dressed in an aged leather waistcoat dotted with scorch marks, her skin a cool medium-brown with autumn undertones. The knapsack at her back bulged. Her boots were mismatched. The violet scarf braided into the witch’s midnight hair showcased her allegiance to the pursuit of knowledge. A scribe’s scarf.

The witch beside her remained seated, weighed down by her own heavy pack. Between long fingers, she balanced a shot of clear liquor. Tawny hair cropped short around her head, her complexion was a light shade of fawn. She wore the woolen uniform of a soldier. The jacket was so frayed and battered, most of the blue color had seeped into gray.

The soldier considered me over her drink, cobalt eyes narrowed. “No, Ruchel. Not her.”

I shuffled closer, clutching the strap of my new satchel to me tightly.

“You’ve said no to every new prisoner who’s walked out of that hall. We can’t afford to be so choosy,” Ruchel ground out. Around her neck hung a copper pendant with the same torch symbol worked into its center mine had. That symbol had meant many different things over the ages and had often been favored by witches labeled as rebels and anarchists. Now, it was a symbol wielded by magical folk who had no allegiance to any god.

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