Page 3 of Feathers of Ash and Hope

I groan.

The two-toned blare of a horn sends adrenaline shooting through my body.

Heads-up!

A high-pitched screech, then a single tone follows.

All clear!

Ben and I hurry over to the window. My room is on the third floor, so we have a good overview of the courtyard, the gates below, and the gray and bluish-green sea of mountains surrounding us.

My gaze is instantly drawn to the majestic shapes of three huge birds descending in slow circles: two brown, one white—two Rukh, one Strix. They share the characteristics of predators, with curved beaks, short necks, and sharp talons, but unlike ordinary hawks or eagles, they are big enough to carry off a pony, maybe even a horse, and their breastplates and harnesses gleam whenever they catch the light.

They are too high to make out their riders yet, but skyriders circling the fortress can only mean one thing: Darren is back.

“Whoever is last to hug Darren has to do the honors at the offerings tonight,” I suggest, and Ben grins at me, the dimple in his right cheek coming to life, mirroring the one in my left.

“Deal,” he says, and I throw open the window. “Not fair.” Those are the last words I hear before he crashes out of the door, his steps thundering down the stairs while I climb out the window and over to the rainspout. I’m in the courtyard within minutes, standing back while I watch the birds approach.

Rukhs are about the size of a war horse but stand taller and take up much more space with their wings spread. The Strix is even bigger, about one-and-a-half times their size. They look fierce with their breastplate, the chanfron to protect their head, and the weapons—spear, bow, and crossbow—strapped to their harnesses.

The three birds set down as one in a triangular formation, the Strix taking point and bearing two riders instead of one—one of them my brother.

A door bangs open behind me, and I grin when Ben stops next to me, his breath labored.

“That was cheating,” he accuses.

“No, we never specified how we would reach the courtyard,” I say while I watch the riders dismount. “And you could have climbed as well.”

“We both know that no one climbs as fast as you do,” he replies, and my grin widens.

Dar walks over to us, and as soon as there is enough space between him and the birds, I launch myself into my brother’s arms with a delighted squeal. He catches me like he has done all my life and chuckles.

“Aren’t you too old for that, little sparrow?” Darren asks, and I roll my eyes.

“Only if my goal were to appear dignified, which it isn’t,” I answer. “You’re alright, aren’t you?” I demand to know while holding on to him. Ever since he took Dad’s place as the king’s commanding general two years ago, I’m worried we’ll lose him, too.

“I’m fine,” Dar reassures me softly.

The skyriders step up behind him, two men and one woman. All of them wear the dark gray uniform of the skyriders—a form-fitting body armor, helmets with a black feather crest, and greaves and bracers protecting their forearms and shins. Winged swords, the emblem of the skyriders, are etched in silver on their chest.

"Has the infantry finally realized it’s more fun to have women around?” one of the skyriders asks, his gaze wandering over me.

“Eyes off my sister, rider,” Dar barks, making the rider’s eyes widen and flinch away from me. His companions chuckle.

“My apologies, General Blackstone,” he replies, his voice suddenly all business.

“That was some impressive climbing.” The female skyrider steps up to me, her eyes wandering over my braided hair, leather armor, daggers, and down to my soft boots. “Ever thought of joining the skyriders?” she asks.

My eyes dance over the markings on the skyriders’ arms.That … is actually … a brilliant idea.While gifts are mostly hereditary, skyriders receive a gift when bonding their birds, whether they previously possessed magic or not.

“Don’t put such thoughts into her head, rider. My sister comes up with enough nonsense on her own.” Dar turns to me. “That is a no to that thought.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I protest.

“I know you well enough, so no!” He shakes his head, then embraces Ben. “How far along are the preparations for tonight? And where is Ian?”

Ben answers while I watch the stablehands relieve the birds of their harnesses, breastplates, and chanfrons.

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