Page 64 of The Source of Storms

“She never mentioned that to me either,” Byrgir said. “Either she didn’t want to worry us, or the High Priestess was lying.”

“Maybe,” El said. “She was probably lying about a lot of things.”

“Was she lying about the shadowfiends?” I asked.

I expected them both to set me straight, to discredit the notion with some alternative theory that explained it far better, to laugh off the High Priestess’s dramatic statements as just that, the drama of a conceited, self-important zealot.

But they said nothing. My question rang off the cobbled streets with our footsteps.

“I don’t know,” El said at last.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

We rode into Rhyanaes late, tired and damp. Wildflowers waved their welcome to us in the mountain meadows, blown by storm winds. My bag had barely hit the floor in the entryway of El’s home when Crow flung open the door behind us and let himself in.

“Finally back,” he observed before striding for the kitchen, his impatience a bit obtuse considering he had only returned home yesterday.

“Missed you too,” El said, and followed him. I tagged along, partially because I was curious, but mostly because I was starving.

“So the meeting went alright?” Crow said as he foraged around the kitchen.

“Not really the outcome we hoped for,” I answered.

“But nobody else got arrested, so that’s a mild success,” El added.

“You got my message?” Crow turned and asked El. He seemed hurried, agitated under his usual casual veneer.

“Which one? You checked in every gods damned day, sometimes several times a day.” El pulled cheese and apples from a cupboard and skyr from the enchanted cold storage box.

“The last one. I need to talk to Halja,” Crow said, choosing a bottle of wine from the rack on the far side of the kitchen.

“Yes, I got that one,” El said. “Talk away.” She gestured toward me with a sweep of her hand and a shrug.

“Alone,” Crow said.

“Kicking me out of my own kitchen? And taking a bottle of my nice red at that! After all those needy messages all week asking when I’d be home, this is how you welcome me back,” El protested.

“We can talk in front of El, right? I’m just going to tell her everything when you leave anyway,” I said. I’d never spoken to Crow alone. He’d never insisted we do, and I didn’t feel keen to start now. Being on the receiving end of his direct attention, his piercing looks, still made me nervous.

He looked from me to El and back to me again. Then he set the wine on the kitchen island counter, set a glass next to it, and began opening the bottle.

“Fine,” he said, eyes on his work. “But you better listen quietly,” he added to El, before looking up at me pointedly, his head still tilted down, dark eyes half hidden under dark brows as he pulled the cork from the bottle with a faint pop. “And remember I wanted to give you privacy for this conversation.”

El grabbed a glass for herself and set it next to the one already on the counter. Crow poured a generous portion for each of us, sighing deeply and running a hand through his hair.

“Halja, do you know who your father is?” he asked.

“What?” I blurted without a thought. It was the last thing I expected him to ask. “Why?”

“Because the answer is important,” he said, dodging my reactive question. His eyes cut into mine, and I knew he could read every thought on my mind, every shift of my face. No Sourcery trick would save me from his practiced discernment.

“That’s not an answer,” I said.

“Neither was yours,” Crow replied.

“No,” I said, sighing. “I don’t. And I’d like to know how you know that.”

“It’s my job to know things. It’s my job to know everything, actually. Especially about those closest to me. And especially about newcomers.”

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