Page 34 of Of Blooming Embers
Seryn lifted her head. “I meant no offense. I’m genuinely in awe of you.”
Neoma’s shoulders relaxed. “When … when Marek found me.” She glanced at him. “I’d been helping Druiks take refuge in Helos for many turns. My husband and I had a lot of practice … in keeping secrets. Even when he died, the need to keep doing so—to do what was right—lingered. The rebel cause had always been simmering, albeit unorganized.”
She brushed her palms together as if that was that. “A few othersand I took it upon ourselves to help the Korax take shape. To unify. To discuss strategy. The rest is history.”
“And she so humbly forgets that the original followers collectively chose her as the leader. The head Raven,” Marek added, pride lining his surly face.
Lost in thought, I studied the room of lively patrons. Surely, some were listening to our conversation. Did no one fear repercussions? Obviously not considering their choice in music. The hair on my nape prickled.
Seryn glanced at me with a look of concern and then around the tavern.
“Haven’t you realized yet?” Neoma chuckled, sweeping her right arm in a wide arc while the other cupped her glass. In the dusky candlelight, dark iridescence rippled over her wing tattoo, making it appear as if she were about to take flight.
My eyes narrowed at the older woman. Hers flashed mischievously. “You must have suspected. Otherwise, a commander with your skill would have asked the question already.”
She was right. I knew it deep in my bones. Seryn’s confusion surfaced as she looked from me to Neoma.
The others at the table held their pints up, and everyone in the pub mirrored them.
Hints of feathered tattoos poked from under collars and sleeves throughout the room.
Caelora’s warm, golden-blonde waves snapped behind her as she left the pub, a flash of dark ink peeking out from her nape.
Breena held her chin-length hair to the side and showed Seryn the dark feather tattooed behind her left ear. Rhaegar unbuckled his wrist guard from his left forearm, revealing an inky, opalescent bird on his deep brown skin. Its wings wrapped around his wrist, cuff-like. Seryn’s eyes were wide now, realization capturing her.
Neoma continued after taking another sip, “Helos is where the Korax was born. Where believers and Druiks find refuge and hide in plain sight. We speak freely … because we’re all Ravens here.”
A chorus of jovial salutes and clinking glass rent the air. My mindswirled with the possibilities. With the number of rebels—mortal and embered—harbored in the city, our odds against the Elders and their sycophants significantly improved.
A thundering chant rang through the tavern, louder than when they were all singing earlier, and then rippled outside along the walkways. “May the wings of the raven carry you!”
And in that moment, I hoped they would.
13
TO STRUGGLE IS A PRIVILEGE
SERYN
Afaint string of cursing flit over the breeze from my left. Gavrel rolled his eyes to the sky as he pushed his oar into the water behind Breena. I giggled. “What was that, Bree-Bree?” I called from our rowboat to theirs. Propelling our boat forward, Rhaegar chuckled behind me as my biceps worked with my paddle.
“As the raven flies,” Breena grumbled loudly. “That’s a bunch of bollocks. There are bloody ravens everywhere!” She threw her hands up in exasperation.
I scanned the sky as I had been all morning, but there were, in fact, no ravens to be found anywhere. And she didn’t mean us or the city of rebels at our backs.
I glanced at the space behind her ear as the wind tossed back her dark strands. Now that I knew it was hidden there, the tiny feather tattoo marking her olive skin was so apparent.
I chewed on my lip, nodding in solidarity. “If nothing else, we’re having a little adventure. Yeah?”
Breena’s shoulders fell. “Right. You always know how to calm medown, Ryn, unlike that knob-shite.” She jerked her head toward Rhaegar.
My smile lingered at her words. She spoke as if she’d already taken the Mirage Orchid tonic. As if she remembered our friendship that started during the last Dormancy. The full moon was several weeks away, though. She and I were both eager for her to use it. But until then, her vial hid in her and Rhaegar’s hut.
“Woman,” he scolded, “Did you forgo breakfast this morning?”
She scowled. “Yes. What’s it to you?”
I peeked at him. His smile was disarming. “No reason. I’ll gladly be your pin cushion, my friend.”
