Page 201 of Lana Pecherczyk
But it wasn’t that pain reflexively opening his fingers. It was the pain in his chest, from the numb traitor he’d thought was dead. Her truest words exposed his greatest lie.
Every night, he replayed that moment. Every night, he watched her plunge, watched her watching him. Every night, those impossible words rang in his ears.
Don’t let me go.
Don’t let me go.
Now he finally knew why.
He forced his eyes open and then picked the lock on the caravan door. He stepped inside. Stopped. The feverish human slumped over papers—sketches of secrets stolen from his trove.Treasure maps. Anatomy diagrams. Blast radii. Lyrics to a song he’d never hear again. Letters she had no business reading, let alone copying. He traced fingers over paper, along words meant for his eyes only:I’m learning to be better than him.
He crumpled the paper in his fist.
A restoration gift was no coincidence. It was the Well’s answer to an impossible prayer.
For five years, Cloud had been a villain. A traitor. A monster.
Tonight, he would become a savior.
Chapter
Sixty-Two
“What do you mean, Cloud never turned up?” River asked Carlotta, then looked at his mother.
A flash of distant lightning revealed the whites of Ravi’s eyes.
Wrong.
The single instinct of dread hit River before his mind caught up, screaming for him to pay attention. How could there be lightning without a storm, without thunder?
Activity around the tribunal tent increased. More people ran out from inside, heedless of those standing in the way. The mood quickly shifted from busy to one of panic. Like a shockwave, caws exploded from crow sentinels on the pavilion’s rooftop, gaining in magnitude and scale as more throughout the Great Murder picked it up and repeated. Soon, the warning alarm of an attack echoed all around them, ringing in River’s ears.
“Get back inside the tent,” Ash ordered the females.
“Blake.” River’s wings snapped out, ready to fly to her. She’d been asleep. Vulnerable.
“Wait.” Ash grabbed his arm, halting him.
The wind picked up, curling around their faces, ruffling their feathers. Ash’s gaze grew distant, impossibly darker. The sense of mana swelled in the air, tingling on River’s skin. A blue glimmer drew their gazes down to a rippling puddle—an incoming blood-borne communication.
Could be one of his siblings. Or Talo. River stepped closer, crouching to focus through the distorting water. He never expected the Collector’s bloody face sharpening into focus.
“Always knew you were a coward,” she warbled, eyes darting over River’s shoulder. “Never thought you’d send another crow to do your dirty work?—”
Blinding light arced through the puddle, forcing River and Ash to shield their eyes. When it was over, all that remained of the communication was a ribbon of blood diffusing into mud.
Another flash split the sky. No thunder. No sound. This time, there was no doubt where it came from. The wards keeping the market a secret had also been its downfall. A split second later, a golden orange glow backlit the trees.
The forest was on fire.
The scent hitRiver before the screams.
At first, it was the burnt ozone and scorched feathers, then came the tang of coppery blood. His wings faltered mid-beat as phantom pain splintered through his body, traveling to the tips of his wings—agonizing, nerve-frying pain.
Cold dread coiled at the familiar and sickening.
“Fuck,” he muttered, banking hard toward the Shadow Market’s flaming entrance. He summoned mana and redirectedevery drop of water he sensed in the vicinity—from puddles, from the earth, from dewy drops on leaves—toward the fire. Steam hissed. Embers died. He tucked his wings and dropped through the smoking gap in the canopy, impact jarring his knees.
