Page 3 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
I bite my lip, nerves prickling under my skin.
“Okay,” I say, trying to laugh off the sensation. “That’s new.”
The raven holds the bow, then rises slowly and fixes me with its good eye.
For a wild moment, I think it might leap into my lap, or peck my face, or transform into something else entirely. But instead, it turns on its heel and hops down to the path, leaving me with the feather still trembling in my hand.
The other two ravens drop from the sundial and follow, marching in single file after the larger bird. They stop at the path’s edge, where the stone meets the clipped grass, and wait. Not for me, I think. For something else.
I look up at the castle, where the windows glow faintly, and the guards stalk the ramparts like black ghosts. I look at the walls, so tall they block out the moon. I glance back at the ravens, who watch me with patience and purpose.
It’s a dare, I realize. They want me to follow.
And I’m just bored and lonely enough to accept.
I leave the bench and follow them, clutching the black feather like a talisman. The birds lead me along the path, past the orchard and the herb garden, all the way to an old iron gate where the ivy grows so thick it nearly hides the lock. They stop there, turning to face me.
I crouch down, my knees in the damp grass, and peer at the gate. “What do you want me to see?” I whisper.
The large raven taps its beak against the bottom hinge, then looks up at me. Its eyes are so dark I see my own reflection: pale, wide-eyed, stupid with hope.
A cold wind blasts through the ivy, and I shiver.
I reach for the latch, even though I know it’ll be locked tight. Father has keys for every door, every gate, every secret in the castle. And I’ve been locked behind them my entire life, unable to venture beyond. But he never has been able to keep me from hoping.
I grip the iron and give it a tug.
It moves.
Only a little. Just enough to let in a sliver of air from the forest beyond. I press my face to the crack and inhale. The wind on the other side is wilder, laced with the scent of woodsmoke and far-off rain.
I let the gate swing back into place, my hands trembling.
The ravens watch, frozen, before erupting into motion, with wings beating and feathers exploding into the night. They shoot past my head and over the wall, leaving me with the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, I can escape this place after all.
I straighten up, brush the dirt from my knees, and slip the black feather into my sleeve.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the empty garden, turning toward the castle.
But I don’t go straight inside.
The black feather itches against my wrist as I slip through the hedgerows, following the same winding path as before. But this time, there’s an odd sense that everything has shifted a half-step. The statues look different in the low light, less like gods and heroes, and more like petrified people frozen in mid-scream. Even the roses are shivering, their open mouths trembling on the verge of something.
I almost make it to the orchard before the ravens find me again, all seven of them this time.
They descend in a chorus of wings, pouring from the trees and the shadows above the wall like ink spilled down a page.They don’t caw or chatter or even land at first. They orbit me in silence, like a storm of feathers waiting for permission to break.
When I stop walking, they stop flying, every single one snapping to stillness in the branches directly overhead.
I try to pretend this doesn’t unsettle me, but my body betrays the lie. My skin prickles, goosebumps blooming up and down my arms. My pulse rattles against my ears.
I brace my back against the trunk of a pear tree, glaring up at the nearest bird. “What do you want from me?”
The biggest raven, the one with the mangled white scar near its eye, hops down the branch until it’s level with my face. The branch creaks beneath its weight, a soft sound slicing through the silence. The bird looks at me with the same intense, predatory focus it had earlier, but I see the reflection in its eye—not just my face, but the moon behind my head acting like a halo of cold light.
It feels like an answer.
I stick out my hand, disconcerted. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
