Page 52 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
I nod. “If you still want to hear it.”
She smiles, small and sad, and for the first time all day, I see the girl she used to be, the one from the garden, feeding crumbs to the ravens, desperately wishing she was free.
“I think I do,” she says.
I’m not so sure that’s true. I’m not so sure she’ll stay once she knows, but for now, she walks beside me, close enough that our arms brush with every step.
And it’s enough.
9
Whispers of Magic
Raisa
We’re somewhere north ofnowhere, following a crooked game trail so old only the crows remember its name. We’re so deep in the forest, there is no sunlight here. There’s not even the whisper of fresh air.
The brothers fan out in an uneven wedge, Shade at the tip, Onyx flanking me with quiet gravity, Bran and Rune walking rear guard, with Sable and Talon somewhere in the trees. Grimstalks the perimeter, always moving but never really quite one of the group.
My own feet are raw, but the pace feels almost bearable today. The meat from yesterday’s hunt sits heavy in my bag, like a trophy. My thighs still ache from the way Shade fucked me last night, but I like the way it stings when I move, like a reminder that I’m not a thing to be locked in a tower ever again.
Nobody talks much. They’re letting me lead for once. I think it’s Shade’s way of apologizing for how hard he took me last night, as if he were jealous of what Talon and I did without them—not that I complained. I never do when their hands are on me.
I try not to think about how much I want them there again right now, but the silence makes it impossible.
It’s late morning when Sable whistles, a sharp, two-note warning that slices through the hush of the forest. The brothers freeze instantly.
Bran’s hand goes to my back, pressing me down into the ferns.
Shade’s voice is a breath at my ear. “Don’t move.”
I hold still, my eyes wide and my heart pounding so hard I feel it in my jaw.
They’re here before I see them. Eleven—no, thirteen men, fanning out across the path in sickeningly familiar uniforms. Only two carry swords. The rest have axes, clubs…the sort of weapons that look better with blood on them.
They’re hunting.
For a sick second, I wonder if I’m the deer.
One of them confirms my suspicion with a shout. “She’s there! In the brush!”
The world erupts in chaos.
Talon barrels through the undergrowth first, like a bear in human skin. He hits the nearest man like a battering ram, the crack of bone louder than the screams that follow.
Sable is right behind him, but he doesn’t attack. He dances, using blades and fists, grinning the whole time. Death is a game to him.
Grim is all violence, slicing a man across the face, then shoving him to the ground and finishing him with a brutal stomp.
Onyx never breaks stride. He just grabs a soldier by the throat and lifts him off his feet, squeezing until he stops moving.
Rune hangs back, muttering to himself, his eyes silver-bright. I see his lips moving, but I can’t hear the words over the roar of the fight.
Shade and Bran don’t move. They keep me pinned to the ground, their bodies tight and tense, scanning for the real threat.
It doesn’t take long for the fight to turn.
The brothers are more than men, even when they try to act it. The soldiers bleed, break, and crumple. But still they keep coming, fueled by fear or fury or maybe just the promise of my father’s gold.
