Page 89 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
Edmond raises his sword, pressing the tip to my throat. “Come any closer,” he says, “and I’ll–”
Shade doesn’t stop. He launches himself at Edmond, taking the sword through his own arm rather than risk me. The blade punches out the back of his tricep, but Shade doesn’t even slow down. He grabs Edmond and throws him down, slamming his head against the ice again and again until his helmet dents and his sneer vanishes.
The guard behind me tries to run, but Bran tackles him from behind, choking him with a length of chain. The man thrashes, then goes limp.
I collapse, my knees too weak to hold me. Shade is there, blood pouring down his arm, but he cups my face, checking for injuries.
“I’m fine,” I say, lying through my teeth.
“You’re bleeding,” he growls.
“So are you.”
He laughs, wild and reckless, then kisses me, hard and fast. His mouth is coppery, full of blood and victory.
The battle is chaos, but it’s our chaos.
Onyx and Talon hold the main gate, fending off a second wave of guards. Talon moves like a cat, all instinct and muscle, his knives a blur. Onyx breaks bones, crushes windpipes, and tosses men aside like dolls.
Sable vaults a barrel, lands on a guard’s back, and rides him to the ground. He pulls the man’s helmet off and slams his head into the cobbles, then rolls off and flashes me a thumbs-up.
Rune crouches beside a wounded man, whispering a spell that fuses the guard’s hands together, trapping him. The man howls, but Rune just stands and moves on, his job done.
Every single one of them fights like they have something to lose and something to live for, as if they fully intend to leave here walking today.
None of them shifts. It’s as if the curse has lost its power over them, even in the thick of battle and the fog of bloodlust. They cling to their humanity with a fierce dignity my father would never understand. He thought he tore it from them, stripped them of everything that made them real. Instead, he gave them something to fight for.
I see it in every move they make, every breath they take. They’re death and poetry, vengeance and justice. Somehow, even covered in blood and the stink of death, they’re more man than monster, more beautiful and fearsome than they’ve ever been.
The ground is slick with blood. The air is thick with screams and the clang of steel. Every breath burns my lungs. Every heartbeat is a drum.
The guards keep coming.
I see Simon again, crawling away from the fighting. He looks up at me, his eyes full of terror and shame. I meet his gaze and nod, letting him go. He scrambles to his feet and disappears into the stables.
The ranks thin as the bodies pile up, and then more guards file in. For just a moment, as they do, a gap opens up. It’s tiny, more a crack than anything…but it’s enough.
For the first time, I see the kitchen doors, unguarded, a straight shot across the bloody stone.
I don’t think. I run.
Grim sees me move. Our eyes meet across the chaos, and something ancient and hot passes between us, like a lightning strike straight to my chest.
In that instant, I make a vow—to myself, to him, to all of them—They will make it out of here alive. No matter what.
He nods once, as if he understands. Then he turns and launches himself at the nearest pike wall, screaming as he tears through it, giving me cover.
I sprint. The world is a tunnel, narrowed to the sound of my boots, the cold slap of air, the taste of magic on my tongue. A spear whistles past, close enough to snag my sleeve.
I duck, skidding, and then keep going.
A guard tries to block me, but I raise my hand and let the magic loose. It’s little more than a flicker, but it’s enough to knock him aside like a toy.
The kitchen doors loom directly ahead.
I hit them at full speed and tumble into the warmth beyond.
Inside, the kitchens stand eerily empty, no cooks, no servants, no clatter of pots or hiss of steam. Only three guards flank the inner doorway, their faces expressionless beneath their helmets.
