Page 4 of The Blood that Binds Us

I am the falcon.

My view is obstructed by shelters spread across the lawn, likely barracks and bathhouses, and I can’t get a clear view of how far we are from the keep or how heavily guarded it is. But given Legion’s presence last evening, I can assume it is guarded with men armed to the teeth. The corridor dumps into a large, open room with magnificent archway columns dividing the space. The stone floor is a deep charcoal gray with specks of white ridden throughout, and two long burgundy rugs span the length of the room on both sides of the columns. To our right is another stone stairwell—this one much wider than the one we climbed in the dungeon, that spirals clockwise to floors above us. I follow River up the grand staircase and down another hallway with wooden doors lining both sides. She stops, unlocks the third one on the left, and ushers me in before her.

The room is marvelous, from the gray walls with a silvery ornate design swirled in, to the several white rugs thrown about the floor. A pair of wooden armoires sit against opposite walls, and at the back of the room, a bed certainly sized for more than one. A towering headboard looms over the golden bedding, inviting and warm. A room clearly designed for more welcomed and respected guests, and nothing like my cot at home. Next to the bed is a set of doors that open to a balcony, perfect for surveying the castle’s exterior grounds. I have no doubt it was Singard who selected this room for me, baiting me with a view and access to the outside, even if itison the second story.

“You should find this space comfortable, I hope,” River says. “Settle in, and I’ll bring you a hot meal and fresh clothes. But please do not leave the room. I’m afraid His Grace has instructed for you to remain here for the remainder of the night. See you in a bit.” River closes the door, and I hear her secure the lock behind her.

I listen for her footsteps to fade and then focus on the knob, willing my collective to grab the lock and wiggle it gently. It obeys. I nod once to myself—undoing that lock will take but a second of magic. I waste no time throwing open the doors to the balcony and beholding the grounds beneath me. The tops of the watchtowers are visible from my room, so I am facing the castle’s entrance then. The gardens, a living mural against the lawn, span the space between the castle and the northern courtyard. Rounding the east side of the grounds, within the keep’s borders, is a thicket that appears to continue along the perimeter out of view. Ideal camouflage to get closer to the gate, but also the most obvious. I need to find an exit that offers me cover, but not so obvious that Singard will have guards stationed there, expecting me to try to blend in. I will need to get outside for a closer look—it is far too dangerous to attempt anything without a thorough plan.

Dusk tints the sky a deep lavender. They must have sedated me with herbs after tending to my shoulder if almost a full day has passed. Tended to, but didn’t heal. Surely the kingdom has healers on site, but Singard isn’t going to authorize treatment so long as he suspects I am working with Legion. I resist the urge to close the wound myself, knowing if they saw me tomorrow with a repaired shoulder, it would be a giveaway I had used magic to do so. Perhaps it is still the mystery herbs in my system, or merely the stress from the past weeks of being held in a Legion camp, but my eyelids become heavy and begin to strain. I wait for River to return and devour the meal she brings—roast mutton with currant jelly and stewed vegetables. I didn’t bother sniffing it for poison. If his reputation precedes him, Singard prefers a more hands-on approach to silencing his enemies.

I pull on the night dress River brought and slip into the golden bedding, not caring if the crusted blood and dirt on my feet stains the silken sheets. In fact, I hope it does.

Sleep hadn’t come easily, despite the eerie stillness of the castle after dark. I am almost surprised to wake naturally and not by someone forcing their way into the room. With no weapons at my disposal, I am left to rely on my power, something I have no intention of revealing to these people. Had someone tried to attack me overnight, I would have been left without alternatives, but I suppose if they are intent on killing me anyway, hiding my power would be senseless.

I climb out of the too-large bed and reach my good arm above my head, lengthening my spine from the night of restless sleep and wincing at the pain in my other shoulder. My soiled bandage needs to be swapped for a clean one, and I need herbs to fight infection ifhestill won’t allow a healer to mend the wound. A tea tray sits on the small end table by the door, and next to it, a stack of clean clothes. River must have brought them in this morning, and a rush of dread caresses my back at the realization that her entrance didn’t wake me. I must have finally fallen asleep early this morning, my mind and body too exhausted to have reacted to the lock clicking over. On the tray is a small breakfast spread of bread, cheese, and nuts, and next to it, a folded note telling me to come downstairs when I am ready.

I test the doorknob—unlocked.Only locking me in during nightfall, Your Grace? I would think you experienced enough to know that violence has never hidden from daylight.

Tossing a handful of the nuts in my mouth, I thumb over the pile of clothes. No pants or tunics—only a stack of neatly folded dresses. It’s likely that dresses are the only women’s clothing the kingdom has in its reserves given the stature of ladies that would be staying here, but something tells me there may have been consideration that pants and a tunic would be much easier to flee in. I put on a cerulean blue, floor length dress from the stack and secure my hair, the color of dandelion fuzz, into its usual thick braid that runs from my forehead to the center of my back.

I must act with haste and return home before my sister comes looking for me. Cosmina isn’t my sister by blood, which is good for her sake so she didn’t have to endure the heavy hand of my mother, but I couldn’t love her more if she was. It has been two weeks since my capture. She will wait a short while knowing I wouldn’t want her coming anywhere near Cathal and his rats, but she is sick with worry, I’m sure. I have no doubt she is driving the others we share our home with to insanity talking about it, knowing it was Legion who took me. They’ve been after me for years, and her patience won’t last forever. Shewillcome looking.

I pat the dress smooth along my sides, the clingy fabric bunching a little too much around my hips. With a final glance in the mirror to ensure I am decent, I leave my room.

The hallway continues to my left with an assortment of parallel doors on both sides. I head right, back towards the stone staircase that continues climbing to an unknown number of stories above me. I’m not past the first downward spiral when a tall man rounds onto the steps in front of me.

My chest tightens as if all the air is sucked from my lungs. I recognize him from the same visit I had seen Singard once, when he visited Aegidale’s cities as its new ruler.

Dusaro. Singard’s father and previous Black Hand to Ephraim.

Ephraim was the Black Art before Singard. His reign lasted my entire lifetime, only ending when Legion managed to outwit the kingdom in a sneak attack that ended his life. When a Black Art’s reign concludes, either due to illness, being overthrown, or death, the Black Rite is held to determine who ascends as the next supreme leader.

The potential ruler presents an offering to Adelphia, the goddess of the arcane, to ask for her blessing. If Adelphia accepts the offer, she binds a fragment of her power to theirs, ensuring their magic is superior to other mages. Black Arts have always been mages, as it would be too simple to take the title from someone mundane.

After Ephraim’s death, Dusaro participated in the Rite, expecting the throne to pass to him given his long servitude as Black Hand. Adelphia denied his offering, causing the Rite to continue to the Black Hand’s only son. Singard participated in the ceremony and was blessed by the goddess, and as such, crowned.

The law prevents the Black Art from selecting someone of kin to serve as their Black Hand, the emissary to the throne, forcing Dusaro to resign from his position—and prompting Singard to select a new trusted adviser. I have not heard if he has chosen yet.

Dusaro climbs to the step I am on and peers down at me with dark brown eyes as if studying something that disgusts him. His hair, the color of a crow’s wing, hangs long and straight down his back, even longer than his son’s. Twin braids are loosely woven onto either side of his head.

“You must be the rebellion scum my son is chewing on,” he drawls, sweeping his eyes over me from head to toe. He presses his lips into a thin line.

“I beg your pardon,” I scoff, taken aback by his immediate hostility. I have heard stories of his father’s unbalanced temperament, but the coldness in his stare was not mentioned in village gossip.

“Yes, you do look the type,” he mutters more to himself than me. “I trust my son knows what he is doing by allowing you to walk amidst my home. It isn’t often we allow a traitor such… amicable… conditions.”

“His Grace and I have negotiated terms, my Lord,” I say, coating his title with distaste. “Shame on you for arriving at such an outrageous conclusion so quickly.”

He chuckles once without humor. “Terms be damned girl, I catch you taking a wrongbreath,and it’ll be your head on a spike.” He pushes past me and continues climbing the stairs, and I waste no time descending them.

Two women dressed in servant linens are washing the towering archways dividing the room. I ask them where I can find River, and head in the direction they point, down the hallway that begins past the base of the stairs. River is preparing breakfast in the oversized kitchen, her scarlet hair a braided rope down her back. She pauses chopping the bunch of fennel in front of her and peers over her shoulder at me.

“Wren dear, good morning. Oh, don’t you look lovely. I hope you found the clothes to fit alright.”

“They are fine. Thank you.”

“Did you sleep alright, dear?”

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