Page 16 of The Belle and the Blackbird

Ah, well. The hour grows late, and I’m told any ravens must leave tonight, or it will be weeks before they can fly again. I have more to say, but it can wait for my next letter.

I’m intrigued, if not a little afraid, of what you shared about the Ravenwoods. How many have disappeared? Has the trouble worsened since you wrote? Are you any closer to understanding the cause? Whatever it is, be careful, Zo. It takes power to bring down power, and the Ravenwoods are not weak. Do not find yourself in the path of whoever—whatever—has them in their sights.

I know you’ll never come to Duncarrow, but I’m working to persuade Grandfather to make a trip to Witchwood Cross before he’s too aged for travel. He often speaks of his sister... of wanting to see Grand Aunt Imryll one last time. It’s hard to watch him grow old. I will very much miss him when he’s gone.

Your cipher is near perfect, but you occasionally use words I don’t understand. I just wanted you to know that, in case I fail to respond to something you mention.

With heart,

Par

“It takes power to bring down power,” Tyreste said, gently tracing the words with his finger. He slumped back, ruminating on what he’d read. So far, it all matched Asterin and Sesto’s limited assessment. Nothing unexpected. Nothing indicating the missing Ravenwoods were anything but an unfortunate one-off occurrence, or even a mere rumor.

There were still dozens of letters in the stack. But no matter how far he got, he’d still only be getting half the story.

With a sigh, he pushed back from the table. He checked to make sure Addy was still in the library and then tucked the letters away in a place only he would think to look—in the stone cubby he’d built for precisely this purpose, on the underside of the second hearth, the one in the cozy sitting room he almost never used.

When they were secured, he turned and saw the discarded wine glasses on the table. A rim of red rouge lined the top edge of one, and he saw Ana again taking a slow sip, with her drawn-out blink and easy grin. He reached out to grab hold of a nearby chair when air left his lungs, which turned into a choking sob he slammed his mouth shut to keep down.

Ana was in trouble. Heknewit in his heart, in his bones. She hadn’t meant a word she’d said, and if she’d just turned so he could see her eyes, he could have confirmed it.

My soft heart is my downfall. It nearly ended me once before. Witchwood Cross was supposed to be a fresh start, not more of the same. I was given a second chance, when most men are only given one.

Forget her.

He heard the words in the voice of old Tyr, embittered and sequestered in the Reliquary dungeon. He never wanted to be that Tyr again, but even less did he want the heartbreak indiscriminately spreading an incomparable ache from limb to limb.

Forget her.

Tyr scooped the glasses up, dropped them into the basin without another thought, and went to check on Addy.

He found her curled up on the floor, sleeping, a book cradled in her arms.

Smiling, he knelt and lifted his sister into his arms. She stirred only slightly as he carried her to the modest bed in the corner of his study. He’d built it just for her, for times like this.

Tyr leaned down, kissed her forehead, and closed the curtains to give her some darkness.

Sleep well,he signed.

Chapter4

Endeavoring

Anastazja settled on a peak northeast of Midnight Crest. She’d been dancing along the jagged edges of Icebolt Mountain for hours, using the cloud cover as a shield from the Ravenwood scouts gathered along the ramparts. There wasn’t anything else that could hide her bright plumage, at least until night fell.

Ancestors help her if she was still out in the dark. Stepan had once told her a story of how a past Wynter had been chased from the night sky by furious Ravenwoods... how they’d swallowed the boy from all sides in an invisible blanket of terror and driven him into a cave where he’d stayed for days, afraid to fly, until a search party found him and brought him home.

She thought of that story often when endeavoring. But what interested her most was the part of the tale that remained untold. What had sent her ancestor into the skies that night, that had angered the Ravenwoods enough to nearly murder him?

As always, the answers were close enough to reach out and grab, but she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

The Rookery was an inconceivably large keep, carved into the peaks of Icebolt itself. There were no roads, no paths, and no means of reaching the dark stone fortress save one: flying. Every Ravenwood could fly, but Ana was the only non-Ravenwood with the ability, only cursed with the heir’s gift because Stepan had fallen to the Vuk od Varem. When Magda disposed of Ana, that curse would fall to Niko. If Niko died, the designation would return to their father. IfFatherdied...

Both of Arkhady’s parents were long gone, and his only sister was a scholar with the Reliquary, in the heart of the Easterlands. She’d never been back to the Cross, even for a visit. There were cousins, aunts, uncles... all so far removed from what had been happening at Fanghelm that they’d be the perfect pawns.

There was a little comfort in realizing Magda couldn’t annihilate theentireWynter line, because then she’d never get what she wanted from the Ravenwoods.

But though Ana had been unwillingly assisting her since Stepan had died, she still didn’t know what Magda really wanted from the elusive coven of ravens at the mountain’s top.I want to study them. Understand them,the koldyna had said, and Ana had no choice but to believe it was that simple, because she already carried the unthinkable burden of keeping her father and brother alive. She had no space left in her brutalized heart for the fate of strangers.

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