Jane's fire was still crackling, the rain still pounding beyond the cave mouth. But the forest had gone quiet. Those little watching eyes had vanished.She uncoiled to her feet, spear in one hand and a stake in the other, and crept to the narrow cave entrance. With the rain and the fire, she couldn’t make out anything. But every hair on her body was standing, and a growing reek was slithering in from the forest beyond. Like leather and carrion. Different from what she’d whiffed at the barrows. Older and earthier and … hungrier.Suddenly, the fire seemed like the stupidest thing she had ever done.No fires. That had been Vincent ’s only rule while trekking to the fortress. And they had stayed off the roads—veering away entirely from the forgotten, overgrown ones. Ones like the path she’d spied nearby.The silence deepened.She slipped into the drenched forest, stubbing her toes on rocks and roots as her eyes adjusted to the dark. But she kept moving ahead—curving down and away from th
It was two weeks of training for Jane and her Thirteen. Two weeks of waking up before the sun to fly each canyon run, to master it as one unit. Two weeks of scratches and sprained limbs, of near deaths from falls or the Owl gang s squabbling or just stupid miscalculation.But slowly, they developed instincts—not just as a fighting unit, but as individual riders and mounts. Jane didn’t like the thought of the mounts eating the foultasting meat raised within the mountain, so twice a day they hunted the mountain goats, swooping to pluck them off the mountainsides. It wasn’t long before the witches started eating the goats themselves, building hasty fires in the mountain passes to cook their breakfast and evening meals. Jane didn’t want any of them—mounts or riders—taking another bite of the food given to them by the king’s men, or tasting the men themselves. If it smelled and tasted strange, odds were something was wrong with it.She didn’t know if it was the fresh meat or the extra l
“Tell me about how you learned to tattoo.” “No.”Hunched over the wooden table in Rowan’s room a night after their encounter with the creature in the lake, Jane looked up from where she held the bone-handled needle over his wrist. “If you don’t answer my questions, I might very well make a mistake, and…” She lowered the tattooing needle to his tan, muscled arm for emphasis. Rowan, to her surprise, let out a huff that might have been a laugh. She figured it was a good sign that he’d asked her to help shade in the parts of his arm he couldn’t reach himself; the tattoo around his wrist needed to be re-inked now that the wounds from her burning him had faded. “Did you learn from someone? Master and apprentice and all that?”He gave her a rather incredulous look. “Yes, master and apprentice and all that. In the war camps, we had a commander who used to tattoo the number of enemies he’d killed on his flesh—sometimes he’d write the whole story of a battle. All the young soldiers were enamor
It was selfish and horrible, but it was true. Nehemia, long ago, had once said as much—it was her most ardent and selfish wish to be ordinary, without the weight of her crown. Had her friend known how deeply those words had echoed in her?She waited for the scolding, saw it simmering in Rowan’s eyes. But then he quietly said, “What do you mean, another set of shackles?”He loosened his grip to reveal the two thin bands of scars that wrapped around her wrist. His mouth tightened, and she yanked her wrist back hard enough that he let go.“Nothing,” she said. “Arobynn, my master, liked to use them for training every now and then.” Arobynn had chained her to make her learn how to get free. But the shackles at Endovier had been crafted with people like her in mind. It wasn’t until Chaol had removed them that she’d gotten out.She didn’t want Rowan knowing that—any of it. Anger and hatred she could handle, but pity … And she couldn’t talk about Chaol, couldn’t explain just how much he had r
As one the Thirteen flew; as one the Thirteen led the other Skull covens in the skies. Drill after drill, through rain and sun and wind, until they were all tanned and freckled. Even though Abram had yet to make the Crossing, the Spidersilk patching on his wings improved his flying significantly.It was all going beautifully. Abram had gotten into a brawl for dominance with Lin’s bull and emerged victorious, and after that, none in her coven or any other challenged him. The War Games were fast approaching, and though Iskra hadn’t been any trouble since the night Jane had half killed her, they watched their backs: in the baths, around every dark corner, double-checking every rein and strap before they mounted their wyverns.Yes, it was all going beautifully, until Jane was summoned to her grandmother’s room.“Why is it,” her grandmother said by way of greeting, pacing the room, teeth always out, “that I have to hear from gods-damned Cresseida that your runty, useless wyvern hasn’t
To their credit, the sentries didn’t jump when Vincent shifted beside them atop the battlement wall. They had eyes keen enough to have detected his arrival as he swooped in. A slight tang of fear leaked from them, but that was to be expected, even if it troubled him more than it had in the past. But they did stir slightly when he spoke. “How long has she been down there?”“An hour, Prince,” one said, watching the flashing flames below. “For how many mornings in a row?”“This is the fourth, Prince,” the same sentry replied.The first three days she’d slipped from bed before dawn, he’d assumed she’d been helping in the kitchens. But when they’d trained yesterday she’d improved at a rate she shouldn’t have, as if overnight. He had to give her credit for resourcefulness.The girl stood outside the ward-stones, fighting with herself.A dagger of flame flew from her hand toward the invisible barrier between two stones, then another, as if racing for the head of an opponent. It hit the magi
Jane silently swore, scanning the trees. Where in hell had the creature gone? The rain began again, but the dead scent still clung to everything. She lifted her long dagger to angle it in Vincent ’s direction—to signal him to indicate whether he was breathing. He had to be; she would accept no other alternative. The blade was so clean she could see her face in it, see the trees and the sky and—And the creature now standing behind her.Jane pivoted, swiping for its exposed side, one blade angled to sink straight into its ribs, the other slashing for the throat. A move she’d practiced for years and years, as easy as breathing.But its black, depthless eyes met hers, and Jane froze. In her body, her mind, her soul. Her magic sputtered and went out.She scarcely heard the damp thud of her blades hitting the earth. The rain on her face dulled to a distant sensation.The darkness around them spread, welcoming, embracing. Comforting.The creature pulled back the cowl of its cloak.The fa
There was no uproar, no hysteria when they told the fortress what they’d discovered. Malakai immediately dispatched messengers to Wendlyn’s king to beg for help; to the other demi-Gang settlements to order those who could not fight to flee; and to the healers’ compound, to help every single patient who was not bed-bound evacuate.Messengers returned from the king, promising as many men as could be spared. It was a relief, Jane thought—but a bit of a terror, too. If Galan showed up, if any of her mother’s kin arrived here … She wouldn’t care, she told herself. There were bigger matters at hand. And so she prayed for their swift arrival, and prepared with the rest of the fortress’s residents. They would face the threat head-on, starting by taking out the two hundred mortal soldiers that accompanied Narrok and his three creatures as soon as they left their protected caves.Vincent seized control of the fortress with no fuss—only gratitude from the others, actually. Even Malakai thanke