Page 35 of The Crow Games

“Aren’t you going to help me?” I asked my coven mates, lifting my bound hands to them.

Ruchel’s lips were pale, and purple splotches hung beneath her ochre eyes. There was no patience or sympathy to be found there. “Did you really shoot him? That’s a waste of a good bullet, Maven.”

It wouldn’t have been a waste if it had killed him.

“I did shoot him a little,” I confessed with a sigh.

“Are you going to let her go?” Ruchel demanded.

“Eventually,” Asher drawled.

Nola shrugged her broad shoulders. “No offense, duck, but if it means he’ll continue to keep the giants away from all of us, I’d let him gag you.”

Asher’s laugh was as thick and deep as his baritone and as threatening as smoke before fire.

He let me rise to my feet, an extra challenge with my wrists bound. There was so much sand in my trousers now, I felt ten pounds heavier. Grit slid down my pantlegs into my socks. Winola handed over her pack and the rest of the things I’d left behind, and Asher stored them in his shadows—sending them away to wherever shadows went.

“You could stop fussing with me and help us carry Ruchel,” I suggested.

She was moving on her own, but not without lots of help. As we walked, she hung off Nola’s arm and slowed our pace to a near crawl.

“The living can’t well tolerate the touch of a ferrier of spirits,” he said. “She would find my magic very unpleasant.”

His shadows curled around my wrists, cool and silky. Not at all unpleasant.

“Hm. Maven doesn’t seem to mind it,” Nola noted.

It felt like a spotlight had been turned on me. My cheeks burned.

Asher sent me a smug grin over his shoulder. “No, but she’s an unusual exception. It wouldn’t be the same for someone less villainous, like our high witch.”

“Let’s not talk about how unusual Maven is,” Ruchel ordered, her breathing labored. Sweat beaded on her brow. “No mention of villainy or gray magic either. Especially not in front of the others. Got that, Asher? Other witches will be less openminded than us about partnering with a gray.”

“As you wish,” he said, sending me another self-satisfied smirk.

If I could get my hands around his neck, I’d squeeze until his face turned purple. I’d poke at the bullet hole I put in his chest. I’d kick him in the shins . . .

I considered telling him all this, but then Ruchel tired and couldn’t walk on her own anymore. She vomited again, mostly dry heaves, there was so little left in her stomach. Asher released me so I could assist. We took turns lifting her.

Nola carried her across her shoulders as we neared the marketplace.

“You need to keep out of sight, Asher,” Ruchel instructed, her cheek resting on Nola’s shoulder. “Or you’ll scare off everyone at the market.”

He gave us back our things, including my weapons, before he melted away into the shadows. The tart, tangy scent of his death magic lingered in the air, a vast improvement on the smell of sweat and bile.

The statue of naked Irmina was so tall I spotted her peeking out over the top of the maze walls. Made of bronze, she carried a spear, her sculpted hair spilling over and around her shoulders to fall to her waist.

The market proved to be less crude than I’d imagined. The stalls were well-built, the wares top quality. This had to be the work of a powerful coven—possibly several were needed to make such a sophisticated thing.

“Everyone underestimates green witches,” Nola said, guessing correctly where my thoughts were headed. “Greens are the most common around Wulfram, and they’ve done the best job establishing themselves as neutral forces. The other larger covens are convinced they’re not a threat with their crafts and their healing tonics.”

I scoffed. “The larger covens are fools, then.”

If all the greens banded together, they could win the games with sheer numbers and cleverness.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nola said. “That’s why we do what we can to make them our allies when we encounter them, not our enemies. Blue thinks they only pretend their group is broken into several smaller covens, like we do, and I suspect she’s on to something there. Behave yourself here. We want to join with them, not turn them against us.”

The scent of cooked animal fat and roasted vegetables carried on the breeze. People bustled about, many of whom I’d never seen on the train before. The strangers wore matching black uniforms.

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