Page 174 of A Dance of Water

"Thank you… Bastian." With a sleepy hand, she reached up and searched for his cheek, placing a soft touch to his skin. He licked his lips, tasting strawberries. "Az," she hummed, burrowing into his side.

And just like that, she fell asleep.

Bastian let out a low breath, head thumping on the pillow as he stared at the ceiling, tracing the wooden swirls etched into the wood of her canopy posts.

"I meant what I said, Azgorath. I wouldn’t mind sharing her with you." Bastian didn’t look at him as he spoke.

"If it means keeping her safe…" Azgorath trailed off. "I would do anything for her. I don’t need Mind magic to know you feel the same."

57

THE PRINCESS OF…

GRAVES

Medius was quiet this time of year.

Snow fell in lazy drifts to the cobblestone streets. The sconces fixed to the stone walls in thin alleyways were rusted, the flames weak, casting the narrow passageways in deep shadows.

Perfect for the Knight.

Graves’s cloak billowed behind him, mingling with the shadows, as he lithely ran along rooftops. The dagger strapped to his thigh was a comforting weight.

Below, a flash of white stalked throughout the narrow streets. Tharen tipped his head, his dark hood falling back and revealing his many white braids. Through the haze of night, Graves saw the signal.

Their target was there.

Just behind the old, wooden door nestled between two nondescript buildings.

Graves came to a swift stop as he stood at the edge of the rooftop. The toes of his boots hovered over open air, and he let his head fall back, just for a moment, as he let the snow-tinged air soothe him. His breaths were hot inside his cowl.

He wanted nothing more than to fly free.

Distantly, the sound of bawdy bar tunes carried to his ears. He paused, one foot held over the air as he waited for the drunkards to pass. Looking down, he saw Tharen fit his large frame inside a small alcove.

Behind his cowl, Graves smiled. Served the mage right for being so impatient.

Silent as a shadow, the Knight stepped back, hidden by the curve of the roof’s edge. His amulet was warm against his chest, and he touched it with a gloved hand, feeling the shift overtake him. Raven feathers replaced cloak and shadow, yet his deep blue eyes stayed the same. Vigilant.

With a soft caw, the raven swept from the building and flew to an unlit sconce in the dark alley, taloned feet gripping the rusted metal.

He watched as a trio of drunks stumbled by, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they sang tunes and laughed raucously.

They needed to leave. Or their target might be scared away by the noise.

The raven descended upon the trio. Their human stench assaulted him, and he pecked at their exposed skin with his beak.

"Ah, fuck!"

That only made the raven peck harder. Blood welled up and stained his feathers.

One human stumbled away and held a hand to his cheek, where pinpricks of blood beaded up on his skin. "Okay, birdie. We’ll go."

The raven cawed in warning, wings stretching out. The trio stumbled away, disappearing from the alley without a look back, as if afraid to evoke the raven’s ire.

Out of the shadows, Tharen stepped, giving the raven and the droplets of blood on the ground a once-over. "I knew you were good for something,birdie," the mage mocked.

The raven cawed, and as quickly as he had appeared, shifted back into his other form. His hood was askew, and he righted it with a gloved hand, finding a few maroon stains on his glove. His lips turned down in displeasure, and he wiped his hand on the folds of his cloak.

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