Page 119 of Faeling
“Something so dangerous should be destroyed,” the mining minister argued.
“We don’t know what will happen to the entrapped magic if they’re thrown into the forge,” Ravenna reasoned. “And, from what we know, it was common soldiers who had these irons. That would imply they are plentiful enough to issue down the ranks.”
Several ministers lifted their brows, apparently not having considered this.
Reaching to lay his hand over hers, folded tightly in her lap, Vallek offered his quiet support. “They are more useful to us intact. For now, at least,” he said. “Study what we have. Confiscate the rest. Hunt down whoever’s doing this.”
It was a solid plan, one that had everyone eventually nodding in agreement.
Still, Ravenna unclenched her fingers to hold onto Vallek’s hand. The reassuring warmth of his fingers got her through the rest of the meeting, as her attention kept straying to the manacles.
She sensed their malice, and yet, it was as though they commanded their own sort of orbit, luring her in. It was a strange sort of trap, the irons neither aesthetic nor valuable, yet the power of the magic imbued within them was enough to draw one in.
If she held Vallek’s hand, she couldn’t reach across to touch one.
She didn’t want to touch them, not really. She didn’t want another vision. Not when she wanted so desperately to forget thelast one.
And yet, as surely as a siren’s song, the manacles echoed in her mind. They were important somehow, an enigma sent to tempt and entrap. For now, all she could do was hold onto herazai. She needed more answers, for she refused to allow her vision to come to pass.
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—tears fell from white lashes—arms spread wide—blood dripping beneath the irons—saltwater burned her eyes—
Ravenna plunged through the dark corridor, the walls around her contracting but the hall going on and on. There was only one way, forward, and she ran as fast as she could, her wings beating her back to give her more speed. Run, urged her father’s voice, run, my raven. She ran and ran, yet the door that sat ajar at the end of the corridor never came nearer—
—a throne of white oak, singed at the top—waves churning and battering the rocks below—They are with you, crow. Always—
Throwing herself at the door, Ravenna tumbled through into the cozy parlor of her mother’s cottage. The faint sound of waves crashed in the distance, and gray light eked in through the windows, illuminating Aine where she sat on the deep, cushioned window seat.
“Maman,” Ravenna choked on the word.
—Your father was right—unicorns screamed, their horns tipped in blood—don’t, sprite—there are no dreams in the deep sleep—then why do I see—
Crumpling before her mother, Ravenna’s face was wet with tears when Aine leaned down to gently cup her cheek. Her mother’s smile was sweet but distorted, not quite right, as though Ravenna couldn’t quite remember her exact appearance.
“My love, why have you abandoned us?”
Ravenna’s heart lurched. “I haven’t! Maman, I swear—”
“But you have. Your father and I gave our lives for yours. Will you not avenge us?”
“I will! I promise!”
—but don’t you see, it’s all folly—throwing your life away—ask me as a queen would—saltwater burned her eyes—
Ravenna gasped, forcing herself awake.
The night was quiet and still, a stark juxtaposition to her racing heart. When she shifted her head on the pillow, her hair stuck to her neck with cold sweat.
She blinked through the darkness and haze, her stomach threatening revolt. Fates, her dreams had never bled into visions like that. She couldn’t discern what was imagined and what was real, what was prophecy and what was fear.
Days of that one vision, of her worries over the manacles and their strange pull, had upended her mind’s peace. They were never far from her thoughts, and although she threw herself into any and all distractions—working with carpenters to design her throne, meeting with the eastern tribesmen to begin negotiations, riding Vallek’s thick cock until her body gave out—they always found her.
Like touching the tip of the tongue to a sore tooth, she couldn’t help it. The dread, although unpleasant, was easy to sink into.
Despite the heat emanating from her sleepingazaiat her back, a shiver ran down her spine. The blankets were suddenly too much, the air in the bedchamber too stuffy.
Using her magic, she gently lifted Vallek’s heavy arm just enough to roll out from under its weight. She kept it gently suspended there, not wanting to wake him.
