Page 2 of Faeling
You stubborn thing,Oberon scolded,what are you doing up?
Ravenna squinted at the question—it was a good one. She’d always meant to wake up before Allarion could come to fetch her, of course. How or when hadn’t been so precise, however.
But Oberon, her father’s dread-mount, his bonded unicorn warhorse, wasn’t finished.
Get back to sleep, Crow. It isn’t safe.
His silvery head turned, those velveteen ears she’d loved to pet as a child flicking back toward the trees.
Ravenna’s skin pricked with gooseflesh. A breeze shifted the dry leaves and branches of the grove, a chill of awareness brushing against her cheek.
Maxim had added layers upon layers of warded magic around the bower. Only Allarion and his dread-mount Bellarand, Oberon, and his herd could pass through.
Still, something was close.
What is it?she whispered to him. Although most unicorn stallions only bonded with their dread-riders, forming a magical and mental link, that bond could sometimes extend to family members. Such had been the case for Oberon and her mother, but female fae had entirely different bonds with the unicorns. Mares were too wild and temperamental to ride, a trait Ravenna admired deeply, yet they could often speak with fae women with or without a bond.
So it was with Oberon’s dam, who came trotting from the grove. Callistix had once been the same dappled gray as her son, but in her regal age, she’d gone nearly white, only a spatter of silvery spots on her withers hinting at her former coloring.
They come closer,Callistix huffed, tossing her graying mane. She turned her ferocious gaze on Ravenna, her bright gold eyes snapping with frustration.What are you doing awake?
My question exactly,agreed Oberon.
Who’s getting closer?Ravenna asked instead, although she thought perhaps she already knew.
For years, the same vision had haunted her thoughts.
—a traveling band of green-skinned warriors—a camp of burgundy tents—the burning blue eyes of a warlord—
Ravenna didn’t know how to explainknowing; her father always said a gift such as hers was often beyond explanation. Itonly made sense to the one who bore it. She doubted Oberon and especially Callistix would appreciate that answer, but all Ravenna knew was that she needed to be awake. That the vision was coming for her, and all she could do was meet it.
Her visions had never been wrong. She didn’t see threads of possibility like other fae seers of legend, for which she was grateful. Such sight often led the mind into the oblivion of possibility, never to return to the safety of what already was.
Instead, she saw fragments, images, that often needed stitching together to make any sense, if at all. Many visions hadn’t yet come to fruition or didn’t affect or include Ravenna at all.
She wished she’d never asked her father what they meant. In the way of children, she’d asked what it could mean when she saw the white-haired queen resting on the rocks of the sea. The vision, one of her first, had upset her—her young mind couldn’t comprehend that the queen didn’t rest, she hung impaled. She sought her father’s comfort and wisdom, but she should have held her tongue.
Her father and many of his family had heard her sobbing, babbling about what she’d seen. Everything changed that day. Maxim put plans into motion that could not be undone. He moved Ravenna and Aine from the faelands, hid them behind a fortress of wards and magic. His family was sworn to secrecy, but whispers of the queen’s death still found their way back to her ears in Fallorian.
Because of her gift, because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, Ravenna had been hunted by Queen Amaranthe all her life. Because of her, her parents had sacrificed themselves, taking her location to their deaths. Because of her, Allarion had broken from the faelands in search of a safe haven to spirit her to,where Maxim envisioned her living in quiet peace, safe from Amaranthe and her own visions.
Because of this, Ravenna learned not to share what she saw.
She didn’t tell her father she wouldn’t sleep through their sacrifice, waiting to be saved. She didn’t tell him that she’d known for decades that one day she would wake from her deep sleep and make her own way.
Which began with an orc camp of burgundy tents.
Callistix pawed the earth in agitation.Orcs approach. They fell trees for their infernal fires.
Ravenna’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t describe the sensation at her back other than the hand of the fates giving her a push.
She wouldn’t wait to be saved. She wouldn’t live the life her father planned for her.
Ravenna was the daughter of slain parents, a woman robbed of her life, and she would have her revenge. A nocked arrow fired from the bow didn’t care if it would split upon impact; neither did Ravenna care if she survived her vengeance. Only that Amaranthe wouldn’t.
Be it the wind, her visions, the hand of some faceless goddess—it didn’t matter now what had woken Ravenna. Her chance had come to find her, and she had to meet it.
Looking between Oberon and Callistix, she said, “Take me to them.”
