Page 101 of Of Kings and Thieves

As they left to pursue The Harrow, Silvius and I remained behind. My thoughts were consumed with worry for Col and the others, but I knew that sitting idly would only drive me mad. In an attempt to distract myself, I decided to find something to aid Silvius, who was still pale.

I combed through the stuff the others had already gathered, and then searched the rooms below for anything they had missed. No longer did I fear being on my own, not with my new and improved siren song. Col had said it—I could protect myself now. After some time, I finally found herbs that might help Silvius. With no one around to claim them, I took the supplies and hurried back to make a tea.

“Here,” I said, offering it to Silvius when it was done. “This should help.”

He grimaced as he drank, but the color soon returned to his face. As I drank water and tried to freshen up, my thoughts kept drifting back to Col and the others.

And then our bond, always present but somewhat muted now, flared to life, and suddenly, Col’s thoughts flowed into mine more vividly than ever before. I could see what he saw—he was flying through the air as the giant raven, his powerful wings cutting through the sky. Below him, chaos reigned as the Ironguard fought to reach The Harrow in the midst of a battle near the gates.

The city was in chaos.

Crowds surged through the streets, fighting and looting and shouting their freedom. What had once been an orderly retreat was now a riot, the Harrow’s forces scattered and overwhelmed. But the rioters, unaware of the Ironguard’s mission, were fighting against them too, hindering their way to The Harrow.

The din of battle filled my senses as I felt every bit of wind that rolled under Col’s wings. It gusted over the crowd, along with a rumble of thunder, causing heads to look up.

It wasn’t until they noticed the figure of the giant raven soaring above them that the tide began to turn. The people of Iron Deep seemed to recognize the legendary Iron Raven, a king returned to save his people after centuries of absence. More and more people looked up, and there was a shift in the crowd.

Col swooped low over the melee, scanning for any sign of The Harrow.

“There!” Melion shouted, pointing a clawed finger at a narrow alleyway between two dilapidated buildings. Half a dozen soldiers stood guard over a strange shimmer in the air, their weapons at the ready. No ordinary portal, this. The Harrow meant to escape into the Darkrift.

Col let out a piercing cry and dove. The soldiers shouted in alarm, loosing arrows that glanced harmlessly off his feathered chest. Before they could ready another volley, Melion and Magnus were on them, a whirl of claws and steel.

The Harrow stood in the center of the portal, clutching his fine velvet cloak about his shoulders. His pale eyes gleamed with hatred as they found Col—hatred, and no small amount of fear.

“You’re too late,” he sneered, and stepped backwards into the inky blackness. The portal began to shrink, the edges crumbling like old parchment.

Col hurled himself at the portal as if he meant to fly through it himself. Killian got there first and struck out with his staff, but the opening snapped shut before he could get close enough. Col twisted midair and let out a piercing cry.

They all stared at the place where the portal had vanished, the area now empty. Our enemy was gone, vanished into his realm of shadows.

“Son of a bitch!” Magnus roared, taking out his anger and frustration on the soldiers that The Harrow had left behind. His vicious blows made short work of them, leaving their broken bodies sprawled on the ground.

The remaining soldiers looked up, eyes widening at the sight of the enormous black bird.

A young boy pointed upward, shouting, “The Iron Raven! The Iron Raven has returned!”

The words rippled through the crowd until all of Iron Deep echoed with the cry. The soldiers faltered, uncertain. Their commander was dead, their king fled, and now the Iron Raven had come back to his people.

One by one, they dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, surrendering. The battle was over.

The taste of bittersweet victory lingered on my tongue as Col cursed our failure to capture The Harrow. But even in defeat, there was a sliver of consolation—Col would soon return to me.

As Col landed and shifted back into his human form, the crowd chanted his name, their voices filled with hope and reverence.

“King Andris!” they cried, rallying behind him. “The Iron Raven has returned!”

For a moment, I allowed myself to bask in the triumphant feeling that washed over Col as his people embraced him. I wished I could be by his side to witness it in person.

The crowd captured Col’s attention for some time, and he directed the remaining prisoners to be taken to the castle. I sat near the window and waited.

Samara, he whispered, his voice husky with desire. He had shifted back into a raven and was flying to the castle. I can’t wait to bury my head between your legs and make you come over and over until you’re no longer coherent.

The confession surprised me, and a shiver raced down my spine. My body seemed to come alive in anticipation, my heart pounding against my ribs. Promise?

Count on it, he replied, his thoughts laden with hunger. I’ll have you begging for more before I’m done with you.

Bold words, King Andris, I said, trying to ignore the way my body trembled with longing. Just make sure you can back them up.

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