AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My mind raced with what might be inside. A weapon? Poison? Documents that would prove his undoing? What was worth this amount of trouble and secrecy?
Jamming a crowbar into the crack on the side of the crate, the guard applied leverage. A deep groaning wail split the air wide open. I retracted as though I planned to push through the wall, and Bishop pressed closer to me. A shriek burst from the crate, something unholy and wild. My mind went back to the story that Fitz had told me. All those spirits and creatures, was there a chance it was all real? Had Gwen secured some paranormal goblin that would suck out the king’s soul?
We watched from our hiding place, holding our breaths as the rest of the crate’s lid gave way.
“Careful,” the queen admonished. “Delicate hands.” As the lid pushed back, her eyes sparked with excitement. Whatever she’d been seeking, it was there in the crate. “Well done, Gwendolyn. Well done.”
The guards moved to retrieve the item, but she called them back, eager to do it herself. Her gloved hands dipped inside the box, and I leaned forward, suffocated by curiosity as I waited for answers. The thudding in my chest felt like it would give away our position, but they were all locked on whatever the queen was pulling from the crate.
It emerged in her grasp. Black and oily, hard to comprehend at first, and larger than I expected, somewhere between a hawk and an eagle. Its eyes popped open as its head swung around on a gangly neck. A bird. Like a black flamingo with shorter extremities.
“A Craboon Blackwing,” Bishop whispered with wonder. “How’s that possible?”
This was about a bird? Was it a killer bird? Venomous? What was I missing?
The queen wrapped the tether connected to its leg around her wrist. As if understanding, the bird stretched its wings and shuffled until it found a suitable place on her forearm where it rested. Finally settled again, it let loose another ear-splitting shriek. My whole body tensed as I fought the urge to cover my ears with my hands. Wincing, I waited while the queen smiled at her new prize.
“Yes,” she rubbed her gloved finger over the bird’s thick beak and spoke affectionately, “you’ll do nicely, won’t you? Just the trick to heal him, yes?”
As if to agree, the bird’s head ducked and bopped back up, like a nod.
“Do you really think it’ll work, Your Majesty?” her guard spoke for the first time.
A wistful sorrow rose in her eyes. “Desperation makes me want to believe our legends now even more than before.” She swept away the emotion almost immediately. “Come. We can’t let this one be seen by anyone but the king.”
They left through the loading dock’s opening and within minutes the door released and rolled shut with a thundering crash. I held still, unsure if they were really gone. The air waited with us, tense and uneasy, as we took time to process what had happened. Bishop’s feet scraped the floor as he moved to stand. My frigid hand slipped into his, but I found myself distracted by the pained worry pinned in his expression.
“What was that?”
What queen met shady smuggler-type people in the dead of the night with the country’s favorite bachelorette? And what did the funny-looking bird with a screeching call have to do with it? What crazy Nolcovian backroom cloak-and-dagger trade off had I just witnessed?
Bishop released my hand without answering and moved toward the crate. “I’m not sure. I thought the Craboon were extinct.” He stuck a hand inside the crate as if he planned to find evidence. “But then, it makes perfect sense, all things considered.”
I stopped short, feeling the need to set him straight. “Literally nothing about this makes sense, Bishop.”
He spun and faced me as if he’d remembered I was still there for the first time. “Right, you wouldn’t know.” His palms pressed against his pants as if to rub them dry. “The queen is deeply superstitious, yes?” I nodded so he would keep going. “Nolcovian legend says the Craboon Blackwing has the power to absorb sickness from a person. It then flies toward the sun to purge itself of the virus. They used to be plentiful around Nolcovia. But about two hundred years ago, people started trapping them, thinking they could harness their power somehow.” Bishop shook his head, obviously disgusted. “Stupid, since it’s a myth with no basis in science. The bird didn’t do well in captivity and too many died. Laws were passed about capturing them and then about fifty years ago, they were marked protected as an endangered creature.”
“And yet, the queen has one on her arm?”
“The last known location for the birds was a forest in the heart of the Aclusia Province.” He motioned for the door where they’d exited. “Gwendolyn’s home. Obviously, she wanted to land in my aunt’s good graces. I wager she’s worried about her chances with Leonidas.” He smirked. “Probably because of you.”
“Me?” I shook my head. “I’m not even in the running.”
“And yet he fawns after you, doesn’t he? The cameras may not capture every wayward glance he casts your way, but those of us in the room haven’t missed a single one.” One rebellious eyebrow twitched upward, daring me to correct him. “Have you?”
I looked away, unwilling to entertain this line of questioning. “We’ve always been friends.” I tried to shake off the bitter ache. I moved around him to look inside the crate myself. “We’ll always be friends.”
“Right,” Bishop found my thought pattern amusing, “because that’s what a new bride wants, a female friend for her husband.” He moved closer, coming up behind me. “Someone he can’t keep his eyes off of,” Bishop’s fingers trailed over the back of my hand where it rested on the edge of the crate, “maybe not even his hands. After all, it can be a struggle to resist.” He waited for me to look at him. “But, yeah, I’m sure she’ll be fine with you being friends.”
I hadn’t thought about it before. What would our relationship look like after Fitz was married? Especially now that things had changed between us. At least before we could claim that nothing had ever happened. That wasn’t the case anymore, even if we buried it.
“Now, if you wanted to trade for a similar Nolcovian model…” Bishop eased closer. “Perhaps one with less responsibility and no country to guard,” his breath brushed against my ear, “that could be arranged.”
I shifted out of his pending grasp. “Be serious, Bishop.”
“I’d rather not, actually.” He winked. “I’m fond of the silliness, you’ll find.” His grin edged into place. “And the flirtiness. And the kissing. It’s a favorite pastime of mine.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” The word player was practically printed across his forehead like a cow brand. I nodded at the crate. “Explain more about this. She said she wanted to heal him, right?”
