Page 47 of White Raven

A few figures stood on boxes next to the road, calling out to those passing by, peddling supplies, cures for any ailment, and selling thralls.

My fingers wrapped around the Northerner’s wrist, a sharp inhale sticking in my throat.

A handful of men and women were on their knees, their arms bound, heads bowed. The two in the middle pulled my focus: a man and a woman, their white hair reflecting under the torch the salesman was holding.

Day Ravens.

“Get two for the price of one. For your business, home, or bed! They serve all your needs on their knees!”

Disgust and rage stiffened my back, my eyes landing on one of the girls, she appeared around my age.

“Don’t.” A growl vibrated against my ear, his arm constricting around my waist. “You keep your head down and mouth closed.”

“But—”

“No.” He was implacable, drawing me against his solid chest. “You can’t help them. The only thing you will do is cause me to shed blood, and call attention to us. The last thing you want here, kanin, is attention. I promise you that.”

“You’ll do nothing? Let them be sold?” I bristled, my gaze trailing the Day Ravens as we passed. “They’re adolescents.”

“Yes,” he replied. “You mind your own fucking business here.”

“You really are cruel.”

“Save your righteousness.” He snorted. “I didn’t see you fighting for the rights of the thralls your father owned.” His lips brushed my ear, his voice low and rough. “Oh right, it was because we had dark hair and eyes. We don’t count in your fight for justice, do we?”

“This is different!”

“How?” he sneered. “How is it different? You know nothing about my capture, or what they did to us in the thralls’ lodgings. But you didn’t want to know, did you? Stayed willfully ignorant to what was right in front of you.”

My hands rolled into balls, his censure coloring my cheeks. I hadn’t cared if my father retained thralls, or what happened to them behind closed doors. I never wondered about their lives before being captured or the families they left behind. To me they were treated well and had positions inside the king’s castle. What more could they want?

But seeing my people being treated like that, sold like cattle, made me sit in an uncomfortable realization. The world I was taught, believed in, and shown was all through the privileged eyes of my station.

The Night Raven directed the horse toward a building with the word Inn carved on the metal sign. Boisterous voices spilled out with the warm light from oil lamps from the open doors and windows. The temperatures were cool, but still milder compared to the snowy region I was from.

“We’ll get something to eat here. Hopefully a place to sleep too.” The Northerner slipped off the horse, dropping to the ground, leading the fanged creature to a water trough.

“Here?” I watched as men and women drunkenly stumbled in and out of the inn. Their loud, crass language and boorish appearance kept me sitting on the horse, skittish and overcome.

The Northerner unhooked the saddlebag, flipping the bag full of stolen weapons over his shoulder, the scythe on his back. He took steps for the door, stopping when I wasn’t instantly behind him.

“What’s wrong, my lady.” He used the title mockingly. “Feeling out of your element?”

Huffing, I tilted up my chin, sliding down the horse to my feet, my borrowed boots sinking deep into muck. The stench of horse manure burned my nose.

“Great.” I sighed, and teeth snapped out, nipping at my arm. “Huginn-Muninn!” I yelped, hopping out of reach from the draugrhest. The horse nickered.

My lids lowered at the creature’s frightening face. “That how it’s going to be?” I muttered to myself. “Fine.” My irritation was replaced with an overzealous smile. “Oh, Fluffy,” I patted the horse’s head, speaking in a baby voice. “Who’s the adorable little pony? That’s right, you are.”

Horses had extremely high intelligence. Their connection with their rider could be closer than any other relationship, communicating through noises and body signals. There was no doubt the horse understood me. Its lids lowered on me, and it exposed its fanged teeth, like we had truly just become rivals.

“Such a scary pony, aren’t you, Mr. Fluffal,” I cooed, rubbing its nose, before I leaped out of the way of its sharp teeth, his hoof stomping at me.

With a wicked grin, I wriggled my fingers at it, following the Night Raven to the inn.

“What was that?” The Northerner peered between us.

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “Just something between me and Fluffy.”