Page 74 of White Raven

“He did!” I exclaimed, motioning to the fanged beast. “You saw him try to bite my leg off!”

Fluffy nickered, shaking his head again, like he was denying my accusations.

“About ready to muzzle you both.” Right then Munch let out a twitter, burping out the residues of my cloak, which now had a missing pocket. “Him too.”

“What did Munch do to you?” I replied defensively.

“He’s here,” Onyx grumbled. “That’s enough.”

“You aren’t going to touch a root on his head.” I patted the creature’s coarse hair, producing a louder purr from him. “You either.” I glared at Fluffy.

The horse side-eyed me, blowing out his nose.

Our attention was drawn by a wooden sign coming up on the road, the cloudy night making it hard to see until we were right on it.

Carrion Crow—thirty miles.

“Carrion Crow,” I repeated, sitting up, my throat drying. I recognized the name from maps strewn out on my father’s desk. Carrion Crow was in the Night Realm. The first village inside the border of the northern territory.

Enemy territory.

The comfort of his body became arrows digging into my spine, waking me up, reminding me where we were heading. I had never asked directly where he was taking me. I never needed to. There was only one answer. To King Gavric Helvig in Ravenshadow. My father’s nemesis.

“He will try to take you from me.” Father told me once after drinking a little too much mead. “If anything, out of spite.”

“I would never go against you or the Day Realm, Father.”

“Loyalty won’t matter,” he said. “I will do anything to keep the power out of his hands.” His eyes lifted to mine, a sadness hinting in them. “I am sorry for what you will endure.”

He never talked about it again, no matter how many times I brought it up, asking what would happen the night of the winter solstice, the night of my birthday and the Battle of Blood remembrance. How the White Raven’s magic would come to fruition. He shut me down, saying I knew everything I needed to. It had been something I understood after a while—that the White Raven’s magic was not something she could decide on. Once again it seemed up to the men to decide for me.

Onyx was my foe, not my champion. He had a duty. He was nothing more than the handler fetching me for the Night King. Crossing that border ended the pretense, the naïve hope I would get home. I was no more than a task to the Northerner.

The Dusk Realm had let us live in a suspension of disbelief, where we could pretend to work together, neutral ground where neither side was safe.

The sign dropped reality on me, and I was suddenly aware of the stiffness in his form, his icy silence.

“I’m sure you are relieved,” I said coolly. “Finally, returning home where you can hand me over and be rid of me.”

He didn’t deny my words, his epic silence infuriating me. Why did I ever think he would show kindness? That he saw me as anything more than livestock to move?

My gaze went down to the blade in my hand, my fingers opening and closing around it. My pruned hair slid over my shoulders, the ends curtaining around me. His mark felt like it was everywhere. My hair, my skin, even boring into my bones.

This was my last chance to break free before I went into enemy territory. The blade sat in my palm and I felt the urge to use it, fight for the last inkling of freedom. I could swing back and embed it into his gut, twist it until he gaped, gasping for wisps of life, and then I would twist it deeper.

I could feel Onyx’s attention on me. He saw my debate, the struggle while the horse stepped us closer to darkness. His hand shifted on the handle of the scythe, but instead of using it to threaten me, he slipped it into a makeshift holster on his back.

Disarming himself.

The shock of his action stilled me.

He wouldn’t fight me.

I expected relief—I could snatch the opportunity and run. The girl I was a few days ago would have without question. She had been naïve and inexperienced, thinking people would help, bend over backward to get her back home where she belonged.

I knew better. No amount of my limited training would stop the evil in this world from getting me before I reached the border. Cannibals, wild animals, and worst of all, man . . .

I also understood something else—something I had already experienced. There was nowhere I could go that he wouldn’t find me. It went beyond his ability to track or find the girl with silver hair journeying across the dusky land like a beacon. The tattoo on my skin wouldn’t only tell people I was his. It wound me to him with invisible threads, like a spider’s web.