Until this point, the ominous voice had been permeated with condescension. Each unexpected interaction had left Risens feeling small and insignificant, as if his worth was still questionable and up for debate. He knew nothing was guaranteed. He would prove his value.

  This time, however, the tone was startlingly different. Whether imagined or not, there seemed to be a degree of respect there. Risens understood that he was still undeserving. He’d spent his entire life knowing his station below the King and crown. He’d proven his mettle in Windwake, yet here, he felt very much the fledgling Mother Raven was so quick to label him.

  His thoughts were muddled and confused as he crossed through the windStep to the Roost. Questions remained unresolved, and each one reasserted itself as he walked listlessly along the aisle of ravens hovering over their candle-filled pools.

  Chief amongst these inquiries: Why had he been chosen for this role, whatever it may be?

  The thought of anyone bowing to him was absurd. Those who fell to their knees before him were guilty, the traitors of Halthome, pleading for their wretched lives. He commanded respect solely based on fear. The realm had a King, one who ruled with an iron fist yet sought to prevent the shattering of the Kingdom.

  Risens knew his place, his worth to the land.

  It was not atop the throne in Windwake.

  He feared and respected the King. But the voice terrified him. Its power was unquestionable, but he knew nothing of its motives or motivations. He followed because it was clear his life depended on it. What power could halt his steps with but a word? What strength was required to mar flesh with a thought?

  Its power was unquestionable, and though he found no falsehood in it thus far, he failed to see why any would eventually bow to him as it had said.

  These meditations soured his thoughts as he stalked back toward the grand Shrine of the Raven. Stopping a few paces before it, he tugged up on his tunic, looking to inspect the Brand newly minted on his torso. The harsh pain of the markings made sense when he noted the size of the scars on his skin. From just under his pectoral muscles, they stretched down over his abdomen, stopping just below his ribs. Like the marking on the door, they were symmetrical, a pair of angled lines, pointing toward his naval. The puckered skin was still red and angry, radiating a heat he could feel as he hovered his hand over it.

  Letting his shirt fall, his thoughts were a jumbled mixture of confusion and awe. Pulling the small tome from his cloak, he stepped up to the Raven’s Guide at the base of the looming shrine. He scanned the now familiar page of the Brand of Avowal before gingerly pulling the page aside. During his previous visits, the tablet had refused all attempts—the pages had seemed bound together as a single carved piece of stone.

  Now, the page turned with the feel of stiff paper under his gentle pressure.

  Brand of the Mimic:

  One of the twelve key brands. To the bearer belongs the Voice of the Raven. Mimicry of sounds will be at the command of the fledgling. Experience will enable greater control over quality and variety. Additionally, further mastery of the Brand will grant authority over the features of the Shadows Shroud, allowing for the reproduction of others with varying degrees of accuracy.

  Risens reread the information several times, digesting the details while staring at the page with wide eyes. The skill was as unexpected as it was fortuitous. The uses sounded nearly limitless—especially when enhanced beyond the base. He tried leafing forward to the next page, but as expected, the book resisted his efforts.

  The correlation between the pristinely scrolled words painted on the parchment and the inability to view the rest of the book was clear. Twelve shadowed doorways lined the halls of the Roost.

  If he were to prove himself worthy, twelve Brands were available for him to learn.

  It was nearly impossible to fathom. Adalhard, the most imposing figure to be etched into the history of Halthome, was rumored to have three Brands gracing his royal skin. The Brand of the Bloodheir was the only one he could find referenced in the record of the first great King. Whether the stories were true was a matter of interpretation. Risens always believe them likely to have been exaggerated over the centuries.

  An intrusive thought gave him pause: between the original ruler of the realm and the current, only one exuded true strength, and it was not Lathrenon.

  … false King.

  He tamped the creeping doubt down before it could take root. The last few days had shaken his steely constitution, forcing questions where none had previously existed.

  He’d felt the tendrils of true power. He knew that the winds of change were blowing, though the direction and force were still unresolved.

  Flipping through his compact Raven’s Guide, he opened to the next blank page at the rear of the volume. Gently, he placed the book down atop the tablet on the pedestal. Once again, an unseen hand burned the designs and words into the parchment. The page smoldered as new writing appeared.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The transfer complete, Risens turned once again to the elaborate hall before him. The stone ravens lining the aisle stared at him with expectation. Brands were hidden behind each of the doors. Power unheard of stood at his fingertips, yet the thought of attempting another so soon after the last gave him pause. A weariness stirred within him, as if receiving the Brand had sapped him of all strength.

  He needed rest. True rest. But the temptation was there. Time in Windwake stood still while he remained in the Roost. If nothing but his own willpower stood between him and the ultimate conquest of the rooms, he could press forward until all rooms were clear and his body was covered in thick, bubbled scars.

  Even as he considered it, his knees began to tremble. His heart pounded like he’d run a thousand miles. His head ached.

  He reached a resolution quickly. The chamber would be a frequent haunt, yet for now, he would progress with no more than one skill at a time, allowing for a measure of rest and practice before accessing the next. Who was to say he wouldn’t be required to know how to use his newest skill in the next room?

  He wasn’t overly hungry, but he picked at a small section of the dried foodstuff he’d brought with him. It was gamey and entirely too salty, though it would hold him over. Leaving the rest in the small sack by the pedestal, he anticipated testing a theory that had come to mind—another of the seemingly endless questions that had arisen relating to the hidden temple. He understood that the chamber, the shadowed doorways, the raven statues, and the candles reset themselves upon his departure, but what would happen to his gear if left within?

  Having surrendered nothing of value, he shrugged, resolving to find out soon enough before crossing through the portal back to the Raven’s Court.

  It was an answer he intended to have soon.

  Scattered lances of daylight cut through the perpetual gloom of the dilapidated court as if even the sun had forsaken it.

  Risens’ hands shifted to his blades as he noted movement in the shadows near one of the ruined fountains in the corner of the small square. The figure was hunched over, squatting in a position that reminded him of a perched bird. With one hand, it used a stick to poke at the still, fetid liquid of the long-dead water feature.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” The cackle was familiar even if he had only heard it for the first time within the last few days. It was as if he’d known the speaker for ages. Conversely, he realized, he knew next to nothing about the mysterious figure known as Mother Raven.

  Releasing the pressure on the handles of his blades, he focused on the quality and tone of her scratchy voice. Could he mimic her voice? At times, it seemed as peculiar a mix as the half-man, half-raven shrine that was the focal point of the Raven’s court.

  Concentrating on the sound, he forced out his reply. “I have found something, though it was not what I had expected.”

  Risens shocked himself, his attempt nearly failing mid-response. It had worked, and the sound of another’s voice emanating from his own lips was more disturbing than he’d expected.

  Her response was the half-caw of an excited bird mixed with a short burst of human hilarity. If it was truly humor, the emotion was gone as her words found his ears.

  “When one does not truly know what it is they seek, then more than likely he has stumbled onto exactly what he was meant to find.”

  There was an unexpected measure of patience to her voice.

  A blink later, she stood in front of him, cocking her head from side to side as she inspected the mask on his face. With one hand, she grabbed his chin and twisted his head slightly to one side, then the other. He felt like a prize animal being inspected. She traced a design he couldn’t see on the face of the Shadows Shroud.

  “Curious designs, these are,” she muttered to herself. “Your first attempt was admirable, fledgling. Focus is the key, and unfortunately, it is easily compromised. You will need to be far better if you wish to fool anyone.”

  With a sound of beating wings, she was beside the Shrine of the Appraiser, her face turned upward in admiration of the bird above. “Your progress has been notable, though your presence, it seems, is requested elsewhere. I can hear the bellows of your false King echoing throughout the city.”

  Risens cast a curious look at his cryptic guide, though his face never moved. Surprisingly, the “false king” insult didn’t bother him as it had when she’d disgraced his name earlier.

  “How do you know?” he asked. There was far more she kept secret than revealed, and his mind was starving for what was left unsaid.

  “He is neither all-powerful nor the man he projects,” she whispered. “You know true power. One day, you’ll understand, fledgling.”

  Before he could reply, she moved—as if carried by the wind itself—to the corner of the crumbling wall above. A breath later, the dark silhouette of a raven vanished behind the withered structure.

  True power.

  The thought ran through his head as he stalked through Windwake’s shadows. It felt as if, even in the bright of day, all in the city was shrouded in darkness, mirroring his mind.

  King Lathrenon—while he was to be feared—was weak when compared to the voice that now commanded his ear. Risens was loyal to Halthome, to the crown, yet for the first time, his eyes saw the cracks in the man’s imposing facade.

  Choosing to traverse the city through the now dried-up aqueduct, he looked down over its side to the citizens, out in droves as if the sunshine and clear sky somehow burned away the discontent that festered in the shadows. He looked up to the sky, wondering if it would ever rain again. The drought had all but depleted the city’s stores, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was some sort of sign from the gods. Had they too recognized Lathrenon as a fraud?

  He’d betrayed the King on multiple occasions now. His perpetual visits to the Raven’s Court were a vice he had not broken since his first foray in his youth. He had known it was wrong then, yet he couldn’t resist the lure of the unknown.

  All those were mere trespasses, for his latest sin was unforgivable.

  He had openly defied the orders of the King. His explicit command was to eliminate the woman who’d been witness to the Duke’s demise. He’d never allowed thoughts of morality to invade his duties. Yet, for the first time, he questioned how her seeing him compromised the safety of the Kingdom. It wasn’t as if there was some secret that it was by the King’s hand, Duke Karieas—nor any other member of the court who defied the King—had come to his end. How could she, having seen his face for only an instant, play any role in the politics or safety of the realm? Risens was unremarkable and unknown.

  What damage could she do?

  He could find no answer that justified the query.

  Just as the King’s power was beginning to crumble, Risens felt the first crack in his loyalty form.