Risens wasted no time making his way through the city back to the Raven’s Court. Saving the girl, Aleth had delayed him, yet time was of little concern. The darkness of night still covered the city, concealing his movements in shadows. He still had days before he would be expected to return from the north to give a report to the castle.

  Then again, he was likely already considered to be dead.

  He worked to keep his thoughts from straying to the reception he would find there. The only glimmer of hope that sparked in him was that he would finally be free of the King’s decree that the castle steward, Fendri, could not be harmed.

  What role had the man played in Risens’s betrayal? Fendri had given him a warning, but what did it mean? Why would a man whom Risens considered to be a rival do anything other than try to bring him harm?

  And now, what of the girl?

  Would this second act of kindness dig the hole even deeper?

  No one would believe her. Her words would be mere ramblings, no more trustworthy than the other wretches of the streets. No guard would take her seriously. No soldier would give her the time of day, shooing her off with the butt of their spear. Were she to show up at the castle gate, speaking of the mysterious vigilante that had saved her from the gangs in the alleys, none could apply credence to her. She had no description of him save for that.

  He was but a shadow. He wore all black. Risens was thankful that he’d kept the black cloth over the Shadows Shroud as the Lathrenon had now seen the mask. As perceptive as she was, he’d doubted she’d have noticed the intricacies of the blades that sliced through those who’d sought to hurt her. Similarly, the ravens that accompanied him were not known by any others in the King’s orbit. The birds were a known staple of the city. Some fed them. Others called them friends, though most found them aloof.

  As was now his custom, he had thanked the birds for their service before releasing them to wherever their wings would take them. They were curious beasts. One moment, their talons raked at flesh as they pecked with vicious intent. Minutes earlier, they hopped, skipped, and strutted under the tent, amusing the youngster of their own volition.

  It was he who bore the Brand that commanded them. The Conspiracy of Ravens gave him the ability to summon them to his cause. Why then would they depart from the task they had been set upon to find the girl as she lingered in the greens of Excelsior?

  Perhaps he had misread their intentions. Perhaps their purpose was not to comfort Aleth but to lead him to her. If that was true, why?

  They had crossed paths twice now within the window of an hour. He groaned at the idea that, at some point, their courses would be intertwined again. In fact, he was disturbingly sure they would.

  As with Dorchette’s gang, the ridding of another band of rabid predators that hunted the city’s streets was not something to be mourned. No one would miss the four who now rotted in the seedier part of the Learner’s Quarter. Their bodies would be found, eventually, likely more from the smell than because someone had commissioned a search. They’d be buried unnamed. No parades of death would celebrate their untimely demise. The city streets that they claimed as their territory would be free until another with wicked designs for them filled the void.

  The Broad was quiet, as always. The dank, deteriorating corridors between hovels and ships welcomed him. He wondered what the district had looked like before it fell into disrepair—for as long as he’d been alive, it had been a dump.

  Risens felt the reassuring presence of the Raven’s Court as he crossed under the crumbling archway. The ramshackle state of the sacred area imparted a feeling of emptiness. Somehow, he felt hollow.

  A piece of his mind cried out with remorse at the continued desolation of the hallowed space. A few steps in, he stopped when something behind the shrine moved.

  Mother Raven walked gingerly toward him, her arms folded behind her back. “The winds pick up many things, fledgling—small glimmers of sunshine in the face of an overwhelming storm. Remove the cloth that masks your true form. Do not hide yourself here.”

  “I feel the tension,” he replied, chastened. He pulled the black fabric down to his neck. The covering had served his purpose well to this point, though its presence was clearly offensive to his irascible guide. “As always, there are more questions and fewer answers.”

  “Life, it seems, is like that. Is it not?”

  Risens thought carefully about his response before speaking. Their interactions had been limited in both time and scope. He strived to extract as much from this one as he could before she inevitably departed.

  Presently, there was one line of questioning that loomed larger over all others.

  “The Conspiracy of Ravens; it summons the ravens to my aid, but how are they connected to the Shadow Shroud? Are they bound to the Roost or are they bound to follow the bearer of the Brand?”

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  Mother Raven stopped her approach, her gaze hardening as she glared at him. “The ravens do not belong to you.” Her voice sharpened into a razor’s edge, much like the talons of the birds she defended. “They are their own masters. Though you guide their path, their own free will surrounds everything they do. They are neither your belongings nor your pets. They will respond to the one they trust. That is a bond that must be fostered. That trust is earned.”

  She stepped in close, dragging her finger across his face. Risens held his ground as she stabbed a pointed nail into the metal mask.

  “The sheer fact that you wear the Shadows Shroud is the only thing that requires them to respond to you, fledgling. It is the key to everything, yet you hide it.” She spat at his feet. “There is nothing without it. Forsake them, and they will forsake you. Honor them, and they will do your bidding at all costs.”

  The answer confirmed his suspicions about his looming question. They had chosen to lead him to Aleth. In the same way that any of the new skills, powers, or items that had been bestowed on him were his to command, using them would increase their value and abilities. Having only just forged their relationship, he had done little to earn their respect. They acted out of mere duty alone.

  “What of the blades?” he asked. “I hear them, though they do not speak. Why then can I not hear the voice of the ravens?”

  “Just like you’ve been taught to see with only your eyes, you’ve been taught to listen with only your ears.” The touch of the agitation that had rankled her voice stilled. “There’s far more that the world will say if you truly know how to hear.”

  “Then teach me.”

  His entreaty was pointless, as expected. The dull wind carried her to the opposite corner of the Raven’s Court. A solitary feather floated down in her wake.

  “You have been trained, reared since childhood in the art of killing. Does it not make sense that the weapons of your craft would respond to your call? That they would intrinsically know you and understand your motivations.”

  That brought a chill to Risens’s very core. Were the voices his own?

  “No,” she said as if reading his mind. “They are not your own thoughts, as you might be thinking, though they might mirror your innermost desires.”

  “I was not taught to kill with prejudice,” Risens argued.

  “Taught, no.” She shook her head. “But there is something within you that cries out for justice, no? A good that burbles beneath a hard surface, demanding that evil be cast far from these lands.”

  Risens gave the question considerable thought. That he desired justice over recompense was true. Thoughts of killing Lathrenon for his own evils drifted through his mind, though he quickly dismissed them.

  “The ravens,” she continued, “they are songbirds, you know. They hunt for their prey, though they are not birds of war. Not naturally, at least.”

  The answer made sense in an unexpected way. His mind, his body, his whole being, had been trained for a solitary purpose. He was the King’s Rightmaker—his shadowed blade.

  He was crafted to kill, just as the Ravens Talons were designed for death.

  “The ravens led me to a girl hiding within the grounds of Excelsior,” Risens explained. “They hopped around at her feet as if they had known her forever. As if they knew she’d raise no alarm at my presence. Why would they do such a thing?”

  “They are far more intelligent than most people give them credit for.” Mother Raven sighed. “Perhaps they saw something in her that you do not.”

  She stared at him with beady eyes, looking out from underneath the feathered cowl that hung low. As is often the case, her wizened face was expressionless.

  Risens couldn’t tell if she was pleased or if the judgment she leveled on him was foul. She’d never expressed any open animosity, just cryptic honesty.

  “Now, fledgling, you were sent a quest, were you not? One to retrieve an item that was stolen, imprisoned for far too long. Do you have the egg?”

  He reached into his pocket, but withdrew his hands immediately, finding the polished, angular, crystal egg hot to the touch. There was no heat radiating through the fabric of his clothing, but it nearly scalded his flesh. Stealing himself against the unexpected heat, he carefully withdrew the egg as he walked across the Raven’s Court.

  Mother Raven was perched near the corner, idly poking the stagnant water that remained with a dead stem from the long-deceased garden. He passed the crystal from hand to hand, hoping to stave off burns. The identity of the dark shape that lurked within the crimson crystal, silhouetted as it was, remained elusive. Even at close inspection, he could see no clues beyond its thin shape.

  As he neared, a flash of recognition sparked in her eyes—a momentary widening of surprise and excitement. It faded as quickly as it came, reverting to a stoic gaze.

  “Ahh, for long I feared this day would never come. The day that the egg was returned to its home.” She spoke with reverence, as if a god had entered the courtyard. “Long has it been absent. Long has the Raven’s Court suffered without its enduring presence.”

  She stepped closer, bending to inspect the artifact. Her head tilted from side to side much in the same way he’d seen the ravens behave as they appraised Aleth.

  “You have done well, fledgling,” she whispered. “May I?”

  In an instant, the heat dissipated as he carefully placed the egg into her outstretched hand. There was no lasting effect on his skin, and the chill that replaced it was equally stinging. Beyond the physical sensation, it felt as if something was missing. Now, without the egg in hand, he wondered if this was how the Raven’s Court felt throughout the long years that its warmth had been missing.

  Mother Raven seemed not to be bothered by the heat that emanated from the crystal now in her hands. She rolled it gently between her palms, inspecting it from every angle. She then raised it, holding it close to her face, her mouth moving and whispering words his ears couldn’t hear. Just as it had when the ravens had gently prodded it with their beaks, the shape inside the blood-red crystal shifted. The true form was still hidden from his view, but the movement was precise.

  As she continued her silent ministrations, the motions only grew more animated. It seemed that whatever was contained inside the egg bounded off the inside walls of the crystal. Was it… excited? Cautious? Fearful?

  Her mouth fell silent as she held the egg high. In the light of the moon, the blood-red glow spread over the Raven’s Court, covering every weathered stone in its crimson aura.

  A wild mixture of pure excitement and the tinge of something that looked like remorse welled in the depths of her eyes. Her body tensed suddenly, and the frantic emotion that trembled through her relaxed.

  Then, as if the precious idol were nothing more than a piece of trash, she tossed the fragile egg to her side.