Following the jahgi smoke up the cracked windows, Risens quickly reached the end of the decorated column. He was dozens of meters from the pathway below. A fall from this height would mean—if not certain death—the end of his career as the Rightmaker or whatever he was now. Yet he was unconcerned with the heights.

  Swinging himself up, he grabbed ahold of the protruding talons of the stone raven carved into the elaborate fresco before pulling himself up so that his feet found purchase on the thin border that delineated the feature. Standing flat against the wall, he was nearly eye level with the effigy of the kingdom. For a moment, he stared into its strangely lifelike eyes before shrugging off the reverence and climbing higher. The symbol was used so often, and now with such vicious, vindictive, and self-serving influence, that he almost saw it as a bastardization of the majestic creature that had helped found the kingdom.

  There was little room to climb beyond the flimsy wooden strip that highlighted the peak of the building. He breathed a sigh of relief as his hands closed around the thin steel railing that encircled the veranda that surrounded the uppermost level of the rooftop. With another pull, he clambered silently onto the paved walkway. Barely more than a meter and a half wide, this was no sitting porch; merely a perch to watch the city and grounds that spread out around Excelsior. That is, if anyone currently learning here decided they cared for the view and were granted the ability to ascend to the guarded heights.

  Risens’s gaze traveled across the expanse to the wall that was now fully visible from his current vantage point. The unexpectedly large patrol that he’d encountered by the pond had only just made its circuit around to the front side of the substantial building. The roving guards on the wall continued their delineated courses. However, beyond occasional shifts toward the interior as they turned, the cones of their light continued to focus beyond the borders of the nobles’ academy.

  The wall of windows that covered the rear of the uppermost floor rose several meters above his head. Like the floors below, it was framed in by pillars, though these lacked much of the elaborate decorative features that led him to where he was now. What he desired resided inside the upper chamber. A pair of double doors, their large framed glass panels bisecting the looming window wall.

  Risens peered into the darkened interior. From below, it appeared that the room was entirely blacked out, yet he could see the faint glow of several scattered mageLights burning low, casting dull blue halos across the room.

  The interior of the chamber was set up like a museum, meant to woo those lucky and privileged enough to be granted a glimpse of the relics and treasures within. Pedestals surrounded by crimson colored velvet ropes held aloft heirlooms of Halthome’s past. Staggered false walls displayed artwork and tapestries, created by the hands of masters whose names he had never heard. The artwork and antiquities on display were trivial to him.

  The vault, if one could call the upper level of Excelsior that, was far different from that of the Gilded Cage in the former Lady Myrenas’s lower level. The secrecy there was complete. Here, information pried from the various guards and tutors over the years had painted a vivid picture of what he was to find. He knew that no sentinels stormed the halls of the priceless chamber. Alarms and traps were set on all of the pieces, yet it was their removal that would trigger the reaction. It was inconceivable that none had given credence to someone with ill intent, merely scaling the walls to access the chamber. Perhaps it was the thief’s expectation of making the return trip down the pillars, with alarms sounding and a painting strapped to their back, that was too preposterous to consider. Thankfully, what Risens desired was far more compact.

  The lock that sealed the outer door was complex. In fact, it was a series of smaller locks stacked atop each other that needed to be processed in a predetermined order. This was not the first time he’d faced an obstacle this challenging. With no other context to go on, the process was tedious, though not impossible. In this instance, an old adage of the academy highlighted the steps.

  Excelsior starts with the heirs. They will be reared to rule as heads of the houses they will one day inherit. They will lord it over their peers and, finally, over the citizens beneath them, whose lives require their steady hand and guidance.

  Risens scoffed at the sentiment. The citizens of Windwake didn’t need the guidance of the nobles at the moment. They needed food, and more importantly, water, like the wealth of the life-sustaining liquid that was diverted to maintain the grounds while crops beyond the city were browning and dying.

  Focusing on the task at hand, he started on the first lock, choosing the second from the top of the column—the heirs, as it was—the second in line to the head of their respective households. A muted click accompanied the gentle feel of the lock disengaging. Moving to the lock above, the head of the houses, he quickly worked through the intricate secrets of the hidden locking mechanism, and was greeted again with the sound of his success. Following the lines of Excelsior’s creed, he bypassed the next two in order. The peers were the third in line, just below the one who signified the heir, before finally settling on the citizens: the lowest rank and priority for those who were steeped in the teachings of Excelsior.

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  Disregarding the inherent deceit and amorality of the priorities, he was pleased to hear the satisfying sound of the final in the series of locks. The sudden urge to cause excessive mayhem, to strike a blow at the vanity they held dear, was powerful, yet he forced the rebellious intent down. Risens did not doubt that the day would come when he would be granted the chance and agency to do just that.

  It was not today.

  Slipping cautiously into the chamber, he moved quickly through the walls of displays. Arranged on false walls forming random corners throughout the room, it felt like a perverse mockery of the hedge maze he’d become so familiar with navigating. Instead of a constant line of newly wilting, varying shades of green, it was an eccentric arrangement of scenes depicting the glorious stages of battle, mingled with the arrogant, sneering portraits of nobles and dignitaries from the distant past.

  Risens paused as he reached a tall image bearing a single name, Adalhard. It was bizarre that the King, the first ruler, the founder of Halthome, was addressed with only his first name. The image was lifelike to a degree that was entirely unexpected and a bit off-putting. The bust of the great king seemed to lift from the page; his piercing stare seemed to follow Risens as he stalked through the room. The man in the image was dressed not in the expected finery of his station. His shirt was plain, a drab brown and utilitarian in design. Signs of aging and wear were clear along the collar and seams.

  As strikingly ordinary as the king appeared, it was the subject matter behind him that drew Risens’s attention. Perched atop a high-backed chair to his left was a single bird he recognized immediately—a raven.

  He had seen plenty of paintings of the Great King, though this one in subject and appearance was far different from any he’d viewed. There was something eerily familiar about the face. The expressive eyes bored into him, imparting a sense of meekness, as if the portrait itself hinted at the power the man embodied. Before the very recent events, he’d never been the least bit concerned about the majestic birds that were the symbol of the Kingdom he had sworn to protect. Ravens had always been just that.

  Ravens.

  The bird that stared back at him from the painting was small, yet it, too, seemed to emanate a palpable power. It reminded him of the compact pair that was now under his command.

  Risens turned his focus away from the entrancing painting and its subject. He was not here to study or comment on the artwork contained within this private collection, but to find and return a specific item. In reality, he had no clue if the egg was here. But this was the most intuitive place to start his search.

  He had nearly finished winding through the gallery when the wall at the back of the room caught his eye—roped off by a similar scarlet cord, a gridwork of metal bars blocked access to a series of shelves built into the wall. Thoughtfullypositioned mageLights were staged on either side, bathing the entirety of the structure in a low blue glow. He scanned over the relics displayed on the shelves, his grin spreading as he noted the egg sitting in the corner of the uppermost level.

  Among the various tomes, assorted medals, weapons, small vases, and urns, the egg stood out from the rest. Everything but for his quarry seemed to be encrusted to some degree with jewels. Though unadorned, its magnificence was unquestionable. Clearly in the shape of an egg, it appeared to be made of a single fragment of blood red gem, polished and cut into shape slightly larger than the size of his hand. In the low light cast on the display, it glowed a dull red, painting the wooden shelves beneath it in deep crimson.

  Risens squinted. He couldn’t tell if it was one solid piece or if it were merely a delicate shell, though it was clear that something was set deep within. He stopped as he approached the velvet rope. The warning tingle of the magic ward was evident.

  The grid that blocked access to the shelving and his target was metal, though it shimmered in the wan light. Leaning over the rope barrier, the tingle of energy raised the hairs on his exposed arm. Frowning as he leaned back, he looked for any signs of weakness or gaps in its protection. There was neither a lock nor an opening inset into the steel. Those he could deal with. Electrified metal, however, posed an entirely different problem.

  There were no gaps beneath or beside the bars, no sections that didn’t radiate the power that he expected would impart more than just a warning shock. The ceiling, like the floor and wall behind it, was solid stone. Sure, he could tunnel in, but that would likely take days. Time he didn’t have.

  The openings in the lattice of charged steel were far too small for even his nimble frame to fit through.

  An idea formed with the lingering echo of Mother Raven’s words in his mind.

  “Perhaps the ravens can assist.”

  The openings were too small for a man…

  Not for a raven.

  Stalking back to the door to the veranda, he put his fingers to his lips, summoning the Conspiracy of Ravens.

  In rapid response, two majestic shapes, mere shadows against the bright stars, circled down from above.