Sleep came quickly and remained, thankfully, deep and dreamless. Relaxing into the embrace of the cushioned bed, it felt as if his eyes only closed for a breath. Opening them once again, he found himself refreshed and energized. Risens had no concept of how long he had slumbered, though it mattered not. Windwake still lingered as it had when he had departed. Night still blanketed the city, and for that, he was thankful. There were tasks in the shadowed streets that demanded his attention.

  He considered his options carefully. He no longer had any doubt that the details the mouthy healer had provided sealed his fate. Whether it was through willing deceit or inadvertent ramblings when his lips were loosened under the seductive persuasions of his temporary, hired lovers, he needed to be silenced. Every moment Risens considered the predicament, the duration of the man’s life lengthened. He, an assassin, had no false illusions of the longevity of his path forward under the service of the King. He would uphold his duty and honor to Halthome, though not to the man who currently occupiedthe throne. He still held out hope for the kingdom, not the king.

  Mother Raven had hinted that his purpose, centering on Halthome, was far too limited in scope, that he was meant for far greater, though at the moment, he saw through a glass dimly.

  Even with his network within the castle likely compromised, information could still be obtained. There was likely a trove far more valuable at his disposal, one that only he now held the key to. The Gilded Cage below the opulent halls of the late Lady Myrenas’s estate beckoned him with its secrets.

  By definition, it was true that the Lady had been a traitor to the Halthome. Her status on the King’s Council and her membership and allegiance to the Dreamcatchers were unquestionable. It had sealed her fate.

  Risens stomach twisted into knots as the images of her revolting demise flashed into his mind. By label, her treason was without defense, though, through the current lens, perhaps her actions were, in reality, in the best interests of the realm. The King no longer spoke of dangers to the kingdom at large, supplanting the concerns for the health and safety of the territory with concern for nothing but his person and personal grievances.

  Perhaps, it was he who was the traitor.

  Like clothing tailored for the wearer, the mantle of false king seemed to fit Lathrenon all too well.

  Risens secured his gear before stalking across the silent expanse of his private chunk floating in the Barren. Having been raised in the bustle of the largest city in the entirety of Halthome, the utter silence was eerie. Even when outside the city limits or hidden among the more sedate districts, he was never isolated from chirping insects, birdsong, or even the muffled scurry of creatures through the underbrush. Here, there was nothing but an oppressive silence and solitude.

  There was a distinct comfort in it, yet it was disconcerting. Generally, moments of utter silence were omens of ill tidings. Insects and birds fell silent, and creatures froze in place when predators prowled in their midst. He knew that he was alone here, though the ingrained sensation that he was being watched was difficult to shake.

  Risens’s hands fell to the pair of feathers he’d received as a gift from the ominous voice after he’d been granted access to the Dull Wind. The skill had never been far from his thoughts since he first learned of its existence. Now that it was within his grasp, he hesitated to use it as the limitations were concrete. It required the use of a feather, and without knowing how easily they could be come by, he would not use them frivolously. There would be opportunities to practice in the future.

  Likely, very soon.

  With a thought and a slash of his hand, the Quillkey sliced through the fabric of his surroundings, opening the portal before him. Embracing the darkness, he stepped through the portal to the Raven’s Court beyond. A similar silence to that which he’d just pondered greeted him as he strode cautiously across the cracked flagstones. A rapid survey confirmed he was alone, and he turned toward the door. With a subtle motion of his hand, he sealed the doorway to the Barren behind him.

  His hands fell to the feathered handles of his sentient blades as the muted sound of motion registered from near the Shrine of the Appraiser, a few meters to his rear. A high-pitched hiss hung in the air—a sound he was intimately familiar with. He ducked to the side, rolling as he pulled his blades free from their sheaths. Metal clanged against stone over his shoulder. In the shadow of the shrine, the form that loomed was obscured, shrouded in all black.

  A second blade flew in his direction as he lunged toward his attacker.

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  One moment, Risens thought only of reaching his attacker with haste. The next, he was a mere foot away, the lingering sound of rushing air screaming in his ears.

  “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

  “Gut him from balls to brains!”

  The cackling of the Raven Talons thundered through his mind as the glowing symbols of their presence ticked down another digit in the corners of his vision.

  The screaming bloodlust of the Talons ceased abruptly as the progression of the blade slammed to a jarring stop a finger’s width from its target.

  “You are careless, Young Raven.” The voice was immediately recognizable. “Do not risk losing focus on your surroundings. The doorway can be closed without the focus of your attention. A knife to your back from one who intended to do you harm will be far more difficult to avoid than my errant throws.”

  Mother Raven laughed as she pushed the blade away from her chest with a bemused, casual swat.

  She slipped casually around his side, walking gingerly to the opposite wall where he exited the portal. Bending, she collected what he thought were the knives she’d thrown at him, rising instead with a pair of feathers. Her attention shifted skyward, and she stepped closer, carefully plucking the solitary feather that floated in the air where he had stood only moments before.

  Risens’s blood boiled at the casual nature of her actions. Not only had she just thrown knives at his back, but he had nearly impaled her. His thoughts did little to silence the continual mocking laughter of the Talons as he glared at her.

  “I could have killed you,” he growled.

  In truth, if it weren’t for the curious stalling of the Raven Talons, he would have skewered her where she stood.

  She cocked her head before angling it skyward, issuing a laugh that filled the Raven’s Court with a sound disturbingly close to that of cawing birds.

  “That your concern is for the welfare of another beyond your own safety is a noble trait, whether it was intentional or not,” she crowed. “While I appreciate your consideration, you may have killed me, yet the Raven Talons would certainly not. Perhaps I am thankful you chose not to forsake their edges. They no doubt appreciate your attention.”

  She approached a step, holding out the trio of feathers in her hand.

  “That the Dull Wind responds to your call is fortuitous, is it not?” She grinned, and his anger swelled at her veiled admission that she had not, in fact, known he had yet to earn the skill. Steadying himself, he clenched his hands in and out of fists before exhaling the animosity that mounted inside.

  She lowered her gaze. “Perhaps you will survive the machinations of your false king, after all.”

  The statement hung in the air as she watched him carefully.

  By now, Risens had become disturbingly numb to most of her verbal barbs, but was surprised at the violent twist in her behavior. In reality, it was nothing that he hadn’t faced before, and likely not thrown with enough determination to inflict true harm. Vagon had tested him frequently in his upbringing. How many times had Risens felt the agonizing sting of blades or lashes of the switch before his focus was honed to the point where he noted deceit before the injuries occurred?His brutal tutor seemed to relish the harm he was able to inflict on his young student.

  “Before today,” she continued, “you’ve responded with anger to accusations and observations of the King to which you profess your loyalty. I can see the flickering light of the fire that burns within you. Questioning has now taken a measure of the air where only once a steadfast determination was allowed to breathe.

  “Beliefs can always be challenged, though only those that are backed by truth or convictions hold weight. Still, few are open to anything that challenges them.” Her tone softened. “What has changed, young raven?”

  Risens took a moment to contemplate the reasons behind the seismic shift in his own attitudes before trusting himself with a response. He had every reason to believe that King Lathrenon had ordered his death, hoping to disguise the truth amidthe winding trails of the Shial Sliver. Attempted assassination was a potent motivator to question blind loyalty, though, if he were being honest, the cracks had begun to spread before his assignment. The King had proven himself utterly ruthless and self-serving. He had cast a shadow of doubt over the sincerity of his motivations and his unmitigated brutality. Rays of truth cut through the seemingly impenetrable darkness that surrounded what had become his reality.

  “I’ve seen errors in my judgment,” he admitted. “In the faith I’ve given to the ruler I’ve served. I have been indebted to him and to the kingdom of Halthome for molding me into what I am today.”

  Her cackle of laughter interrupted the honest vulnerability of his response.

  “Is that how the false king woos those to his service? Brutality and the illusions of strength, competence, and power will only serve to motivate for so long.” The hilarity in her voice was a far cry from the severity of her words. Her words were such that a few weeks ago would have guaranteed her excruciating, early demise by his hand.

  “They trained you to be a mindless, unquestioning killer,” she grumbled.

  “He is the King nonetheless,” Risens argued. “His status demands fealty. The Brand of the Bloodheir on his chest is clear.”

  Even as he uttered the words, they sounded hollow, lacking any real grit of conviction.

  “Ah, looks can be deceiving, Young Raven. And yet still, a false king he continues to be until his final breath. Only onebears the Brand of the Bloodheir. Whether through death or a willful act of passing it on, only then will the Brand be transferred.”

  “But I’ve seen the mark on Lathrenon’s chest,” he whispered.

  “Sight can be easily deceived,” Mother Raven responded. “Again, you are so accustomed to seeing the world only through your own eyes. Traits learned are not easily undone. I can see this changing in you, moment by moment. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”