Echoes of the Raven (The Eldrystone #2)

51. CHAPTER 51

“Bring me my sister. No one will be safe until she’s captured.”

Reina Amira Plumanegra (Casa Plumanegra) - Queen of Castella - 21 AV

O pen .

The buzzing sound grows deafening, and the light expands to envelop me, swallowing me whole. For a long moment, there’s nothing else but the overwhelming distortion of my senses, and I fear I’ve gotten stuck between the fabric of the realms, like a bug in a spiderweb.

A restless energy builds in my veins as I cling to The Eldrystone, a steady chant in my mind.

Open. Open. Open.

Blindly, I stumble around, my free hand guarding my eyes from the piercing glow. I want to scream. I want to leave this place.

I don’t want to be here!

The buzz and the light stop abruptly, and I find myself standing in an entirely different forest than before.

The air shimmers with multicolored dust dancing in a haze all around me, extending past the thick canopy overhead. Towering, twisted trees unlike anything I’ve ever seen reach for the sky, their bark a kaleidoscope of emerald green, sapphire blue, and a startling violet that seems to pulse with an inner light.

Vines as thick as my arm writhe between them, some glowing faintly with an ethereal luminescence, others bristling with thorns that warn off intrusion. The silence is broken only by the occasional chirp of an unseen creature, a sound that echoes strangely and seems to repeat itself.

As I take a staggering step forward, there’s a soft crunch, and the vibrant green moss under my boot seems to ripple.

Even the sky, glimpses in slivers between the colossal leaves, seems different. It’s a canvas of swirling, iridescent clouds, tinged with hues of lavender, apricot, and the faintest blush of green. It’s the loveliest twilight I have ever witnessed.

Gods! This is Tirnanog.

“She did it!” Galen exclaims behind me.

As I glance back, he appears out of thin air, pushing through the multicolor shimmering dust that hangs like a curtain and reaches upward and to the sides as far as the eye can see.

Gaze raised to the heavens, he falls to his knees, breathing hard, as if he’s doing everything in his power not to weep like a child.

Jago comes through next, and for the first time in his life, I see him struck mute. He has nothing to say, all his attention is invested in gaping.

Next comes Korben, and the expression on his face as he lays eyes on his homeland for the first time in two decades is equal parts ecstatic and wary—the latter suggesting he fears this is nothing but a dream from which he doesn’t want to wake up.

Slowly, an array of emotions shapes his expression, and it’s impossible to believe that this is the same male I met as a frosty and indifferent Guardia Real. It’s clear that he feels deeply, but hard lessons forced him to hide himself from the world .

I want to walk up to him and wrap him in a tight hug, but this moment is his. I can’t begin to comprehend what he has been through. I’m only glad I was able to help him.

We did it. We’re here! Everything is going to be all right.

The fae will be able to go back to their homes, and that will be one less worry in Amira’s mind. I’ll return to her and make her see why this was the only solution. Once the peace we’re used to returns to our realm, she will understand that I didn’t betray her, that I was only trying to do the right thing.

The light feeling of elation bubbles up from my stomach, filling my chest. A smile spreads across my face, and I think I’m going to—

My stomach twists violently. I press a hand to the wound Calierin inflicted, wondering if it’s a side effect from the Nightmend’s espiritu. The pain passes quickly, and I begin to think that it was just a random upset, but then it comes back, and this time it’s accompanied by a wave of nausea that makes me bend over, threatening to spill the contents of my stomach onto the ground.

Noticing, Jago comes close and puts a hand on my back. “Val, what is it?”

I shake my head, unable to answer. Bile burns its way up my throat. My head pounds, and my skin smarts as if with a million needle pinpricks. The feeling is everywhere, my chest, arms, legs, face. I scratch my forearm so hard I leave angry red tracts running up its length.

“Valeria!” Korben is at my side now, sounding as concerned as my cousin.

I fall to my knees, crying out in pain.

“Galen,” Korben shouts, “what is wrong with her?”

“How should I know?” he shoots back.

Crowing, Cuervo flies through the shimmering veil and lands right in front of me. He seems panicked, as if he was terrified of crossing, but as soon as he notices me kneeling on the ground, he begins hopping from leg to leg, making comforting sounds. He has joined Jago and Korben in their concern.

“G-good… boy,” I manage, right before another wave of nausea hits me, and this time I do empty the contents of my stomach, groaning and falling to my side, twisting from the agony.

“Maybe something here is causing it,” Jago suggests. “Let’s take her back to Castella.”

“Yes, you are right. That must be it.” Korben kneels and begins to scoop me off the ground, but then he pulls back. “Oh!” He releases the small exclamation in a whisper, dark eyes roving over my face.

“What?” I ask, my voice shrill, strange, as if it’s not my own.

“Ravógín, you are shifting.”

KORBEN

My worry subsides. There is nothing wrong with Valeria. She is shifting for the first time in her life. I had wondered before if she had inherited her father’s abilities, and it is now clear that she has. In Tirnanog, magic permeates the land and touches everything it finds. It’s what she was missing all along. At last, she has what it takes.

“She is fine,” I tell Jago, whose panic only seems to grow as small black feathers sprout along Valeria’s neck.

“What do you mean she’s fine?” he demands. “She’s turning into a chicken.”

“Not chicken.” Cuervo hops all around Valeria, a loyal friend full of concern .

The process is slow and grueling. It is extremely hard to watch, and I wish I could do something for her, but she has never shifted before, and her body is not used to it.

“It will pass, Valeria,” I say. “It will pass. I promise. Be strong.”

“Saints!” Jago exclaims. “It’s going to kill her.”

“No!” I say. “It is not.” I don’t allow any doubt to enter my voice or my heart. She is going to be all right.

A strangled cry tears from her throat, ripping through the stillness of the forest and carving a shard of ice through my heart. She convulses. Tears well up in her eyes, her beautiful face laced with agony. Each shuddering breath seems like a struggle against an invisible tide ripping her apart from the inside.

Valeria’s body shrivels, contorting. Bones crack with sickening pops as her spine changes shape, ribs rearranging to accommodate the emerging wings. Her hair morphs into sleek feathers that ripple down her body. Her fingers elongate into sharp talons, the nails black as night.

A primal scream escapes her lips, and it is not a human sound. The final change sweeps over her. Her features blur, her nose and mouth sharpening into a beak, her eyes turning perfectly round.

Then her entire form shrinks to her Corvus form.

On the ground lies not Valeria, but a small raven, her clothes and the amulet gone, swept away by her magic. Her obsidian eyes fill with a flicker of recognition and an ocean of pain. My throat tightens. The raven caws once, a mournful sound and a question.

“You are safe,” I assure her.

Cuervo hops closer, cocking his head from one side to the other. “Friend?” he croaks.

Galen approaches. “That was excruciating to watch.”

I glare at him, and he starts humming, appearing extremely interested in a nearby tree.

Arsehole !

Trying to decide what to do next, I stretch to my full height. The best would be for Valeria to shift back, and then—

“Who goes there?!” a male’s voice demands, accompanied by the rustle of brush and snap of branches.

I turn to the sound. A moment later, three males appear. I scan their clothes in surprise. They wear the uniforms of The Oakheart Brigade, yet the emblems on their chest bear a coat-of-arms that does not belong to the Theric house.

At the sight of us, one of them, the leader, unsheathes his broad sword, while the other two knock arrows, fixing us in their sights.

It takes them a moment to realize what’s behind us. The veil shimmers, connecting Tirnanog to Castella once more.

The leader opens and closes his mouth, unable to utter any words.

“Greetings,” I say, taking a step forward.

“Hold it right there,” the leader orders, raising his sword. “You are hereby detained.”

“Detained?” I frown. This is not our way. No one is detained for no reason. “Under what grounds and authority?” I demand.

“You are under arrest for… breaching the veil. By decree of Queen Saethara, you are under arrest.”

Queen Saethara?!

No. It cannot be.