The Ashen Raven's Treason

Chapter 27

My eyes fly open, a sharp breath leaving my lungs. A dark ceiling greets me, and my blood runs cold. Inside my chest, pounding loud enough into my ears and coursing through my entire body, my heartbeat is restored to its former glory.

To test out whether my life hangs in the balance, I try to move my legs. They slide along the cold sheets of the feather mattress my body is spread upon, the lace pillow covers propping up my head from behind. My hair tangles in their complicated weaves. Where am I? My head aches when I turn to the side in search of a semblance of recognition but find nothing. The room is near black; I can hardly see my hand in front of my face.

My hand. I'm not chained. My body moves about freely on the bed, without chains or restraint. Except for the iron band around my wrist. Somewhere deep, my power waits to be restored. It'll come rushing through, demanding answers I won't have the strength to give. Only Wyetta Terravale can provide a reasoning now. Wherever she is.

I'm surprised she's not squatting over my sleeping body, grinning like a serpent while waiting for me to wake. I won't count that out yet, not until my eyes adjust to the dark. I prop myself onto my elbows, squinting at the room. Black silhouettes of furniture line the walls, similar to my chambers at the Raven Queen's palace, just...darker. The ceilings are lower, the room smaller, air tighter.

My arms ache as I pull the duvet aside—also dark. Fingers curling around the fur edge, I push the weight off my body and tuck my legs tight against my chest. I'm still adorned in the same clothes I had when she slowed my heart, but my boots are missing. I find them easily when my feet hit the floor, bending awkwardly against the leather in the way. One falls to the side with a clunk.

Everything happened so fast. Mutes leading me away, Wyetta appearing so close to him it couldn't be a coincidence. I shoot the floor a sour look as if imagining his face there. I should've known the truth all along. He was too kind, too gentle. Too...Mutes. Everyone in the palace should've known he works with the Void Queen, but for what? What is their goal?

I wiggle a finger underneath the iron fetter around my wrist and tug. Slowly, my eyes are adjusting to the dark and they make out the indention of iron coming together in a lock. Someone has the key. I tug once more, noticing bandages on my free wrist from the roots drawing blood. Where's my cuff? I look behind me on the bed, searching for the wolf cuff given to me by the witch at the market. It's gone.

My blood chills in my veins. Upon closer inspection, I don't have my raven pendant either. Vomit rises in my throat, pooling in my gut. Threatening to make a disastrous appearance if I don't calm myself down. Everything is all right. I'm still alive. My heart still beats. Blood is still flowing. I can go without my sacred jewelry for a little while as long as she gives it back.

I took to wearing the wolf cuff after it conformed to my skin. Something about it felt right—protective. In the same sense as the raven pendant Cloak gave me, I didn't feel comfortable taking it off. It shielded against something, and now I don't have it.

A sharp whistle sounds from the other side of the room, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on instinct. That sounds faintly like wind breaking through an open window. Sure enough, the corner of a shadowy curtain flutters against the cold air crawling into the room through what small spaces it can find.

I rub at my arms, trying to shake the chill that has dropped over me. Something on the edge of the bed catches my eye. I run my frozen fingers over it, finding a fur-lined coat spread out amongst the untouched section of duvet. They knew I would wake and feel the cold. Without thinking too much into it, I tug my arms into the sleeves and wrap the coat tightly around my body, shuffling across the room.

The cold floorboards seep through my socks. I throw back the curtain to the window and fold over the latch to stop the whistling wind from breaking in. And I'm met by white. Snow flurries pound against the other side of the glass, building higher and higher like a second wall. That raw form of light cascades into the room and scatters to the furniture—the very dark furniture. Everything, down to the armoire, is black.