Ravaged skin was evident through the clear Tears of the Under. He had succeeded in the task he’d been assigned: the Raven Talons had been heated until glowing, burning hot enough to melt the solid block of ice. He should have felt a measure of pride at the feat.

  Currently, he experienced nothing more than an immovable doubt weighing him down. At what cost had it been accomplished?

  The water had quenched a surprising amount of the pain, though the damage to his flesh would remain. Judging by the vision he saw through the clear water, he feared that the lingering pain and limitations from the damage would cost him considerably. Perhaps the dutiful ministrations of Tawny would be of some assistance. An assassin, a soldier, or whatever he was to be would be nothing without the use of his hands.

  Steeling himself for the repercussions, he peered into the depths of the water, looking past the wreckage of his flesh. The vessel was shallow. He had stabbed straight down into and through the ice, the weapons extending well beyond the depth of the bowl. A faint, azure glow emanated from somewhere in the liquid, silhouetting the full length of the weapons in the impossibly deep space beneath the surface. Far below, he could still make out the rounded leaves of the queer plant shifting slightly in the jostled water.

  Risens feared the worst as he slowly extracted his arms and the Talons. The moment the charred skin pulled from the Tears of the Under, it cracked, peeling and bubbling as the damaged flesh flaked off. The crude sheet of falling ash evaporated as it settled on the liquid, and his hand pulled free. Much like how the vile, black ichor of the Carrion disappeared in the pool, so too did the remnants of the damage as it sloughed off.

  In its place was clear skin, free of burns and scars. The pain disappeared as his hands dried. Joyous anticipation swelled alongside the insatiable bloodlust as the Raven Talons exited from the pool.

  “We did it!”

  “No thanks to the git”

  “He was useful.”

  “As a bull with tits.”

  Running down the center of the weapons, a thin strip glowed faintly. At the end of the pommel, a small dot where the feathered wrap left exposed metal matched the azure.

  “The process has been completed,” Mother Raven announced, breaking his focus on the subtle changes to the blades, “and the blades are whole once more. You have done well, fledgling.”

  An air of power coruscated off the weapons, one that he hadn’t noted previously, even in their vocal, unfiltered assessment of his skills, or lack thereof.

  “We are stronger than ever.”

  “And more alive.”

  “Your wings have grown stronger,” Mother Raven continued, “yet still have far to go before you can fly.”

  Risens felt the sting of her words knife through him as she continued to provide her brutal evaluation that he was not ready. He wondered if there would ever come a time when she would deem him to be strong enough, skilled enough, competent enough to earn her approval. He had gained powers far beyond any he could have imagined, yet even in his most vivid dreams, he was still sorely lacking. Her continual degradation reminded him of the perpetual insults and disregard he’d faced from Fendri since his earliest of memories.

  “Don’t be a bleeding wench.”

  “You’re not a tit-sucking babe anymore.”

  But even after their words, he wanted nothing more than to bury the blades in the King’s steward’s heart, to cease the incessant prattle that bubbled from the obstinate man’s mouth.

  Mother Raven didn’t face similar deadly inclinations. Beyond harsh, yet honest words and aggravating, cryptic instructions, she’d shown no true ill will. The simple fact that he knew she could kill him at any point was a potent motivator to stay his blades and hold his emotions in check.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Above even logic, he had no doubt that if he were to act with violence against Mother Raven, the voice that commanded his obedience would be displeased.

  That was something he feared with every fiber of his being.

  He averted his focus back to the blades. Beyond the subtle azure glow along the steel and pommel, there were no physical alterations to the weapons. The intangible feelings that radiated from the sentient steel, though, were obvious.

  “Your vision has improved, it seems,” Mother Raven cackled from where she stood on the other side of the pedestal. “That you are aware of the changes to the Talons is clear. Tell me, what do you see, Fledgling?”

  “It’s more of what I feel than what I see. There is only a faint, deep blue glow along the blade and handle, yet I can feel the strength that I cannot define. And they’ve become more insolent than ever,” Risens answered honestly.

  “Hah! Indeed.”

  “Will they always be like this?” Risens asked.

  Mother Raven smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

  Risens shoved the blades back in their sheaths, silencing them, if only temporarily.

  “The Raven Talons have been awakened from their slumber,” she said. “As has a part of you. The heat and the Tears of the Under will only enhance the blades with their master’s willing participation. It seems you are up to the challenge. It will be the first of many to come.”

  Risens had no concept of what he’d done beyond bearing the pain of the flames and dragging his body and the blades to the Tears. He’d neither cast a spell nor issued any orders. Was it merely the reckless willingness and mental fortitude that had driven their acceptance of him? He felt as if he had been merely a spectator to his fragmented thoughts. There was shock, fear, and desperation.

  A final thought stunned him.

  In the end, there had been defiance.

  He’d seen himself give in to the lure of power. Relinquish the doubts that had hung over him. Fendri had beaten into his head that he was too weak, incapable since their first meeting. Mother Raven had expressed concern that he was not ready to face the challenges ahead. The term “fledgling” hung in the air like a curse.

  He would prove them wrong.

  Mother Raven’s laugh filled the room, echoing off the wall, surrounding him as if dozens of ravens answered her call.

  “Welcome to the flock, young raven.” The hilarity that powered her laughter hardened into a steely tone. “It’s about time that you understand the responsibility that has befallen you.”

  With a flapping of unseen wings, she shifted to his side. A solitary feather floated in the air, landing precariously on the lip of the stone vessel.

  “The mantle that has been placed upon your shoulders is heavy,” she added, cocking her head as if to inspect him. Her expression was distinct unfamiliarity, as if she were seeing him for the first time. “From the very first Brand, these have been granted, not without effort or proof. Were you unworthy, you would have been dead long ago. Though at times, it still seems like you do nothing but try.”

  A surprising sparkle of mischief flashed in her eyes.

  “I do not say this without risk, young raven,” Mother Raven warned. “Over-confidence breeds complacency. You are formidable, yet are but a candle in the face of an inferno. Nothing you have achieved or will achieve will be given free of effort or cost. This road will only be as lonely as you allow it.”

  Risens let the assessment linger, sinking in for a moment before responding.

  In the last few days, he felt the weight of the Kingdom on his shoulders. Explanations were required, though in his heart he already knew the answers. He would see it through. The connections were no longer obscured, though the false kingwas only a piece of a puzzle.

  One that spread well beyond Halthome’s boundaries.

  “I understand,” he said without doubt or dishonesty.

  “My presence is needed elsewhere,” Mother Raven said, “though there is more that I need to convey. You see, the Tears of the Under will have many uses, the first of which you now understand. Now that it resides in the Barren, it will never again depart. The vessel will remain full as long as you allow it. Quench the Raven Talons in it. Recharge them when they no longer embody the strength to hold back the darkness.”

  “How will I know?” Risens asked.

  Mother Raven laughed again. “Trust me, they’ll tell you. May the Carrion once again feel the sting of your blades. I will leave it to you to cipher the rest. I caution you, while it is versatile, it is not for you to consume.”

  The Dull Wind carried Mother Raven from the dilapidated home to the wild grasses beyond the door. Her back was to him, facing the infinite darkness of the void beyond where the portal had once been. She viewed him from her peripheral vision as she turned her head to speak.

  “The Quillkey will grant you access between the realms where Windwake and the Barren exist. It will be useless in all others,” she cautioned. “Mind where you open it, for it will return you to precisely the same place.”

  “I welcome your advice, as always, Mother Raven,” he acknowledged, offering her a subtle bow.

  She scoffed at him as he rose to his full height. “Open the pathway, so that I may return to the Windwake. Do not ever bow to me. For I am not the one to whom knees bend.”

  He nodded. There were echoes of that sentiment offered by the ominous voice in the Roost.

  Risens had accepted that his development had pushed him far beyond the status of merely an assassin, but he failed to see how anyone would ever bow to him out of respect. He, a bastard. He, an unknown shadow.

  No, never out of respect, but they did kneel to plead for life.