There was nothing left for him to do within the stony black confines of the Roost. He was mentally and physically drained. The allure of power behind the remaining doorways was enticing, calling him to the challenges that lay beyond their sealed panels, and he knew he could likely overcome the next trial. However, in his state, he’d be risking much.

  He was no longer certain that the non-lethal punishment for his failures would remain.

  That uncertainty prevented him from attempting another trial in his current condition. If he were weak, too slow, too careless, he would fail. Failure could likely be lethal.

  Risens needed rest before attempting any further feats either here or in the Under. He had no expectation that the tests there would be anything but lethal.

  If the Roost and the Barren were to be his home, his solitary sanctuaries, he would do well to consolidate the items that were of any importance to him. None had access to the hidden confines of either domain, so he knew anything he deposited there would be entirely safe from prying eyes.

  Risens fished through the pack he’d left at the foot of the Raven’s Shrine, removing the candles and a selection of dried meats wrapped in a cloth, and arranged them neatly on the base of the pedestal. The candles were crucial to completing the tasks, and no food would go to waste. Even if time were to proceed as in Windwake, the heavily salted and dried food would take months to turn. The rest remained in the pack he hefted over his shoulder.

  The Quillkey had granted him access from the Barren to the Roost through the doorway in the house. Much like the windSteps that dotted the city, the exit was the same as if he had entered from the original location in the Raven’s Court. Risens had no indication if the reverse was true. However, it was worth testing. He moved quickly toward the shimmering portal at the far end of the hall.

  An odd sensation of remorse washed over him as he turned to view the hallowed halls of the Roost before making his exit. The domain was his to frequent as he chose, yet leaving it imparted a definitive feeling of discomfort, as if somehow, he was leaving a piece of himself behind. His gaze met with that of the dozen birds watching him from their perches.

  “The watch is yours until I return, my friends.”

  The movement was subtle but entirely unexpected. In unison, the group of stone ravens bowed as if acknowledging his command.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to them, though they’d never before offered such a reaction. Their perpetual watch over his movements, their flight at his failures, and their nods of appreciation at his successes were their only prioractions, and none had been in response to his words.

  Why had they chosen now to respond?

  An unforeseen thought rippled through his mind as he stepped into the icy void of the portal. Perhaps, he looked at the situation through a skewed viewpoint. Perhaps they responded now as he’d never before asked for their assistance—treated them as the majestic, honored creatures they were.

  Risens’s time to wonder over their reaction ended as he found himself standing in the dilapidated confines of the Raven’s Court. The weathered, cracked stone had undergone several changes since the solitude of his visits was interrupted in the hours after the execution of Duke Kariaes. He noted the telltale stain of blood from where he split his forehead during the application of the initial Brand. The wall to one side was cracked from where his body had been tossed mercilessly with the shattering of the crimson crystal egg. He viewed the ruin of the once-fabled location with unease.

  His position of Rightmaker had placed him as the silent protector of the realm. Questions now streamed through the cracks that jeopardized his faith in King Lathrenon. Did he truly struggle and bleed for the safety and security of Halthome, or merely for the machinations of a wicked man? The term “false king” that had been bandied by Mother Raven and written by the words of Lady Myrenas had been enough to set his blood aflame. Why now did he give credence to the possibility that something was amiss?

  That Lathrenon bore the Brand of the Bloodheir, the mark that secured his position as the unquestionable ruler of the realm, was without contestation. He’d seen it with his own eyes in the royal bathhouse. Still, Risens couldn’t shake the question, couldn’t dissuade his mind from doubting its veracity, even though his eyes had confirmed the truth. The power that emanated from the King was twisted and dark. It felt forced. It imparted a sensation that was far distant from the strength that poured from behind the sealed doors of the Roost. He struggled to understand how the hallowed Brand could feel so wrong.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Again, his mind returned to the reality that he’d experienced the feel of true power in a voice without a form. Lathrenon’s commands paled in comparison.

  Why had the King barred all from the quiet, desolated shrine, tucked into the seediest district in the city? Risens was sure that if even a handful of scholars knew that the Raven’s Court still existed, none would dare venture here to search for it. The continued thought bothered him. What was it about the place that the King was protecting?

  In his heart, he expected he knew the truth.

  The King was protecting himself.

  If that was the case, what was he afraid of? If he bore the Brand of the Bloodheir on his chest, wouldn’t access to the shrine and the powers that resided in the Roost belong to him?

  Why had a bastard child, a soulless killer of the realm, been granted access?

  Risen knew that continuing to ponder this line of questioning was as dangerous as it was limiting. His focus swayed slightly as his body demanded rest after its extended efforts. The sudden twitch was barely perceptible, but he understood the hindrance that even being a hair slower than normal could produce. The effects could be dramatic.

  Deadly.

  He was accustomed to operating on little to no sleep, but even he, as trained and skilled as he was, had his limitations.

  Confirming that no one lurked in the shadows of the court, Risens opened the doorway to the Barren along the side wall. The appearance of the textured stone peeling away like cloth was unnatural, though the welcomed blackness of the void and the prospects of rest and a place to store his goods lured him onward.

  The tumbledown house still stood, if only just barely. The wild grasses and untended plot that surrounded it waved silently in the gentle, pleasant breeze that swirled through the area. A thin pathway of matted vegetation was the only sign that anyone had set foot on the chunk of land floating in the endless void of black. He understood that time here didn’t follow the same structure as it did in Windwake, though somehow, it seemed darker than he had remembered it being when he’d left.

  Trusting the words of Mother Raven, Risens had no fear of danger here in the Barren, yet his approach was cautious nonetheless. He saw no signs of anything amiss, no further bending of the grass beyond where he and his cryptic guide had walked as they had exited the realm.

  Risens laughed out loud.

  With all that had changed, for him to believe that walking across a floating island lost in a realm he’d never dreamed of was not something amiss was eye-opening. What was once normal—and even possible—had been utterly turned on its head.

  Risens peeked in the open door, quickly confirming that he was, indeed, alone. He froze as he noted the distinct changes to the room. In the corner where he’d rested on the remnants of the broken frame during his previous visit, a devilishly comfortable bed stood in its place. Carved from a deep, richly colored wood, it was fully dressed in dark linens, as if freshly made. A narrow chest stood at its foot.

  Beyond the bed and storage, the rest of the house appeared unchanged. Holes still riddled the ancient roof, and the dirt floor remained unswept. A small fire still burned in the hearth, crackling quietly away. The pedestal and vessel at the center of the room rippled in an odd rhythm, though he could feel no vibrations underfoot. Both doors to the Under and to the Roost remained sealed shut.

  As he stalked across the room to the new furniture, the thoughts that had only just registered in his mind reasserted themselves. Prior to entering the portal to this realm, his mind had focused on the needs at hand. He sought a place to rest and a place to conceal items important to his cause.

  The Barren had seemingly provided just what he’d requested. He frowned as he corrected his logic. It had provided just what he had requested.

  This land was under his command. It was his control of the magic of this land that powered the shift. Was it the connection of his thoughts and desires as he stepped through the portal that had ushered in the changes? It pained him to admit that he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to control the magic that now fell to him. Now that he’d seemingly stumbled his way into it, he was anxious to try it again.

  Risens held off the overwhelming desire for rest as he stopped at the chest at the foot of the bed. The construction was similar to any he’d seen before; there was no lock on the outside, merely a weathered-looking imprint in the shape of a hand. Lifting the top up from the sides confirmed that it was, however, locked. He grinned as the realization came to light. The chest was secured by what appeared to be a similar process as the mageLocks that graced doors and chests throughout Halthome. His hand fit perfectly into the shape worn into the wood, and the hollow click of the lock disengaging responded in tune.

  With only a handful of papers to conceal, he made quick work of depositing them before laying the bag and the remaining food on top of the chest. He scanned the chamber curiously as he planned the next step in its design. His eyes settled quickly on the roof, though he doubted rain or weather would have an impact here. Regardless, it wouldn’t do to have a house without a roof overhead. It was work that he would undertake soon. Currently, sleep was a necessity his body demanded.