The Queen's Secret (The Queen's Secret #2) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,82

black feather lies on the ground by the tomb, pristine and fresh. It looks like a crow feather, Cal thinks, reluctant to touch it or pick it up. How could a crow enter the catacombs? There are no windows, and there are many passageways and staircases between this place and the outdoor spaces of the castle. Someone must have brought the feather here—or brought a bird down here. But why would they do that?

The feather reminds Cal of something he heard people say about the bewitched dark tornado that killed Lady Cecilia’s horse at the Winter Races. It was “all claws,” they said, a monstrous thing unknown in nature.

And the other thing people said about that creature: It was black, darker than the darkest cloud on a thundery day. Black, they said, as a crow’s feathers.

Magic made a horse turn into a beast. What if it could turn a crow into an Obsidian Monk?

Chapter Thirty-Five

Caledon

Cal races up the stairs from the crypt, not sure where he’s going. Jander must still be in the castle, a step ahead of Cal, a step ahead of everyone else, he hopes.

When Cal pushes through the heavy door, he hears shouts from the courtyard, the clamor of many voices. In the courtyard he’s faced with a crowd, not just guards and stable hands, but a gaggle of the remaining courtiers, servants, and a man carrying a crate of onions and standing with his mouth open, perfectly still. Cal darts past them, irritated by the obstruction. They’re looking at something, jockeying for position, and Cal needs to see.

It’s Jander. Cal would have been relieved to find him, but there’s something strange going on. Jander stands in the middle of the courtyard, away from the pressing huddles of onlookers. He is still, his arms extended, his face tense with concentration. No one approaches him, and it takes just an instant for Cal to see why. Arrayed around Jander is a circle of black—not feathers, Cal realizes, but something that looks like shards of obsidian—fragments in the shape of arrowheads. Dotted between each piece is a small heap of seeds. Cal steps forward, his eyes drawn to the sky where crows circle.

A hand grabs his arm and Rhema is there, red hair filling Cal’s peripheral vision.

“It’s not safe,” she mutters, still grasping his forearm. “We should stay back. He has the protection of the talismans.”

She means the obsidian arrowheads, he realizes. It’s a Guild charm, part of a ring of enchantment that Jander has created around himself.

“Will it be enough?” Cal asks her. The crows above squawk and loop, getting closer to Jander. He remains immobile. “I think the crows might be enchanted. Or they might be Aphrasians in disguise.”

“What?” Rhema looks aghast.

“This is their way into the castle. They enter and leave as crows. That’s why we haven’t been able to find them. He may be in terrible danger.”

“We’re all in danger here,” Rhema says. She’s gripping her sword, Cal sees, and his right hand moves instinctively to his own. If Jander needs them, they’re ready, like the members of the guard poised with spears.

A crow lands on the ground within the circle and peers at Jander. Its head swivels toward the seeds.

“My birds!” Daffran pushes his way through the crowd. “What are you doing to my birds?”

“Stand back!” Rhema grabs his arm and he tries to shrug her off, his face petulant.

“I won’t have him hurt my birds,” Daffran complains, but he doesn’t attempt to get closer. He stands trembling while another bird lands, then another. No one violates the obsidian circle. The crows are black magic made visible.

Jander stands there, arms open, ready to receive something, or someone. The crows peck around his feet, cautious at first, until one makes its way to a pile of seed. Daffran is muttering a prayer under his breath.

Jander raises his face to the sky, a heavy gray by now, and closes his eyes. There’s no sound but the cawing of birds, the beating of wings, and the gasps of onlookers as a murder of crows fill the sky, turning it black. Dozens of crows become hundreds, swirling overhead and swooping lower and lower. The yard echoes with their racket, incessant and menacing. There have always been crows around the castle, haunting its battlements, perched on its stones, but Cal has never seen this many crows in his life. His grip tightens on his sword, ready to strike—though who he will need to strike, he has no idea. Will