The Raven and the Dove (The Raven and the Dove #1) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,140

trying to keep her balance as the world fell apart around her.

“Help,” she said. “Please, I can’t— I don’t— Help.”

He cradled her cheeks. His palms were on fire, just like her skin, scorching with magic, but it was a comfort to know she wasn’t alone in the middle of this inferno. He was with her, whoever he was, and his midnight eyes held the promise that he would save her.

“Listen to my voice. Listen to me. Calm down.” He lulled her, rubbing his thumbs along her cheekbones, over and over, in a meditative rhythm. “Someday, you’ll be able to control it.” His gaze flicked away and then returned. “But today is not that day.”

Something hard slammed into the back of her head.

She didn’t feel anything after that.

65

Cassi

For a long time, Cassi could focus on nothing but the scraping of metal on bone, horrifying yet somehow soothing in its monotony. Back and forth and back and forth. She didn’t see the blood spilling over her hands. Didn’t feel her fingers begin to stick together. Didn’t hear the moans that eventually grew silent. Just the endless scrape, scrape, scrape to keep her grounded, in an out-of-body trance, as numb as the knife wound in her side, as if this were nothing more than a dream.

Then the scraping ended.

She threw the knife so fast, so hard, that she didn’t even register the motion until she heard it thunk into the wall at the other end of the room. Her arms were trembling. Her entire body shook. She blinked and sniffled, fighting for control as her stomach turned over and bile surged up her throat.

It had to be done.

There was no other way, not with an invinci.

He couldn’t be allowed to heal. To escape.

There was—

The thought broke off, because she knew in her heart there was no rationalizing what she’d done here today, no making herself feel better. To be a bird without wings was a fate almost worse than death. She of all people understood that, understood the yearning in her mother’s eyes to never wake from the dreams her daughter weaved. Cassi had stolen many things, secrets and plans and information, but this was something different, a black mark that would stain her soul forever. Because she’d stolen the sky, his sky, and she wasn’t sure if Rafe would ever get it back.

There would be no forgiveness.

There would be no forgiving herself.

But she’d come too far to turn back now.

Hastily, she snatched the severed wings from the floor, unable to look at them any longer. The feathers oozed with blood as she folded them. The sound made her gag. She pulled a rope from her pocket and tied the bundle into a tight sack. Then she rolled Rafe over the floor and onto the balcony, grunting as the gash in her abdomen burned. Her king would heal it later. For now, there was still work to be done. Cassi tied a hasty bandage around her midsection and turned, surveying the scene.

The room was a gory disaster.

Blood splotches were everywhere. Their feet had left arcs across the dusty floor. Daggers and arrows lay like soldiers fallen on the field. There’d be no cleaning this, not in the time she had. Instead, she tugged at the broken bedframe, half-burnt wood groaning as she pulled the monstrous thing across the room to cover the largest puddle of Rafe’s blood.

Carefully, she scattered the rest of the furniture pieces over the floor, covering the worst signs of battle, and tossed all the weapons over the balcony. She crouched by the fireplace, grabbed the soot, which made her wet, bloody hands pasty, and threw it about the room to cover her tracks. Finally, she ripped the shredded curtains from the window and dipped her fingers into her pocket, pulling out a small metal flint. A few quick slashes and the burnt fabric lit anew, flames bright as she tossed it onto the bed and watched the fire build. The blaze would wipe out any evidence she’d left behind, and any lingering belief the ravens still held in Rafe.

Cassi glanced at him one final time. “I’m sorry.”

The words were more for her, though she knew she wouldn’t feel the true weight of her actions until much later, like a bruise that starts to hurt long after the blow that caused it.

She grabbed him under his armpits to heave his torso over the banister. Their bones were hollow, but he was still heavy as she picked up his not-quite-dead weight