The Raven and the Dove (The Raven and the Dove #1) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,18

backbone, daughter. May the skies help him if he doesn’t have the wits to tell you no.”

“Aw, that’s not true.” Lyana smiled at him as she stepped back, laughter bubbling in her throat. “You hope I find a mate just like you, so I can wrap him around my little finger.”

The king tried to frown, but his lips disobeyed him and lifted into a grin as a deep laugh surged through his belly. “Maybe I do. Maybe I do.”

“Maybe you do what, dear?”

The queen swept into the room in a sapphire gown the same color as her bluebird wings, bright as ever in a house with feathers made of neutral tans and grays. She’d been the Princess of the House of Song long before she became Lyana’s mother and a queen. Her father claimed to have picked her from the flock during the first test of the courtship trials, when she’d shot three bull’s-eyes in a row into her target from across the arena and landed the fourth arrow in the heart of his empty center ring. But they were happy, it seemed, political marriage or not. Lyana’s family was close, a solid nest. Theirs was the sort of love she hoped for in her match, the one she’d make in only a few days.

“We were speaking of the trials, Mother,” Luka said, ever the doting son.

The queen threw her daughter an unsurprised look. “Ah, that must be why your sister looks so sullen.”

Lyana bit back a reply. Her mother was the only foe she was too afraid to face, with a sharp tongue and an even sharper ability to see right through her daughter’s schemes.

“Are the advisors waiting?” the queen asked softly.

“They are.” The king addressed his children, “Luka, Lyana, your mother and I want you to attend the meeting. We’d like your opinions on the matter.”

“On the matter of what? The dragon?” Luka questioned. It wasn’t so unusual for the two of them to be called into a meeting. After all, they were both learning how to rule. But something in the king’s tone made this particular meeting seem different, more important somehow.

“On the matter of postponing the courtship trials,” her father said.

Lyana’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“How long?” Luka asked.

“The ravens have asked for time, a few days at most, to regroup after the attack and help tend to their wounded. Your mother and I believe the House of Peace should have a unified opinion before the other houses arrive and try to interject on the matter. We’ve never postponed the ceremony before, and now of all times, with the fire god gaining strength, the idea seems rash. Yet, I sympathize with their situation.”

Luka nodded once, strong and sturdy, duty personified.

But Lyana chewed her cheek, thoughts racing a mile a minute. “The wounded? Did they say how many were wounded?”

“There’s no tally yet.”

“Are there any dead?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“Not that I’m aware of,” the king replied. When she opened her mouth to say more, he stopped her with a look. “That’s enough for now. We need to meet with the advisors before the next house arrives.”

Lyana swallowed her questions, but that didn’t stop them from swirling and churning in the back of her mind as she followed her family through the gilded door of the royal chambers, down to the meeting rooms on the level below.

Because she’d seen the fight.

She and Cassi were the only two people who truly knew what happened.

There were no wounded who needed to be tended to, no soldiers to regroup, no battle from which to recover. There was one fallen soldier—a soldier the ravens must believe was dead. It was sad, yes, but hardly so dire as to require delaying the courtship trials.

So why were they lying? Why were they exaggerating the truth?

And more importantly to Lyana, what in the world were they hiding?

8

Xander

Sphaira, the crystal city, was a magnificent sight to behold, yet Xander felt empty as he stared through the translucent wall of the guest accommodations. Every house had their own domed building, arranged around the center palace in the same way their islands were, which put his near the northeastern edge of the bustling metropolis. His view of the entrance to the palace, which faced east to welcome the sun, was clear. Small figures zipped in and out of those towering doors, and he scrutinized them all. Tan wings. Ash wings. Speckled feathers. Patterned feathers. On and on it went. Nearly every dove in the House of Peace