A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,11
the Ben-Elim were snuffed out by one deed. And suddenly it all fell into place, the answer clear as her friends before her.
Kol must die.
“Kol is a poison that must be cut out. I’m going to kill him, and then I’ll see what has changed with Israfil’s death.” She stood, a ripple of her wings, as if she intended to go and carry out her words then and there.
And there is another reason I must go back to Drassil. To find Aphra, to save her, if she still lives, and if I can.
And to ask her if she knows who my father is.
She looked at her friends sitting around her. “I’m not asking you to join me. I don’t want you to; the only death I want on my hands is Kol’s.”
Jost and Vald shared a look. Riv saw on their faces what was going through their minds: the ties of friendship, conflicting loyalties tugging in different directions.
They have spent their whole lives dreaming of becoming White-Wings, just like me. The thought of striking one of the Ben-Elim, openly talking about killing them, it would have been unthinkable a moon ago. And they have much less to lose than I. They don’t have wings, will not be spat upon and executed as an abomination.
Her gaze shifted to Bleda, who was sat staring at the ground.
He is a ward of the Ben-Elim, held as surety for his Clan’s obedience. It may already be too late for him, by his act of killing Adonai, but there is still a chance that he could make things right with the Ben-Elim and avoid dragging his people into a war they could not win.
I will go alone.
Bleda stood, eyes meeting hers.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Riv said. “It is too dangerous.”
Bleda blinked at that, a look of pain momentarily sweeping aside his cold-face, as if Riv had slapped him.
“I am not afraid,” he said.
“I don’t think you are,” Riv said, “it is I who am afraid. I fear for you. For all of you. I will not have your deaths on my conscience. I will do this alone.”
“You do not have the exclusive right of vengeance,” Bleda said. “Kol slew my brother and sister, threw their heads at my feet.” He closed his eyes a moment. “Even if you were not my friend, we have a common enemy in Kol. We are bound by that.”
“And don’t think we’d just let you go flying off into danger without us,” Jost said, rising alongside Bleda.
“Aye. We are closer than kin,” Vald said. “Riv, the winged shieldmaiden. You’ve guarded my back more times than I can count.”
Vald and Jost stood, a statement.
“I’ve no love for Kol,” Fia said, standing with them. “He would have had me murder my bairn and bury him here.”
“I follow my prince,” Ellac said, though he did not stand.
Riv stared at them all, emotions swirling through her like a winter storm. Love, fear, relief, worry.
Footfalls thudded in the forest litter and one of Bleda’s guards appeared from the shadows.
“People approach us,” he hissed, an arrow loosely nocked at his bow. “One has left them, is coming this way. A woman, a White-Wing.”
A woman.
They all stood, Riv staring at the Sirak warrior. Fia burst into motion, running to the cabin.
“Shall I kill her?” the Sirak asked Bleda.
“No,” Riv hissed, fear and hope flickering in her belly. Bleda gestured for the warrior to hold.
Riv waited a score of breaths, then a score more, tense as a bowstring.
Now another figure was stepping from the shadows, a woman, short-cropped dark hair, wrapped in a bearskin cloak, beneath it a black cuirass with white wings embossed upon it.
“Aphra. Thank Elyon you live,” Riv said, taking a few steps towards her sister.
Something in Aphra’s eyes made Riv stop.
“I am sorry,” Aphra said.
And then shadows swept across the glade, the sound of beating wings, and Ben-Elim were swooping from the sky.
CHAPTER THREE
FRITHA
Fritha stared at the blood on her hands.
She was sitting at the end of a pier, feet dangling, the slate-grey waters of Starstone Lake lapping beneath her boots. A sword rested across her knees, its hilt plain and leather-bound, sweat-stained, the blade a dull black beneath the gore crusted upon it.
Snow was falling, gentle as a sigh, flakes settling upon her stained hands. She watched as the snowflakes melted, fascinated as the congealed mess on her palm softened and leaked into each snowflake, spreading like a dark poison through pure white veins.