A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,119

the table, gesturing for Kol and Riv to sit.

Balur and Ethlinn entered the room, the other giant with the crow upon his shoulder following them. They all took seats around the table, silent while Byrne poured warm mead for them all.

Byrne offered a cup to Riv.

“To warm your bones. It must be cold so high in the sky.”

“It is,” Riv said, surprised at Byrne’s words. She had not expected… kindness. “My thanks,” she added.

“What is your name, child?” Byrne said.

“Her name is Riv,” Balur said. Riv met Balur’s eye, preparing herself for his disapproval or disgust, as she had done many times in the last moon. She was relieved to find an intrigued curiosity instead. “Riv belongs to the White-Wings, she has the making of a fine warrior,” the giant rumbled.

Riv blinked at that, stunned at Balur’s words. She had not thought for a moment that he had ever noticed her on the weapons-field. But more than that, it felt fine to not be defined by her wings, for once, but instead by her skill.

“I’m a White-Wing no more,” Riv said wryly. “These don’t fit so well in the shield wall.” She gave her wings a pulse.

Balur cracked a smile at that. “No, I imagine not. The shield wall is not the only way to fight, though. Come see me on the field and we’ll see what else you can do.”

Riv grinned at the honour.

Byrne moved on, poured her own cup and sat at the table.

“Israfil is dead, then,” she said.

“Aye,” Kol answered. He told them his version of events, much as he had the day Riv had watched him in the Great Hall at Drassil, using his oratory flair and charm. It did not seem to work so well on Byrne, Ethlinn and Balur as it had on the crowds at Drassil, though. They listened, asked questions, but at no point did Riv think they were ever swept up in Kol’s rhetoric and glamour.

And then he spoke of Riv, explaining how he could not make the decision to execute her for the sins of those that had begotten her.

“I could not punish Riv, an innocent, for the sins of her father,” Kol said. “I could not do it. And as I thought of the reasons behind that, I realized that it is time for things to change. That we Ben-Elim cannot be so rigid on all things. There must be compromise, a moving forward together. So, I am a new Lord Protector, with a new vision.”

Byrne just leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled as she listened to Kol speak of his vision for a new world and a new relationship between Ben-Elim and mankind.

When he had finished, a silence settled. Byrne spoke first.

“I welcome your new-found open-mindedness,” she said, something shifting across her face, behind her eyes. “It is long overdue. As you well know, things are different here from life in Drassil, and Elyon’s Lore has never been as… central to how we live our lives, or rigorously adhered to. We live our lives by Truth and Courage. Love and loyalty, friendship and honour are our guiding lights.”

Riv liked the ring of that, though by Kol’s face he was not impressed that Byrne so easily dismissed the Lore of Elyon.

“But I, too, have news that you should hear, and I think it will affect both of our worlds significantly.” She paused a moment, studying Kol. “We have found Gulla.”

“What?” Kol said, leaning forwards in his chair. The enigmatic, warm-hearted statesman of a few moments ago was gone, replaced with a cold hatred.

“Where is he?” Kol snarled.

“The Desolation,” Balur One-Eye said.

Kol snapped his fingers. “You are mustering for a campaign,” he said. “I saw all of the signs on our flight in. More warriors in Dun Seren than there have been for a hundred years, the forge fires burning, grain barns filling.”

“We are,” Byrne agreed.

“I should have been told.” Kol scowled. “You cannot march without the Ben-Elim. The Kadoshim are my ancient foe. Gulla is my ancient foe.” He leaned back in his chair, a tremor running through him as he tried to master his emotions. “You should have sent word. How long have you known?”

“Hints and rumours a little over a moon ago. It was only confirmed yesterday.”

“You have been mustering longer than one day,” Kol said.

“Better to be ready than dead,” the scruffy-looking crow croaked.

“Exactly, Craf,” Byrne said, the hint of a smile ghosting her lips. “And I could not send word—all of my crows are