The Raven's Burden (Arsyn Morgan Book 3) by J.A. Stowe

Author:J.A. Stowe [Stowe, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

When I got out of the bath, my bedroom was empty. The others were preparing themselves for the summit, too. A long black dress was laid on the foot of my bed alongside a necklace. Quillon must have left this for me. It was plain. And black. Much more my style than gold chains.

I touched the fabric. It was soft and light. A simple silver chain with a purple stone, like a cloudy crystal, lay next to the dress. I picked it up and ran my thumb over the sharp edges. The inert touchstone.

It was a reminder of what I'd already done for the daeva people. I just wasn't sure if it was meant as a message to me or to the rulers. I fastened the chain around my neck. The touchstone hung just below my collarbone. I could swear I still felt the slightest pulse against my skin, but there was no magic left in the stone.

As much as I wanted to throw the dress off the balcony and put on a pair of pants, Quillon always had a reason for everything he did. There was always the chance he'd drop me off the clock tower and the skirt would turn into a parachute.

But I could still put my own twist on it.

I slipped the dress on. Luckily, it closed with a simple set of hooks on the side. Like the golden dress, it fit me perfectly, hugging my curves. I felt like I could move easily in it. As I walked to the closet, a slit exposed my right leg with every step. Like the dress I'd worn to the daeva ball on the night I first met Quillon.

I dug through the endless drawers of accessories in the closet, finding a pair of steel pauldrons. Intricate, swirling designs were engraved in the burnished surface. They sat perfectly on my shoulders, and their dark leather straps crisscrossed my chest and back. I glanced at myself in the mirror. I looked like someone who had a magical ball at seven but had to fight a dragon at nine. Maybe casual armor would be my new look.

I pulled the towel off my damp hair and braided it tightly. I put on my trusty combat boots, still covered in blood and salt water, and then it was time to meet the other rulers. It was time to become the herald.

Or to get laughed out of the room.

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