So I told him. I told him about the types of crows, from how a shadow crow could deceive your perception of space, camouflaging itself in night, to the way a sun crow’s golden touch could heal a wound in minutes. I told him how a battle crow could turn its feathers to metal and release them on command and about the black-gold weapons the Turren masters made from it.

He asked questions, more than I’d ever been asked. He was quick, easily picking up on the patterns of their magic and remembering the smallest details.

“So a water crow could turn water to ice?” he asked, and I nodded. “Could they create mist then too?”

“Yep. On especially hot days, riders would drop mist from the sky to cool workers in the fields.”

“And your students at the riding school. Not all of them became riders?”

“Only about half.”

Becoming a rider took a lifetime of dedication. Even before contenders entered Kalestel, the riding school, crows would have been their lives. They’d have been raised working with them, learning their strengths and weaknesses, the extent of their abilities, the history of their wings. And after all that, less than half of them would become riders.

Typically, it was a mantle passed down from parent to child, uncle to niece, staying firmly rooted in familial lines. Anyone could apply to Kalestel, and they frequently took students outside of established rider families, but it was rare for a crow to form a connection with one.

In the end, they became involved in other ways. Working at Kalestel, turning to wing-specific trades focused around the crows, like the Garien leatherworkers who crafted the finest saddles.

Caylus tapped his fingers on his leg, absently moving them about for the kitten to pounce on. “It’s strange that it stays mostly in families. I wonder…” He trailed off, his brows furrowing and his head tilting in a way I’d come to understand meant he was faced with a problem he couldn’t solve.

“Wonder what?” I asked.

He blinked. “Sorry. I wonder if forming a bond with a crow has an impact on a person’s physiology somehow. Something passed down generation to generation.”

I grinned. “You’re good. Some Rhodairen scholars thought the same thing. They called it magic lines.”

He leaned forward, eyes bright. “But then the question is what exactly is passed down.”

“Crows form bonds with their riders,” I said, excitement prickling my skin. “Unbreakable bonds, as strong as a real cord strung between them. This journal I read thought it might be related to them.”

He nodded enthusiastically, not even noticing as the kitten pounced, digging his tiny claws into the back of Caylus’s hand. “But the question is, do the chosen riders already have magic, or do the crows grant it to them when the bond forms?”