The unanswered questions stretched out before me like a dark, endless hall. Most importantly of all, why had Razel confiscated my letter? Did she suspect me, or was this just another method of control?

I retreated to my room for some powder, then approached the dying embers of the fire with care. Coating the paper in the powder, I unfolded the letter and held it as far away from the fire as I could while still illuminating the invisible ink.

Thia,

I talked to Lady Kerova about Res’s magic. She says this is very common with orphan crows. Without his mother or eggmates around to learn from, you’re his only source of guidance. She also said without his eggmates to challenge him for dominance, he might feel like he doesn’t need his magic. Apparently, some crows just need a little push. I have no idea what that means, but she said to focus on the bond between you and you’ll figure it out.

Good luck,

Caliza

A push? I closed my eyes, reaching along the cord to Res and receiving soft thrums of sleep in response. The feeling flowed through me in a soothing rhythm, like the ebb and flow of the tide.

I prayed Lady Kerova was right.

Twenty-Five

I skipped training that morning, eager to get to Caylus’s and put Lady Kerova’s advice into action. Leaping from the carriage, I burst into the bakery to the scent of sugar and lemon and raced up the stairs, a wrapped parcel of chicken from Tarel in hand. The door was already opening when I reached the top.

“Res was going wild like he does when you’re close,” Caylus explained with a smile.

I grinned, slipping past him and nearly barreling straight into Res, who cawed happily, lifting and lowering his wings in a flutter of excitement and nudging my empty hand with his beak.

“I don’t suppose there was any inexplicable lightning last night?” I asked.

Caylus closed the door and glanced out at the clouded sky. It was a clear, sunny day by Illucian standards, patches of blue among the gray. “Sorry,” he replied. He retreated to the kitchen island where he picked up a chocolate chip scone from the counter and tore off a piece, tossing it to Res.

I stared at him. “Scones? Scones are not part of a crow’s diet!”

“We ran out of chicken,” Caylus said simply, as if that explained why he was now feeding Res sugar and flour. “He wanted breakfast,” he added.

“All he ever wants is breakfast,” I replied with a groan. “And lunch and dinner and a thousand snacks in between. You’d think all that energy would make for some nice lightning.”