Feathers So Vicious (Court of Ravens, #1)

by Liv Zander

Breathe in. Don’t cry, Galantia. Breathe out. Don’t cry, Galantia.

If anything, I was looking forward to a life away from Father’s silent disappointment and Mother’s vocal disdain. Not to mention the suffocating restrictions of nonsensical rules that had wrapped me like porcelain for years. Don’t run, Galantia. Don’t cry, Galantia. Don’t walk in the rain, Galantia. Don’t touch the knife, Galantia.

Strange heat seeped into me, making me distressingly aware of the nearness between us. If Mother saw me this close to man—worse, a Raven!—she would faint. Internally, I grinned at that.

“That’s not how fate works, sweetheart.” Boots lowered to the ground, he straightened, giving a tap at his chest. “Imagine an invisible string tied around your heart, Galantia, right here beneath your ribs, tugging you toward your mate. You long for this person with an intensity that turns every second you are not united into agony.

Chapter Sixteen Galantia Present day, Deepmarsh Castle With my back pressed against the stone frame and one leg stretched out on its sill, I sat inside the corridor’s window since it offered the most light this late in the day, the book resting on my lap bound in blackened leather. It had appeared by my door the morning after the library atop a few others with no note. Not that it had needed one. The title gave away my ever-so-vexing benefactor. Ravens: a Compendium of Gifts. As far as gifts went, there existed four major types of Ravens: weavers, fates, pathfinders, and voids. Except for the pathfinder, all came with variations, such as voids who could absorb other’s shadowsgifts, temporarily wielding them as their own. They called them echos—a rare gift, but not nearly as rare as its third variation. The thief. I ran my fingertip along the lines in the book as I read… There once was a Raven, blessed with the gift of the thief. So empty was the void at his core, so desperate for shadows, he stole the gifts of three deathweavers and wielded them as his own. Great was the power he gained for the house Khysal, crowning himself king. Greater even was the burden he carried, the rage of stolen shadows within. Until, one fateful night, they swallowed him whole, turning blessing to blight.

“Delos’ta lay.” “Yes.” That had been the title of the book in the library Malyr had wanted to read. “What does it mean?” “It means The Endless Ache. Right in here, remember?” A tap against his chest. “It’s where our anoa longs for our fated mate, to a point it can be physically painful.”

“Fated only to end in emotional tragedy.” His fingers stalled in my hair, and I only now noticed the slight tremble they carried. “As it should. As it ought to. Anything other than that, Galantia, would be too great a betrayal to my family, no matter my personal… affliction.”

“You said you hope that your actions added months to my time in the dungeons, but little dove, I never escaped them. They are with me, inside me, forever a part of me.”

“I would rather suffer The Endless Ache than watch my mate endlessly suffer me. You, however, will.”

“My father was a… a harsh man, and my mother his soft counterpart. Fate always makes it so, creating the perfect bond that runs deeper than death.”

“Maybe we are truly fated only to end in emotional tragedy…” “Little dove,” his whisper came with a salty kiss to my lips before he straightened and placed his own by my ear, “love is tragedy.” I hate that I love you.

There was a love in Malyr’s punishments, a sincerity in his cruelty that stripped me bare and made me feel more seen, more understood than ever before. But the worst, most confusing part of all this?

What would it feel like to be loved with such intensity? Such unequivocal fortitude, not even death could impose conditions?

“See, there is no love for you here—not from me, not from him. There is no love for you anywhere.”