Corvus Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 7 of 11

They camped two nights closer to the court. The shadow bond ran hot between them now. Elara felt Corvus's pulse jump at sounds he never flinched at before. His worry slid under her skin like cold water. She woke once already clenching his knife. On the third night they shared a narrow cottage bed in a borrowed room. Corvus slept with his hand on her wrist. Elara dreamed of a silk tent lit by a single lantern. A courtier sat inside, pouring wine for two. He wore court colors but no badge. He slid a folded letter across the table. "For passage," he said. "He owes me. I owe your man's father." She saw his face clearly. She saw the seal. She woke holding a cream parchment letter. Red wax sealed it shut. Ink stains marked one corner. It had not been in the room when she lay down. Corvus sat up fast, already reading her panic through the bond. She pressed the letter into his palm. "A courtier," she said. "He keeps a tent for quiet work. He knew your father. He'll get us through the gate." Corvus turned the seal toward the candle. His breath caught. "I know this mark. He was on my list of three." Elara held his eyes. "Then take him off it." Corvus was quiet a long moment. He set the letter on his father's worn leather journal, feathers pressed flat between its pages. "One name," he said. "That's all I'm moving." She nodded. "One is enough." At dawn they walked west again with a new door waiting at the end of the road. The bond had stopped leaking. It had delivered something instead. But Corvus kept turning the seal in his fingers, and Elara felt the new question rise in him before he spoke it. If a man he had sworn was beyond saving could send help — who else on his list had he read wrong?