toward him, opening them, and stepped out onto the balcony.
‘It is done,’ he said to the now silent waiting raven.
It watched him, head cocked to one side as Reynard clambered with difficulty up onto the balcony railings and teetered. Reynard gave a last look at the bird that had been his co-conspirator and nodded with a sad smile. ‘Our part is over. I have achieved what I must. I cannot be taken alive by the police. You know what to do.’
The bird leapt at its companion and shoved at his head hard with its feet. It didn’t take any more than that to send Monsieur Reynard toppling from the penthouse floor of the apartment building, muttering a strange incantation as he fell to his death.
The raven blinked at the lifeless shape crumpled below, sad for Reynard, who had been brave to the last, before it leapt into the air, flapping its strong wings and lifting itself high above Gabe’s apartment to fly with purpose toward Notre Dame Cathedral.
It ascended higher still above the sweeping gothic architecture until it was a dark speck in an overcast sky. Only the keenest of sights would have seen the raven bank slightly and pause for a heartbeat before it began a fast descent, shaping itself into an arrow as though shot from a master bowman. Its target was clear, its aim was perfect. Moments later the bird impaled itself soundlessly on the sharp piece of wood it had previously marked out for this very task.
The raven’s last thought, cast toward another world, in the hope that his king would hear him, was a plea to remember the being that was Ravan as a brave member of his flock. And as the bird closed its eyes, its immortal spirit transcended the broken, pierced body of the host and fled.
EIGHT
As Reynard was banging in an apartment door in Paris, Fynch and Cassien had already been travelling north in Morgravia for six hours at a steady clip. Fynch had been determined not to wear out the animals with hard riding, and as much as Cassien urged him to push the beasts to a gallop, Fynch refused.
‘If we cover eighteen miles today, it will be a good journey and our mounts will have time to rest, to eat and be fresh for tomorrow.’
‘Where will we reach by this evening?’
‘By sundown we should crest Vincen’s Saddle.’ At Cassien’s frown Fynch gestured with his hands toward the rise ahead. ‘The path leads us up this hill and then another soon after, and from afar the landscape looks like a horse’s saddle.’
‘From a dragon’s back one could be fanciful about any landscape,’ Cassien suggested in a wry tone.
Fynch smiled and it was full of affection. ‘Indeed.’ But that was all. Cassien decided he would not pry further.
‘And Vincen?’ he said instead.
‘No idea.’ They both grinned. ‘There’s an excuse for an inn in the village below. The village is called, rather fancifully I might add, Partridge Vale, and the inn is even more deluded, boasting the name of the Queen’s Rest, but the ale is honest and the food passable.’
‘I don’t eat much,’ Cassien admitted. ‘I can go without if necessary.’
‘Nothing doing. Just don’t eat the pigeon pie if it’s on.’
‘Why?’
‘You don’t want to know,’ Fynch said archly. He slid off his horse and walked it to the stream they’d been following for several miles. Cassien followed suit. It was a lonely road and they’d met few other travellers, certainly none in the last few hours.
He leaned against his horse as it quenched its thirst, and became aware of the new weaponry perched around his body. It was hard to credit how comfortable it felt — as though it had always been there or had been moulded to him. He blinked, realising another aspect about the weapons as he watched Fynch dig out an apple and feed it to his mount.
‘Have you noticed that Wevyr’s weapons make no noise?’
‘I wondered how long that would take,’ Fynch replied absently.
‘How can metal at my side make no noise?’
‘Ask Wevyr.’
‘Doesn’t it intrigue you?’
Fynch changed subjects. ‘You’ll need to push yourself to mix with people. Stoneheart is like a small city within the larger one of Pearlis. The palace is going to challenge you in ways you can’t imagine and one of the most simple and yet perhaps most daunting hurdles will be feeling comfortable around the endless movement. Stoneheart never sleeps. There are always people working.’
‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’
‘You have to do more than manage, son. I am asking you to infiltrate the life of a queen. It is a tricky task and the politics surrounding her will make you dizzy.’
Cassien nodded. ‘It doesn’t matter about me. What matters is her life. I’m being sent in to keep her safe.’
‘Well said.’
‘Tell me, what does the queen think of this notion of a complete stranger walking into her life and shadowing her every move?’
‘I don’t think she minds the notion yet.’
‘Yet?’
Fynch shrugged. ‘I don’t think she minds just yet because she doesn’t know you’re coming,’ he explained.
‘Shar’s wrath!’
The older man scratched genially at the close beard that made him look as though he’d been dusted with flour. ‘Florentyna will see reason, I’m sure of it.’
‘Reason,’ Cassien murmured, shaking his head. ‘What reason should I go with? A demon is coming to kill you, your majesty, and this man you see before you who, by the way, has just walked out of the woods, is here to keep you safe?’
‘Sarcasm is a cheap form of attack, Cassien, or didn’t Brother Josse teach you that?’ Fynch chided. ‘You must trust me. I think Florentyna does. I just don’t think most of the people around her do.’
‘Who else trusts you? Knows about this?’
‘Two others.’
‘And you trust them?’
He nodded and his expression became as sombre as Cassien could remember. ‘We should keep riding.’ He led his horse back to the road and Cassien followed, easily catching the apple that Fynch tossed over his shoulder for Cassien’s horse.
‘I have entrusted only one man with the information you now know. He is from the court, one of the most senior noblemen and a close advisor to the queen. He was, to some extent, like a father to her after she lost her own.’
‘That’s a relief. I’ll likely need some allies in the palace.’
‘He’s not in the palace, I’m afraid … not any longer.’
‘So how does he help
