Soul of the Crow: An Epic Dark Fantasy (Reapers of Veltuur Book 1), стр. 32

“I have new orders,” I say. “The Council has interest in the Guardians you spoke of. I am to aid you in finding them and report back to Veltuur.”

The color drains from his face at the mention of the underrealm. He blinks, recomposing himself, if only slightly. “Who’s the Council?”

The question confuses me. “What do you mean? The Council oversees Veltuur and all of the Reapers. You must know that.”

“Why would I know that? It’s not like I’ve spent a lot of time down there, consorting with the Reapers and swapping stories about my favorite ways to murder children.”

“We don’t—” I start, but recognizing the futility of arguing with someone who doesn’t understand Veltuur or appreciate the balance of life and death, I stop short. Instead, I focus on the realization that he isn’t arguing with me about having new orders, which seems to hint that he at least believes that such a thing is possible. “The Council is who I receive my orders from,” I say plainly. A twinge in my side warns me that maybe I have said too much already. I had never thought that the knowledge of Veltuur was meant to be kept a secret, but I begin to wonder now.

“What do they want with the Guardians?” he asks next, pushing himself up on unsteady legs.

It is another fortunate moment where I am not forced to think of a lie.

“I do not know. Questions aren’t really permitted when you have an order. You just do it, so that’s what I’m doing.”

He seems to mull this over, scrutinizing me with a pained expression. “And what makes you think I want to bring you with me? I could just leave you behind and find the Guardian on my own.” Though his sentiment is strong, the words wobble in his throat.

Like the predator that I am, I find his weakness tantalizing. An open invitation to strike.

“What makes you think you have a choice? With one touch I could claim your life here and now and search for the Guardian without you.”

As I say the words, I see his demeanor change back to the frantic distrust of a mouse. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I curse my instincts. I’ve just undone what little foundation I’d worked to build. This whole friending him business is going to be more difficult than I thought.

“I don’t talk to people much,” I admit.

I expect nervous laughter from him, but he’s too frozen, like a deer before a wolf.

“What I meant is,” I say, struggling to add a gentleness to my voice. “I need the Guardian to appease the Council, and you need the Guardian to save your sister. We can search by ourselves, but we might find a Guardian sooner if we helped each other.”

“Y—you just said you didn’t need to kill her anymore. Why would I still need to save my sister if you’re no longer meant to kill her?” he says pointedly.

My eyes slam shut.

“You’re lying! You do still want to kill her. You’re just trying to lure me into a false sense of safety or whatever, so I’ll lead you straight to her. Well, it—it’s not happening!”

Caw-caw-caw! Caw-caw-caw!

I kick my heel at Crow, stopping its mocking laughter at once. But it has every right to mock me. The prince has seen right through me, and to no one’s fault but my own. I couldn’t even make one little lie believable.

From the middle of the woods, suddenly every shadow I see feels like it’s watching us. My imagination plays tricks on me, branches becoming claws, leaves rustling like wings. I’m sure that if I can’t convince him here and now then Veltuur will summon me back and I’ll be forced to accept a fate far worse than the embarrassment of trying to befriend a mortal.

I can’t give up now.

“Just because my contract has ended, doesn’t mean your father can’t request another Reaper to finish the job,” I reason. “He threatened to do as much back at the palace when you fled with the princess. I reassured him I’d handle it, but now that I’ve been reassigned, it’s only a matter of time before he finds out and decides to request another Reaper. I don’t need to remind you how easily a Reaper will be able to find her. They’ll faze right to her, and you won’t be there to protect her this time.”

“Any Reaper can?”

“No, not any—”

“Can you burst to her now, or whatever you called it? You know, poof: you turn us into smoke and then we can find where the bandits took her. Before another Reaper does.”

I scowl. He’s either really good at sniffing out lies and already knows that I can’t actually faze to her, or he’s just really lucky. “That’s not how it works. A Reaper can only faze to the life they’ve been bound to by their contract. Since the princess is no longer mine, Crow can no longer faze us to her.”

An acquiescent frown. Slowly the prince starts to nod. “I guess that’s a good thing. It means you’re telling the truth and Gem really isn’t your target anymore.”

“All I care about is locating this Guardian you spoke of so I can report back to Veltuur.”

The prince goes silent, distance growing between us again. He draws inward, a glint of guilt dulling his normally striking brown irises, until he’s riddled with dread. “If we found the Guardians—or even just a Guardian—and you told your Council about them or her—or whatever—what would happen next? Would they… would they kill her-him-it?”

I think for a moment, unsure what exactly to say to him. I’m not actually sure what will happen to the Guardians after I report them. All I know is what I’ve been instructed to do, and once I relay the information, the Guardians are no longer my problem.

“I don’t know,” I say finally. “Does it matter?”

“Yes! Of course it matters. I can’t just condemn them