Soul of the Crow: An Epic Dark Fantasy (Reapers of Veltuur Book 1), стр. 34
However, without a Reaper and a crow present, the souls of the fallen are just…lost. They linger in the mortal realm, wandering and shattered, never to be reborn again. At least, that’s what we are told. I’ve never actually seen one of them with my own eyes, but I understand mine and Crow’s roles in this well enough to know it is the truth.
But I say none of this to the prince. There’s hardly any reassurance to be had from knowing his loved ones will never be reborn, that they are gone forever, especially since the memory of their deaths clearly still pains him.
I’ve seen mortals comfort each other during times like these, times of grief and immense sorrow. A pat on the back, some gentle words, and they let each other know that they’re not alone and that they’re cared for.
For the briefest moment, I’m tempted to try my hand at it. But even in my charade of friendliness, I wouldn’t even remotely know how to do it correctly.
I change the subject instead. “Remind me your name, prince.”
“Prince? I’m not sure I carry the title anymore,” he says with a sad laugh. “My name is Acari. You’re…my father called you Sinisa, right?”
I nod, admittedly surprised to find that he already knew my name. I guess one would remember the name of the Reaper who was going to execute their sister though.
“If we’re going to work together,” I say before the conversation veers down that path again. “I think you should tell me what happened to your sister.”
12
By Order of the King
Acari
I know I shouldn’t trust her—she’s a Reaper for crying out loud, a Reaper who I only met because she was originally sent to kill my sister. Then again, if she’s not going to kill her anymore, maybe it’s okay to trust her? Especially since she might be my only chance at getting Gem back. It’s not like I, alone, can walk into a bandit camp and rescue her. I’ll need some muscle, and what better muscle than a Reaper?
“Okay, so, after I hit you over the head—sorry about that, by the way—we took one of the royal steeds. I haven’t really ridden a horse in a long time, not since one bucked me off when I was about ten and my brother just sat there laughing at me, so I was kind of terrified about riding one, on top of already being terrified about being chased by a Reaper, but…”
When I peer up from the rolling and twirling of my hands, I find Sinisa staring at me flatly.
Just because I believe she can help me, doesn’t mean she doesn’t still scare me. She has the power of death. Death. Who wouldn’t be terrified of someone who all it took was a touch of the skin and, poof, you’re dead? Further still, who would want to risk getting on that person’s bad side?
“Right. You want me to get to the point. I can do that,” I say, folding my hands over themselves to keep them under control. Sometimes it feels like they have free reign; so does my mouth. “Okay, so, we were running through the bandits when a group of forests showed up.”
It’s only when I finish the sentence that I hear my mistake. I start to correct it, but Sinisa waves me on, apparently already understanding my intent.
But it’s here in the story that my recollection becomes fuzzy. I can recall one of the bandits stepping forward to examine Gem, but then nothing else. The memory turns gray and I’m left wading in the mist.
“They used daminila pollen on you,” Sinisa says with a shrug. “It’s not uncommon for people to fight its effects. I wouldn’t be surprised if you fell asleep before the rest of your body did. You probably stumbled over to the tree on your own, while they stowed your sister away.” A grin pops up on her face. “It was probably fairly amusing.”
Despite knowing how rude it’s considered to gawk at someone, I find myself doing it now. To be fair, she started the rudeness. I mean, who makes a joke like that…now?
“What?”
“Don’t you know when it’s appropriate or not to make a joke?”
Her smile disappears, a thoughtful frown replacing it. “No.”
I smack my face. There are about a hundred or more masters of social etiquette in the kingdoms who would better suited to this task than I am, but since we’re alone in the middle of nowhere, I’m afraid I might be all she has.
“Well,” I say, straining to form a simple explanation that seems all too logical to me. “Here’s a general rule for you: when someone’s family is in danger, it’s probably best to refrain from making a joke. People might find it…tasteless.”
“Okay,” she says, shrugging before turning around and calling behind her. “Crow!”
The bird spreads its black wings and sails through the fading light of day. I expect it to land on her shoulder like it did in the palace, but it instead chooses to land on the ground between us. Resisting the urge to jump back, I instead grimace, disgusted and frightened by its proximity.
“Go to Veltuur. Talk with the other crows and see if any of them have heard of bandits in the area. Come back to me as soon as you know something.” Before the bird can turn to smoke, she adds, “And if you don’t learn anything by tomorrow morning, I expect you back regardless. Don’t just leave me here like I know you want to.”
It croaks, and for a second, I think it sounds like it is in protest, but it disappears seconds later.
“You