The raven doesn’t move. It doesn’t need to. Straia can see through its eyes and hear through its ears, and so she knows. She is sorely tempted to leave Camrynn standing there for a while, just as a silent punishment. No, Straia doesn’t know. But she has her suspicions. There are only so many magicians in Beqanna. Eight likely would have sided with the Chamber, or just stayed out of it. Prague maybe would have helped, but the Amazons have no alliances and she doubts that Prague would run off and just go help the Gates because. Maybe, Prague is an option. But she’s an unlikely one.

There’s always Errant. He’s kind enough to help, but again, she doesn’t think he’s actually likely to do so. Camrynn, who is likely to do things because she can, but unlikely to do something like make the Deserts the Chamber’s next target. Sure, the Deserts may have magicians, but so does the Chamber. Sure, the Deserts may be well guarded, but the Chamber is well armed. Could they destroy the Deserts as easily as the Gates? No, of course not. Could they damn well do some damage? Without a doubt.

There’s also Evrae and Carnage. Both of them were old, plenty powerful enough to do something like move a monsoon. But Carnage is about the last horse in Beqanna to stop destruction. And Evrae? Well she’s the wildcard. She comes and goes and does as she pleases, but from the stories, it’s unlikely to be her as well.

And then there’s Yael. It’s a shame, because Straia almost liked the golden mare. Almost. But she is goody-goody enough to go save the Gates because she could. Because playing Goddess is probably fun. And so while she cannot know for sure, Straia thinks she knows.

And then Camrynn offers an apology, and Straia, being Straia, takes it as an admittance of guilt.

She doesn’t make the black magician wait, though she doesn’t rush. She weaves through the trees easily, finding the mare with her many markings and sky blue eyes. There’s little to adorn Straia other than the crown of raven feathers on her head, but Straia has never needed much to be impressive. She doesn’t gleam like Camrynn, but wears scratches from the trees like armor, her mane and tail wild. She is beautiful because she does not try, does not care. She has never needed to gleam to turn heads.

Straia though finds, as annoyed as she is that magicians insist upon pretending to be Gods, that she is not boiling with anger. But of course, she has always been calm and cool and collected. Why? Because revenge is a dish best served cold. She does not forget. But she does not claw and rage and froth like many in the Chamber.

A dancing raven sits in the forefront of her mind, blocking the rest of her thoughts. It’s a great little trick she’s discovered, keeping prying minds out of her own prying mind. “I hear you are looking for me,” she says simply, and then nothing more.

straia

the raven queen of the chamber