Erador pressed his palms on the cold edges of the bench. He glared at Emera, and sat forward against his toes ready to pounce to his feet once her lips moved. She cast side glances and fidgeted with the knot of her scarf. The brown, and green mesh of colors was like vomit; what he would rather be doing then suffering through this recurring bickering.

  “Please, Lord.” Emera flinched at the sound of Erador shifting to his feet. “We’re asking for assistance.”

  Erador was surprised she wasn’t begging on all fours with her pathetic plea.

  Judgment sucked in a wheezing breath. “I said no.”

  His head slumped to the side of the backrest of his throne. Every day Judgment wanted to be placed here as if sitting in a fancy chair would make him seem authoritative but he already appeared dead.

  Judgment lifted a shaking hand. His sleeve slid down his pale, crepe skin, revealing the bandages covering his sores. “Tell them, Erador.”

  “You’ve read the treaty,” Erador said, taking his place by the throne. “New Akthelia wants us to surrender Lord Judgment and Lucrethia. My father will not be sacrificed for a few sacks of grain.”

  Oliver banged his cane against the black carpet rimmed with a gold border. “Why not? New Akthelia is willing to negotiate!”

  Erador raised his eyebrows. “Have you forgotten their pregnant queen?” He walked down the steps and Emera clung to Oliver’s arm. “Do you think they would honor any negotiations after she was murdered by a Lucrethian?”

  Oliver’s jaw stiffened and his averted eyes conveyed shame in his hopeful thinking. When the treaty was delivered to Lucrethia’s gates, they knew rumors about the princess’s healing blood reached New Akthelia. They likely wanted to take his father’s life before he had a chance to be saved.

  Erador raised his jaw. “Why don’t you work on fixing the problem?”

  “We’ve tried,” Oliver said. “Our crops die the moment they sprout. Those that make it become this.” He lifted a black, wilted plant. “This happens to all of them.”

  Erador swept up the plant and shook it. “Then destroy these crops and clear a new area. How hard can that be?”

  Oliver flattened his lips, which said to Erador that he didn’t want to. He’d been loyal to Judgment longer than Erador knew, overseeing the agriculture. Now he was old, with more wrinkles and sun spots on his tan skin than his father had. Oliver had given up. Yet Judgment, who had suffered for years, hadn’t. He still had faith in the Ring of Awakening, when his followers were losing it. Disgust boiled in Erador’s chest for how quick these people were willing to give up after being here so long. His father didn’t deserve this.

  Oliver claimed nature elements were useless against this disease that had ravaged the plants. It seemed more than chance their crops were dying, likely sabotaged by New Akthelia so they could get what they wanted.

  “Poisoner,” Emera mumbled.

  Erador cocked his head. “What did you say?”

  “Uh...” Emera clenched the skirt of her dress, avoiding his dark eyes. “Please... I said please.”

  “Poor liar.” Erador threw the plant at her and she jumped. “You said I’m a poisoner.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “And you continue to lie?” Erador stomped to Emera who ducked her head. “Look at me and tell me what you said.”

  He waited. Emera’s mouth twitched, wrinkles taut on her tanned face.

  “Say it,” he hissed.

  Emera flinched.

  Erador shook his head. Rumors had spread further after Miraline’s outburst at the festival. Followers whispered as he passed them on the streets, and watched him with distrust. Emera was like the rest of them.

  “You can say it under your breath, but you’re afraid to face me. Afraid to look me in the eye.” He leaned close, whispering, “Afraid the shadows will get you?”

  “Stop!” Oliver lifted his arm between them. “You’re scaring her.”

  “You people are pathetic.” Erador let out a sharp breath. “When you tell me you can’t fix this,” he said, kicking the plant, “you’re giving up.”

  “We aren’t,” Oliver said. “We’re afraid there won’t be enough food before the next harvest. Even the livestock are sick. All we have to eat is sunflower seeds. There’s no paradise here to save us. We need help.”

  “How do I know it wasn’t you who bargained with New Akthelia?”

  “Are you kidding?” Oliver burst out in laughter. “I wouldn’t allow us to starve.”

  “You would hand my father over if his Paradins weren’t in the way.” Erador looked over Oliver in disgust. “You know if he signs that treaty, he’s ending his life and everything he has done for this town, the people, and you.”

  Oliver lifted his chin. “Why should we honor a man who led us down this path of ruin?”

  His gaze flicked to the balcony. Erador didn’t acknowledge it, even when the Raven’s banner flashed in his mind. He wasn’t going to react to avoid satisfying Oliver’s pitiful defense.

  “Do not blame my father for the Raven’s actions again.” Erador lowered his voice, trying to contain his trembling rage.

  Judgment hacked. Erador cringed, his core shaking at the wet cough. Pia scrambled to the throne and slid a cloth across Judgment’s bloody chin. His wheezing breaths settled to a low whistling. Pia tossed the cloth in a bucket and it slopped as it hit the red water.

  Pain lingered in Erador’s chest as Pia shuffled into the light. The glow stretched across the dark circles under her eyes and dip in her lips. He couldn’t remember the last time her brown eyes shined. How could they when she’d been stuck inside the dark manor? Her brown skin appeared a little lighter than he recalled.

  “Take a break,” Erador said. “You deserve it.”

  Head down, Pia dragged a loose black hair from her ponytail behind her ear. She thanked him in a voice that felt empty, ungrateful. Erador tightened his jaw to choke back the rising frustration. No break would be sufficient for years of hard work, shown on her dried hands and white apron stained with blood.

  As she left through the archway, Erador stepped in front of the throne to block Emera’s and Oliver’s hopeful stares for Judgment’s death.

  “It’s time for you to leave.”

  Oliver banged his cane as if to ground himself to the rug. It fueled Erador’s building frustrations. As he called in the depths of his mind, coldness tingled through him and goosebumps rose on his skin. Darkness clouded Erador’s vision as Shade expanded on the wall.

  Emera whimpered and hid behind Oliver. He stood taller and rounded his shoulders, ignoring the black shadow that reached the banister.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” Oliver said, narrowing his eyes. “A shadow element is as useless as Lord Judgment. They’re meant to strike fear.”

  “Let’s see how brave you’re when you face a lurker,” Erador said.

  “Brother Retribution’s going to return one day,” Emera said, as she tugged Oliver down the rug, never taking her fearful gaze off Erador. “You… you wait.”

  They opened the double doors. With a reverberating bang they shut, ridding him of one burden. Erador didn’t want to think about the rumors about Taurin returning to save the followers. They had false hope because of their bad conditions. Taurin was taken the night he tortured Gillian. Some thought he wasn’t killed because no one saw him thrown in the pit.

  Judgment’s body trembled as he raised his hand to his forehead. “I never should’ve trusted the Paradins who destroyed my pendant.”

  “This again?” Erador’s features softened as he kneeled beside him. After Lucrethia learned of the New Akthelian queen’s murder, some of the Paradins turned on Judgment. They thought they had a chance if they handed him over before New Akthelian warriors came, but before they could do more damage, they were captured and executed. “You can’t help them.”

  “I could if I wasn’t like this!” Judgment hit the armrest. “Lucrethia wouldn’t be in this condition and my children wouldn’t want to leave. If Gillian—”

  “Oh no,” Erador said, lip curling. “Don’t bring her up again.”

  “She’ll get it.”

  “If she does, how can you have faith it’ll work?”

  Judgment grabbed Erador’s hand. His cold, weak grip sent chills through Erador, no matter how many times he touched him. “Believe in me, son. All will be well in time.”

  The front doors burst open. Hawth charged down the carpet and tumbled before Erador’s feet. His chest moved rapidly under his buttoned red jacket. Though his words were incoherent, his wide eyes conveyed horror Erador hadn’t seen since the festival. It burrowed through his chest like a lurker’s claw.

  “Say it again,” Erador said.

  Hawth took a deep breath. “The Raven... he’s gone.”

  Nostrils flaring, Erador lifted him by his red jacket. “Is this a joke?”

  “No, I swear.” Hawth held up his hands, yellow teeth peeking through his forced grin. “I gave the prisoners food and the Raven didn’t answer. He normally shovels the meal down.”

  “Could he be hiding?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Judgment grunted as he pushed his elbow against the armrest and sat up as if he was going to look himself. “Check if he’s there.”

  Surprised at his father’s strength, Erador let go of Hawth and gave a slow nod. “Yes, father.”

  He glimpsed at the shredded raven banner in the corner with the red X. It didn’t feel right—not after what that strange woman said about the Raven at the festival.

  “Move!” Erador pushed Hawth toward the doors.

  Hawth smoothed the wrinkles on his high-necked jacket and gave him a seething glare as he led him outside into the warm night. Eonidas stood from the bench positioned behind a pillar.

  “Watch my father. We’re changing positions.”

  Eonidas poked a thumb to his chest. “Yah owe me.”

  Erador went down the long stairs and stepped into the courtyard. Hawth grabbed the burning torch abandoned on the ground and moved a straight lock from his fierce eyes.

  Erador brushed past him. He stopped at the still fountain counting in his head to lower the rising steam. A complaint would come from Hawth any second. Ten seconds went by; past his record of when he usually yelled. Maybe Hawth had finally gotten the message that Erador hated him, but his relief didn’t last long.

  Hawth sighed. “You’re not going to at least apologize?”

  Erador turned around. “Is now a good time to discuss your feelings?”

  Hawth poked his chest. “I’m tired of you throwing me around!”

  Hawth only came up to Erador’s chest. With his shiny black hair to his shoulders, full cheeks and lips, he didn’t look intimidating enough to be a guard of the manor grounds. It didn’t help that he’d been called pretty by others.

  The fang dangling from a chain in his ear gave the illusion that he was strong enough to kill a beast and rip a tooth from its skull. But Erador couldn’t laugh about the earring when Hawth’s small brown eyes were always cold. The little sunflower earring next to it he probably wore to feel like one of Judgment’s soldiers, but without an element, he could never be one.

  Erador shoved him. “Can we focus?”

  Hawth grumbled as they left the courtyard and passed the manor’s tower. Erador ignored the frustrations that slipped from under Hawth’s breath and squeezed through a gap in the stone wall. Bits crumbled onto the overgrown path and the forest shadowed the last rays of light.

  Erador quickened to the path leading into the trees. No fear lingered in him. Hawth was lying and he would prove that it was a game. This wasn’t the first time he pulled something like this.

  “Should we rush?” Hawth lifted the torch, and their shadows stretched. “What if the Raven is around?”

  “I doubt he’ll stay near his cage.”

  “You never know. He could be behind this tree... or that tree. Or he could be me.” Hawth’s voice dropped below the sound of their footsteps. “What if the real Hawth is dead in these woods?”

  Erador shot a glare over his shoulder, his tone sharp. “I don’t think the Raven would be this annoying. In fact, I’d prefer him.”

  Erador ignored his complaints. The Raven wasn’t around. He couldn’t be. Erador moved on, scanning the forest. Every dark tree in his periphery appeared like a figure. He focused on their own footsteps. A branch snapped and leaves rustled nearby. His head jerked in the direction of the sound.

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  Hawth walked into him and looked around, huddling near Erador. “Maybe you heard him.”

  “Shut up!”

  The torch crackled and crickets chirped. Fireflies blinked through the trees. Erador moved cautiously, ears perked. What if Hawth was telling the truth? A dark shape nudged into his brain. Erador’s skin tingled. He shook off the idea, mentally cursing Shade who continued to rationalize that it could be the Raven. It had to be an animal, he told himself; it kept him moving.

  The narrow path widened into a small clearing of clovers that pressed against the rocky wall. Tangled roots clung to the stone and stretched to the door-shaped opening.

  Erador approached the steps chiseled from rock. The flight of stairs disappeared into the black depths. He squared his shoulders at the sight of darkness, but something was different. A swift breeze swept by the dungeon, raising the hairs on Erador’s skin as moans echoed inside. No matter how much he told himself it was the wind, he couldn’t shake the fear of what he might find.

  How deadly could a man be after being locked away for fifty years, fed nothing but scraps? The Raven wasn’t a lurker; not likely as horrible now and probably as bony and weak as his father.

  Erador looked back. Hawth drove the torch into the center of the clovers. His shaking hand dug in his pocket and pulled out a small rolled paper packed with ground dried buds.

  “It’s not time to smoke,” Erador said.

  "Oh, it is.” Hawth placed the twisted end to the flame and rotated it until it lit and brought the leef to his mouth, it wiggled in his lips as he spoke, “I need to clear my head.”

  Sighing, Erador leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Hurry up.”

  Hawth paced, taking a drag from his leef and blew out the smoke from his mouth. The sweet, smoky smell of keid drifted around the clearing. He inhaled two more puffs and grabbed his hair, kicking the clovers.

  “Get down here,” Erador said, pointing at the steps.

  Hawth pulled the leef from his lips. “It’s funny how I get to see the Raven more than you.”

  “Then why are you scared? Shouldn’t you be friends by now?”

  Grumbling, Hawth walked toward the opening and flicked the tip of his leef to destroy the flame before he put it away. Erador ignored the fact that Hawth was older than him, though he didn't look it. With how stupid he acted made it easier. He came here when Erador was a child and was closer to Aminria’s age. Though Hawth didn’t have an element, it didn’t mean he was human. He likely had family who did, and received the longevity from them.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Erador said, eyebrows raised at the torch.

  “Oh...” Hawth stroked his neck and walked back to the center. “I did.”

  Hands in his pockets, Hawth nudged the wood with his boot before he picked it up and moved toward the opening. Erador swiped the torch from him and pushed him ahead.

  With one glare over his shoulder, Hawth stepped down. Their footsteps echoed off the walls of the tunnel. The forest air seemed to have been sucked away when they reached the depths of the stairs. Erador’s breaths quickened to grasp onto the last of the fresh air his lungs craved when the smell hit him.

  The fecal, musty smell tightened his throat and for once he wished Hawth would light that leef. Erador pressed his sleeve against his nose and reached the last step. The opening was like a mole's hole above them and the darkness lay ahead. He lifted the torch, the light stretching to the arches on the ceiling.

  “Get moving,” Erador said, nodding ahead.

  Hawth groaned and shifted ahead. Erador lightened his steps but each one was like a bell in the silent dungeon. The empty cells they passed weren’t suitable for use. The bars were rusted and the stone had chipped from the walls. This dungeon had been used before his father claimed Lucrethia but Erador didn’t know much of the history, except that outsiders considered this land to be cursed.

  One cage needed to be maintained—they didn’t get far when Erador sensed the orbid crystals. They tugged on his body like a magnet used for ripping out souls. Each breath became harder to draw in. Erador’s skin crawled, and it wasn’t from Hawth’s grip on his arm. His knees weakened at the sight of the Raven’s cage. The tales that made him flee to the Shadow Realm as a small child were true.

  Hundreds of bolts and two dozen padlocks were fixed in the door. Sparkling orbid crystals were embed into the metal to prevent the Raven from using his element. A small window of bars allowed a peek into the Raven’s cage. Filthy blankets were strewn on a cot and a liquid-filled hole contained the stench. No one appeared to be inside—the Raven was gone.

  Erador clenched the torch. Normally, he would feel calm during times of danger, but Shade’s whispers faded by the second. He could no longer feel him as if his element had been extracted from his body. The Raven’s absence intensified his fear.

  “Do you see him?” Hawth asked.

  Erador parted his lips and shut them. If he didn't say it, maybe it wouldn’t be true. “He’s...” The word weighed down Erador’s tongue. “Gone.”

  “I told you,” Hawth said, tugging his hair. “I fucking told you!”

  Erador scanned the dungeon, ears alert for footsteps. Wind whistled through the opening. His rapid heart mimicked the pace of the fast dripping water in the distance.

  “What if he’s watching us?” Hawth itched his arms, looking back and forth. “He’s going to kill us.”

  “Will you shut up?”

  Erador shoved the torch into Hawth’s hand. He ran his fingers down the rusted bolts, trying to pull or twist them. They were solid; not a single one missing, but they would be easy to remove. For someone so deadly, why wasn’t it more secure?

  “Why are there no rivets? Anyone could undo these bolts and if they had the keys...” Erador flicked one of the locks. “These too.

  “Why would someone go through the effort to put them back?”

  “I don’t know, Hawth.” Erador rolled his eyes. “Maybe to make it appear that he’s still here.”

  “But I bring him food.” Hawth pointed at the tray of untouched food in the slot, that was only a biscuit and broth. “I would notice if he didn't eat.”

  “And you could’ve pretended he received it.” Erador hunched over Hawth. “You could’ve pretended this whole time he was in his cage.”

  “Why would I bother telling you then?” Hawth stared him down. “How do you know he didn't get out another way?”

  Erador looked back inside the cage. “Then I need the door unbolted.”

  “What?” Hawth backed away. “We aren’t opening that.”

  “To prove your innocence, wouldn’t you? Plus, he’s not there.”

  “What if he’s hiding? What if he’s the blanket or something?”

  “You’re being ridiculous. He can’t use his element because of the orbid.” Erador swept the torch from him. “I shouldn’t expect a Scant to know that.”

  Hawth glared.

  “Just get a wrench and a bolt cutter. You better come back.”

  Hawth ran into the darkness toward the stairs. Erador wished he could use Shade to access the cell, but the Shadow Realm was no longer connected to him. He moved from the cage and energy flickered in his chest. Shade’s panicked emotions seeped into Erador, as the shadow slid in circles on the ground.

  “Calm down,” Erador said. “Can you sense another presence?”

  Shade stopped communicating and stretched thin. He shook his head. Images of death flashed in Erador’s head. Typical. Shade was paranoid if he’d been away from Erador for one second. He ignored the warnings and moved back to the orbid. He wanted to carry one of those crystals so Shade didn’t bother him. He wasn’t very helpful anyway. Shade could only sense a person when they were in the light. Erador glimpsed in the swallowing darkness feeling he was being watched.

  Goosebumps emerged on Erador's skin as a presence lingered behind him. He turned. Inquisitive blue eyes watched him through bars of a cell. He was the only other prisoner in this damned dungeon, but Erador had no idea why he was here. He couldn’t recall anyone mentioning another prisoner.

  “Did anyone come here besides the guard?” Erador asked.

  “I think so.” The prisoner’s scratchy voice sounded like a shriveled frog that hadn’t touched water for days. “I heard whispering the other night. By the time I looked, they were gone.”

  “Did you hear any bolts or locks being undone?” Erador said, approaching the door.

  The prisoner shook his head and moved away. Dirt covered his face and his curls were matted. He frantically scratched his swollen wrist underneath the sparkling metal ban. Erador tried to ignore the sight that made him nauseous.

  “Did he mention anything about escaping?” Erador asked.

  The prisoner sat on his cot and stuck his finger through a hole in his shirt; the color long faded. “Wait... he left?” He threw himself at the door, gripping the bars. “Let me out, please!”

  Erador looked away from his desperate stare and paced until the prisoner tore himself away from the door, until the minutes seemed to drag by and Erador felt he’d become a part of this horrid dungeon, never to be heard from again.

  Hawth returned after nearly as many minutes as bolts on the door. He dug in a tool box and pulled out a wrench holding it out to Erador, who stared him down.

  “Come on!” Hawth said. “Can’t you do it?”

  “You took too long.”

  “I had to get the keys too,” he said, shaking the ring with dozens of keys.

  “Keys.” Erador showed his teeth and snatched them. “You have the keys?”

  “See if they work.”

  Mumbling complaints, Hawth undid the bolts. One by one they clinked onto the ground. Erador put the torch in a holder on the wall and shoved the first key in a lock, trying several more before it clicked. He looked at Hawth suspiciously and kept unlocking each one.

  “Who’s that prisoner?” Erador whispered, nodding behind him.

  “What?” Hawth said, as a bolt clanged to the ground.

  “I thought the Raven was the only one here.”

  Hawth turned the wrench. “No.”

  “Who is he?”

  Hawth stopped and faced him. “Why don’t you ask Judgment?”

  Erador took his irritation as a sign to not ask again unless he wanted him to leave. He wasn’t about to open this door himself. It wasn’t like Judgment to keep prisoners because he punished anyone who was uncooperative. Erador didn’t want to imagine what that entailed. He shoved a key in a lock and let the question fester in his mind a moment longer before burying it with the others his father ignored.

  Erador finished long before Hawth. The bolts clinking to the ground grated Erador’s nerves. While he hoped this would be worth it, he couldn't end his suspicions. He scrutinized how he removed the bolts. Hawth could be reworking them like he did to let the Raven free, but the rusted bolts seemed difficult to turn as it took several tries to get them off.

  After the bolts were removed, Hawth cowered against the opposite cell. Erador gripped the bars, and with a grunt, he pulled aside the door that fell with an echoing bang. A force of air seemed to rush out, as if the Raven’s fifty years of resentment escaped the cage.

  Erador stepped in. The bolts clattered as his boot pushed them aside. He turned in a circle. Vengeful messages were carved in the walls; threats directed at Judgment, his Paradins, and Lucrethia.

  “Is he... there?” Hawth asked, craning his neck.

  “I don’t know, Hawth?” Erador said, sarcasm in his tone. “Maybe he’s one of these stones in the wall? Want to check?”

  “You can never be too safe.”

  “And you can never be too stupid.” Erador examined the cell that was like the size of a closest. He couldn’t imagine living in such a place for so long. “I don’t see how he escaped, not unless he used the door.”

  Hawth edged toward him. “You think he used an element?”

  “I never said that.” Erador pushed on the walls. “He could’ve used witch magic.”

  Hawth scratched his head. “He would need help.”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” Erador shut his eyes, sighing. “This is why we aren’t friends.”

  Erador flipped the cot, ignoring Hawth’s complaints about his insults. He moved the bed, banged and kicked the walls, and held the torch in every possible place, but found no trace of how the Raven escaped.

  “Nothing is here.”

  “So, we’re going then?” Hawth said, moving away.

  “No,” Erador said, yanking him back. “Did you see anyone here?”

  “Me? No.” Hawth blew hair from his eyes.

  Erador let go of Hawth. Witches kept appearing in his mind no matter how many times his logical mind wanted to blame the Raven’s escape on the bolts and locks. But Erador hadn’t the slightest idea how magic worked. It wasn’t like elements and more dangerous; that’s all Loma would admit. Everyone was forbidden to speak of witches.

  “What about witches? Do you know anything about them?” Erador asked.

  Hawth shook his head.

  Erador didn’t believe the rumors children spread of them chanting words. Maybe it came from something unlike elements which were passed down. And it had to be something that couldn’t be absorbed by orbid. He checked the walls and ground for clues but found only a hole of brown chunky liquid.

  “Might be something in here.” He raised his eyebrows at the hole.

  “Why would anything... Oh.” Hawth shivered. “That’s disgusting.”

  Erador patted his back. “Guess who’s doing the honors?”

  “I’m not touching that.”

  Erador forced a pout and pulled out a pair of pliers from the box. “I’ll spend one day with you.”

  “You think that’s going to convince me?”

  “Would you rather me shove your face in it?”

  Taking the pliers, Hawth laughed nervously and edged to the hole. Pinching his nose, he dipped the pliers in the gleaming brown liquid and gagged.

  Erador didn’t want to admit it, but a sour taste coated his tongue the moment they stepped into the dungeon. With disgust, he held the torch as Hawth poked and swirled the pliers in the thick liquid.

  “I think I found something.” Hawth clamped the pliers and pulled them out. What looked like a ball of feces clinked to the ground, but the sound indicated otherwise.

  Erador turned it with his boot. “I can’t see it. Give me a cloth or something.”

  “Does it look like I carry those around?” Hawth said, patting his pockets.

  “Give me your jacket then.” Erador held out his hand.

  Hawth pushed it away. “Use your shirt.”

  “Mines too nice to rub in that. Now hand it over.” Erador seized Hawth’s arm.

  “I said back off!” Hawth drove his elbow into Erador’s ribs and he recoiled from the pain. His angry face shifted to surprise as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Use this.”

  “A filthy handkerchief?” Erador took it with two fingers. “How generous.”

  Hawth held his arms close to his rigid body as he backed into the corner. Erador picked up the hard object with the handkerchief. He rolled it in the fabric, rubbing the excrement from the diamond-shaped piece.

  “It looks like a crystal.”

  He loosened his hand, feeling the weight of it. It was light and wide around the middle. The only crystals he knew of were orbid, which inhibited elements or lumin—used for light. But this didn't look like either. It had a crack along the side, and the dark gray color made it appear as if the energy had escaped.

  “It’s been used,” Erador said.

  Hawth popped his head around him as he rubbed his sunflower earring. “He used that to get out?”

  Erador bit his tongue to avoid criticizing Hawth’s rhetorical remark. “I think he teleported.” He lifted the crystal toward the torch, examining the scratches.

  “You think it’s magic, then?

  How would witches know about the Raven? Could they be trying to end his father with his help? The walls seemed to shrink as his stomach churned. A threatening voice echoed in his mind as he read the messages on the walls. Revenge brewed inside the most feared man who was capable of killing them.

  “We need to warn every one.”