Soul of the Crow: An Epic Dark Fantasy (Reapers of Veltuur Book 1)

mother’s and brother’s deaths, a loss felt throughout the entire kingdom, and in surrounding ones too. They don’t realize I’m about to mourn my sister’s as well, though, because no one even knows she exists.
Using the backside of my wrist, I pat my cheeks dry and try straightening my back. I want to appear stronger than I actually am. I always have. But today especially, I want to look the role of the strong king I am meant to become, at least for Gem.
Sprouting between the sparse arjuna and banyan trees, woven into light pathway, a wooden tower is the centerpiece of Sungem Courtyard. Tucked in the back corner of the palace, most of the people who come here are here for one of three reasons: one, they’re heading to the steam baths for a nice, long soak; two, they live or are staying in the guest apartments; three, they’ve come to visit the temple that resides in the base of the tower, never knowing Gem’s prison is upstairs in the loft.
I slip my shoes off at the entrance and push through the great, wooden doors. Only one man sits inside, his eyes closed, head bowed, and I’m able to make it past him without any awkward utterance of my impending reign. Before I veer toward the stairs that are locked behind another door though, I see the golden statues of the Altúyur behind the altar and I feel their gazes beaming down on me.
Hurriedly, I approach them, press my hands to my chest, bow my head, and mutter the obligatory, “Wings give me strength,” before pulling my arms back down to my sides and heading for the winding staircase.
When I reach the door of Gem’s room, I retrieve the key from the ring on the wall. Between my tear-filled eyes and the darkness of this hall, it’s hard to get the key in the lock, and instead I fumble it to the ground. I squat, raking my hands over the cold stone floor until I find the metal, standing to jiggle it successfully into the keyhole. The distinct sound of a stampede, an excited child charging across the tile floor, erupts from the other side of the door. By the time I get the lock to cooperate and swing the door open, Gem is lunging at me, arms wide.
An embarrassing gush of air belches its way out as she wraps me up entirely.
“Hey, Gem.”
Gem releases her grip enough to examine me curiously.
“Not nurse,” she says, an inquisitive smile spreading tight across her face as if it is threatening to split the tear in her lip even more. It’s hard to believe that the small cleft is the source for all the secrecy and misery in her life.
“No, Esabel won’t be here today,” I say, guilt suddenly clogging my throat. Before it exposes me, I change the subject. “What do you have there, Gem?”
She shoves a doll into my face. Not a real doll made by some royal dollmaker—our father would never pay for such an expense, insisting it would make my sister’s existence known, but I think it’s really just because he doesn’t believe it would be worth the rupees—but a doll that Gem’s had to make herself. A series of knots hold together tattered scraps of fabric, dried maize husks, and hair. I run a finger under her neck, tilting her face up just enough to confirm that she cut some of her own hair off for the doll.
“Likes it, Cari?” she asks, beaming at me while waving the doll in my face.
Cari is the best pronunciation of my name that she has ever been able to manage, and I never correct it. It’s the only nickname I’ve ever had, and I honestly love it.
“She’s beautiful,” I say, stepping around her and into the frigid room. “Just like you.”
She snorts a laugh and skips uncoordinatedly along beside me. “Pla’ me?”
“Play with me,” I correct with a sheepish grin.
I’m probably the last person she should be taking advice on speaking from, considering how often I confuse and stumble over my own words, but I’m all too aware of how quickly people can judge harmless mistakes in communication, and for someone already facing so many barriers, I guess I just want her to have a leg up in this area. But I also don’t want her to ever feel ashamed of her delayed speech. It’s not her fault that she’s been locked away for all of the few short years of her life and hasn’t had much human interaction outside of Esabel, myself, and my mother when she was still alive.
Most kids Gem’s age have already earned their final language rune by now, a third dot in a line separating one side of the forehead from another, but little Gem only just last month got her second.
“Of course I’ll play with you. Beats pretending to be qu—king.”
Gem unleashes the giddiest of giggles and plops on a dull mat on the stone floor. Seeing her so joyous reminds me that her light is about to be extinguished for good.
I feel so powerless. I’ve lost too much already to lose her too, but once a Reaper is summoned, there’s no way around it. It is just a matter of time now, and I am determined to make her final hours here her most enjoyable yet. I want her to know she was loved. It’s what mother would’ve wanted, and it’s what Gem deserves.
I spend the rest of the day with her, locked away in her tower, making flower chains, playing with dolls, singing, and dancing. Despite having spent most of her young life here, hidden from the world because of a tear in her upper lip, she never seems to tire of the place or grow weary of her sheltered existence.
Father has never wanted people to know about her, and so most people do not. The townsfolk and other royal families knew when my mother was expecting, but I think most of