The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 15: A Regal Welcome

They continued their journey on the flying carpet for a good part of the following day—fortunately, without any scorpion stings from the night before. Inna's fire had served its purpose. Arran watched the princess from his position behind her on the carpet, her simple, navy blue jacket billowing in the wind. The embroidered flower patterns glittered golden in the bright, relentless sunlight.

She had been quiet that morning, unusually so. In such short notice, he had grown used to her constant interrogations, the casual insults thrown into the conversation at random places. An unpleasant feeling stirred in his stomach at the stiffness in her shoulders and the complete stillness of her elegant hands and long fingers. Even Zazi, the goddamn snake whose piercing yellow eyes gave him the chills, kept cocking her head at him with surprising insistence. As if to say, Open your mouth and say something already.

He cleared his throat. No reaction on Inna's part. In an awkward motion, he leaned forward and tapped her shoulder with a finger. Finally, her shoulders heaved with soft laughter and she turned her head to glance at him.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

Her eyes glazed over for a second. "It's nothing."

"You've barely spoken a word to me since we left."

The corners of her mouth curled up with a grin, showing off her white teeth. "I'd thought you'd be glad to have me off your back for once."

He didn't answer her smile, staring at a spot on the carpet where the bright colors had worn off with age. "Do you often suffer from nightmares?" Her fleeting joy dissipated faster than a cloud could swallow the sun. Guilty about ruining her revived good mood, he quickly added, "You were moaning a lot in your sleep last night. I tried to wake you, but you didn't react."

"Oh." She sucked the back of her teeth. "It's probably just my spoiled ass which isn't used to sleeping on sand," she joked, though her gleeful tone lacked credibility.

He chuckled nonetheless, even if only to humor her. "Poor little, rich girl."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Arran decided to let the subject rest now that she seemed less tense. His gaze roamed the dry, deserted landscape around them and he wondered how the carpet—or Inna—knew where they were heading, which direction to follow. However, now that she had untied her tongue, the words burst out of Inna at a pace which led him to deduce she had no control over the matter.

"I dreamed about black cloaks and silver daggers," she said breathlessly. "About the Sphere of Truths and my father's eyes trapped inside them. I dreamed about a woman, too, a woman with blue hair like mine that faded to emerald green as it reached her hips. She had silver eyes, like the moon, but no pupils."

Arran held his breath while he listened to her, scared to utter a sound that would snap her out of it and bring down that wall again that shielded her emotions from him.

"She spoke to me, that woman," Inna continued, the memory a haze in her eyes. "She asked me to free her, but she wouldn't say from what."

She looked up, her face remarkably open, and he frowned in response. "Do you have the gift of foresight?"

"No!" she answered, winding a lock of her hair around her fingers. "Prophetic magic doesn't fit my aura. Too subtle. I've told myself it's nonsense, it's the stress after everything that's happened, but a part of me refuses to believe that. It feels too much like ..." She trailed off.

"Like what?"

"Like the vision I had about you when I looked into the Sphere of Truths," she finished, biting her lip.