Page 20 of Harnessed in Gold

“Who was killed?”

“I have no idea.”

He nods.

While terrifying and admittedly fascinating, this revelation brings us no closer to the weapon.

CHAPTER FOUR

On our wayback to the practice fields, my head begins to clear. By the time we reach the snowdrops, my heart rate has settled and my thoughts are my own again.

“So, do you all have any idea what this weapon could be? Like, how big it is, or what it might be made of?” I’ve been picturing some sort of sword or dagger, but I know it can’t be either. Blades are for killing one person at a time, not causing a cataclysm.

Rime rubs his jaw. “It’s most likely a ring.”

I freeze mid-step. “I’m sorry, what?”

“What?” He stops and turns to me.

“A ring?”

I thought we were looking for Browne’s Hill, not Mount Doom.

“Yes. A ring.” He holds up his right hand and points to the silver band around his ring finger. “Our rings channel our weaving magic.”

I gape stupidly. “They do?”

Rime peers over each of his shoulders, then takes a quick scan of the river. “Watch,” he says, smiling as he pulls me forward, closer to the water.

He waves a hand over his face, and his human features fall away.Pale-lashed eyelids blink over red irises, his pupils widening as they focus on the opposite bank. I can guess what he’s doing—using his eagle-eye vision—but what is he looking for? Bird-like, his head swivels while his body stays still. After a long breath and a stretch of silence, he raises his right hand high, like he’s going to wave to someone a good distance away.

But he doesn’t wave. Not exactly. It’s more like a sweep, palm up, as if he’s gathering a ball of air and circling it over his head. He keeps his hand raised and his red eyes focused into the distance.

Waiting.

And I realize, as my chest aches with the breath I’m holding, that so am I.

One beat, two beats, three… A blur of gray and white appears on the opposite bank, growing larger as it sweeps across the river. Then, all at once, with a rattling screech and a rustle of feathers, it’s upon us.

I gasp and cover my head.

Raka-kak-kak-kak. Raka-kak-kak.

Rime chuckles and warns, “Here come two more.”

I keep my arms over my head until the beating of wings is so close I can feel the air stirring across my skin.

Raka-kak-kak.

“You’re alright,” Rime says. “They won’t hurt you.”

Slowly—because I’m sure making any sudden moves will get my eyes pecked out—I let my arms fall to my sides. On Rime’s hand, perched like a trained falcon, is a beautiful blue-gray and white bird. Another of the same kind struts on his shoulder, while a third makes wide circles above his head, its wings beating softly as it glides through the air.

Marveling, I whisper, “What are they?”

“Kingfishers.”

Kingfishers. I’ve heard the name, but I wouldn’t have known one if it came up and bit me. The bird on Rime’s hand tilts its head and studies me with its round, black eyes.