Page 10 of The Violet Raven

Sunday, 20 April 1823

Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands

The temperature has taken a steady decline in the last hour. Unfortunate, considering the trip is already taking longer than expected. The rain has been relentless this time, and Callan refuses to let us stay in the cities—cities like Inverness, where we could have rested for the night. Could have had proper beds. Instead, he insists we avoid them dragging us through longer routes just to keep our heads low.

Tonight, that means sleeping in tanned leather tents, on the cold ground, near the small village of Golspie. A four-day journey has stretched into five, and patience is wearing thin.

My tent collapses in a heap at my feet as I fumble with the fastenings, my fingers stiff from the cold. One might think being near the woods would shield us from the wind, but luck has never been on our side.

“I wish we were already there,” I mutter, not speaking to either of my brothers in particular. Casey and Callan glance at one another.

“Aye, we ken how you feel about bein’ in the dark. It’s just two more nights.” Casey says.

“It’s not the dark so much as the woods.” I shift uncomfortably, glancing around. “That, and the air has an unusual chill. It feels… unsettling.”

Casey moves closer, slinging an arm over my shoulders. I immediately wrinkle my nose. “Gods, Casey, you stink.”

He snorts, unfazed. “What d’ye expect? We’ve been travellin’ for days.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say primly. “Women keep themselves clean.”

Casey barks out a laugh, squeezing me against him. “Please… ye’re no woman. A fearsome creature dwells within you.”

“Oh,” I say, eyebrows raised. “Please enlighten me. What matter of creature am I?”

“Ye’re a hatchling we found in the forest one day. Probably why ye’re so uncomfortable out here. Yer people are callin’ to you,” Casey teases, squeezing me tighter against him.

I roll my eyes, letting him have his fun. “Well, I’m sure the forest folk are keen to have me back. Shame, I’m stuck here with you instead of my kind.”

Casey smirks, draping himself over me dramatically. “Honestly, I dunno how we ended up saddled with you. Imagine how much quieter things would be if we’d left ye in the woods where we found you.”

I snort, shoving him off. “Aye, and imagine how much smarter we’d all be if you hadn’t spent your entire childhood breathing up all the common sense in the room. I swear, we all had promise once—then you started talking.”

Callan exhales, shaking his head. “She’s not wrong. I do recall havin’ a few good thoughts before ye learned how to string a sentence together.”

Casey gasps, clutching his chest. “Et tu, Callan?”

I sigh, nodding solemnly. “Tragic, really. We had such potential. But no, Ma had to keep him.”

Casey throws his hands up. “Ach, this is an ambush! I see how it is. A coordinated attack! I thought I was the heart and soul of this family.”

Callan scoffs, shaking his head. “Ye just need to learn when to shut yer geggie. Then we wouldnae have to keep twistin’ the knife to get a moment of peace.”

I gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to my chest. “Oh, but we need Casey’s voice, Callan! Without his endless prattling, how else would we know the important things? Like how much he hates running, or how many times he’s nearly died from hunger, or—”

Casey groans. “Aye, all right, I get it! D’ye ever tire of bein’ a misfit?”

I blink. “A what?”

He smirks, nudging me with his elbow. “An outcast, Tri. A wild thing. Always pickin’ fights, always speakin’ yer mind as if ye’ve no fear of consequence. Most lasses learn when to hold their tongue—but you? You just never stop.”

Something in my chest tightens, my humour fading.

“Maybe I’m happy not being like most lasses.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but I don’t soften it. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Casey snorts. “Aye, well, that’s certainly one way to put it—”

“That’s enough.” Callan steps in before he can finish, his voice firm.