It was the day of the Heirbind Rite.
I woke up feeling hollow. My throat was dry, so I reached for the glass of water by my bed and took a slow sip.
Beyond the drapes, the sky was washed in a pale blue, calm and clear, so at odds with the weight in my chest.
I had been restless the whole night, turning over thoughts until my body felt bruised by them.
The pill I swallowed yesterday still sat in the back of my mind like a stone. Would it do anything when the moment came? Would it truly help me escape, or had I been foolish to trust a stranger's word?
I hadn't seen the crow again.
No note, no scratch of claws at the window, no message. And I still did not know the man's name. A bitter smile tugged at my lips thinking how desperate I must be, to trust someone whose face and name I barely knew.
The rite would not take place until twilight.
Still, the hours before it were bound and shaped by tradition.
By the time I rose from the bed, a group of maids had already arrived.
