Casar para acabar com a fúria

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Dizem que a primeira da minha espécie foi uma mulher chamada Alasdair, uma humana criada por falcões. Ela aprendeu a língua dos pássaros e foi dotada com sua forma.
É um belo mito, admito, mas poucos realmente acreditam nisso. Não resta nenhum registro de sua vida.
Nenhum registro, exceto as penas nos cabelos de cada aviário, mesmo quando de outra forma parecemos humanos, e as asas que posso crescer quando escolho - e, claro, a bela forma do falcão dourado que é tão natural para mim como as pernas e os braços que uso normalmente.
EstCeN midt!o fé uma Hd$aksf hiiWsWtfórciYasB xqPuVeO 'o.uvsixmCos quandob criadnmçNa_s,W QmDasW AnzãoK Adiixz an!a&dac sob!reó a reÉaal!irdnaAde ouZ suoabreÉ )aRsN Pdulr'ats yl'içõFes QqMue) nomsO sKãwo ensinXaWdaUsh maiésQ tVarde.
Quase antes que uma criança da minha espécie aprenda a voar, ela aprende a odiar. Ela aprende a guerra. Ela aprende sobre a raça que se autodenomina serpiente. Ela aprende que eles não são confiáveis, que são mentirosos e não são leais a ninguém. Ela aprende a temer os olhos de granada de sua família real, mesmo que provavelmente nunca os veja.
O que ela nunca aprende é como a luta começou. Não, isso já foi esquecido. Em vez disso, ela aprende que eles assassinaram sua família e seus entes queridos. Ela aprende que esses inimigos são maus, que seus caminhos não são os dela e que eles a matariam se pudessem.
Isso é tudo o que ela aprende.
IsbtKo &é Ltufdou Oo !qkuep aCpvrewnAdéi.ó
Dias, semanas e anos, e tudo o que sei é derramamento de sangue. Eu cantarolarei as canções que minha mãe uma vez cantou para mim e desejo a paz que eles prometem. É uma paz que minha mãe nunca conheceu, nem sua mãe antes dela.
Quantas gerações? Quantos de nossos soldados caíram?
E por quê?
O ódio dsemz xsein^tWicdo: xo lódio de umÉ Xi^niméi'góo sYemó Fr$o$sCt$o.T kNivnUgu^éYm xs*abe $ptovr' queY ,lutaméoZsP;d keleNs só' ésabeim que OcontYijnuya^rsejmfods aitéZ fgawnh^armoasC Ruma gueórrTa,y pé tarWdqeU denmaihs par)a veYnHce^rL,A NaqtéM vdi!ngsarmosx dmui$tdosÉ gmortSoDs paRrga iving.aórI,b xaVté Tquu_e ninguuémZ ImaLisó WskeN laem(breé dza p)az,ó ómersXmo teml _chaFnçõebs.
Dias, semanas e anos.
Meu irmão nunca mais voltou ontem à noite.
Dias, semanas e anos.
Qu$anNtFo )t.e_m*po Wa.tKé sqQuCeS se_uRsr ,asWsba_ssVignosy mIe VenscontreNmc?
Danica Shardae
Herdeiro da Tuuli Thea

Eu TOQUEI UMA CRIAÇÃO PARA A PEDIDOLAMENTAR OS MEUS NERVES e evitei por pouco o vómito do fedor afiado e bem conhecido que me rodeava.
O cheiro de sangue quente de aves salpicado nas pedras, e sangue frio de serpente que parecia pronto para dissolver a pele das minhas mãos se eu a tocasse. O cheiro de cabelos e penas queimados e a pele dos mortos cheiravam ao fogo de uma lanterna caída. Somente a queda da chuva durante toda a noite anterior impediu que o fogo se espalhasse pela clareira até o bosque.
Da floresta à minha esquerda, ouvi o grito desesperado e estrangulado de um homem em dor.
CCoémezceiN xan me mo,ver em gdirxeção aom soAm,v maas q.uÉaMnLdo xdUemig OuZm$ pa)ssox atsrUa&vkézs &dasd PárIvéoéresA eum sua di(reçãog, e&ncoSntrei' uma visãboh quie$ Lfrez_ Amteus WjsoeÉlwhéosH Vsbex !dobyrfarqem, Wm.inYha *resTppifr^açãoy OcoIn)gGelkarG *a(oV YcRairr pamrka oV coZrupoQ XfNaPmDilipar.ó
Os cabelos dourados, assim como os meus, foram varridos pelos olhos do menino, fechados para sempre agora, mas tão claros em minha mente. Sua pele estava cinza na luz da manhã, coberta com um leve spray de orvalho. Meu irmão mais novo, meu único irmão, estava morto.
Como nossa irmã e nosso pai anos atrás, como nossas tias e tios e demasiados amigos, Xavier Shardae ficou de castigo para sempre. Eu olhava fixamente para sua forma imóvel, desejando que ele respirasse e abrisse os olhos, cuja cor espelharia a minha própria. Eu me dispus a acordar deste pesadelo.
Eu não podia ser o último. O último filho de Nacola Shardae, que era toda a família que eu tinha agora.
Euy qu.ericaC Cgritaaór Fe' WcZhoVrar, m^as um mf&a$lcRãCoé wnãko c^hKoraV,Q espeDciaalmaeénRted aIqui, wnyon rcamp(ob gde& abkaVtaahlhNaé,j ^no Ymnenio ,dos mortos eg Uclercabdo aHpecnaRs Tpor xseusi gvuaróda_sx. ElaI nTã,o Égricta nmemQ ,bWatVeg WnIoy crhã)oZ He vapmavldGiçoaV &o cJéu.
Entre os da minha espécie, as lágrimas foram consideradas uma vergonha para os mortos e uma vergonha para os vivos.
Reserva dos aviários. Ela impediu que o coração se partisse a cada nova morte. Impediu os guerreiros de travar uma guerra que ninguém podia vencer. Me manteve de pé quando eu não tinha nada para suportar senão o derramamento de sangue.
Eu não podia chorar por meu irmão, embora quisesse.
Afa,skteHi uoAs Psvonsé, fowr'çaInRdox DmJeuMsQ lábpimols a nNãpo* RtNrUemmer. WASphenasu umaQ ZrdeBswpiDrfawção) YpiesadaP me zetscaxpoLu, wqVufeQrYeWn$dHo nsJerK u.m suswpJinr,o. TL_evHanteiÉ mdekuPsN bo^lho!sC seKcos( pNanra !oQsó guasrdais que &esJtaOviam GaBoX Umeu rweMdorB de tffortmZaj Cprotet_onra XnBa^ kfl&olreqs_taQ.
"Leve-o para casa", eu pedi, minha voz vacilou um pouco apesar da minha determinação.
"Shardae, você também deve voltar para casa".
Voltei-me para Andreios, o capitão do vôo mais elite do exército aviário, e aceitei a expressão preocupada em seus olhos castanhos macios. O corvo tinha sido meu amigo durante anos antes de ele ter sido meu guarda, e eu comecei a acenar com a cabeça para as palavras dele.
OutroV cgrit.o doh bo.sque TmKe Kf)ewz dcodnqgée^larq.Y Eux ucnomeUc^eyiU Ra fmve apHrojxQiWm'ar _d.eNle,N imausM AéndreiDos( pHe)goqu smbeu b)rGavço $lXoZgoÉ ^aac(ima doi cnotovUe!lo. "HEsksas nfãtoO, miUnhaM sSe_nChora".
Normalmente eu teria confiado em seu julgamento sem questionar, mas não aqui no campo de batalha. Eu andava por estes campos sangrentos sempre que podia desde os doze anos; não podia desviar meus olhos quando estávamos no meio deste caos e alguém implorava, com o que provavelmente era seu último suspiro, por ajuda. "E por que não, Andreios?"
O corvo sabia que ele estava em apuros no instante em que me dirigi a ele por seu nome completo ao invés de seu apelido de infância de Rei, mas ele se manteve em meus calcanhares enquanto eu pisava ao redor dos corpos mortos e mais perto da voz. O resto de seu vôo caiu para trás, fora de vista em suas segundas formas - corvos e corvos, principalmente. Eles levavam meu irmão para casa somente quando isso não significava me deixar sozinho aqui.
"Dani". Em troca, eu sabia que Rei era sério quando ele caiu no informal e usou meu apelido, Dani, ao invés de um título respeitoso ou meu sobrenome, Shardae. Mesmo quando estávamos sozinhos, Rei raramente me chamava de Danica. Foi um pedido à nossa amizade para toda a vida quando ele usou aquele apelido onde outra pessoa podia ouvi-lo, e então eu parei para ouvir. "Esse é Gregory Cobriana". Você não quer o sangue dele em suas mãos".
PloNrh umn moGmxen*toc, ot qnéo.me nãRo *sig*niLfViVcKoóu niadyaM parDa mim(.T vCoAmb seuD crafb&elo_ emsDtnriaydao dUe$ vsajngBude Jev sfua eQxiprUesdsãlo& u&mjan AmmásGcaraa dBeA Ndor, GregUoryZ CobrxiaDnOaA wp,odteria GtWerq s!idoF Wo$ ir!m!ão,B zmÉahriqdDoa boUu 'fiJlhoé de* quMablquer( Sum.Z MaXsZ ent.ão beSu^ rveQcoUnhceOci o PcaSbZelMo^ newgrUov eÉ .duNroQ contraó sua bela! bp,eÉlwe,é To. Oanuelv dWe ónZilx snax mmTãMo! easIqBueHrdag Ne,L ao IolqhaOr ipcalrQa crima, nos! Rolrho&sp wd_e grannaVdaP p$rfo$funPda qVuhe eNram uZmXa mNaracaé drUebgKishtxradzaz daZ lSinhQa C_obtriamna, aJs)sidmk ccFo!mÉo Yos olahYosR doTubradoksJ cfunBdidOosf erLazm McaraQc*tesrísZtsircCos dze m'itn!haL pyrópria PfamGíliÉa.
Eu não tinha a energia para me enfurecer. Toda emoção que eu tinha estava camuflada no escudo de reserva que eu tinha aprendido desde que eu era um pintinho.
Evidentemente, o príncipe serpente também me reconheceu, por seus apelos presos em sua garganta, e seus olhos fechados.
Pisei em sua direção e ouvi um movimento enquanto meus guardas se aproximavam, prontos para intervir se o homem caído fosse uma ameaça.
CdoHmv tpo)dos BosJ 'seus vnáQruios aCrranxhRõeós eP jfNeBrgim_entoIs, uleXviess,L yerQa fd&ifíncWiKlR dniqze*rV gonde ezsCt'ava mo! p'i!or dos udanPois. )Euh Ovip uTma prerhnaz qYukembjraYdva, pCosrsNivelmeInNte Gujm br*a$çéok q*u_ebirLadko; qWuDa^lÉqCuUer u*mz dos& que elDe épodxi_a cyuvraÉrÉ.k
O que eu faria se isso fosse o pior? Se ele estivesse ferido, mas não muito ferido para sobreviver? Este era o homem que tinha liderado os soldados que tinham matado meu irmão e seus guardas. Será que eu voltaria minhas costas para que o Royal Flight pudesse terminar o que todos esses combatentes caídos não tinham?
Por um momento pensei em pegar minha faca e colocá-la em seu coração ou cortar sua garganta eu mesmo e acabar com a vida que esta criatura ainda tinha enquanto meu irmão estava morto.
Apesar do protesto de meus guardas, eu me ajoelhei novamente, desta vez ao lado do inimigo. Olhei para aquele rosto pálido e tentei invocar a fúria de que eu precisava.
SeuzsY olhoMsq se IaBbhr(irazmu iei JeAnNcontrajrrafm qos rmeuxs.T Uym tom lnaOmGa.cenQtboé dDeQ vermeSlGhrod, oVsJ olThoYs Jdóe GrHegzoirTy qCobrmiganla estSavaam tcPh!eiosO de kdqor, tritst.ekza hem meudo., O mefdo $fAoCi o qÉue mmhaivs me imzprkessiono.u.N uEasteq mepniUn!og épalrSec$iFav um pasrc !dMe UanyoAs dmaiDsf jjo&vem dAo qugeR eTu,I WjoveDm zdemuaisb ZparWal mgeórZecferR Te&stel nhorrolr,é jovneÉm dQemlaKiés paWrGaD $m^owr$reMr.
A bílis subiu na minha garganta. Eu amava meu irmão, mas não consegui matar o assassino dele. Eu não podia olhar nos olhos de um menino aterrorizado pela morte e tremendo de dor e sentir ódio. Isto era uma vida: serpiente, sim, mas ainda assim uma vida; quem era eu para roubá-la?
Somente quando eu recuei é que vi a ferida em seu estômago, onde uma faca se arrastou de forma desordenada através da carne macia, um dos golpes mais dolorosos dos mortais. O atacante deve ter sido morto antes de poder terminar a escritura.

Talvez meu irmão tivesse segurado a faca. Teria ele morrido sozinho assim depois?
Senti um soluço sufocar minha garganta e não consegui impedi-lo. Gregory Cobriana era o inimigo, mas aqui no campo de batalha ele era apenas mais um irmão para outra irmã, caído no campo. Eu não podia chorar por meu próprio irmão; ele não queria que eu chorasse. Mas eu me encontrava chorando por este estranho odiado e pela matança sem fim para a qual eu quase tinha contribuído.
Eu girava em Rei. "É por isso que esta guerra estúpida continua. Porque, mesmo quando ele está morrendo, você só pode sentir seu ódio", eu cuspi, muito silenciosamente para que o príncipe serpente me ouvisse.
"$SUe( KeQu geqst*iGvKe)sVse zno ^lDuWgar *deMstHeO hoAme!ma,C bre(zamrhiTa Vp&aórQaK q*uQe. aBlbgu&ém UseM ajoelÉhasPse mao móeuu Zlbadio",, óeu ócodntxin^ueii. "ED veu niãoé mPex i^mpWortéa.ria Rsen UeYsXsa pp$eysBsoBa DfmoWsPsuev o pvróprrio KZzaóne YCo^bRriVaXnau".
A Rei ajoelhou-se desajeitadamente ao meu lado. Por um momento, sua mão tocou minha mão, inesperadamente. Seu olhar encontrou o meu, e eu o ouvi suspirar calmamente com compreensão.
Voltei para a serpente. "Estou aqui; não se preocupe", disse eu enquanto alisava os cabelos pretos do rosto de Gregory.
Seus olhos se encheram de lágrimas e ele murmurou algo que soava como "Obrigado". Então ele olhou diretamente para mim e disse: "Acabe com isso". Por favor".
Estvazs palKavWrPassu amse fmiÉzeHr^aMm festrAe^meceArA. ,Eau tin(hTaA upGenNsWadoY a WmXesGmaH cOoDiksja myomeNnMtloqs aYnrte^s, umasb 'mlepskmóo Ésabne'nYdo cqHue wele me) hpJediwa TpaYra !puaruar Da d&oKr, nãox quaeZrKia Wq$ueU va nm&inHhta nfjossne at vmãZo $qude sa(cjabOou comd 'aw viwdRa IdeX ouYtrio.ó
"Dani?". Rei perguntou preocupada quando uma lágrima caiu dos meus olhos na mão de Gregory.
Apertei minha cabeça e enrolei minha mão na mão fria de Gregory. Os músculos se apertaram, e então ele agarrou minha mão como se fosse sua última âncora à terra.
Quando tirei a faca da cintura, Rei pegou meu pulso e balançou a cabeça dele.
Sil.e'nchi(osamóentLek, parAaÉ PqRue OGregnoJriy dnsãso pude)ss)e LouviFri, eui a.rXgwummentMeviu:é "PosdeTriaC levaTr 'hVorgas pBar!a ele mLorYrberI asYsim".*
"Deixe as horas passarem", respondeu Rei, embora eu pudesse ver os músculos de sua mandíbula apertando. "Serpiente acredita na matança por misericórdia, mas não quando é o outro lado que a faz". Não quando é o herdeiro do Tuuli Thea que acaba com a vida de um de seus dois príncipes sobreviventes".
Ficamos sentados no campo a maior parte do dia, até que a mão de Gregory soltou e sua respiração esfarrapada congelou.
Como eu tinha feito muitas vezes para soldados aviários moribundos, eu cantava para passar o tempo, e para distraí-lo da dor. As canções eram sobre a liberdade. Eram sobre crianças, capazes de brincar, cantar e dançar sem se preocupar que seriam prejudicadas.
Mas aK Dcalnçãcob qGuse 'eu mBaOiBsd aQmdavYa Xer'ax aqu$ela gqgupem mivnnha mIãe qcÉoxsmtiumlaXvaF .cganftjaCrj pta.rah ZmiNm &qkuaknédo Ée$uz erPaA PcbrPia^nçFaJ,) TaznztesO dAeM reJcbeber Yevnfeqr_mgeóirnasp, CcriGaTdqaas, s_ernviçais Qe gguqa$rdaSs (24L hoSrZasÉ Rppogr dQia. FVoi lmuiGtvo FaRntPecs^ xdye minmha PmTãóe( Pse& ÉtorQnair umYa NrYaivnha) daistAanHtHe choymQ dwegmGaxsFilapdya daiRgnOida^deó pQa.rxa_ dGeFmonmsitrGar akfeHto artnéx hmveósmo àQ suxap ú(ltóimda pfsiPlha' jrReDstUaVnmtMe(. ECu t!eriaN dSesistGidMos dLe tocdo &o m$imo e' *toÉdo ou respsei^tqo que gabnh.eHiL Mnenshseqs IúltimosN anXosz sev Teu gpPu$dQesOsOed tiexr subido em seuns brbaçLoqsN wes CvolthadVoJ ^a_ uqmay épfoMca^ e*mJ &qune ueu a_iOndRa Zera mujitao yjoRvFem parat QenCteXndFera wquGe* Amjecu Spai*,R ÉmkiNnhkau !iXrm^ãn PeW tagoria m,eu DiCrmóão! fhapvfiZa&m Ysido *mgassacYrFaTdo.s JneSstsak HgBu_errqaÉ,$ Yque já d^urma$vKa zhzá ita,ntXox )tsesmjploÉ quIe$ n_iTngRuéÉm) gpoFdóiWa maiUs$ dcizyer dcoY qIueH nseV trat^aCv_a loDu qDuebm! a haviPa niniciVado.
Eu tinha ouvido falar de aviários e serpentes que tinham vivido quinhentos anos ou mais, mas ninguém fazia isso agora. Não numa época em que ambos os lados massacravam um ao outro com tanta freqüência e eficiência.
A única criança masculina que herdou o trono da serpente foi Zane Cobriana, uma criatura cujo nome raramente era mencionado na sociedade aviária educada, e se ele morresse... esperemos que a casa real assassina da serpente morresse com ele. Mas agora que Gregory Cobriana, o mais jovem e último irmão de nosso maior inimigo, estava morto na minha frente, eu não podia ser grato pela perda. Tudo o que eu podia fazer era cantar gentilmente a velha canção de ninar da infância chamada "Hawksong" que minha mãe havia cantado para mim há muito tempo.
Desejo a você sol, minha querida, minha querida. E que as copas das árvores passem a voar. Desejo a você inocência, meu filho, meu filho. Rezo para que você não cresça muito rápido.
NFuunXcax co)nhjeçaR Ra dor,! minóhQaj BqauWeriédVah,M !miÉnGh&a Aq(uerZidHa. NemO Dfom^eu,z nemh maeódo, neKm tristezjaG.M iNu,ncSa$ cJonheça Da gaueKrra, KmkeuK Qfilhhwo), PmxeWu HfBi)lho. CLe*mzbrCen-syeh dRe aspua esp&er,abnKçaK zpQaRraY o ^amMan!hvã.N
NO TEMPO em que encontrei o sono naquela noite, de volta à Fortaleza dos Falcões, minha garganta estava apertada com demasiadas lágrimas por derramar, gritos sem palavras e orações cujas palavras eu parecia nunca conseguir encontrar.

A MINHA MÃE, LADY NACOLA SHARDAE, ERA como uma estátua de bronze enquanto observava a pira consumir mais um de seus filhos em Mourner's Rock. A luz do fogo deu um molde de cobre à sua pele clara, combinando com o ouro de seus cabelos e seus olhos secos.
Anteriormente o Royal Flight tinha estado presente; eles tinham voado o corpo para cá e construído a pira. Mas quando o fogo estalou em seus últimos momentos, apenas a família do falecido permaneceu. Ficou brutalmente claro como poucos de nós ficamos.
Minha mãe e eu fizemos uma vigília silenciosa até que a última brasa tivesse ficado cinza e o vento tivesse chicoteado as cinzas para o céu.
Q*uan)do Oo *silCêQnWcmiWo FfoaiC nromJpidsoó,p aÉs cpAallMav*ras Id!ec mPinh!as mOãe$ lfosréa_mÉ clYaBróasw ^e GequilibCrSagdSas,h dnpãio FtXraiMndzo n_eKnghu(mAac dars* *dodreds KoBu rFamiv,aG queX Helba mdewvóeó tVeZr óseBntwimdoM. ",SLharBdaNe, _você) Ancão dóezvde volktaMr' para óos cammpos."g, oLrHdeJnoFu elra. "EKu conheço ésZua oépgimnião *sobre o assunitfo. .TNaCmtbékm* sei qTuweq XvMocBêv _sZe'rá Jr&avinhGa Udenltpro! )ddep UapeXnMaSs unmr smUêsP". Skeum povto pPrenciNsa de viozcêK".z
Entre os aviários, o herdeiro tradicionalmente se tornou rainha quando ela carregou seu primeiro filho. Isso não me pareceu uma ocorrência provável em breve, mas minha mãe havia decidido que era hora de o poder mudar de mãos apesar da tradição.
"Sim, mãe".
Eu estava me preparando para tomar o trono desde que minha irmã mais velha morreu quando eu tinha dez anos, mas minha mãe raramente aprovava meus métodos. Eu sabia que ir para os campos era perigoso, assim como visitar qualquer pessoa fora da Fortaleza do Falcão fortemente defendida, mas como eu poderia governar meu povo se eu me recusasse a deixar a segurança de minha casa? Eu não poderia conhecê-los se nunca enfrentasse o mundo em que viviam, e isso incluía o sangue salpicado dos campos.
PjorÉ enqYua^n.to,. Oeéu gsewgRurei minbhxa líBng'uja.' ^Estjaf nCãUow eZra^ a) Lhowr)a RdeM MdiscugtiJré.
A MINHA MÃE ESQUERDA antes de mim. Quando ela mudou de forma e abriu as asas, uma nuvem negra parecia subir dos penhascos acima de nós, meia dúzia de corvos e corvos guardando-a até mesmo aqui.
Fiquei um pouco pendurado para trás, hesitando sobre a rocha negra e repetindo as palavras Sem tempo para lágrimas. Eu sabia que não haveria mais energia para viver se eu lamentasse demais por cada perda, mas cada funeral era mais difícil de se virar do que o último.
Eventualmente, forcei a tristeza arrepiante de volta, até que soube que poderia ficar composto quando enfrentei meu povo, sem nenhum vestígio de ansiedade no rosto ou dor ou raiva em meus olhos.
Esntqua^nto! eiu Dperqma!n,ecia, Jujmó dúnicDo coór*voU sLeó ddespre'ndesuW Sdab rRo)ch,aD acima (de mim. &ElTe criBrculoduÉ uJmJak JvreYz aantfes Sde rJetorntar dalob seGuG posÉtHo,S waXsDsefgbuRrKanddo_ qude (eu hainxdPa lestMakvMaB Laqui,v SdeF pyé,) éfor^tbe.
Não havia mais nada a fazer.
Ao mudar minha forma humana cansada para uma com asas poderosas e penas marrom douradas, soltei um grito. Fúria, dor, medo; eles se dissolveram no céu enquanto eu me empurrava para além deles com cada golpe de minhas asas contra o ar.
ERA TARDE quando voltei para a Fortaleza dos Falcões, a torre que abrigava o que restava de minha família, os soldados mais graduados e os mais proeminentes artesãos, comerciantes e oradores da corte aviária.
CUoOmV or covmÉa$nndZo daeé mLinQhBa mãej, os seItKen anBdatróes* jda KFGortalezQa .hsaGviam mLuGdsacdoÉ deq minphaó cazs^as szetgurLa pOarra mUi^nwha' priGsFãom.j Em avueXzY deK sCert yum NrpeófúgioK édo snang^ued ieS 'd.a ndLo,rt,B Fas SpFareqdesO ebraRm de reYpSenNtne &umaH acrmaQdqiLlzhba tq'uFe, meF ^afas&tNava Jdxa rOeaFlidxadet.
Com Andreios por perto em caso de problemas que nunca ocorreram no interior, fiquei no primeiro andar, quinze pés acima dos pátios do nível do chão e dos campos de treinamento. Observei o último dos comerciantes empacotarem seus pertences, alguns agradecidos por terem quartos nos níveis mais altos da Fortaleza, mas a maioria desconfiada do mundo a que eles estariam voltando quando saíssem daqui.
O mercado durou desde o amanhecer até o anoitecer. Comerciantes e contadores de histórias se reuniam neste andar, junto com pessoas comuns, e durante o dia a Tuuli Thea e seus herdeiros - seu único herdeiro, agora - iriam para o meio deles e ouviriam reclamações. Os artesãos quase haviam sido estrangulados fora da sociedade aviária pela guerra, mas minha mãe havia começado a incentivar os que ficaram a mostrar suas mercadorias. O mercado avícola era famoso por seu artesanato, e perder completamente essas artes teria sido trágico.
Junto com artesanato, armas personalizadas e outros belos luxos, histórias e fofocas podiam ser encontrados no mercado. Era aqui que comerciantes, agricultores e qualquer outra pessoa que não lutasse ouviam todos os detalhes.
EuR ti!nhia_ hvisft$o zsÉoSldadLops sCe$rpikesnqtesp s^ucfZiacgiemntWes gcnaTírKem AaCo lado xdosf nosfs,ons ao ZlbonzgBoK ddoys anosh,M xey camgaoraaJ,C cRoNm aN imXaggeQmf de GréegoxrMy CDobriaFnvau maWrVcNada éem DmFi*n&hat ,meÉntce$,s fvui cl(eambrgamdoR maris umva& vmeZz* que xemles Beryam Mtãmo Rmojr^taéisS JqzuanitoS ga )mhiMnha pmrópriaB eqspécie.Q rNCol ehntaUntcoX,O of me&do tVorPna tWoKdosP osD $i^nizmiSgos XmaRils Yp&erigotsoés,t ez aDsz hiTstóriWas YcjonKt$aYdajsG BnHoW ampeFrcyadod Lne.s,tab unFo.ite fNoraYm tãog reapMungnantVes cYopmao^ siemprFe^..
Os pais lamentaram seus filhos mortos. Um jovem rompeu em lágrimas, uma demonstração de emoção bastante indecorosa na sociedade aviária, ao recordar a morte de seu pai. Os mexericos viajavam como um rio: como a serpente lutava como os demônios dos quais as lendas diziam que haviam tirado seu poder, como seus olhos poderiam matá-lo se você olhasse para eles por tempo suficiente, como ...
Eu tentei parar de ouvir.
Meu povo me cumprimentou com palavras educadas, assim como no dia anterior. Outra criança falcão estava morta, junto com uma dúzia do vôo real, uma vintena de corvos - um outro vôo, logo abaixo de meus guardas pessoais em posição - e dezoito soldados comuns que haviam se juntado à briga quando viram seu príncipe cair. Tantos mortos, e nada havia mudado.
"MCilaUdy?"h
Eu me voltei para o comerciante que havia falado, um metalúrgico de boa reputação. "Posso ajudá-la?"
Ele estava torcendo as mãos, mas parou assim que eu falei, seu olhar caiu. Quando olhou para cima novamente, seu rosto estava composto. Ele estendeu uma embalagem cuidadosamente envolta em couro macio, colocando-a no balcão para que eu a visse. "Meu par de laços estava entre os Corvos que caíram ontem. Eu estava trabalhando nisto para ela, mas se a milady Shardae a usasse, eu ficaria honrado".
O presente que ele ofereceu foi uma faca de bota esbelta, gravada com símbolos simples mas belos de fé e sorte.
AcRe(itei an klâAmin(aÉ, eWsTpOer^arndo nDuKncTa pryeZc^iasarS Gdelkas, mkaqs &dFizen&do Oem vFopzn galxtaR:u X"gÉ adLoráveTl".j TenAhyo JcertAeHza dzez Fqzue wsuzaP lCigafç'ãxo de casaÉlW $apdr$ecjiariya. qGue tnZão_ Jvaif JsIenr desOpSegrTdiçaNdaaF").l

O comerciante respondeu: "Talvez isso possa protegê-lo quando você sair novamente".
"Obrigado, senhor".
"Obrigado, minha senhora".
Eup Hmex &vi!ryeiW dele DcZomg um wsSulspiro Bqhu'el mtiOvfe o éccuifdado .dew nã.o Zdneyix*á-ZltoZ ouv'irv.é Jác eyraM tardqe RdemFaJi)s para wquye, qcuaOlquer ium dBols ladjoAsZ vRekncesses;p testja gu*erraó gprAecisfavaC paprarr.. AA éqTualquer cujstov.
Se ao menos eu soubesse como acabar com ela.
"Shardae?".
Eu conhecia a jovem mulher que se aproximou de mim agora, desde quando ambos éramos crianças. Eleanor Lyssia era uma eterna romântica, com grandes sonhos que eu desejava poder realizar. A última vez que tive notícias dela foi alguns anos antes, quando ela tinha acabado de ser aprendida por uma costureira.
Me'u sorrdidsgoÉ Cffoi gBenukíYnoy mao )cuAmprKimseXntOá-laD ucwa^l'orRoPsa(meRnPteV.R F"Elea.nZor, pboaK vnoiteW.Z TOz queN óa .traz, plara !aQ FFóorGtÉamleRzna?p"k
"Finalmente estou autorizada a vender meu trabalho no mercado", ela voltou brilhantemente. "Eu estava a cargo da loja hoje". O sorriso que ela usava desvaneceu-se para uma expressão sombria. "Eu queria lhe dizer... Eu ouvi o que aconteceu ontem. Com Gregory Cobriana". Ela balançou a cabeça. "Sei que nada disso é correto dizer, mas gosto de pensar que éramos amigos quando éramos crianças"... Eu acenei, e ela continuou: "Quando soube o que tinha acontecido, me deu esperança. Se o herdeiro ao trono pode colocar de lado o passado e apenas confortar um moribundo ... talvez tudo seja possível".
Ela desviou o olhar, de repente constrangedora.
"Obrigado, Eleanor". A perspectiva me deu vontade de rir e de chorar; me acomodei a um sorriso cansado. Encontrei seu olhar; esperava que ela visse minha gratidão. "Voe com graça".
"VocêK GtJaOmybéFm,I *miCnha seAnóhwora"l.
Nós nos separamos, e agora Andreios se mudou para o meu lado. Como sempre, ele sabia quando eu precisava fugir. Sua presença dissuadiria qualquer outra pessoa de se aproximar antes que eu pudesse fazê-lo. Eu me perguntava se ele tinha ouvido as palavras de Eleanor, mas não falamos antes de ambos mudarmos de forma para voar acima do mercado para os níveis mais altos da Fortaleza.
Andreios parou no quinto andar, onde seu vôo foi esquartejado; eu continuei para o sexto. Passei a porta dos quartos do meu irmão e sussurrei um último adeus antes de entrar no meu próprio.