Free The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) by H. Anthe Davis

let her into the Shadow Realm, and refused to assign her back to Bahlaer’s kai.  She had a sneaking suspicion that Cayer’s unblood control of the kai was being challenged.
    When Radha’s painted hand reached for the flask, she yielded it reluctantly and tugged the scarf back over her nose and mouth.
    Ever since attacking the convoy that had carried Cob and Darilan, Lark and her Corvish hosts had been on the run.  Nothing barred them from retreating to the cave-fort of Kanrath-Neirai, but the Gold Army was on their tail, and Corvishfolk did not stand still for sieges.  The plan had been to trek high into the Khaeleokiel Mountains where the thick snow and biting cold would dissuade the soft lowland Golds, but it was like they had kicked a hornet’s nest.  No matter how far they went, a swarm of yellow uniforms followed them.
    Lark could see them now among the scrub forest at the edge of the valley.  She and the Corvish were situated at the top of a sheared granite cliff, concealed by snow and brush; it was not the first time they had waited in ambush, and by the Golds’ reticence to leave the shelter of the trees, it seemed they were learning from their mistakes. 
    She touched the fletchings of her arrows absently.  Crow-feathered, with obsidian heads, they shattered on Gold armor as often as they penetrated, but the Corvish had plenty; runners came upon the war party every day, laden with gifts and supplies and news from allied clans.  Some said that there were other bands harrying the Golds from the flanks, but if so, the fighting was too far away to see.
    She wished she had her crossbow.  She was better with it than the shortbow the Corvish had given her, plus she had a bit of special ammunition: the pouch of Trifold-treated bolts that Darilan had left with her.  They were meant to kill abominations like him, and she suspected that there were some among their Gold pursuit, but could not be sure.  She had not seen the obvious one—the lagalaina woman—since the caravan attack.
    Which was good.  The lagalaina’s seduction-aura had nearly killed them all.
    Radha waggled the flask at her again and Lark waved it away.  Further down the overlook, a few knots of Corvish had cuddled up for warmth, and the sound of smothered giggles and the occasional rhythmic grunt reached her.  She rolled her eyes.  This was the problem with waiting on the Golds.  The Corvish were easily distracted.
    “Think they scryin’ us?” said Radha, pointing her narrow chin toward the yellow blotches in the trees.  She was covered in whorls of red and black paint, bone amulets, a few strips of leather and a white fur cloak for camouflage, yet somehow did not shiver.  One of the khirinain, the fox skinchangers, she seemed impervious to the cold.
    “ I’d assume so,” said Lark through her scarf.  “They have the mages for it.  And they’ve gotten more cautious.  What do the spirits say?”
    The red-haired woman shrugged and gestured with the flask, indicating the winter forest and cliffs and the ridges of great smoking mountains to the north.  “They quiet.  Listenin’.  This not magic territory, but still magic-smell in the air.”
    Lark frowned and took a deep breath.  It just smelled cold to her.  She had felt a difference in the atmosphere down in the Forest of Mists—a tingle on the nerves, a strange astringent taste to the air—but up here it was too subtle to catch.
    “ Well, whatever they do, I hope it’s soon,” she mumbled.  “Before my fingers freeze.”
    Radha put her hand over Lark’s.  Her fingers were rough but warm, her nails sharp like little claws, and her sidelong look was bright though her eyes were black as inkspots.  “Yeh shoot bad enough already,” she said.  “Shoot any worse an’ yeh’ll be on their side.”
    Cheeks heating, Lark slipped her hand away.  Out of all the Corvish, only Radha paid her much attention, and though it was usually brusque, she remembered how Radha