The Raven's Fortune

“Hold still, brother,” Gustav says, wringing out a cloth until dark water drips onto the floorboards. The room smelling of iron and burned flesh, sharp enough to sting the eyes.

“Since when did you have such steady hands?” Darius groans as the needle presses into his flesh, the first of many stitches biting deep.

Chomp whines softly from the side of the bed, his head down, eyes on Darius. The beast, though monstrous at times, has grown very close the family.

“Hush, Chomp. Since I stopped drinking. Remember?” Gustav replies. He draws a slow breath, steadies his hands again. They don’t shake. Not anymore.

“Argh!”

“Relax, brother—”

The door swings open.

“Mr Gustav, sir. I’ve got the bandages and water,” Keila says, breathless. “But the only alcohol I could find was Miss Ella’s.”

“That’ll have to do. Thank you, Keila,” Gustav says, looping the final stitch in Darius’ leg with practiced care. “Start cleaning up his shoulder.”

“Why is the girl who makes tea, fixing my burn?” Darius groans as Keila kneels beside him, already soaking a cloth.

“Did you really think Ella would hire anyone without secondary skills?” Gustav says dryly. “Keila’s cleaned up many of Ella’s… guests. After their meetings.”

Keila does not react. She presses the cloth down, firm and unflinching.

Gustav seals the wound and snaps the thread.

“We’ll need to keep an eye on this.”

“Where did you learn all this, Gus?” Darius mutters, sweat beading on his brow.

Gustav sighs and straightens, rolling tension out of his shoulders.

“Do you remember when Father was at his worst?” he asks quietly.

Darius face goes grim.

“You’d run to the fields,” Gustav continues. “Come back bruised, muddy, pretending you fell. El was usually too scared to move. Stuck in the library, lest he chose a different target.”

A faint, bitter smile touches Darius’ lips. “Though she’d never admit it.”

“No,” Gustav says. “But I could always tell.”

He looks away.

“I stayed behind. Waited for him to calm down. Stayed with Mother.” His voice lowers. “She taught me a lot in those days. How to bind wounds. How to splint bones. How to clean blood from the floor before it dried.”

A pause.

“Problem was, she used whiskey for mine.”

“Gus,” Darius says softly. “It’s okay.”

“It wasn’t,” Gustav says, but he forces a smile anyway. “Those were the days, eh, brother?” He turns back to Keila, the smile fading quickly. “Keep cleaning him up. If you need anything, ask. Ella’s called for a proper doctor. We just don’t know when they’ll arrive.”

Keila nods.

The moment Gustav steps into the hallway, the warmth drains from his face. He moves fast, boots striking the floor with purpose, past familiar rooms that suddenly feel too small.

The door at the end of the hall is guarded by Raj, broad, scarred, immovable.

“She’s not taking visitors,” Raj growls, pressing a hand into Gustav’s chest.

“Out of my way, Raj. I don’t have time for this.”

Raj hesitates, just long enough.

Gustav shoves past him. The door slamming shut behind him.

Ella doesn’t look up.

“El!” Gustav snaps.

“Didn’t Raj tell you—”

“Enough!” Gustav steps closer. “Darius is in bed covered in wounds. Your arm looks broken. Though you refuse to let me look at it!”

She keeps her gaze fixed on the desk.

An odd metal plate rests at its centre, etched with lines too precise to be decorative. Ella holds a magnifying glass above it, her fingers smudged with soot and ink.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Gustav says. “How could you do something so stupid?”

She finally looks up.

“Darius could have died,” he continues. “For Sol’s sake, Ella, you could have died. Robbing the Mages’ Guild. How could I have let you—”

“Let me?” Ella snaps. “You couldn’t have stopped me, Gus. Even if you tried. Everything I do is for this family.”

“Damned, if you don’t sound like Father!” Gustav says, gripping her chin before he can stop himself, forcing her to meet his eyes.

For a heartbeat, she freezes, not in fear, but memory.

Then she knocks his hand away.

“And you sound like the fool you’ve always been,” Ella fires back. “At least now you’re no longer a drunken one.”

Gustav’s fist clenches at his side.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Darius will live,” Ella says flatly. “He’s survived worse. He lost an arm, for Sol’s sake.”

“That’s not the point!” Gustav snaps. “Will you stop staring at that thing?”

“Gus,” she says, mimicking his tone, “this thing is the future of our family. In it lies the formula to smelt Lunar Steel.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“Of course you don’t,” she says. “Some call it the god-alloy. Really, it’s just an advanced steel. One with near ten times the magical conductivity of ignissium. If the legends are true.”

She exhales, excitement cutting through exhaustion. “Dark steel was a failed imitation. But imagine it, Gus. Imagine if we could make it. The only people in the realm who could.”

Gustav laughs, long, sharp, and disbelieving. “And you think you can crack something the Mages’ Guild’s been working on for centuries?”

“It’s not a language,” Ella snaps. “It’s not a code either. I think it’s some kind of diagram.” She scratches at her head and winces as her arm clicks.

“Will you at least let me look at that arm?”

“You’re not a doctor!”

“No,” Gustav says, softer now. “But I am your older brother.”

She groans as he checks her arm.

“Just bruised,” he says. “Deep.”

“I’ll get the actual doctor to look at it,” Ella mutters.

“And when will that be?”

“We can’t be too active on the streets yet,” she says. “They’re still looking for us.”

“What?”

The door swings open.

“Miss Ella,” Raj says. “There’s someone at the door.”

“From the Guild?” Ella asks, hand already on her dagger.

“No. But he’s asking for you.”

Ella locks the plate away.

The café is empty. Chairs stacked, lamps dimmed, the scent of old tea lingering in the air. Outside, the city sleeps uneasily.

A man stands at the counter, confidence pouring off him. He wears a tailored suit, well-made, understated, expensive in the way of merchants and financiers rather than lords. No insignia. No house colours. No guild symbols. Middle-aged, clean-shaven, hands folded patiently as Keila pours his tea.

He smiles as Ella approaches.

“Can I help you?” she asks. “It’s quite late.”

“No,” he says pleasantly. “But I believe I can help you.” His eyes flick briefly to the backdoor. “Tell me,” he adds. “Have you decoded it yet?”

The lock clicks. Raj cracks his knuckles.

“Do I know you?” Ella asks.

The man’s smile widens, not kindly.

“No,” he says. “But I would very much like to know you.”