Blood of Ravens

by Jen McIntosh

  The Lady’s livid gaze turned on Erion. ‘You again? Why is it you seem so insistent on leading these children astray?’

  ‘Erion did nothing wrong,’ Renila growled, pulling her son behind her as if to hide him from those dreadful eyes.

  The Lady snorted. ‘Other than stealing my horse and leading Suriya and Lucan into the Ravenswood, after spinning them some ridiculous story – one of yours no doubt?’

  ‘That’s not how I heard it,’ Renila retorted.

  ‘Because that’s not what happened,’ Erion murmured from behind her.

  The Lady’s face was inscrutable. ‘Well, I’m afraid your son’s word does not carry much weight with me. Suriya and Lucan said that is what happened, and I’m inclined to believe them. This is hardly the first time your boy has caused trouble under my roof.’

  Renila glanced back at the children. Lucan and Suriya looked uncomfortable, but these were not the shamed faces of two people caught lying by loved ones. Erion’s expression was one of total betrayal. His eyes were stormy-black and swimming with unshed tears. Renila frowned. Something did not add up. But before she could speak, Erion exploded.

  ‘That’s a lie!’ he screamed at the twins. ‘Lucan was the one stupid enough to run into the wood when it was nearly dark. And the only reason I took Storm was because Suriya somehow knew he was in trouble. We found him just as he was about to be attacked by a Darkling, and she killed it with magic!’

  The look on the twins’ faces was utter confusion, and they blinked stupidly in the face of the accusations. They glanced at each other, and Renila could see the alarm in their eyes. She knew her son wasn’t lying – she could hear the truth in his voice – but somehow, the twins remembered a different truth. Deep within her mind a glimmer of warning, of understanding, sparked to life. But before she could comprehend it, the Lady distracted her.

  ‘That’s the best you can come up with?’ she sneered. ‘You’ve got quite some way to go, young man, if you hope to be as good a storyteller as your mother.’

  ‘It’s not a story!’ Erion shouted, pushing passed Renila. ‘It’s the truth!’

  The Lady drew herself up to her full height and turned her furious eyes on Renila. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ she spat. ‘That boy has caused nothing but trouble since the day you arrived. If you cannot keep him away from those children, then you will have to go. I cannot tolerate either of you any longer. I want you ready to leave by sunrise tomorrow.’

  She turned and stormed from the room.

  Chapter Seven

  Keriath swore as she fought her way free from the cloying darkness of unconsciousness. The reek of magic filled her nose, and she tasted her own blood in her mouth. Her head was pounding, her vision blurred, and she had no sense of anything around her. She blinked, shaking her head to clear the fog as she struggled to stand.

  Except she couldn’t move. Her back was to a tree and a considerable length of rope bound her to it. They’d tied it tight too. She barely had room to breathe, and it bit into her arms. Her hands were numb; she must have been like this a while. She wiggled her fingers, trying to encourage some feeling back.

  Manacles encircled her wrists, a thick chain clinking between them, the cold bite of iron against her skin unmistakable. As was the stench of magic imbuing them. Dark. Corrupted. Wrong.

  A Shade had made these. Filled them with the power to shackle even the Graced. To contain their might, subdue their magic. A hiss of frustration burst past her lips as she pulled viciously against her restraints, though she knew it was useless. Her captors clearly recognised what she was. Escape would not be easy.

  Above her, a calm voice called out in warning. ‘She’s waking up.’

  ‘Quick, the ruan,’ came the response from the shadows, this voice cold and cruel.

  She flinched at the word; at what she knew was coming. A hand fisted in her hair, wrenching her head back. She thrashed, ignoring the pain when they ripped a handful of hair from her scalp. Two pairs of firm hands gripped her face, and sharp fingers prised her jaw open. She bit down on them, drawing a satisfying howl from their owner. But they did not relent.

  Keriath tried not to swallow as they tipped the bitter liquid down her throat, but they kept pouring it in until she choked. She spat out as much as she could, but when she felt the ruan’s icy grip, she knew it was too late. She grasped for her magic, but that ocean of power was now only frozen wasteland. Worse was the panic now coursing through her as it choked off her magical senses. Without them, she couldn’t feel those around her – their thoughts, their emotions, their presence. All silent. They might as well have blinded her.

  Panting with frustration, she hissed, ‘I will kill you for th—’

  A hand appeared from the shadows and cracked across her face, leaving her cheek stinging, and she fell silent, glaring up at her captors. Darklings. The Hunt was gathered in close. Their leader, the Hunter, stood over her. It – no, his … Gods, since when did she suffer a Darkling to live long enough to notice or care for its gender – dark eyes were merciless as they considered her. She didn’t need her power to know her initial impression had been right. This one was cruel beyond belief.

  She glanced past him to the Graced Darkling from the Ravenswood. He was standing back, separate from the Hunt, surveying the scene with feigned disinterest. But where he was huge and broad-shouldered, a warrior born and bred if she were to guess, the Hunter was slender as a rapier. Although judging by her smarting cheek, he was strong enough.

  ‘I know what you are,’ the Hunter crooned, drawing her attention back. His voice sent chills down her spine. It was the voice of a creature that delighted in the pain of others. She spat in his face rather than show the fear he stirred. He smacked her again, hard enough to draw blood, before wiping the spittle from his cheek. His head cocked to the side as he considered the mix of blood and saliva on his hand. With a smirk, he licked it clean, his eyes rolling back into his head with exaggerated pleasure. Keriath repressed a shudder. Not just cruel, but mad too. ‘I can’t help but wonder why three of the Graced are meeting in the dead of night so far into the Ravenswood?’

  She stilled, unease churning in her gut. ‘Keep wondering, Darkling. I’m not about to tell you.’

  The Hunter chuckled softly.

  ‘Ah, false bravado,’ he hissed. He breathed deeply, as if savouring a sweet fragrance. ‘I can smell your fear. You’re drowning in it.’

  She unleashed a blistering string of curses, refusing to give him the satisfaction of flinching, of letting him know how close to the mark his words had struck. But as the Graced Darkling prowled forward, she trailed off. Dread was an icy fist around her chest, and she thrashed against her restraints. He crouched down beside her, grasping her chin and forcing her to look at him.

  ‘I wouldn’t. You’ll hurt yourself,’ he warned. The Hunter turned and stalked away in disgust. The Graced Darkling ignored him, his eyes flickering up to her brow. To the star-shaped mark she bore there. Or at least what was left of it. Then with a surprisingly gentle hand, he pushed her hair back to reveal the slender, tapered ears that matched his own. Their eyes met, and he let her hair fall, his gaze dark with warning.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked. She tried and failed to suppress a shiver. His kindness was more unnerving than the Hunter’s cruelty. Instinct had her pressing her lips into a tight line. He sighed, but let it go. ‘Alright, what about the other two?’ She stared back at him, face impassive. ‘You need to give him something, or he’ll kill you.’

  ‘And what? You’re worried you won’t get to sample the treat?’ she sneered. Then she heaved against her restraints, leaning in closer. ‘Listen carefully, Darkling, because I won’t say this again. I will tell you nothing, and nothing you do to me that will change that. Some things are worth dying for.’

  He sighed, his brows knitting together as he scowled at her. ‘You’re making things very difficult for me.’ She gave him a withering look, not unlike the one he’d given her in the
clearing before he bested her.

  ‘You’d be worried if I made them easier for you,’ she muttered as he stood and walked away. Another shiver of discomfort raced down her spine as she heard him chuckle. Then she was alone.

  And unguarded, as far as she could see.

  The sound of a branch breaking underfoot nearby drew her attention. She stilled, angling her head towards the source of the noise as a figure emerged from the shadows. But it was dread, not hope, that bloomed in her chest at what she saw.

  The Darkling was a young female with lank brown hair and the same bottomless, dark red eyes as the others. But it was small. Weak and starving. Had Keriath been free, she’d have killed it with a single thought. But bound as she was? It would drain her dry and there would be nothing she could do to stop it. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

  Agony ripped through her as the Darkling tore into her throat, her scream of pain strangled at its source. Instead, all she heard was an unpleasant gurgle from the gaping wound where the Darkling was feeding greedily. Darkness gripped her, dragging her into unconsciousness.

  From the shadows came the roar of an enraged beast, and the Darkling was ripped from her. Keriath opened her eyes to see the Graced Darkling hurl the weak female across the clearing and into the trunk of a nearby oak. Through the haze of pain, she just made out its head smashing against the wood before it crashed to the ground, stunned but alive. Clambering to its feet, it shrieked, enraged, and staggered towards him like a drunkard. The Graced Darkling crouched over Keriath, hissing furiously, and for once, the stench of stolen life didn’t turn her stomach. Then the Hunter was between them. He pulled the female behind him and faced down Keriath’s saviour with icy rage in his eyes.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he spat.

  The Graced Darkling stood to his full height. ‘She was going to kill the prisoner,’ he said, pointing at the female cowering behind the Hunter.

  ‘This is my Hunt, Alexan. You may not be bound to me, but so long as you are with us, you will respect my authority,’ the Hunter breathed.

  Alexan smiled coldly, but Keriath stilled as a bolt of recognition hit her, even while she struggled to stay conscious. She knew that name. Knew who he served.

  ‘You mean, like she did?’ he asked. The Hunter’s lips pursed into a tight line, but he said nothing. ‘Your Hunt is weak and starving, Drosta. They’re going to get us all killed if you don’t do something.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you alone with my prisoner,’ snarled Drosta.

  Alexan bristled. ‘You mean my prisoner? I caught her, Drosta. She goes with me.’

  ‘We’ve been hunting her for weeks – stalked her all the way from Thornhold! She’s ours. The Queens’ orders are explicit – any prisoners are for Dar Kual.’

  Alexan stepped forward, looming over Drosta in silent threat. ‘I don’t have to listen to your Queens; my orders come from the King.’

  Keriath couldn’t stop herself – a gasp of horror escaped her lips. Panic laced with pain clouded her vision. Not him. Anyone but him. Alexan glanced round, his expression almost apologetic.

  ‘Your orders don’t include her,’ Drosta challenged. ‘She’s mine. If you try to take her, you’re poaching, and not even your King can protect you from the consequences.’

  Alexan didn’t correct him. Keriath didn’t let herself consider what that meant. ‘Get your Hunt fed, Drosta. She stays with me until then.’ He turned and cut Keriath’s bindings, lifting her into his arms when she swayed. She was vaguely aware of Drosta’s burning gaze on them. There was death in those eyes.

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ he hissed.

  Above her, Alexan cocked his head to one side. ‘Go on. I dare you,’ he breathed. Drosta glared but didn’t move. Alexan snorted dismissively. ‘I didn’t think so. Half your Hunt is still missing, Drosta. You don’t have the numbers to fight me. And you don’t have the balls to try it, even if you did.’ And then he turned his back on the Hunter and disappeared into the shadows, carrying Keriath in his arms.

  ‘I wish you’d let it kill me,’ she whispered, and darkness took her once more.

  As she came to, the pain in her head was so sharp Keriath worried someone had buried an axe in her skull while she was unconscious. Running a cautious hand over her scalp assured her that was not the case, so she dared a tentative touch to her throat. The wound was healed, but the chill of magic lingered on her skin.

  She groaned, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders as she looked around. She was sitting by a small campfire, unbound and unwatched. Her frown deepened. Standing, she strained her senses for anything that might be a threat.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ said a quiet voice behind her. She tried, and failed, not to start in fright, doing her best to disguise it as she spun to face the Graced Darkling. Alexan. Gods, was it not enough that she’d failed to kill him, must she really be burdened with his name too? He was leaning nonchalantly against a tree, eating an apple. She forced herself not to shudder as his teeth pierced the rosy flesh. ‘You’re still under the influence of the ruan and will be for a while. You can’t Cast, you can’t Enchant, you’ll struggle to beat me in a fight and, as you’ve already found out, you can’t outrun me.’ He grinned as she snarled in defiance. ‘Go ahead and try it though,’ he offered, pulling away from the tree and tossing the core away.

  She didn’t hesitate. Turning on her heel, she bolted for the forest. She’d barely made it two steps before he slammed into her, pinning her to the ground and twisting her arms behind her back. Her shoulders barked in pain, but she thrashed anyway, trying to dislodge him. Not that it did any good. He was strong. Too strong. Even for a Darkling.

  But she didn’t stop. Even when exhaustion clouded her vision and burned at her already aching muscles, she kept fighting. Surrender was not a word that Graced children were taught. Their creed was victory or death, and this Darkling knew it. He held her there until her body trembled with fatigue and her thoughts had long since lost coherence.

  ‘Give up,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  She snarled again, desperate to keep fighting, but her body defied her. Her screaming muscles refused to move anymore, and she collapsed to the ground, beaten.

  Alexan heaved a sigh of relief and he released her, carrying her back to the fire and depositing her in a heap beside it. A blanket, a water skin and some food followed, tossed at her feet. She took them without a word, pulling the blanket about her shoulders and leaning into the warmth of the fire. A tentative sniff of the water told her it was free of poison, but the food she eyed in apprehension. The bread and cheese were probably safe to eat, but there was also a blood-red apple that made her nervous. Too many bedtime stories about poisoned princesses, perhaps.

  ‘You realise saving my life changes nothing?’ she asked, distracting herself from the morbid turn her thoughts had taken.

  ‘I would expect nothing less, Keriath,’ he replied, grinning as she flinched. ‘What? You thought I wouldn’t recognise the Shade King’s daughter when I saw her?’

  ‘I don’t have a father,’ she said automatically. But her mind was racing. She’d recognised his name – it was hardly surprising he’d recognised her. The three favoured generals of the Shade King were legendary, though Alexan was the most mysterious of them all. She knew nothing about his life before he’d appeared in the Shade King’s Court a hundred years ago. Nothing about why he had joined forces with the monster who had killed his Queen.

  The Darkling chuckled at her denial. ‘So that part’s true,’ he mused. His eyes glinted like rubies in the firelight. ‘I assume you won’t work with me?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked scathingly.

  He shrugged and sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. There was a peculiar, circular mark on his palm. Like a strange birthmark. Possibly even a brand. ‘It was worth asking. If not, we have a bit of a problem. Drosta has laid claim to you, and if I try to take you by force, I risk st
arting a war. Relations between my King and the Darkling Queens are … a little tense at the moment. I can’t risk making things worse by getting into it with Drosta. If you’re willing to work with me though, I think I can get you out of this mess.’

  Keriath arched a sceptical brow. ‘Do tell?’

  ‘Claim your birthright,’ he said. ‘If you were to acknowledge the Shade King as your father and claim your place in the Court, I would be duty-bound to escort you to him in Elucion.’

  She gaped at him. She knew what he was talking about. How could she not? Since her first breath, the Shade King had claimed her as his heir. Her and Théon. But where Théon was the result of rape – a child conceived in violence and blood – rumour claimed Keriath’s mother had gone willingly to the Shade King’s bed. The Lady Kylar had never spoken about the circumstances of the union, but she’d never denied that it had happened. Keriath knew her mother well enough to guess the truth. That Kylar had sought to use her power to ensnare and subdue Sephiron’s heir. Had sacrificed herself, body and soul, in the hopes of stopping him. But she had failed.

  The Shade King believed that Keriath was the product of that union, but the Lady Kylar had denied it to her dying breath. Keriath knew whose word she trusted more. In a hundred years, she’d never doubted. Never even considered doubting. She’d seen what life as the Shade King’s heir had done to Théon. She’d sooner die than suffer that fate.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ she scoffed. But the determination glittering in his eyes said otherwise. She shook her head. ‘Not a chance. I would rather die than step within a hundred miles of that city so long as that monster draws breath.’

  ‘Then there is nothing else I can do for you.’

  ‘You could let me go. I’ll even promise not to sneak back here and put a knife in your worthless heart.’

  He snorted. ‘Empty words from a woman so easily bested. Tell me, is your sister as arrogant as you?’ Keriath bristled. Even if she didn’t believe the Shade King’s lies surrounding their parentage, there were few others in the world she cared for as much as Théon.