Blood of Ravens

by Jen McIntosh

  Then she looked around them, her eyes filling with unfathomable sorrow. Alvar, now pulled off his surcoat and wrapped Renila in it, his gaze growing murderous when he took in the library. He shook his head in disgust, eyes filling with loathing as he turned away. Gaelan opened her mouth, as if to explain, but he cut her off.

  ‘Later,’ was all he said, refusing to look at her.

  Movement at the corner of his eye caught Lucan’s attention, and he turned, raising Gaelan’s knife. Beyond the ring of ash, Darklings who had survived Renila’s flames were stirring. And they were angry.

  His gaze settled on the Huntress, and he saw the bloodlust in her eyes as she took in the devastation before her and counted the dead. The side of her face was angry with blisters. And although it healed with a wave of her hand, it left behind ugly and twisted scars that even magic could not erase. Renila had decimated her Hunt, and she growled as she roused the survivors for battle.

  ‘We have to go,’ Gaelan said.

  Alvar argued. ‘Erion –’

  ‘We’ll get him back,’ she promised. ‘I promise, Alvar. I will do everything in my power to get him back. But we can’t do that if we’re dead.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Take the twins, make for Khaladron. I’ll head south, draw them away from this place, from the children.’

  ‘How do you know they’ll follow you?’ Suriya interrupted.

  Alvar stood, hefting Renila’s unconscious form into his powerful arms. ‘The Huntress will not rest until she bathes in Renila’s blood for what happened here.’

  ‘You’re going to use her as bait,’ said Lucan. It was an accusation, not a question. Suriya laid a gentle hand on his arm.

  But Alvar did not reply. He gave a low whistle, never taking his eyes off the Huntress while she tried to regroup. Out of the smoke, his enormous white stallion leapt over the rubble of the keep, head thrown high as he whinnied at the sight of his master. Alvar lifted Renila into the saddle and climbed up behind her, cradling her against his chest as he gripped the reins.

  Behind them, Storm appeared from the settling dust with Copper stepping behind her. The huge black mare nudged her mistress with her great nose, as if reassuring herself that Gaelan was unharmed. Gaelan patted her neck, her attention on the Darklings.

  The Huntress hissed again, sensing that her prey was about to escape.

  ‘Gaelan, go now,’ Alvar said.

  Gaelan moved with inhuman speed, shoving the twins up onto Copper’s back and slapping a hand to the chestnut mare’s rump. The Darklings turned at the noise, but they were too slow. Copper was already galloping into the night as Gaelan swung up into Storm’s saddle, kicked her heels to her flanks and thundered after them.

  Lucan glanced back just in time to see Alvar roar in challenge before urging his own mount in the opposite direction. The Huntress screamed in frustration, her prey scattering to the winds. But Alvar had been right – there was no hesitation when she ordered what remained of her Hunt after Renila.

  Behind Lucan, Suriya was silent as they watched Alvar and Renila disappear into the forest. But Gaelan pressed them onward.

  ‘We ride until sunrise,’ she said as Storm cantered to a stop beside them. Lucan glanced across. Her starlight hair was wild and unbound and her eyes heavy with grief. Her clothes were torn, her armour stained with blood and ash, and she still carried her sword in her hand. She was every inch a warrior, power radiating from her like lightning flashing in the night. Whoever Gaelan was, she was not the woman he had known all his life. Her eyes softened as she held his gaze. ‘Do not look back,’ she whispered.

  And with that, she led them into a night as black as their despair.

  The mighty, black dragon was soaring high over the mountains when she felt the wards shatter behind her; the magic contained roaring out into the world. Exposed. Defenceless. Guilt flickered in her chest, but she held her course. Blood called to blood. Her blood needed her.

  Théon.

  Keriath.

  Still, she was not entirely without mercy. Groping through her mind, she searched for a single thread. Fragile and well-hidden, but more important to her than anything. Finding it, she swallowed her fear and tugged …

  A familiar presence stirred at the other end.

  ‘I am here. What is wrong?’ it seemed to say.

  So she told it. Whispered secrets of children, hidden in a forest. Of Darklings and Shade Princes. Of magic she had not sensed in a hundred years. Of her stolen family.

  ‘Never fear, I am near,’ it whispered back. ‘Do what needs to be done. We will do the rest.’

  Then it was gone, and she was alone once more in her quest.

  Chapter Twenty

  They packed quickly, or at least they seemed to think so. For Alexan, who’d lived his entire life always ready to move at a moment’s notice, it was painfully slow. So many decisions. So much discussion. He was clenching his teeth so hard by the end of it he wasn’t sure his jaw would ever open again.

  Théon, at least, seemed to grasp the urgency. The old man too, though unlike Théon he lacked the deep-seated dread that follows a near-death experience. But neither seemed prepared to impress that need for haste upon Illyandi. If she debated which gowns she couldn’t leave behind for any longer, she was likely to have her own near-death experience far sooner than she expected. What was it about Diathor’s daughters that so tested his patience?

  He snorted, packing food and blankets into the wagon. There was too much of their fathers in both of them. The Shade King’s arrogance might have manifested as wild recklessness in Théon, but Alexan was under no illusions as to its source. Much like Illyandi’s vanity. Prince Sarron had been a proud man. Pretentious. Preening. Alexan had never understood what Diathor had seen in him. It made it easier that they were neither like their mother. Less painful. Even if Illyandi looked enough like his Queen that the sight of her was like a knife in his gut.

  ‘You alright?’ Théon’s voice dragged his attention back to his surroundings. She was standing nearby, strapping various weapons to her saddle. The steel-grey stallion eyed him warily. Smart beast. Smarter than the coal-black mare he would be riding. Smarter than that prancing lily-white beast of Illyandi’s. The Princess had almost wept to see her elegant, fleet-footed mount hitched up to the wagon like some common packhorse. The swine had bitten him twice too.

  Alexan sighed. ‘I’ll be fine once we get moving.’

  ‘She’s almost done,’ Théon assured him, disappearing into the byre once more.

  ‘You said that half an hour ago,’ he muttered.

  The old man, lingering by the front of the wagon, glared. Alexan ignored him. Took a deep breath as he watched Illyandi scatter feed for the chickens and open the paddock gate to let the sheep roam free, sobbing all the while. Resisted the urge to swear.

  ‘You understand that she neither wants nor needs your help, Darkling?’ Silvermane said, noting his gaze. ‘She has no intention of allowing you to serve her.’

  Alexan snorted, eyeing him up and down. ‘You think I’d waste my time on a child? I serve Diathor’s firstborn, the eldest surviving heir of Benella herself.’

  ‘Don’t talk down to me about birthright,’ the old man growled. ‘I was there when Benella birthed Vianka and Velor – I know which one was born first, and I know which took the throne. Sometimes the rightful heir isn’t fit to wear the crown. Benella’s sister was one, her daughter another. Théon is no different.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘Because she’s a damned Shade!’ the old man said. ‘She’s as much Sephiron’s heir as she is Benella’s.’

  ‘I know a fucking Shade when I see one,’ snarled Alexan. ‘I’ve spent the last hundred years serving the bastards – I know the mark of Sephiron’s heirs. I also know the eyes of the woman I loved. Eyes I never thought I’d see again. Until I saw her.’ He jerked his chin to indicate Théon watching from the byre door. Watching with her evergreen eyes. Diathor’s eyes, staring at him out of h
er daughter’s face.

  ‘Just because that magic slumbers, doesn’t mean it is gone,’ Silvermane growled.

  Alexan’s attention snagged on the comment, but he pushed it aside for later. ‘Théon is Diathor’s true heir. She’s not her father. I know that better than anyone. You can’t blame her for what happened. She was just a child. I failed to protect her once before. I won’t fail again.’

  He walked away before he said – or did – anything he could regret. The old man was going to test his patience, that was for sure. The Princess too. Even Théon was far from what he’d expected. Competent, yes, but ruled by her emotions. She was impulsive. Impetuous. Illogical. It set his teeth on edge.

  It was only when his temper had cooled that he dared to return. Théon was helping the old man up into the wagon while Illyandi stared at the cottage, her eyes welling with tears once more. Alexan resisted the urge to scream as he swung up into the saddle. Quite how she had remained so soft after almost a century on the run was beyond him … Though as he watched Théon place a tender arm around her sister’s shoulders, guiding her away, he began to get an inkling.

  Finally, they were ready, and Théon took the lead as they headed out of the glen, trusting him to guard the rear. They stopped on the crest of the hill, looking back down on the little croft. In the darkness, it was hard to make out, but Alexan could picture it in his mind’s eye. A wisp of smoke curling from the chimney, belying life no longer present. Crops waiting for a harvest that would never come. Sheep still grazing in the paddock, ignoring the freedom offered by the open gate.

  It was idyllic. Peaceful. The type of place Alexan had once dreamed of calling home. He’d lived in so many places throughout his life, but none had ever been a home. Not the old shepherdess’s cottage where he’d taken his first steps, nor any of the safe havens he’d found throughout his years on the streets. Not the barracks, nor the quarters he’d been assigned as he rose through the ranks. Not the chambers in the palace he’d been afforded as Lord Protector. Certainly not anywhere he’d lived since the Fall. Elucion was little more than a cage. A luxurious cage, right enough, but all splendour lost its shine when viewed through bars.

  The farm had that rustic comfort, the security he’d always yearned for. He felt a strange pang of regret that he’d forced them to abandon it. Prayed some mortal would stumble upon it, eventually. But as he passed through the wards, he realised they never would. Théon had built the magic too strong for anyone to ever chance across it.

  ‘It’s a shame,’ he heard himself saying. ‘That’s good land – not much of that to go about around here. Seems a pity for it to go to waste.’

  From the corner of his eye, he could see Théon studying him sidelong, but she said nothing as she raised her hands. A smile touched her lips, and she summoned the Casting with casual indifference. Unravelling wards was only harder than forging them if yours was not the hand that Cast them. Alexan tensed, waiting for her magic to set his stomach churning, but the nausea he anticipated never quite came.

  He frowned. What was it the old man had said? Just because that magic slumbers, doesn’t mean it is gone. Suspicion crept up the back of his neck. He’d never known how they’d cut the Shade from her. None but Diathor and Kalielle Half-Elven had been allowed to bear witness. Where they’d found the power …

  Doubt was a chill in his veins as he watched the wards crumble into nothing. Sensed the magic Théon wiped away with a wave of her slender hand. Considered the colossal power it would take to have Cast those wards. More power than any of the Graced should possess. Far more than even he could conjure. Not without touching that sleeping behemoth. The mark on his hand prickled at the thought.

  There was nothing he could do to stop that cold lump of dread from slipping a little deeper as they turned away from the croft and melted into the wilderness. He’d come hunting the Elf-Queen, not a Shade Princess. If he was wrong … well, he was about to discover that he was out of his depth.

  They rode until dawn. Illyandi had fallen asleep hours ago, her head resting on the old man’s drooping shoulders. The reins were loose in Silvermane’s gnarled hands, and he wasn’t convinced that Illyandi’s silly mare could be trusted to follow Théon riding ahead. But she called a halt before he had to intervene. Whether or not she’d actually noticed their weariness, Alexan was just glad he wouldn’t need to draw her attention to it. It wouldn’t have endeared him to either of them.

  It took all his self-restraint to say nothing while she picked out a safe place to set up camp. Keeping his expression impassive was even harder, especially when he looked at the spot she’d chosen. But he drew the line at letting a drowsy Illyandi build the fire.

  He shouldered the Princess aside in exasperation, knocking the pathetic pile of twigs apart and starting again. Illyandi yelped in fright and scurried out of the way, earning him a reproachful look from both Théon and the old man.

  ‘She was making a pig’s ear of it,’ he grumbled.

  Théon’s frown deepened. ‘She was trying her best.’

  He bit his tongue to keep from replying. Focussed on coaxing flames from the smouldering tinder in his hands.

  ‘What is that mark on your hand?’ the Princess demanded.

  Instinct had him turning his hand over to hide it. ‘A birthmark.’

  Not a lie. He’d had it since birth, and it was a mark …

  ‘Why don’t you just use the Casting?’ Illyandi asked a moment later. Then she looked away, her face flushing scarlet as if embarrassed to have spoken to him.

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, answering as calmly as he could. ‘I prefer to do it by hand. Any skill requires practice to stay honed, and this is an important skill to have. I never know when I might be caught without the Casting at my disposal.’

  ‘I’ve never been without the Casting,’ she blurted.

  He huffed a soft laugh, trying not to notice how prettily she blushed. ‘If only we were all so lucky.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  Théon shot him a warning look.

  He ignored it. ‘It’s like someone shoving your head underwater and holding it there while you drown.’

  Illyandi’s lovely face paled, and she looked away with a delicate shudder. Théon glared at him. Satisfaction and frustration warred within him. The Princess was easy to rile. Too easy. How could Théon have sheltered her so thoroughly?

  ‘And what reason would the Shade King have for binding the powers of his own general?’ the old man asked.

  It was Alexan’s turn to glare. Of course the old bastard had known. The question was, had Théon? He didn’t need to look to find out the answer. Her silence told him enough. Yet even knowing who he was, what he’d done, she’d still chosen to spare him. He couldn’t bring himself to meet those eyes. Didn’t want to know what he might see there. Held more than enough disgust for himself in his heart. A deep breath fought that rising wave down.

  ‘It wasn’t the Shade King who forced the ruan down my throat,’ he said, his voice soft and more deadly for it. ‘The Elven Guard was an elite group. Prospective candidates were tested. Thoroughly. How else were they to know if we could fight as well without magic as with it?’

  The old man did not flinch from the accusation. ‘To guard the Elf-Queen is an honour. It is not a duty that all are suited to.’

  Alexan’s gaze hardened. Those words had weight for any who had known the burden. All who served knew the cost… The Guard had to ensure that all those around their Queen were up to the task, and so many panicked when stripped of their power. Another trickle of misgiving slid down his spine. I was there when Benella birthed Vianka and Velor, Silvermane had said. There were scant few with reason to be present at a royal birth.

  ‘Rare for the Guard to recruit beyond Illyol’s borders,’ Alexan noted, arching a brow in challenge.

  Silvermane’s gaze shuttered. ‘But not unheard of.’

  Alexan said nothing, eyeing the old man over the flames. He was not wrong. Ther
e were a handful from the other Graced bloodlines to have served the Elf-Queen. One had even risen to the rank of Lord Protector. Captured the heart of the Queen who owned him, body and soul. Ruled at her side. Fathered her children. It was a story Alexan knew well. A faint hope he’d clung to when he’d learned of Diathor’s position. Heir to the Oak Throne. Destined to wear the Hawthorn Crown. Hoping that she – like her great-grandmother, Queen Benella – would fall in love with her Lord Protector. Prince Kenor had been a Unicorn, if a vaguely well-born one. Alexan was at least an Elf, even if he had come from nothing.

  ‘We’ll need to get moving in a few hours,’ said Théon, breaking the silence as she handed a blanket to her sister. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.’

  ‘She got plenty of sleep in the wagon, and she can sleep again once we get moving,’ Alexan interrupted, earning him another glare, but he continued. ‘You’re the one who needs rest. Going toe to toe with any Shade Prince will take it out of you, and I’ve been around the Court long enough to know Kieyin doesn’t pull his punches. You’re doing a good job of hiding it, but you’re drained. Don’t make it worse by exhausting yourself too.’

  Silence followed his accusation. Théon’s gaze was blistering, pulsing with that eerie light, while Illyandi’s jaw went slack as if in shock that anyone would dare speak to her sister that way.

  Silvermane was frowning at Théon. ‘Perhaps it is time we heard a little more of what transpired between yourself and Prince Kieyin. And how you came to owe a life-debt to a member of the Shade King’s inner circle.’

  Alexan said nothing, looking to Théon. He’d find out how the old man was so well informed about the workings of the Shade King’s Court later. This was a more important conversation. One that would either save him or damn him.

  She relayed the exchange and ensuing battle with dispassionate precision, her voice cool with indifference while she described how close she’d come to losing her life. It was almost chilling, the detachment she exuded while narrating what were almost her last moments. Even when she recounted how he’d saved her, there was no hint of emotion in those evergreen eyes. And nothing even approaching gratitude.