Blood of Ravens

by Jen McIntosh

  ‘They’re ready,’ he said, his sharp face tense. Gaelan nodded and stood, gesturing for them to follow her. But Brer held up a hand in warning. ‘They’re not happy, Gaelan. None of them. Emalia won’t go against them for you, and I don’t hold as much sway with my father as I once did.’

  ‘I’m guessing that marrying Emalia has much to do with that,’ Gaelan noted. He winced at the rebuke in her voice but didn’t argue. So she set her shoulders and led the way from the room without a word.

  That had been half an hour ago. Now they were seated on a pair of low benches in the antechamber of the topmost tower. The climb up the stairs had left Suriya with a sharp pain in her ribs and such a heat in her cheeks she was sure her face was bright red, but Gaelan was unperturbed. She was seated across from them, hands resting in her lap as she stared ahead.

  Her composure grated on Suriya. How could she be so calm? And how could she say so much and yet so little at the same time? It rankled her pride to stay quiet. To place her trust in Gaelan. Unquestioning loyalty and blind faith had never sat well with her, but this was something else. The nerve of the woman, to ask it of them. To ask it of her …

  She wiped a weary hand across her face. Gods, she was so tired. Yet despite it all, something in her roared for blood. After all she’d given, all she’d sacrificed, she deserved answers. They both did. The only reason she hadn’t burned this city down around them was the faint hope that these people would shelter them. Shelter Lucan. There was no price she would not pay for his safety, not even her own pride. So she’d swallow her rage, let them see the scared little girl they expected. And if they turned them away … left Lucan to the wolves … well, Gods help them.

  But thoughts of violence were pushed from her mind when Brer appeared at the door and called them in – offering her a wink as he did so.

  Gaelan took a deep breath and stood, running an assessing eye over them and giving a reassuring smile. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she promised, whispering in their minds. ‘Just stay close.’

  She turned to the door, and Suriya watched as all compassion faded from her stern gaze. Once more, the terrifying Lady stood before them. Suriya blinked. Had she changed so much that it was a shock to see that heartless woman once more? A glance at Lucan said that he’d seen it too.

  But before they could question it, Gaelan swept into the room with all the bearing of a queen, leaving them to follow in her commanding wake. The Council chamber was nowhere near as grand as the throne room downstairs, but it was imposing enough in its own way.

  The room was round, with full-length windows covering half of the wall. As with Gaelan’s tower, glass doors opened out onto a large balcony and two elegantly dressed men stood outside, their heads bowed together, deep in conversation. Gaelan’s lip curled in distaste at the sight of them.

  ‘Princes Nuada and Vanir – the Skyrider and the Wavebreaker. They will not welcome you. One has seen too little of war, the other too much. It was a Princess of Wavebreaker who sheltered most of my people when Sephiron came for us. They paid dearly for that loyalty. Those losses have left them bitter and jaded. And the Skyrider … his House cowered like children, safe on their island while the rest of us bled for their freedom.’

  In the middle of the room was a huge, ring-like table with thirteen high-backed chairs – each emblazoned with a different crest – placed around it. The Princess Emalia was already seated beneath her crest of the two intertwined swans, while Prince Brer stood by her right shoulder. To her left was another man, seated beneath a sigil of an eagle with a thunderbolt in its talons. He looked enough like Alvar that Suriya didn’t need to ask if they were related. But father or brother? She was inclined towards the former. His face was unlined and his storm-black hair untouched by the silver of old age, but there was an ancient power in his thunderstorm eyes.

  ‘The Darkstorm. Prince Andriel is Alvar’s father. He never liked me,’ Gaelan noted without regret, confirming Suriya’s suspicions. Sure enough, the Darkstorm scowled as his eyes fell upon Gaelan, deepening further when he noted the twins’ presence. He opened his mouth, perhaps to object, but a pointed cough from Prince Brer cut him off. Suriya glanced at Brer, just in time to see him give her another subtle wink. She ignored him.

  To Emalia’s right was another man, with a wolf-pelt about his shoulders and keen yellow eyes that saw far too much. He gave Gaelan a predatory grin which, to their great surprise, she returned – even blowing him a mocking kiss.

  ‘Tiberus Frostfang,’ she said with a smirk. ‘He’s annoyed with me because I got you through the mountains. His seat, Wolfstone, was on the northern edge of the Whitefangs before the Rebellion. Just a ruin now, although the wards are still strong. He’s a hard bastard, but he’s fair.’

  Gaelan led them left, around the table, making her way to her own chair. Suriya had spotted her starry crest the minute they’d stepped into the room. The Darkstorm would be seated on her right. To her left was another man, seated beneath the sigil of a fox, who must be the ageing father of Prince Brer. The ancient weariness was obvious in his eyes, there for all to see.

  ‘The Shadowfox – Prince Eris. Stay on your guard around him – Brer inherited his cunning from his father, but any compassion he has he got from his mother. And don’t be deceived. Like any animal that’s old and weak, he’s even more dangerous for it because he has nothing to lose.’

  The three chairs beside him were empty. One bore the crest of a dove, carrying a branch of thorns, another was a white stag and the last an armoured bear. It wasn’t hard to figure out which of the three people standing on the periphery of the room belonged in which seat. There was a man dressed all in white with a crown of antlers upon his head and a woman, dressed in an exquisite grey gown with a skirt of feathers. They spoke to a woman wearing a dress of iron chain mail, with an armour-plated bodice.

  ‘Prince Herne and Princesses Colma and Artianna – the Whitehart, the Dovethorn and the Ironclaw. I knew Prince Herne’s mother very well. She was a good friend to both Alvar and myself, but she died during the Rebellion.’ Gaelan’s voice broke off, but she couldn’t stop the overwhelming sense of loss from seeping through the linking of their minds. ‘He was only a boy – not even graduated from the Academy. I think if she’d lived longer, he might have become a great man. But her loss broke him.’

  As they passed behind one of the seats nearest the door, a woman rose and stepped into their path. She was petite – at least a head shorter than Gaelan, with a slight, compact figure that reminded Suriya of the hawks she used to see soaring over the castle. Her skin was a glowing golden colour, her hair coal-black, and her eyes dark and smouldering like embers. Despite her somewhat grave expression, she opened her arms in offering and laughed with relief as Gaelan embraced her.

  ‘Endellion!’ Gaelan exclaimed, hugging the smaller woman to her. ‘Gods, it’s been too long!’ Endellion laughed again and returned the fierce embrace.

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ snapped another voice behind them. They turned to see another woman standing waiting, arms held out expectantly. She was taller than Endellion, though not as tall as the statuesque Gaelan, with pale hair, pale eyes and skin the colour of bone. Gaelan laughed and threw herself into the outstretched arms.

  ‘Anwyn!’ she cried. The woman rolled her eyes in exasperation and gave Endellion a long-suffering look before they crushed Gaelan between them, laughing all the while. Finally, they stepped back, though they kept their hands linked.

  Then Endellion’s gaze drifted over Gaelan’s shoulder and landed on Suriya. She held the gaze, too tired to care. Endellion frowned and exchanged a long look with Anwyn, before stepping around Gaelan and stretching out a hand to Suriya.

  Suriya forced herself not to flinch when the Immortal woman’s hand cupped her chin. But unlike Emalia’s cool touch, Endellion’s fingers were warm and firm as she stared right into Suriya’s soul.

  ‘Suriya, Lucan,’ Gaelan said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty in her eyes. ‘T
his is Endellion, Princess of Blackfire,’ she explained, ‘and Anwyn, Princess of Mistfury.’

  Endellion stepped back, releasing her grip, and Suriya’s eyes slid to Anwyn. Unlike the other women in the room, she wore trousers and a tunic. While finely made, they were simple, practical garments – more appropriate for an afternoon of hard labour than speaking with Princes. Three hounds appeared at Anwyn’s heels, all massive and black with gleaming red eyes. Suriya flinched back, though nobody else seemed perturbed by the vicious-looking dogs. Gaelan even scratched one between the ears.

  ‘An honour to meet you, Suriya and Lucan,’ Endellion murmured, inclining her head. From across the room, there was a snort of disagreement. The strange tenderness in Endellion’s mysterious gaze vanished as she turned on the spot to face the source.

  The Princes Vanir and Nuada had returned from the balcony to reclaim their seats and were now watching the reunion with disgust. Anwyn placed herself between the twins and the two Princes, folding her arms over her chest while her dogs growled in warning. Further round the table, Prince Tiberus’s wolfish grin broadened, and he leaned back in his chair with the air of a man about to watch something entertaining.

  Prince Andriel’s voice cut in. ‘Save your breath, Mistfury. We’ve heard it all before.’ Suriya glanced round to see him staring at her, but his thundercloud eyes slid away as if she were little more than a speck of dust on the floor. Instead, his attention lingered on Prince Vanir. ‘Manners cost you nothing, Wavebreaker. If you think it’s appropriate to insult a pair of homeless, desperate children then I question how you graduated the Academy, let alone deserve a seat on this Council.’

  Prince Vanir flushed with embarrassment and opened his mouth to reply, but Anwyn let out a loud bark of laughter and spoke over him. ‘There’s that famous Darkstorm temper,’ she crooned. Then she glanced back at Gaelan. ‘I knew there was a reason I’d missed you. He’s such a bore without you here to rile him up.’

  ‘Shut up,’ the Darkstorm snapped. Anwyn only snorted again and moved to take her seat between Prince Vanir and Prince Tiberus. As she dropped into her chair, the hounds gathering at her feet, she offered the former a hiss of contempt and the latter a mischievous wink. Likewise, Endellion slid back into her chair beside Prince Nuada without deigning to acknowledge him, instead making a great show of examining her nails. The three seats to the left of Prince Eris were now filled. But as Gaelan moved to take her seat, Suriya realised there was still one empty chair between Endellion and Vanir. Opposite Gaelan.

  The sigil was a raven in flight, though it looked as though someone had slashed across it with a knife. There was enough dust gathered on it for Suriya to know that it had not been used in a very long time. And although none seemed perturbed by its presence, nobody would look at it. Endellion and Vanir even seemed to lean away from it.

  ‘The last person to sit in that chair was Sephiron, Prince of Ravenscar,’ Gaelan whispered into their minds. ‘He was the last of his House. We leave the seat there as a reminder … and a warning to not repeat our past mistakes.’

  Suriya studied Gaelan’s expression surreptitiously, and something about it told her the placement of that chair was not accidental. Not when that same crest had adorned the hidden door in the castle. Whatever her history with the legendary Dark Prince, someone on the Council did not want Gaelan to forget it. But Suriya did not have time to think on it more, as Prince Tiberus cleared his throat.

  ‘Alright, Brightstar,’ he growled, leaning back in his chair. ‘You called this meeting. What do you want?’

  Gaelan opened her mouth to respond, but Prince Vanir spoke over her. ‘I think a better question would be where has she been for the last century? And why has she deigned to return after all this time? I find it remarkable that she disappears for so long and then has the nerve to show up on our doorstep demanding our aid.’

  ‘Nobody asked for your opinion,’ Anwyn snapped. ‘You’ve made an ass of yourself once already today, and we’ve only been in here for five minutes. You should pace yourself better.’

  ‘The Wavebreaker’s questions are valid,’ objected Prince Nuada. ‘I, for one, am most curious to know what the Brightstar has been up to all these years.’

  ‘The Brightstar’s business is her own,’ Endellion spat. ‘How would you like it if I were to pry into your private affairs?’

  ‘I’m not the one who brought down a curse upon her own people,’ Prince Nuada hissed. ‘How do we know she’s not here to bring more death and destruction down on us?’

  Gaelan did not so much as flinch at the accusation, but Suriya could see the tension in the set of her shoulders. Even Prince Andriel offered her a sympathetic grimace before rounding on the Skyrider.

  ‘The Blackfire is correct,’ he interjected, cutting off the argument. ‘This Council was founded on mutual trust and respect and, most importantly, equality. If we are to demand knowledge of the Brightstar’s movements over the last century, then we too must share our own.’

  ‘I have nothing to hide,’ bristled Nuada, getting to his feet – though the ruddy flush to his pale face said otherwise.

  ‘Perhaps not, but I’m not sure any of us want to hear it,’ Emalia said in a bored voice. ‘This is my city, and I have afforded the Brightstar – and the two children in her care – safe passage to attend this Council meeting. I would not have done so without ascertaining her loyalties and motivations, so unless you are suggesting that I would knowingly and willingly put my own people at risk or that I am so unwitting as to allow someone who would do us harm into my city, perhaps you should shut up and sit down.’

  Behind her, Brer grinned, amber eyes twinkling. His father shook his head in despair, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his gaze too.

  ‘If you’re all finished discussing me like I’m not even here,’ Gaelan said, leaning back in her chair. She folded her arms across her chest, cocking her head to the side as she considered them all. ‘I’ve been a member of this Council for longer than some of you have been alive. I spoke at the Dovethorn’s graduation; I taught the Ironclaw during her first years at the Academy; I helped the Whitehart take his first breath. I stood side by side with the Blackfire and the Mistfury when Sephiron came for them. I fought on the front lines with the Darkstorm heir when Wolfstone fell. I stood with the Swansinger’s predecessor when she gave her life to buy us enough time to hide this city. So don’t you dare accuse me of ever trying to bring harm to our people. I have given everything I have, everything I am, for them – for you.’

  There was a pregnant pause, before Prince Vanir sneered, ‘That is open for debate.’

  ‘No, it is not,’ the Darkstorm cut in. ‘The Brightstar may not have been my first choice to wed my son, and I have not agreed with all – if any – of her actions. But her motivations are beyond reproach, her dedication to our people beyond question.’

  ‘With all due respect, Darkstorm,’ Vanir argued, ‘you are hardly an impartial judge of her character. She’s the mother of your grandchild. An ineffective one perhaps, but I suppose you had to forgive her inadequacy.’

  There was a sudden intake of breath from around the table, and even the Frostfang paled. Beside him, Anwyn’s temper flared as she turned her murderous eyes on the Wavebreaker – the air around her shimmering, mist curling from her fingertips. And Endellion was no better. The room shook as black flames erupted from beneath her skin, her smouldering eyes sparking while she clenched her fists against the table. But none were so fearsome as the thunder that rumbled ominously overhead or the warning growl that ripped from the Darkstorm’s lips.

  ‘I have killed men for lesser insults, Wavebreaker,’ he breathed. ‘The Brightstar has as much right to sit at this table as you or me and should be treated with the respect due her as a member of this Council. Listen to me very carefully, Vanir. If I ever hear you speak to someone like that again, let alone me or mine, I will have you sealed up in the Graves. Do you understand me?’

  The light in Anwyn�
�s eyes turned feral, and she grinned at Vanir, as if daring him to argue. Across the table, Nuada opened his mouth to argue, but the flames surrounding Endellion flickered in warning, and he had the sense to close it. After what seemed like an age, Prince Vanir inclined his head in acquiescence.

  ‘Wise choice,’ Tiberus murmured, unable to hide the smirk on his lips. ‘Now back to the original question – what can we do for you Brightstar?’

  Gaelan leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she steepled her fingers in front of her lips. She paused, gathering her thoughts, gazing at the empty chair across from her. Then she took a deep breath and lowered her hands. ‘I was chosen guardian upon their parents’ deaths. I claim them as my own, as is my right, and seek to have them enrolled in the Academy.’

  Silence followed her pronouncement.

  Brer’s father recovered first. ‘Only children from the Houses may enter the Academy,’ he said, the boredom in his voice at odds with the glint of amusement in his eye. As though he too had just pieced together Gaelan’s scheming. She smiled sweetly at him.

  ‘But they are,’ she simpered. ‘Suriya and Lucan Brightstar. I am the only mother they have ever known. They’re as much mine as Brer is yours.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ the Dovethorn snapped. ‘Raising them doesn’t change the blood in their veins. They’re not even the same species as you. Mortals are as different from us as a songbird from an eagle.’

  ‘They’re not mortal – they’re Graced,’ Gaelan corrected. ‘Falcons perhaps, rather than eagles, but still closer to us than say’—she paused, an evil grin touching her lips as she gazed sidelong at the Dovethorn—‘a pigeon.’

  Princess Colma flushed, but the Whitehart laid a restraining hand on her wrist and leaned forward. ‘They could be firebirds, for all I care. You can’t just give your name to whoever you please.’

  ‘Actually, I can,’ said Gaelan. ‘There are no restrictions surrounding entry into the Houses – but adoption must be ratified by unanimous vote. Which it was.’