The Raven Coven

by Emma Miles

  ‘Would you mind if I sho—’

  She gave a loud sigh of exasperation. ‘Do what you wish, but I will be on the ship back to Taurmaline within the hour.’

  ‘You do not wish to stay?’ Rosa looked at her in surprise. ‘It will be very late by the time you get back to Taurmaline.’

  Ayline put her knife and fork down loudly on her plate and sat back to stare at her former lady. How could she seriously think she’d want to stay here? Rosa’s face turned a bright red.

  Larissa stood and gave a low and long curtsey. ‘Your majesty, we will be quick, please excuse us.’

  The two women hurried from the hall and Ayline watched them with her eyes narrowing, they seemed to walk rather closely together, as though they were good friends or conspired about something. She shoved her plate away.

  ‘Someone get me some chamomile tea!’

  One of the Hold women heard and darted off at once. Ayline rubbed at her temples. Her two ladies had gone very quiet, picking at their food although eating little. She didn’t care. The whole day had been unbearable and had just highlighted how little power she really had. She had to take authority, demand the respect she deserved. But where should she start?

  ***

  She spent the journey back shut away in the cabin, forcing her two ladies to stay out on deck in the cold and the dark. She hoped they were miserable. Eventually she fell asleep.

  For once she didn’t dream of Inari and the tower but instead of the throne room in Taurmaline. She herself was seated on the throne and something heavy sat on her head, warm and comforting against her brow. Several men, dressed in the finery of princes, knelt before her, awaiting her command for them to stand. Glancing to her left she saw Jorrun was seated in his stark, black chair, his skin like marble and his eyes like glass. A familiar voice whispered in her ear.

  ‘Start with the King. When he cedes you power, all will follow his example.’

  She turned quickly to come face to face with Inari, his green eyes wide, his mouth almost close enough to kiss, but the dream took her out and away from the throne room. She heard a strange sound, reminiscent of the ropes of the rigging, but terror gripped her stomach when she saw the scaffolding in the castle ward. Three figures hung from it, swinging still, the red hair of one unmistakable. Larissa, Dia, and that ugly witch, Kesta. Her fear turned into delight.

  ‘Will you come to the tower?’ A voice spoke softly in her mind.

  ‘Yes!’ Deep in sleep, she smiled.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jorrun; Covenet of Chem

  He’d expected her anger, feeling Kesta shaking against his shoulder was so much harder to bear. He held her tightly, wishing there was something he could say, consumed by guilt that he’d brought her here.

  ‘Azrael, guard those women!’ Osun commanded.

  Jorrun looked up and caught his brother’s darker eyes. Osun gestured down the corridor and he nodded.

  ‘What next?’ Jagna looked pale, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

  ‘We ensure the palace guards will take our command, or we kill them,’ Osun replied.

  Kesta pushed herself away from Jorrun’s chest and he let her go. She glanced up at him quickly, the skin of her cheeks and around her eyes was red. ‘How many are we likely to face?’ she asked.

  ‘From the information I gathered, not that many.’ Osun pressed his lips together in a thin smile. ‘A lot of them had served Dryn for many years and either took the chance to leave when he died, or stayed and died when Cepack took the palace. I’d be surprised if there were many who feel loyalty to Cepack.’

  ‘And yet two of them were prepared to kill the women for him.’ Kesta’s nostrils flared and her fingers curled tighter around her dagger.

  Jorrun cleared his throat. ‘It’s not an unusual order. Killing the women stops the new coven from potentially gaining strength for the future.’

  ‘We need to get going,’ Osun prompted.

  He led them back down the corridor and Jorrun found himself trailing at the rear. He couldn’t help it, his feet faltered when he came back to the door. The small room had been his home, his defenceless haven for the first eight years of his life. During the day he’d been made to attend lessons, learning to read and write and how to fight, how to obey and how to endure pain. His nights were spent with his mother, learning about life, how to care, how to love and how to perform magic. Whenever they could avoid the guards their small sanctuary was shared with Osun and his mother, Matyla.

  Sometimes the guards had come to take his mother away. He never asked but he knew where she was being taken, he saw the bruises on her skin. He’d never seen his mother fight them, although she did in her own way, with her quiet dignified strength; the same strength that helped her survive two miscarriages and a stillbirth. They didn’t speak of what happened downstairs in the palace, but the other women did, and Jorrun was a curious child, always needing to understand the world. He learned early to hate men, sometimes the women too, not understanding until he was much older that they couldn’t change the way things were, not on their own, that defying the masters meant death – or worse.

  Jorrun had never known safety, never lived without a creeping shadow of fear on his soul, but this room, with his mother, was the closest he’d come to it. His mother never lied but she did hide things, trying to protect his innocence for as long as she could, trying to keep from him her own despair. Osun, on the other hand, told him everything, showed him everything, brought him the only small wonders available to a coven boy.

  ‘Jorrun?’

  He turned to see Kesta looking up at him, her green eyes full of concern. It was difficult to shake off the tendrils of the past that had rooted him to the spot but he forced himself, calling on the shield he had made for himself; the Dark Man.

  He hurried to catch up with the others, passing Cassien and Jagna to walk at his brother’s side. When they got back down to the level of the Overlord’s residence, they found three guards examining the bodies of the coven. Jorrun called power ready.

  Osun stepped forward. ‘Stand where you are and lower your swords!’

  Jorrun felt pride at the strength and command in his brother’s voice although he locked his emotions down tight in his chest. He lifted a hand to let blue flames dance across his fingertips.

  The guards glanced at each other, two lowered their swords, the third dropped his completely.

  ‘Good.’ Osun took a few steps closer to them. ‘Do you have a captain here?’

  ‘Yes, master,’ one of the guards spoke up, his eyes glancing over them all.

  ‘Wake him and get him to meet me in the audience chamber.’ Osun didn’t wait, but went back to the stairs and made his way down to the ground floor. Two other guards stood at an ornate door, they took one look at the group advancing on them and dropped to their knees.

  ‘Very wise,’ Osun remarked. ‘Anyone in there?’

  ‘No master,’ one of the guards stuttered.

  ‘It’s all clear as far as I can tell,’ Kesta spoke behind Jorrun.

  Cassien stepped forward past the guards and gave the doors a shove. Jorrun watched the young man’s face as his eyes searched the room. Cassien’s shoulders fell a little as he breathed out. ‘All clear.’

  Jorrun moved the instant his brother did, his shield, his sorcerer now instead of Bractius’s. He could barely bring himself to look around the audience chamber, it was hard not to see his father seated in the chair even though he knew he was dead. His vision blurred and he dug his nails into his palms to try to focus his mind. He’d been a small child the last time he’d stood here, so terrified that he’d almost wet himself, his back twinged at the memory of the burning bite of the whip. He realised he was breathing hard through his mouth and clamped his jaw shut, forcing himself to calm down. Behind him someone closed the doors.

  ‘What now?’ Jagna demanded.

  Osun walked over to the large bronze chair with its red leather cushioning on which their father
had once sat. Jorrun found himself holding his breath, a part of him couldn’t bear the thought of his brother sitting there in that awful seat.

  ‘We must establish ourselves here and protect each other.’ Osun looked around at them all. ‘Kesta, can you please join Azrael after I’ve spoken to the captain of the guard? The two of you will need to protect those women.’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied at once.

  ‘The rest of you will, I fear, have to protect me. We will take turns sleeping, just one of us at a time, no one should walk the corridors alone if it can be help—’

  The door creaked open and a man walked in, wearing the livery of the palace guard but with two wide blue stripes across his red jacket. He halted, his spine straight, his eyes travelling across all of them and widening on seeing Kesta.

  ‘I have questions for you.’ Osun moved around to stand beside the coven seat. Jorrun raised his left hand to let blue flames dance at his fingertips once again.

  ‘Master.’ The captain bowed neatly.

  ‘Why did you remain when Dryn Dunham was slain?’

  The captain’s mouth opened and his jaw muscles moved as he considered his reply. ‘My duty is to protect the palace. I had no desire to become a mercenary or beg on the streets for work. I knew sooner or later another coven would come.’

  ‘You did not slay the women when Dryn Dunham died.’

  Jorrun’s flame flickered despite his composure, he saw Kesta step forward out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘No, master.’ The captain shook his head. ‘For a start, there were still Dunham Coven members here after the Overlord’s death. In truth the order was given, but when Lord Cepack came, my priority was protecting the palace, not slaughtering helpless women. I … I’ve not been captain long.’

  ‘Yet when we came there were guards trying to do that very thing.’ Osun stalked slowly forward, Jorrun increased the size of his flame.

  ‘Yes.’ The captain looked down at the flagstone floor. ‘There are those among the guard who would be happy to carry out such an instruction.’

  ‘Kesta.’ Osun raised a hand.

  Jorrun held his breath as Kesta moved toward the captain. She called up a wind that was so perfectly controlled it lifted the captain of the guard off his feet while still allowing him to gasp in air.

  ‘I suggest you remove such men from your ranks or Lady Kesta here will remove them in a terminal fashion.’ Osun turned his back on the man and went back to the seat. ‘No woman in this palace will be harmed in any way; none. Do I have your word on that?’

  The captain nodded vigorously, his hands trying to clutch in vain at empty air to try to steady himself.

  Osun raised a hand and Kesta allowed the man to fall in a heap on the floor.

  ‘How do I know I will have your loyalty?’ Osun demanded.

  The captain struggled back onto his feet, his eyes not leaving Kesta. ‘I guess you’ll only know that in time, master. If you want the loyalty of the men, though, giving them the wages they’re owed would be a start.’

  Osun glanced at Jorrun and he let the fire at his fingertips subside. ‘Get this ugly chair here melted down and sell the metal.’ Osun’s lip twitched in a brief snarl. ‘Use that toward the wages. And take this.’ Osun opened the purse at his belt and took out a small diamond, the captain’s eyes widened. ‘Sell this too. If you steal it, or cheat me, it won’t be just be my coven on your heels, but your own men.’

  He shook his head. ‘I won’t cheat you, master.’

  ‘I should hope not. I want the servant’s entrance in the palace wall bricked up immediately and I require all the ledgers pertaining to the running of the palace. See that the captain of the city guard is here to attend me first thing. Go and instruct your men.’

  The captain bowed and started to back out of the room. He stopped at the door, glancing up but afraid to speak.

  ‘You have a question?’ Osun tilted his head slightly.

  ‘Yes, master. I wondered … what coven do I have the honour of serving?’

  ‘I’m Osun. You serve the Coven of the Raven.’

  As soon as the captain left the room, Osun sagged against the chair. ‘I don’t know if I can keep this up, brother you’re more used to command than m—’

  ‘You were amazing!’ Cassien sheathed his sword, his eyes all but glowing.

  Jorrun opened his mouth to speak, but turned quickly away, keeping his posture rigid. He could feel Kesta watching him but refused to look at her.

  ‘Thank you, Cassien.’ Osun drew in a deep breath. ‘The rest of this night will be long, and tomorrow longer. If word gets out that such a small coven has taken Navere there is a good chance we can expect others trying their luck. We must show our strength and power at every opportunity.’ He looked at Kesta and she didn’t look away. ‘Kesta, you must win the trust of the women and start their training as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll go there now,’ she agreed. ‘I’m worried about leaving Azrael on his own anyway.’

  ‘Jorrun, make sure she gets there safely. Could you check on the library on your way past, see if it has been looted? If you can remember the way into the passages check there also, Dryn’s coven may have hidden things of value in there.’

  Jorrun bowed and went over to the door to open it, behind him he heard Kesta say, ‘Take care of yourselves.’

  When they stepped out into the hall, he saw the guards had been doubled, the four men straightening up as they passed them by. Jorrun had been to the library three times in his life. The first time when Osun had snuck him in there while fulfilling his duties as a slave. The second time he’d made his way in alone in the early hours of the morning only to be caught there by Dryn himself. The Chemman Lord had hit him so hard around the head his ears had rung and he’d almost vomited. His father had given him a warning, a last chance, to stay in his room unless summoned. Too restless, too curious, and not scared enough, Jorrun had found himself going back to the library only two months later on a night they’d come to take his mother away. Nearly four glorious hours he’d spent there, touching the books, breathing in their smell, feeling their mystery. He’d been caught on the way out. Dryn hadn’t said a word when Jorrun had been brought before him, he’d just held his hand out for the whip. Two guards had held him up by the arms so his father could mete out his punishment, they hadn’t let go of him even after he’d passed out from the pain and the fear. He was seven years old that last time he’d come to the library.

  He realised he was standing in front of the door. Kesta reached out a hand toward him, concern on her face, but he flinched away before she could touch him. He put out both hands, shoving the doors open and striding in. The smell was unmistakable. Paper, parchment, wood, leather, and dust with the subtle lavender smell of the polish that was used on the gleaming wooden shelves and tables. He gasped in a sharp breath, tensing every muscle as his emotions tried to escape.

  ‘Jorrun.’ Kesta stepped around to stand before him. ‘Why are you being the Dark Man? We don’t need him, we need you. Chem needs you, those women upstairs need you. They need a good man, one to trust, not one to fear.’

  He gritted his teeth, unable to meet her eyes. As she raised her hand, he stepped back.

  ‘Jorrun.’ She placed her hands on her hips. Her anger was easier to bear than her pity.

  ‘I need the Dark Man.’ The words burst from him and pain lanced his heart. He gasped and turned away, clutching at the front of his shirt with one hand, trying to hold everything back by drawing on his anger.

  Kesta stepped around him and stood on her toes, sliding one arm around his waist and the other around the back of his neck to make him look at her. Her strength took him off guard, her knowing was open and she drew his pain from him like pulling poison from a wound. Things he’d thought he’d left behind, that he had refused to face or acknowledge, all forced their way up to the surface of his mind, blinding him, overwhelming him so he could barely breathe. His helplessness, his confused naïve
feelings of betrayal all came flooding back. No matter what Dryn had done to him, he had clung desperately to his sense of right and wrong. Hatred and terror were all he recalled of his father. The familiar smell of the palace, the garish opulence of it, made him feel sick. His fingers dug into the fabric on Kesta’s back and he closed his eyes as the room swam away from him. He tried desperately to draw in her warmth, breathing in deeply the scent of her hair. His soul seemed to twist inside him and with a shudder tears overflowed his eyes even as bile pushed upward from his stomach.

  ‘I love you,’ she said into his neck. ‘You’re safe, let it go.’

  He took several breaths before he could speak. ‘I can’t afford to be weak now.’ Her hair caught against his wet cheek as he shook his head.

  She stepped back, placing a hand to the side of his jaw, his grip on her clothing didn’t lessen. ‘Facing your demons doesn’t make you weak, it makes you whole. If you carry on as you are, fighting a battle on the inside as well as the one we face, then you’ll destroy yourself and we’ll lose. You had the courage to walk dreams again despite the damage that Karinna caused. You can face this too, Jorrun, you can.’

  He swallowed. ‘I thought killing my father would have put an end to this, but being here … it even smells the same.’

  She stood on her toes again to kiss him slowly and for a moment the pain in his chest eased. ‘I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you to be back here, in this place.’ She lowered herself back onto her heels and he looked down into her mis-matched eyes, desperately hoping for salvation somewhere in her words. ‘I’ve seen the scars on your back, but I know only a tiny amount about your life here.’

  ‘I got those scars because of this place, because I refused to stop visiting the library.’

  He was amazed when she laughed, but the knots in his soul released a little more.

  ‘Jorrun, only you would take a whipping to see some books.’

  He closed his eyes and smiled, letting himself feel her amusement – tinged still with anxiety for him. ‘Books – stories – were my only escape and I had so few of them.’