Apollo's Raven

by Linnea Tanner

  Incited, Catrin’s anger boiled to the surface. “I have seen ravens attack Marrock in my nightmares. My hate for him burns like a flame.”

  The crease on Amren’s forehead deepened. “I have seen how this hate has made you withdraw into a cocoon. It hurts me when I no longer see you smile or talk with others like you once did. The only time your face brightens is when you are talking to your raven. Although I suspected, I did not realize until today how much mystical ability you have.”

  Amren shut the lid on the dagger’s case and stepped around the table to pull Catrin into his arms. “Do not let this cathos control you. You must find the strength to balance your rage with love, loyalty, and sacrifice to become a great queen. Soon you may need to confront the monster from your past, and be called upon to fight Marrock.”

  Catrin nestled into the comfort of her father’s arms. “I am afraid of what Marrock might do. Though it has been almost seven years since he was banished, I recognized him with his moon-pitted face. I pray to the goddesses of war everyday that the ravens peck out his hideous eyeballs!”

  “That is why Agrona must teach you how to direct your raven’s forces against Marrock. Rage will eat away at you like a maggot, unless you can direct it into action.”

  Still uneasy about working with Agrona, Catrin pulled out of her father’s embrace. “I sometimes fear using the raven’s magic. I remember your warning. After being in its mind, I am dizzy when I return to my world. I sometimes lose consciousness and am weak for hours.”

  Amren regarded Catrin. “Rhan also spoke of ill effects by doing these feats. She learned how to overcome these difficulties. She explained that she was a soul traveler who journeyed into the past, the present, and the future at the same time. Her soul could enter other humans and beasts, the first step to shape-shifting. Perhaps Agrona can help you do the same.”

  Catrin sat down at the table and stared at her wavering reflection in the candle flame. “What worries me most is my soul might not return to my human form. I fear the raven pecks away my soul every time I enter its mind. I don’t know why I feel this way, but sometimes I am afraid it will possess me.” A sob caught in her throat, and she wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “I am confused on what happened to me at the ritual today. I had a vision of fire-breathing eagles, red shield walls, corpses, and skulls swirling over the Romans. I didn’t understand what this meant until you told me about the inscription on the dagger that foretold Marrock would ally with Rome. What good is it for me to have these visions if I cannot interpret what they mean? How could I possibly change the future … the curse?”

  Amren stepped behind Catrin and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Hopefully with Agrona’s help, you will learn how. It must be like being a baby learning to walk. How many times does a small child fall before he or she gets back up and tries again? A child must learn to put one foot in front of the other. It has to be as simple as that. And before long, you will be as fleet as a deer in the forest, buoyant as a raven in flight, and quick as a fish in water. Now that we know the curse can shift, we must use every weapon in our arsenal to break the curse, to stop Marrock.”

  He gripped her shoulder and lowered his voice. “I need you to do one more thing for me.”

  Catrin tensed. “What is that?”

  “I can see the young Roman nobleman has taken a liking to you.”

  Taken aback, Catrin’s voice quavered. “How do you know that?” She flinched when her father stroked her neck with the palm of his hand.

  “I saw how his eyes lingered on you,” he said. “I also gazed at your mother the same way when we first met. And you blushed from his gaze.”

  Catrin looked down, her face uncomfortably hot. “I didn’t blush. I was warm … from the hearth’s fire.”

  Amren lightly squeezed the nape of her neck. “Nonetheless, you need to be wary of Marcellus. He is a predator that Rome left behind to gather information.”

  Catrin stiffened. “I don’t sense any ill from him. Besides, you said he was our guest.” She felt her father’s hand brush her shoulder as he stepped away. Turning her head sideways toward the sound of his footsteps, she watched him walk to the weapons wall and rub a sword’s hilt for a moment. He turned and his eyes flashed in the torchlight.

  “Marcellus is not one of us. Do not delude yourself into thinking that this Roman is a friend. Still, you must find out the truth about why Emperor Tiberius dispatched his envoys here.”

  Catrin gave a perplexed look. “He already told you. He wants you to take Marrock back.”

  Amren shook his head. “No. There is more. That viper Marrock has promised the Romans something. Cunobelin and Rome would not demand I take him back without substantial recompense. You must use your charms on Marcellus to find out what they really want.”

  Catrin was stunned. Her father had never asked her to deceive another person. “How can I do that? I’ve never even kissed a man, and have no interest in doing so with a Roman.”

  Amren gave a wry smile. “Show him some interest. Ask questions. Flatter him. Romans think of themselves as conquerors. The moment he thinks he has captured your affection, be evasive! The chase will keep him intrigued.”

  When a frigid breeze crept into the dank room and a spider’s web shimmered in the corner, Catrin’s stomach knotted. “I can’t do that.”

  Amren walked over to Catrin, pulled her up, and traced a fingertip over her cheekbone. “I know my enemy better than my friends. When I was retained as a hostage in a Roman noble’s household, I learned how to think like him. You, too, must learn this. Show friendship to Marcellus and discover his secrets. Perhaps then, we will know how to counter Rome. Change the future. Change the curse.”

  Catrin reluctantly nodded. “You taught me to fight my foes head-on as a warrior, not hide like a snake in the shadows.”

  “True. These are honorable traits the Cantiaci embrace. Even so, Romans do not have this quality. You have already confronted the face of evil—your half-brother who I am ashamed to have sired. Only my daughters bring me pride. Again I ask. Will you save our family and our kingdom from our enemies?”

  Catrin finally relented and gave him a big hug. “Yes. I will.”

  With a glint in his eye, Amren said, “I knew you would accept the challenge. Now give me a kiss.”

  Catrin pecked her father’s cheek. His arms wrapped around her, almost squeezing the breath out of her lungs.

  “Now I will go see your mother,” he said. “After I talk with her, she will give you a new dress to wear tonight at the feast. Put it to good use. Remember to think with your head, and not with your heart.”

  10

  Past Lover

  … but his earthy eyes unsettled her, awakening a desire she had long buried. “I forbid you to look at me that way.”

  Queen Rhiannon’s heels clicked on the wooden floor as she paced back and forth in the reception hall, waiting for Amren to finish with Catrin. Her heavy garments restricted her movements and the gold torc pinched her neck. Trystan’s defiant actions and her husband’s decisions broiled in her mind. Why would Amren agree to meet with the treacherous Cunobelin and Marrock in Catuvellauni territory? Amren not only put himself in danger, he also jeopardized the life of their eldest daughter, Vala, who would be held as a Roman hostage.

  She stopped and rubbed her throbbing temple, her thoughts diverting to Trystan. Of all days, why would he draw his dagger to defend her honor after the senator’s insult? The consequences of his insolence could result in his banishment. If Trystan ever left, she would wither like a flower at first frost. She sighed, memories of when she was fifteen floating into her mind.

  Then, Rhiannon believed each day with Trystan would last forever. His smile seemed to light up the golden specks in his hazel eyes. She loved his wild, lime-washed hair that flew back like a horse’s mane in the wind. With Trystan, she was carefree.
During the day, they raced horses, hunted boars, and held each other tight when they kissed. At night, when he made love to her, they were like birds in an aerial dance. She grasped the wings of his eagle-tattooed arms as his hips pressed into hers. He then maneuvered her on top of him and their ecstasy soared to the heavens.

  The summer of bloom turned into the autumn of blood. Her father, the king of the Regni, made a costly decision to ambush Amren’s southern territory to seize fertile farmlands, even though he knew of Amren’s reputation as a battle-hardened ruler. Amren’s legacy held true in his decisive victory over the Regni people that decimated her father’s army. To stop the carnage, her father had to break his promise that she could choose her own husband. She was instead awarded as a prize to Amren in a truce. Though she was secretly pregnant with Trystan’s child, she wed Amren, a man more than twice her age, and fulfilled her duty to forge their marriage into a strong political alliance that established peace between their kingdoms.

  But she could never stop loving Trystan.

  A tap on the shoulder startled Rhiannon out of her reminiscence. She turned to find Trystan within inches of her lips, his sultry gaze reminding her of the intimacy they once had. Taken aback, she looked all around the beamed chamber for any onlookers. Near the chamber’s entrance stood a guard who cocked an eyebrow at her.

  She glowered at Trystan. “What do you want?”

  Trystan did not answer, but his earthy eyes unsettled her, awakening a desire she had long buried. “I forbid you to look at me that way.”

  He leaned over, brushing her ear with his warm lip as he whispered, “If only I had the strength.”

  Rhiannon jerked away. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mor and Belinus peeking around the thrones. Heart quickening, she wondered if they had noticed Trystan’s intimate touch. When she narrowed her eyes at the couple, they shuffled back and disappeared into the shadows. Their behavior struck her as odd. Considering it further, she suspected they were hiding a budding relationship—the last thing Amren needed during his negotiation with Cunobelin. She turned to Trystan and said in a hushed tone, “Join me in the meeting chamber at the back. First, I must speak with Mor.”

  Trystan nodded and strode to the back.

  Approaching the couple, Rhiannon arched a stern eyebrow. Mor’s eyes darted down, her face a blossom of red. Belinus gave a thin-lipped smile.

  “What are you two doing?” Rhiannon asked sharply. “Were you not clear about your duties, Belinus? You need to direct the servants on converting Catrin’s bedchamber to the guest quarters for the Roman hostage. Fit the door with a bolt to prevent him from escaping.”

  “I’m on my way there now,” Belinus said, then turned on his heels to leave.

  Alone with Mor, Rhiannon said, “For the last couple months, Belinus has leashed on to you like a puppy.”

  Mor bit down hard on her lips. “We were discussing our tactics from weapons training today.”

  “And what did you practice with?”

  “Spear and sword.”

  “Formidable weapons,” Rhiannon said, a tinge of sarcasm ringing in her voice. “I want you to spend less time with him. Don’t do anything stupid that could jeopardize your father’s negotiations.”

  Mor raised her head in anger. “Even though Father promised I could marry whomever I wanted?”

  “Exactly,” Rhiannon snapped. “Don’t argue with me about this. We will have words later! Go back to your room and get ready for the feast tonight.”

  Mor stomped out of the chamber.

  Rhiannon vowed to put an end to the relationship as she made her way to the chamber to speak with Trystan. She drew back the room’s curtain and found Trystan standing next to the table. A burning candle cast their shadows up the stone wall as she stepped toward him.

  “What were you thinking out there?” she asked brusquely. “Somebody could have seen what you did.”

  Trystan lowered his eyes, his silence disquieting.

  “Answer me,” Rhiannon demanded. “You raised the king’s hackles when you defied him earlier. What made you foolishly brandish your dagger, not once, but twice while he was talking with the Romans?”

  Trystan grabbed her wrist hard. “Amren did not defend your honor from that Roman pig’s insult. I did.”

  Rhiannon squirmed to escape Trystan’s tight grip. Seeing the fire in his eyes, she knew any display of anger would inflame him further. With a steady voice, she said, “As king, Amren must show restraint. Your actions, on the other hand, could have started a war.”

  Trystan pulled her up to his chest, his lips almost touching hers. “Perhaps the king does not love the queen as much as I do.”

  Rhiannon’s heart seized. He had not said that to her in years. She had believed the flames of their love affair had been snuffed out. No matter, she could not rekindle that fire with him. She gave him a frosty glare, pulled away, and straightened her skirt.

  “You cannot say those things!” Rhiannon scolded. “With the threat of Marrock inciting Cunobelin and the Romans to war against us, you must respect and obey Amren in all things. It is only through his mercy and love for me that you stand here as his commander.”

  Trystan retorted, “It was his mercy that kept me from loving you again.”

  Rhiannon backed away, her eyes pierced at him. “Why are you professing your love after so many years? I swore to remain faithful to Amren. You must also keep that oath to him.”

  Trystan fisted his hands. “The only reason I swore my fealty to Amren was to stay close to you, to protect you and our daughters. Now, I fear you will pay the price for his past deeds. Remember, I was there when Amren executed Rhan.”

  Shaken, Rhiannon asked, “Why bring this up now?”

  Trystan’s jaw tightened. “Because of what happened today, when the raven flew out of the fire at the ritual, I recalled Rhan’s curse. She proclaimed Amren would sire a daughter with his future queen who would rise as a raven and ally with Marrock. I warned you not to sleep with Amren. He knew the risks of you bearing that cursed child. Up to that point, he tolerated our affair and agreed to accept both our daughters as his own. Yet, when he returned from Germania, after fighting in the Roman auxiliary, he tricked you into his bed and hardened his stance about us. And now we must deal with Catrin.”

  Infuriated that Trystan would proclaim Catrin as the cursed daughter, Rhiannon slapped him. “You forget yourself, warrior!”

  Trystan grabbed her arm before she could hit him again. “I want you to hear me out! Ever since Marrock left Catrin for dead in the woods, she has never been the same. Rumors abound that she is a sorceress who casts evil spells through her raven.”

  Pushing her elbows against him, Rhiannon flared, “Those rumors are false!”

  Trystan’s eyes blazed. “Today, when the raven landed at Catrin’s feet, I knew those rumors were true. She is a sorceress. Something else bothers me, that slimy Roman—the way his eyes feasted all over Catrin as if she were a common whore. She has never shown any interest in a man, that is, not until today with that Roman. It is no coincidence he is our hostage!”

  Trystan’s accusation of Catrin’s possible collaboration with the young Roman sliced at Rhiannon’s heart. She pounded her fists on his chest, but he met her outburst with an embrace. Struggling like a wild animal caught in a trap, she stomped on his feet and fought against his unyielding arms, twisting, wriggling, and contorting her body to escape. His bull-like strength was too much for her to overcome. He held her tighter and demanded, “Stop it! Stop it! Calm down.”

  “Let me go!” she ordered.

  He snapped back, “Keep your voice down or the entire village will hear!”

  Knowing he was right, she shot a seething glare at him—a silent weapon more formidable than any other in her arsenal.

  Trystan stepped back and clutched himself as if shot by an arrow. “Why do you
always have to fight me like that?”

  “So you remember that I am your queen, not your lover.”

  “I never thought otherwise,” Trystan said, shuffling backward, his boots scuffing the wooden floor. He bumped against the table and crumbled into an armchair. His eyes languished on the candle flame as he said in a cracked voice, “Can’t you see, I am afraid for your life; I only want to protect you.”

  Seeing the anguish on Trystan’s face, Rhiannon leaned over the table. He looked up and his face turned pallid. He said, “I believe Rhan has arisen from the dead. Not only will she avenge Amren for what he did to her, she will destroy you. You need to escape. Get away from Amren, get away from here!”

  Rhiannon lowered herself into the chair across from him. “You know I can’t do that. I swore my loyalty to Amren to be his wife and queen. He has only shown me love and respect. I cannot turn my back on him when he needs me most, and neither can you.”

  “If you stay with him, it will be your death,” Trystan said with fear-struck eyes. “Escape with me to Gaul. I know you still love me. We could live as husband and wife.”

  Conflicting emotions grappled at Rhiannon’s heart. Of course, she would always love Trystan. As a young woman, she foolishly believed nothing could ever stand in the way of their dream of being together. Older and wiser, she knew the survival of her family and her people depended on her. She finally proclaimed without a blink, “My flame for you burned out long ago. Amren demonstrated his mercy by declaring Vala and Mor as his own daughters. They must never know you are their true father.”

  Trystan rose from his seat and stared at Rhiannon. “You ask the impossible from me. Every day I must hide my strong feelings for my daughters. Amren gave no second thought about Vala being held as a hostage by the Romans. He thinks so little of Mor, he barters her off to Cunobelin. It is just like he forced your father to hand you over to him like a prized filly.” He pulled Rhiannon into his arms. Her resistance melted when he lifted her face and said, “Look into my eyes and tell me you cannot ignite that fire again.”