Chapter Twenty-Three
He will bring justice. She will bring mercy.
— Second Book of the Wisdomkeepers
Morning with Kenna and Mairead consisted of sparse conversation and unspoken emotion. Mairead cast Connor subtle glances, but she said nothing more than was required for travel. He offered to look at Kenna’s bruises and cuts, but she shook her head and ducked her eyes. It’s an improvement, he thought. At least she’s not flinching. “The man who hurt you is dead,” he told her.
She averted her eyes. “Th-thank you.”
Mairead and Kenna mounted the palomino while Connor took the bulk of the supplies on the sorrel. They continued west toward Kenna’s home, arriving late in the afternoon amid a heavy, cold rain. Kenna slipped from the horse to run to her father’s arms, and Mairead spoke quietly with the man before she remounted. “She’ll be well,” she said.
Memories tugged at Connor’s composure. Donal held Aine that way.
They rode wide around the village and finally came to a small stand of trees late in the day, well after sunset. Connor built a fire, and they ate in silence. When they finished, Mairead pulled out her blanket and curled up close to the fire. “No evening prayers?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know how to pray anymore.”
He sat down next to her, and she tensed. “It’s time to tell you about Aine.”
“All right.”
Where to begin? “I was close to her at the farm. We never shared a bed, but she thought she loved me. But I knew the Morrag—” He broke off the thought. “I told her I couldn’t stay. She didn’t believe me. I left one night. I didn’t know she followed me. Donal caught up with me on the edge of Nar Sidhe territory. He’d found her, but he needed my help—” The words stuck.
Mairead waited. Memories tugged at his resolve not to grieve again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing back the sting in his eyes. “She was in a brothel—the worst kind,” he said. “She was a slave, like Kenna. She’d been beaten and abused. She was with child. Someone had found her on the road, beaten her, and deposited her at the brothel, and she was too broken to escape.”
Mairead let out a long breath. “And you rescued her?”
I should have kept it from happening. “That was the night the Morrag quickened. It drove me to kill every man in that place. I didn’t even know if any of them had anything to do with what happened to her, but it wasn’t quelled until every one of them was dead.” His throat swelled with emotion, regret and grief and guilt fighting with the satisfaction of having killed so many in the name of the Morrag. “I had no control over it. I just killed. When the rage retreated, there were bodies, limbs, brains everywhere. Some of the men were still alive. I had to finish them. To leave them alive was worse.”
“And Aine?”
He squeezed his eyes closed. “She sat in a corner, weeping and screaming, covered in blood. It scared her so much to see me that way that she wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I took her and Donal home, and then I left.”
“So that’s why Donal and Aileen are so grateful?”
He said nothing for a long time. “If I had been more faithful, she wouldn’t have been hurt.”
“You’ve carried this guilt for that long? You can’t be blamed for her choice.” Mairead took his hands. “Your only crime was leaving without saying goodbye.”
“Tell that to the men in the brothel. How many innocent men did I kill?”
The grip on his hands tightened. “They weren’t innocent. They were in a brothel—as you said, the worst kind.”
“But you’re right. I’m not a god. I’m not even a very good man. It’s not my job to decide who gets to die and who gets to live—not unless I’m defending someone else.”
A long silence fell. “Are you the one the stories speak of? The ravenmarked one who will defeat the Forbidden?” she asked finally.
“I don’t know.” He put his hand over hers. “You want to know why I do the work I do? Because I can defend people with my sword and convince myself that I’m doing the right thing. You want to know why I won’t marry? Because I won’t bind a woman to me with children or marriage or home. I don’t want to destroy her or my children or anything I build with her.” He took a deep breath. “The stories say the earliest men with the ravenmark killed their own kinsmen, wives, children. If I let this thing go—if I let it have control of me—I have no idea what I might do. I can’t risk it.”
She shook her head. “Don’t resign yourself to this hopeless path, Connor. Do you really want to spend your life roaming from woman to woman and job to job with no real peace?”
He avoided her eyes. “There is one place I’ve found peace.” He paused. Should I say it? “There is comfort in being with you.”
The fire crackled behind them. She let go of his hands and sat up straight. Her fingers worried the bottom edge of her tunic. “I don’t know what to call this,” she said finally, quietly. “I have no experience with men. I don’t know what you feel for me. But I know that I don’t want to say goodbye to you.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye to you, either. If it weren’t for this thing, I would never leave, Mairead, I swear it. I’m—” He stopped short. If you tell her you’re in love with her, you can’t leave. You take away your options. You can’t do that. “Do you still want me to find someone else to guard you?”
She shook her head. “I want you to stay with me.”
A wave of relief shivered through him. There’s still time, then. Maybe I can find a way to stay with her. Maybe I can find a way to just serve her—be close to her. “I will be more careful with your affections. If we’re to spend the winter in Galbragh, I’ll be more careful when we’re together.”
She laughed, a sad, rueful sound. “I think it’s too late to be careful with my affections.” She touched his arm, and he took her hand again. “What will I do without you? When you leave?”
I don’t know. “I promise I’ll be certain you’re with someone safe if I have to leave.”
Her mouth quivered into a sad smile. “I wish—” She bit her lip and turned her head.
I wish I could be with you. I wish I could hold you, feel your skin against mine, hear you whisper my name. I wish I could stay with you for the rest of my life. I wish I didn’t have this damn demon inside of me. “I wish it, too.”
She squeezed his hands and stood. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” She picked up her bow.
“You shouldn’t—”
“I’m not tired, and you’ll sleep better if you know someone is awake.” She pulled her cloak tighter around her. “Besides, I learned from the best.” She walked to the edge of the camp and sat down, the bow slung over her shoulder.
He pulled his blanket from his pack and spread it on the ground, but he couldn’t sleep. He could only watch Mairead. One winter isn’t enough. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough. I need this woman.
***
In a large, rambling house surrounded by slave camps, Emrys watched a grim-faced steward read a wrinkled parchment. The man’s face paled. “Ye’re certain this is true?”
The messenger nodded. “Got that straight from the man what saw it happen. Rode three horses into the ground to deliver this.”
The steward muttered a curse. He folded the paper. “I almost pity the man who did it.”
Save your pity, Emrys thought.
He’d felt the Morrag awaken days before when the raven finally heeded her call. He’d awakened with her need for blood—his blood—tearing at his chest. Claw. Rake. Maim. Kill. You’re not safe, Forbidden One. He comes for you.
Emrys clutched at his chest, his hands clammy and his heart pounding fiercely against his ribs. I have time. I still have time. I must have time.
He slipped in and out of the elements for days, finally tracing the raven to the brothel where he’d killed in the Morrag’s name. He hovered in shadow while the slaver’s men and the brothel owner tried to trace the man who’d left a bloody streak of dea
th in the common room and freed several of their best whores. He even searched for the raven and the heir himself, but by the time he found them, they had too much of a start for the brothel owner and his men to catch up.
But the trail led him here, to the slaver Seamus Allyn. The slaver had long been a source of pride for Emrys. He kept Allyn alive, relishing the vile touch he brought to all of his endeavors. Emrys settled into the shadows of a corner and waited. Allyn read the letter, cursed, and threw the parchment on the ground. He poured a generous shot of oiska, drank, and poured another. “What am I going to tell his mother?”
“Perhaps the truth this time.”
Seamus grimaced. “It doesn’t matter what a worthless piece of shit he was, she’s still his mother. She won’t want to hear that he died in a whorehouse with his bowels on the floor.”
The steward inclined his head. “I realize that, sir, but there is little you can do to hide the truth. It’s only been a week, and word is spreading.”
Seamus put down his cup. Emrys knew he had no love for his son. Seamus complained that he should have killed the woman who bore him once he was done using her. Emrys had been near Seamus long enough to know that the slaver had tried to give his son opportunities to buy into the slaving family, but his every attempt was met with the aggressive incompetence of a man who would rather indulge his base desires.
“Sir,” the steward said.
Seamus looked up.
“We should respond.”
Seamus nodded. “I won’t have the Mac Mahons thinking we can’t avenge our own. Do we know who did this? Did he know who he was killing?”
“I’ve got men looking for answers. They captured several of the women who left the brothel and got descriptions after applying a bit of pressure. The brothel owner gave a description as well. Nothing special—big, dark, heavily armed. The brothel owner said it was the spawn of Namha himself. The women said he was a warrior of Alshada.”
“So I should tell the men to look for either a demon or an avenging angel? Fuck.”
“There was one other thing. He had tattoos.”
Seamus frowned. “Tattoos?”
“He had several blue rings around his upper arm.”
Seamus leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. “It’s something. A start. Find him. I want his head. He used my son as an example. I’ll use him as one.”
The steward inclined his head and left the room. Seamus drank another shot of oiska. He went to his door. “Go to the camps. Find me a woman who hasn’t been used too much.” The guard inclined his head and walked away.
Emrys emerged from the shadow and sat in Seamus’ chair. Seamus spun around and pulled a dagger from his belt. “Who are ye?”
Emrys leaned forward. “You want the man who killed your son? He’ll be in Galbragh tomorrow.”
His eyes narrowed. “How d’ye know that?”
“I have sources you don’t have. Do you want him?”
The dagger twitched in his hand, but he didn’t sheathe it. He finally gave a slow nod. “All right. Tell me.”
“Promise me one thing. The girl he’s with—deliver her to me.”
“Fine. Who is he?”
“His name is Connor Mac Niall. He’ll be at Prince Henry’s palace tomorrow with a girl he’s escorting. Do what you want with him, but deliver her to me.”
Seamus straightened and thought it through. “In the palace? It won’t be easy.”
“I’m sure a man of your means has ways. Mac Niall doesn’t like to be quiet. He’s quite confident in his abilities, and he has money. He’ll be in the open in the palace district at some point. He’ll probably take his woman shopping.”
“His woman? Not just a woman he’s escorting?”
Emrys frowned. “I’ve seen how you get men to talk. I’ve seen what you do to their women. I need her alive and sane.”
“Not unspoiled?”
“That doesn’t matter. Beat her, fuck her, pass her around—just make sure you don’t leave her a babbling idiot.”
Seamus folded his arms. “This is too easy. What else d’ye want?”
“Give me the woman, and you’ll never see me again.”
Silence cloaked the room, as thick as Allyn’s transgressions. “All right. How will I find you?” Allyn finally said.
“I’ll find you.” Emrys slipped back into the elements and hovered in shadow again to watch.
Seamus let out a breath. He fingered the dagger in his hand, sheathed it, and slumped in his chair. He started to pour another shot of oiska and stopped. Instead, he picked up parchment and quill and started to write.
Emrys let a slow sneer cross his face as the words ordering Connor Mac Niall’s death appeared on the parchment.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Strength. Valor. Truth.
— Motto of the Mac Niall House
Winter arrived between Kenna’s home and Galbragh. With each day, the snow grew heavier, and with every mile, the mountains became whiter. It took a week of cold travel to reach the city, and though Connor made sure Mairead was covered and warm, she couldn’t stop thinking how much she wanted to eat a hot meal in a warm room and fall asleep on a soft bed covered in furs. With him next to me.
The cold weather tempted them to sleep close to each other. They huddled together most nights, talking until the fire lowered and their eyes grew heavy, but when it came time to sleep, Connor always walked away to lie down on the other side of the fire.
On the last night, the snow fell thick and heavy, and they stopped in the driest clearing they could find. Connor made her a bed of fir boughs and built a lean-to over it. They huddled together inside it for some time, talking and watching the small fire sputter. When he started to leave, Mairead tugged on his hand. “You don’t have to go. You can sleep here.”
He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.”
“I just want to sleep. Nothing more.”
He chuckled. “You do want more, and so do I.”
“But—”
“Mairead, I’m disciplined, but not that disciplined.”
She lay down on the boughs. “You slept next to me before.”
“I know. But that was before I—” He paused, thinking. “You know how much I want you. If I lie down with you, I’ll start kissing you, and I won’t be able to stop.” Snow landed in his hair; the firelight lent it an orange sparkle. He covered her with a blanket and her wolf pelt.
She closed her eyes. “Will you really stay with me all winter?”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Yes. I promise.”
By morning, the snow had stopped, and a rising sun cast a glow over the vast northern plains. In the distance, a faint white, gray, and brown outline rose from the horizon. Connor pointed at it. “Galbragh.”
Mairead sucked in her breath in awe. “It has no end.”
He laughed. “Henry would like to think so. It’s not the largest city I’ve ever been in, but it’s close.”
They entered the city late in the morning, and Mairead’s mouth dropped as they went through the gates. She’d never seen a place so large. Even Torlach didn’t compare to Galbragh. “It’s built on the slave trade,” Connor told her. “And the venom and drug trade. Prince Henry tries to keep the city clean, but there are pockets of illegal activity all over. He lets the slavers and venom runners do their business in the countryside. In return, they keep wealth flowing into the city. It’s not ideal, but it works.”
“Who are these slaving families?”
“The Allyns and the Mac Mahons are the two native ones. There’s a smaller operation from Tal’Amun, but it mainly buys women for the emperor and his nobles. The other two families fight for control of the northern territories and have underlings all over the Wilds.” He pointed north. “There are camps to the north where they board the slaves onto riverboats and take them down to the northern seas. Taurin ships keep them out of the channel since slavery is illegal in Taura. Eiryan ships patrol the Galoch Sea and stop who they c
an, but it’s a big place. Most of the ships make it through and get to Espara with about half of their cargo alive.”
Mairead’s stomach lurched. “Half alive? Half of the ones they capture die?”
“Usually. They stack them into the ships on top of each other or chain them together. If the rats don’t kill them, starvation or thirst will. Sometimes they throw them overboard alive when there’s a storm and they—” He stopped. “I’m sorry. It’s too much.”
Mairead fought the urge to dismount and vomit. “I didn’t know any of this. What a horrible place.” How long will Kenna and her parents be free? Alive? How long before Tarah and her children are taken and sold?
Connor spoke with a forced cheer. “The palace district is nice. And Prince Henry is a decent man. He’ll like you. His wife is only a bit older than you, and he has a sister about your age.”
As they rode toward the palace district, the streets and buildings grew cleaner and more refined. Ladies in silks and feathers riding in carriages drawn by matching teams of horses replaced the peasant women in linens who carried baskets of their wares. Men with well-trimmed beards and multiple rings replaced merchants in aprons and soiled tunics. They left behind tumble-down thatched houses packed together along the wall and entered a world of new construction, where rough-hewn timbers and white-washed walls housed the wealthy elite beneath tiled roofs. Mairead had to force herself to keep her mouth shut, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from their frantic attempt to take in everything she saw.
Connor directed her to an inn called the Golden Goose. They turned their horses over to the stableboy, and Mairead watched her roguish man-at-arms melt away and a duke arrive in his place. Connor stood straighter and prouder, and his air changed. He expects to be served.
A slight, balding man in fine linen and wool looked up from his work at the front desk. He sniffed at Connor. “Are you the blacksmith? Go around to the stableyard. We have three horses that need shoeing and—”
“I’m not a blacksmith.” Connor’s voice carried a noble air edged with irritation. “Show some respect.”
Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) Page 37