Mark of the Raven

by Morgan L. Busse

  Damien tipped the goblet and took a sip of the wine. People were usually easy for him to figure out. Lord Raoul was a spoiled heir, Lady Adalyn was shy and acquiescent, Lord Haruk from House Rafel was tired and ready to place the mantle of ruling onto his daughter, Ayaka, but was probably waiting to find a consort for her first, and Lady Ragna was driven and ambitious, despite her lack of real power.

  But Lady Selene? He placed the goblet down. One moment she was cold and aloof, the next moment vulnerable. She was an enigma to him.

  And he found himself wanting to know more.

  Selene stared down at her barely touched quail. One moment, Lord Raoul was pressuring her to spend the evening with him and she was lashing out at him. The next moment, she found Lord Damien staring at her. . . .

  That one glance was all it took for her to remember his dreamscape and the way his soulsphere radiated light across the expanse of his mind and body. She wanted to look at him again and search his face for any trace of that light in this reality. Where did the light come from? Why was his soul so different than others she had encountered?

  And why was she drawn to it like a moth to a flame?

  “Dart’an!” she whispered. She was supposed to go back into his dreams tonight, but already she was distracted by thoughts of his soul. Not good.

  “Did you say something?” Lord Raoul said in a husky voice.

  “No,” Selene said through tight lips. She did not need Raoul pressuring her again. She had a job to do, and even if she didn’t, she would not waste her precious time on him. There was no future between them. Her house did not marry the heirs of other houses. And he most likely knew that. She glanced at her mother at the head of the table. Why in the name of the Dark Lady had her mother placed her beside him? She knew her mother was considering an alliance with House Friere, but it would be with one of the lesser houses and not with Raoul himself.

  Mother never glanced her way. Instead, she seemed to be in a deep discussion with Raoul’s father, Lord Ivulf. Selene fought back a grimace. She’d never liked Raoul nor his father. Both men gave her a feeling of dread. She spotted her father on the other side of Mother and an ache filled her throat. He was the silent, forgotten partner.

  Selene went back to her cold quail, but her appetite was gone. Was that how her own marriage would be? Two strangers forced to live life together?

  She shoved the plate aside. I hope not.

  After dinner, Selene made her way out of the dining room, escaping through the throng of sociable chatter and laughter. She couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to get along, especially the younger lords and ladies. The newest arrival, Lady Bryren, had a way about her, lowering barriers and bringing smiles to people’s faces. A small part of her was jealous of the young woman’s ability, and another part of her wanted to stay and linger with the others. To just be normal and have normal conversations, and laugh. Even her sister Amara had joined in, her voice almost as loud as Lady Bryren’s.

  Selene wanted to glance back to see if Lord Damien was staying as well. Was he laughing with the others? Did he enjoy their company?

  No. She didn’t want to know. It would make her feel even more like an outsider.

  Selene took a deep breath and pressed on ahead toward the doors that led out into the corridor. With each step, as she made her way to her bedchambers to prepare for that evening, she felt the mantle of House Ravenwood settle once again across her shoulders.

  When she was dressed and ready, she paced her room. The other houses had taken to staying up late, and she had a feeling tonight would be no exception, which meant she would have to wait longer to sneak along the halls to Lord Damien’s room.

  Back and forth, back and forth, her boots barely whispering across the stone floor. A cool breeze entered her room from the nearby windows, and the sound of voices echoed across the castle. She finally sat down at the end of her bed and held her face in her hands.

  Every time she thought of the burning ball of light inside Lord Damien, her heart quickened. It was all she could think about. Even tonight when she looked at him, she didn’t see him, but the light inside of him.

  What ignited his soul? What made it burn so brightly?

  She curled her fingers against her cheeks. Never had she longed for something so much that her body ached for just one touch of that light.

  Selene ran a hand across her face and dropped her arms. How was she going to accomplish her mission if all she could think about was his luminous soul?

  “I just won’t go there,” she whispered into the night air. If the coast was there again, she would not follow it. Instead, she would find his stream of memories and follow them instead. Mother was expecting a report in the next day or two, and she did not want to show up empty-handed. She needed something—a fear or a regret—to present to her mother. Something she could twist enough to damage his mind—

  Bile flooded her throat as she curled forward. The bit of quail and bread she had eaten came rushing up, threatening to exit her mouth. Don’t feel, Selene! She clenched her hands into two tight fists. Don’t think, don’t feel, only act.

  Breathe.

  She breathed in.

  Breathe out.

  She breathed out.

  Slowly her body loosened, and her dinner settled back down. She looked over at the windows. A crescent moon rose above the mountain peaks. She watched it, waiting and listening for the night to settle across the castle. When it was about to reach the topmost summit, she stood. Time to go. She double-checked her swords, then readjusted the black cloth across her face and tugged her hood up over her head.

  The moment the moon crested over the final peak, Selene moved toward the hallway. Soundlessly she made her way through the castle, into the secret room on the second floor and through the tunnels beneath Rook Castle until she reached the opening below Damien’s balcony.

  Just like before, she gracefully made her way onto the balcony and peeked inside. The doors to the other rooms were closed, and Damien lay on his bed. She closed her eyes and listened. No sound. But just to be sure . . .

  She double-checked the room, then stole across the floor to the opening between the bed and the wall and crouched down. She listened again. She could hear the even, deep breaths of sleep. She waited a moment more, then stood.

  He had removed his sleeveless leather jacket, but he wore the same tunic and trousers from dinner. He even still had his boots on. And this time his sleeves were down, leaving only his neck exposed.

  Selene watched him sleep, the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the way his face relaxed. He was even more fascinating tonight. She frowned. Was that because of what she had seen inside of him? Or was she becoming more aware of his features?

  She let out a small sigh, the sorrowful ache from earlier tonight returning. Could she do it? Could she really turn his fears against him? An invisible hand tightened around her throat, pressing against her airway.

  She shook her head to clear away those thoughts and focused on the mission at hand. She reached for his right arm and carefully pulled his sleeve up until his wrist was exposed, then settled down beside his bed. She would be sure to maintain a conscious presence of both his dreams and the room, given how someone had walked in last time. She would not be caught.

  She took a deep breath and wrapped her fingers around his skin—

  At once she was pulled into Damien’s dreamscape as if he had grabbed her hand and yanked her inside.

  24

  Selene’s body shrunk as her arms elongated and transformed into black wings. She gave her body a shake, this form both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

  Lord Damien’s dreamscape had changed. There was no white sand, no gentle sea waves. Instead, she found herself in an unfamiliar room, dark save for a fire that burned in the stone fireplace nearby.

  Whatever had happened to him since her last visit, it had changed his dreamscape into something darker. Perhaps this was fortuitous. The dreamscape already
held that ominous sense that came with nightmares.

  Selene focused on the world outside the dreamscape, seeing and hearing Damien’s room as if looking through a curtain of water. There was no movement, no doors opened. Satisfied, she sunk once again into the dream.

  The room looked like a bedchamber, with a large four-poster bed against the far wall, a bearskin rug on the floor, and a sitting area to the right, beneath three long windows carved out of the light, smooth stone wall.

  Selene lifted off the floor and flew to the nearest bedpost and looked down. A couple lay in the bed, and her heart gave a sharp warble. She had no desire to intrude on an intimate moment.

  On second glance, she realized the male inhabitant was not Damien, but a much older man who looked like Damien, only with a full black beard and aged features. His face was pale and glistened with sweat.

  Next to the man lay a woman with long chestnut hair spread out across a pristine white pillow. Thin streaks of grey peppered her hair and dark circles formed below her closed eyes.

  There was a low groan nearby.

  Selene turned and found a younger Damien sitting in a dark corner near the bed, his head held in his hands. He appeared broken. He glanced up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Selene paused, feeling the atmosphere around her. There was a gnawing fear here, fed by the unknown and grief. She glanced again at Damien’s ghostly figure. For one moment, he appeared dark, almost black, like a hole had opened up, a bottomless pit where he sat, then his image appeared again and the hole was gone.

  She narrowed her eyes. Had she seen something, or was it just a trick of the dreamscape? Before she could think on it more, the room began to spin until it was a whirl of shadows and muted colors. Selene flew up from the bedpost and waited for Damien’s mind to settle. But she tagged the memory within her own mind. Whatever that had been, it could prove useful when she went to reconstruct his dreams later on, if she could figure out what she had seen.

  The shadows and faint light settled down into a new image. Grey water spread out as far as the eye could see, beneath an equally grey sky. Below her, a large ship moved along the undulations of the sea. She swooped down and landed on the rigging. About thirty people gathered on the deck around three narrow wooden boxes.

  A young Damien stood beside a man dressed in burgundy robes, with thin white hair and clean-shaven face. Behind the crowd stood the older Damien. It looked like he was revisiting another memory through his dreams.

  The old man in burgundy robes spoke a prayer over the wooden boxes. Then the crowd parted as the railing was opened and the boxes were lifted and carried one by one to the edge of the ship, then gently dropped into the sea.

  As the third one was cast into the sea, the cold, gnawing fear sensation spread across the dreamscape. Again? She looked around, but Damien did not change form. However, the fear seemed to be spreading, like cold fingers, entering her small feathered body and causing her to shudder.

  The boxes bobbed along the water’s surface before sinking below the lapping waters. Selene turned away. Perhaps the chill was coming from the death scene below. It didn’t take much to realize that what she was watching was a burial of sorts, and she had a feeling that two of the boxes held the couple she had seen from the previous dreamscape.

  Mother would be pleased by this. Selene still hadn’t located a tangible fear-memory or figured out what the gnawing coldness was, but these dreams had certainly revealed Damien’s sorrows, and she could work with that.

  Selene cringed at the thought. The memory of Damien looking up and wiping his eyes filled her mind. She had never seen a man cry before, and she doubted the heir of House Maris cried in public. Even now, his younger self was standing stoically on the ship’s deck.

  What would Selene be made to do? Make him endure the death of these people over and over again? Trap him in an unending loop in his mind? It wouldn’t kill him, but it certainly would make him go crazy.

  But I don’t want to do that.

  Her throat tight, she spread her wings and lifted off the rigging. For one moment, Damien looked up. Selene ignored his glance and flew away. She flew until the ship was only a speck across the grey waters and still she flew.

  There had to be something else she could use, something other than this desolate scene. She glided high above, watching the ever-changing landscape of Damien’s dreams, being careful not to go near the shoreline where his soulsphere was.

  Then she felt it: that cold, tingly feeling of fear. It wasn’t as strong as the gnawing coldness from the death scenes, but she couldn’t mistake the tinge of terror that lined the memory.

  She dove back down toward the water’s surface and sailed along the wind. The wind began to blow harder and waves rose along the top of the sea. The clouds above grew dark and ominous. She pumped her wings and flew on. Higher and higher the waves grew the farther she went, and the wind buffeted her body, pushing her off course.

  What is going on? Another gust of wind caught her and tossed her into the air. Then the rain came, hard and strong. She could barely stay above the water. Each time she dipped down, a wave would reach up and almost grab her by the talons. She began to shiver as the torrential downpour soaked through her feathers and skin.

  A part of her wanted to change the dreamscape, but she couldn’t, not if she wanted to see what exactly Damien feared. She had to experience his fear in its entirety if she hoped to replicate it. She sucked in another breath and pressed on.

  Just when her wings felt as if they would give way beneath the storm, she spotted a dark shape in the distance, beyond the tumbling waves.

  A ship.

  The sense of dread was coming from there.

  Selene pumped her wings with all her might and steered for the ship. Twice the wind blew her to the left, but she fought against it and made her way forward. Once she reached the ship, she dove for the nearby doorway and landed on the wooden planks.

  The ship lurched to the side.

  “Dart’an!” Selene said as she changed into her human form. She grabbed the side of the door and held on for dear life. Never had she experienced a storm like this before.

  Ahead, she could see a figure standing at the helm of the ship. Her senses expanded. It was the owner of this dream. Damien.

  He stood at the prow, his arms and hands extended up as if he were holding the storm.

  Selene looked past him, then gasped. She leaned forward. Was she really seeing what she was seeing? Was that a wall of . . . water?

  Things started falling out of the sky, crashing onto the deck around them. Large wooden planks and barrels. Torn canvas sails. And . . .

  Selene wiped her face and looked back. A body lay sprawled across the deck. She looked up at the sky, then back at the body. Where did that come from?

  A beam fell from the sky and hit the deck near Damien. The prow gave way, sending him out of view.

  “No!” Selene changed into her raven form and tore across the deck and over the ledge. She looked back and forth frantically across the dark waters while fighting the wind and rain. Where was he? Where did he go? All around her broken parts of ships and bodies lay scattered across the waves. Her breath burst in and out of her chest. Where did these people come from? One rolled onto his back, and Selene bit down a scream as she veered away from the sightless eyes and ashen face floating across the water.

  Did Damien do this? Dark Lady, what kind of gift did he possess?

  Damien surfaced thirty feet away and started swimming toward one of the floating bodies. He grabbed the sailor and a plank nearby. Dark liquid gushed out of a hole within the dead man’s chest.

  A moment later, Damien cried out and let the man go, then turned and used the plank to swim back toward the ship.

  Selene watched the dead man bob for a moment, then sink. More bodies began to sink around her.

  She could feel blind panic bubbling up inside both dream Damien and sleeping Damien. A wave crashed over him, pushing him
beneath the water. He held onto the plank and rose back up. But the water had taken him farther from his ship. As he looked around, Selene sensed his guilt and remorse. She was right. He did do this. Moments later, a darker, more menacing feeling arose inside of him, spreading to her.

  His desire to give up and let go.

  “No, don’t!” she screamed, but it only came out as a loud caw.

  A second later, the feeling was gone. But this time she knew it wasn’t a trick of the dreamscape. Despite the light inside of Damien, there was something dark lurking underneath. What it was, she wasn’t sure. But she was wary of it.

  Damien’s ship approached and a line was thrown out to him.

  Selene soared upward, not waiting to see if Damien was rescued. She already knew he survived this event. What she needed was to get out of here. There was too much going on, too many feelings, too much fear and darkness.

  She flew until she was beyond the storm and wreckage below, then she turned and headed in the direction of the white sandy shore. All she wanted was to see Damien’s luminescent soul, to be reminded that there was light inside of him, and to sit beside it and be warmed by its presence.

  She shivered as the cold wind swept across her feathers. Usually flight brought a feeling of power and joy. But not this time. Instead, she felt frozen and hollow inside.

  Did Damien feel the same way about his gift? Whatever he did back there killed a lot of men. Did he also feel cold and empty every time he called upon his gift?

  Fatigue crept across her body. She scoured the horizon in hopes of seeing a glimmer of those white sands. But nothing appeared.

  Finally, Selene soared upward until she burst past the dreamscape.

  With a gasp, she sat back and dropped her arms. Her knees tingled from kneeling on the floor for so long. Damien never stirred. And the doors beyond the bed remained shut.

  Slowly, painfully, she rose to her feet. Mother would most likely expect a report first thing in the morning, which meant forgoing her usual morning routine out on the training grounds. And more than anything she wished she could practice her swords and clear her mind of this most recent encounter.