Ravenwood (Violet of Ravenwood Book 2)

by J. M. Taylor

  He is instantly filled with guilt; I can see it in the lowering of his eyes and slumping of his shoulders. There is nothing frail about him, but his tender heart is evident.

  “We must help her,” I say but with little confidence.

  “There is nothing either of us can do, but I assure you, she will be kept alive as my father promised.”

  “What if we conceive? Might he then consider allowing her some freedom of movement within the walls of Ravenwood?”

  Malin shifts uncomfortably and says with obvious hesitation, “He might consider allowing it if he knew you were carrying my heir.”

  I feel the need to reconsider my reasons for taking a lover but realize I can easily justify it. It would not be an obligation to him, Wilhelm, or my mother to carry a child. Instead, my reason would be entirely selfish. The thought of my mother being held captive breaks my heart. Taking Malin to bed and bearing his child could ease her pain and suffering – but it would also ease my own.

  “If you are holding back from being with me because you are worried that I feel forced, please know that this is not the case. I will be with you of my own free will,” I assure him.

  “You would be with me because you think it will help your mother, so allow me to clarify. I said it might help her. I never promised anything. My father is not always rational, and I have seen him take pleasure in another’s pain on more than one occasion. As I have said before, he is a dangerous man.”

  I stand and move closer to him, pressing my body against his and taking his hands in mine. “A might is better than a will not, and there is a kindness in you that I admire, so I am willing to take the chance. Be with me. Give me what I need to make your father reconsider my mother’s imprisonment.”

  Malin pulls away and runs his fingers through his long, dark blonde hair while shaking his head. “I cannot.”

  I am determined to question him, to beg him to explain himself to me, but the warning call of a titmouse grabs my attention. Malin hears it as well, and we both look in the direction of the sound.

  Titan is prancing and fussing atop a garden wall, his pale chest fluttering beneath his open black beak.

  The guard standing nearby recognizes his bright blue feet immediately and springs into action. “The coven must be nearby! I will alert your father.”

  Another guard is called, and we are quickly escorted back to our bedchamber – presumably for our own safety, but once there, Malin is not contented with staying put.

  “They have come for you and the others,” he says to me, “but they are in danger. I will go to my father and find out what is happening. You must stay here.”

  I protest, but he locks the door behind him when he leaves. I am alone, imprisoned in a room again. The Borthen tapestries on the walls offend me, and I revel in the sound of ripping as I tear them down one by one and throw them to the floor.

  The full splendor of the coven’s mural is now visible. Its vivid colors have faded with age, but the passion they inspire still lives within them. Witches of Ravenwood with their lovers and friends. Sisters in blood and oath, mothers and daughters - with symbols of life, love, and magic sprinkled throughout.

  On one wall, the garden shines in all its seasonal glory but without the great fountain statue of Leanora at its center. In its place, water flows over a layer of rocks.

  This place, this coven, and these walls are older than any living witch. Ravenwood is part of a legacy, and it is my duty to help them save it from Wilhelm.

  I rush to the window, hoping to find a way to escape, but there is nothing but slick stone walls between me and the ground far below.

  The winterberry bushes bursting in red rustle near the outer wall surrounding Ravenwood. At first, I think nothing of it. The moon is still bright, and melting snow dropping from branches shakes many a bush and tree, but this is not the weight of falling snow. I see a shadow winding its way under the branches until it reaches directly beneath my window. With a cautious crawl, Flynn scuttles out, looks up, and lets out a high pitch howling bark when he sees me.

  “Flynn! Flynn! My good boy!” I call to him, trying desperately to keep my voice hushed even though my heart is bursting with happiness at the sight of him.

  He can barely keep still and begins to frantically pace back and forth, looking for an entrance that will lead him to me.

  I want him to succeed so he comes to me, and I can hold him and rub behind his black ears, but I remember what my mother told me about familiars. They can be our eyes and ears in places where we are unable to go. I cannot get a message to Myrna, but Flynn can. She is sure to hear his cries as words in the same way she understands the messages Titan carries to her. I see it now; it is part of her magic.

  “Listen to me, Flynn. You must go to Myrna. Tell her Wilhelm is prepared to fight them, and she must be careful. The Borthen Clan has fashioned itself into an army and ready for battle. If she can get a message to me, I will do my best to help, but you must tell her that I have lost my powers.” Saying it aloud sends a wave of emotion through me. I struggle to swallow the burning tears at the back of my throat, and a wave of sick fills my stomach.

  He is hesitant to leave me, but I insist, and in the end, he does as I ask. I only hope he makes it back to Myrna in time.

  No sooner does Flynn disappear from my sight when Malin bursts into the room behind me. He doesn’t speak or acknowledge me as he grabs a satchel from under the bed and begins shoving clothes and other items into it.

  I have so many questions for him, they simply pour from my mouth. “What are you doing? Are you leaving? Is your father sending an army against the coven? Are you to go with them?”

  His breathing is quick and his eyes wild. “The less you know, the better it will be for you.”

  He removes the silver and gold breastplate with the bear-claw emblazoned on its chest and throws his belt and gold-threaded red tunic on the floor. From the back of his large wardrobe, he finds and dresses in a plain brown muslin tunic and black horse-hair belt.

  “You look like the humans I saw as a child hunting in the fields beyond the woods.”

  This causes him to pause.

  “Am I right to believe I can trust you?” he asks.

  “If you do not plan on killing any member of my mother’s coven, you can trust me.”

  “I have no desire to destroy the coven or take Ravenwood from them. I never have. This is my father’s dream; not mine. Right now, he doesn’t plan to move against the coven. He has decided it is best to wait for them to strike first. Meanwhile, he has sent for additional men from Borthen. His army will soon be double in size. The scouts arrived just now to report of their impending arrival, but they brought other news as well.”

  He looks like he is about to be sick.

  “What is it? What news have they brought?”

  “They encountered humans on their way here, a couple of hunters near the edge of the woods – too close for comfort. The humans were killed, and the dog captured for a sacrifice to appease the gods before the coven arrives and the fight begins.”

  “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with you?”

  “I must leave Ravenwood without anyone finding out, least of all my father. Those men, the hunters – I need to find their bodies. I must see them for myself.”

  He is obviously upset, but I am still confused. “It is a tragedy for the humans, but this has nothing to do with us. If the coven strikes, we need to be here. We might be able to help.”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he says.

  As his jaw tightens in anger and frustration, swirls of heat blaze beneath his skin.

  “It burns,” he sputters through his teeth. “My body is on fire. What is happening?”

  I rush to console him. “It is only my magic, growing inside of you. Your anger must be triggering it.”

  I am envious until he crumbles to the ground in agony, smoke rising from his skin.

  “Calm yourself, and it should subside.”
>
  He takes deep breaths and slowly stands back up, using the bed to steady himself. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, you will be fine. But you are not leaving Ravenwood without me. If you leave, I am coming with you. I can’t let you go on your own, not like this. It could be worse the next time.”

  Malin takes another deep breath and is relieved when the burning labyrinth beneath his skin finally subsides. He reaches into the back of the wardrobe and tosses a gray tunic, black overcoat, and black leather pants in my direction. “Wear these. No one must know that you are a woman. We will slip out of Ravenwood quietly and unseen. I know a way.”

  He continues to prepare for our journey, gathering whatever he thinks we might need. Regretfully, he places his sword on the bed and tucks a knife into his belt instead.

  “We can’t be seen with finely crafted weapons,” he says and offers another knife to me. “Here, take this. You may need it.”

  “Why don’t you just use a cloaking spell to hide us?”

  “Because I haven’t been able to summon any magic since taking yours. I thought it was simply a matter of time before I adjusted to it, but now it feels as though my blood is boiling, and my lungs are on fire.”

  “Give it back to me then. It will lessen your burden. I will still go with you. I will not use it against you unless you betray me. You have my word.”

  “I can’t give it back to you. Even my death will not release it. If I die, your magic dies with me. My father holds power over us both. It was his spell that bound the Yuram ribbon. It is not our death that can break the vows we have made to each other. It is his, and only his.”

  Shock is the best word to describe how I feel at this moment. My fate is worse than I thought.

  “Wear this as well,” he fastens a large gray cloak over my shoulders and raises the hood over my head. “The sun is rising, and the day promises to be a bright one. It is bound to hurt your eyes. And remember to keep it low over your brow to hide those violet eyes of yours. You are a beautiful woman, but those eyes will never pass for human.”

  I wonder why we will need to look like humans, but I don’t have time to ask. He pushes a stone beside the fireplace, grabs my hand, and leads me through a secret door.

  In the pitch-black darkness, he feels frantically along the wall.

  “Are you looking for this?” I ask, taking a torch from the floor and handing it to him.

  “Yes, thank you. It’s normally right here. I don’t know why I couldn’t find it.”

  “It must have fallen. I can see in the dark, remember? Just ask me next time.”

  He lights the torch, and I’m struck with momentary blindness. I assure him that I’m alright, and as we make our way down the damp passageway, my vision slowly returns.

  “I smell horses,” I say.

  “You have a good nose, for we are nearing the stables.”

  “Won’t someone see us there?”

  “It isn’t likely. The ostler has eyes for one of your sister witches. He has no love of my father or his plan to turn her and the others into Mire Witches. If he is here, he will not betray us.”

  When we reach the end, he pushes his shoulder against a large stone door that slowly opens to the back of the stables.

  A large brimmed hat hangs on the wall, and he grabs it and hands it to me. “Put this on,” he says. “It will shield your eyes better than the cloak. I can’t have you going blind on me as soon as we enter the sunlight.”

  I do as he says and mount the horse that he saddles for me. A dog barks from one of the stalls.

  “Wait here,” he says.

  “Why? Where are you going?”

  He doesn’t answer me but moves quickly through the stables until he reaches the dog. “Quiet, Bazik. I’m here now. I wasn’t planning to leave without you.”

  I know that name. Bazik. When Malin returns, the dog follows closely on his heels, a big brown dog with floppy ears and a black nose. Only now, the brown fur on his face has faded to white. It is the dog that strayed into the woods years ago, the one belonging to the hunters.

  “I know that dog,” I say.

  “Oh really?”

  Malin turns to saddle another horse, but a young boy of no more than fifteen grabs the reigns. My heart stops for fear that he will scream for a guard.

  “Allow me, Your Majesty,” the boy says.

  I am relieved to discover that he is the ostler of whom Malin spoke, and I am also amused at the thought of someone so young desiring a woman in the coven. I wonder who it is that he has set his hopes on.

  But there is little time to think about such frivolous notions. Within minutes, Malin’s horse is saddled, he is mounted, and we are ready to ride.

  At the back of our stall, a door leads to a small area behind the stables. There are no prints in the snow, nothing to indicate the area is ever used. As we make our way to where overgrown vines hang like twisted curtains from the wall surrounding Ravenwood, the young ostler leads two other horses from the stable.

  “Is he coming along?” I ask.

  “No, he is covering our tracks.”

  Malin pushes the vines aside and leads his horse through a crumbled opening in the wall with Bazik still following him and me directly behind them. It is just big enough for us to fit through on horseback one at a time. A mountain peak rises against us on the other side, and the path around it is narrow and difficult to navigate, but we are hidden from view. No one mans the wall this side of the mountain. Malin knows this. He has escaped his father’s clutches before.

  We ride a great distance down the mountain and through the forest. I have never known such cold, and I shiver beneath my cloak. When we finally reach the clearing at the edge of the forest, sunlight beams down upon us, and for the first time in my life, I relish in its warmth.

  Bazik suddenly darts in front of us and vanishes on the other side of a snowbank. Malin dismounts and follows him on foot.

  I hesitate to follow him. I have never traveled beyond the woods before. How many times have I dreamt of leaving these woods? Too many to count, I am sure. But not once in any of those dreams had I ever felt the fear I have now. The woods behind me are all I have ever known. What waits for me beyond them?

  My trembling embarrasses me, even though there is no one there to see it. I must overcome this.

  I work up the nerve to ride further, doing my best to feel brave and bold when nothing but fear and caution consume me. I seek Malin and Bazik out and find Malin kneeling over the body of an old man. He is speaking softly and folding the dead man’s arms over his chest to grasp the bow and arrow he must have been carrying with him.

  “Who is this man?” I ask.

  “He was a great man and a good father,” he answers, his voice breaking. “I know his son, a man named Garrick.”

  “Could this be one of the hunters your clansmen killed?”

  “I believe it is.”

  “There should be two of them, yet I see only one,” I say.

  Malin runs his hand across a deep impression in the snow near the old man. “Another fell here before making his way across the field.”

  “He is badly wounded,” I say, jumping down from my horse and scooping up a handful of red snow a few feet away.

  The red spatters on the ground become larger with every step until there is only one long line of blood.

  Malin stands behind me, his head low and his shoulders hunched over. “I see that you care for these humans. Should we return to the old man and light a pyre for him before continuing?”

  “No, we must leave him undisturbed. If it is discovered that we have left Ravenwood, we don’t want anyone from the clan to think these men were the reason for it. My father would kill every human in the world if he knew.”

  “Knew what?” I ask, but Malin doesn’t answer me.

  Bazik bounds ahead of us again while alternating between barking and burying his nose in the snow. He follows the scent of his living master all the way to the icy banks of a
swift river, and there, he loses it. Bazik howls toward the sky before pacing in frustration, a haze of warm breath panting into the air around him.

  “The stream must have carried the other man away,” I say to Malin. “I’m not sure anyone could survive that, so less an injured human.”

  “He is alive,” Malin says. “He must be.”

  V

  The village is alive and thriving amidst a busy market day, despite dark clouds looming above. Until now, I have never seen humans up close before. They are strangely similar to witches and warlocks, only they appear dirtier and less appealing. I’m disappointed. The stories of heroism and romance found in their books have always been a fascination for me.

  The rain is sudden. It doesn’t trickle down in warning as expected but is pushed from the sky in sweeping droves. The humans are caught off guard and rush to finish their errands and pack up their stands.

  Navigating through the slush and mud, they do not notice the witch and warlock riding through the center of their street, none but one small girl who stares at me as I pass by her. I expect her to point and call everyone’s attention to me, but her mother yanks her over a growing puddle and inside a thin, crooked dwelling attached to others just like it. Rows and rows of them, with nothing but the colors of doors to distinguish one from the other.

  “This is how they live?” I ask Malin. “How sad.”

  “Only those who live in town. There are others who live differently. You will see.”

  As we reach the end of the main road, I look back at the nearly abandoned street and feel sorry for them. It is filthy and bleak. “They are wretched creatures and not at all what I expected.”

  “You shouldn’t speak of what you do not know,” Malin says. “Many of them do not have much and their lives are fragile, yet there are those who would gladly offer what they have to those in need and lay down their lives for each other. Their bonds are strong, and in some ways, stronger than our own.”

  I don’t like being chastised, but he is right. I don’t know them, and I know better than to judge what I do not know or understand.