The Black Raven

by Katharine Kerr

  That night they sheltered with a certain Tieryn Cardomaen, or rather, his mother the regent made them welcome, since the tieryn was no older than Prince Casyl. His father had been killed the year before in the summer’s warfare, or so Maryn told her, fighting on the side of the Boar clan. That the lady Therra was now forced to feed and shelter the man who was ultimately responsible for her husband’s death made Bellyra squirm, but in truth, the lady seemed welcoming enough. During the evening meal she only referred to her husband once, and then she called him by his full name and title. They had had, Bellyra supposed, the usual marriage.

  That night Lady Therra personally showed them to the dun’s best bedchamber, which sported a pair of chairs as well as a bed with a full set of embroidered hangings. The walls, however, were bare, and the windows had not so much as a tanned hide to cover them. A low fire burned in the hearth. Maryn’s page pulled off his lord’s riding boots, then hurried out to join the other servants in the stables. Maryn tossed the boots onto the pile of the mail he’d taken off earlier, then sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

  “It gladdens my heart to have you with me,” Maryn said.

  “Does it?” Bellyra smiled at him.

  “I need your good sense. Lyrra, things are so tangled at court that I don’t know what to believe. And then there’s Braemys. Did Nevyn tell you about his gall?”

  “He did.”

  “Good. That’ll save me the trouble of repeating it all.”

  She busied herself with unwrapping her kirtle. I will not let him see me cry, she told herself. I will not, not, not!

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “I’m just weary. It’s been a long journey.”

  “So it has. I wish that it had been safe to send for you earlier, when the weather was better, but it wasn’t. I can only hope it’s truly safe now.”

  She merely nodded and concentrated on folding the kirtle. She heard the bed creak as he got up. He walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. Her pride was goading her to stiffen and move away, but she leaned back against him and felt herself tremble.

  “You’re truly weary,” he said. “I should let you take your rest. My apologies.”

  He let her go with a little pat on the shoulder, such as he might give a dog, and turned away so easily that it wrung her heart. And yet, she told herself, what was he being but more considerate than most noble-born men would ever be? She was so exhausted that she fell right asleep, and in the morning when she woke she found him gone before her.

  During that day’s ride north the landscape around them changed. They’d ridden half the morning before Bellyra fully realized what she was seeing. Although the meadows were lush, no cattle grazed in them. The fields were green and tall with weeds, not wheat. When they passed farmsteads, either empty buildings or burnt ruins stood behind their packed-earth walls.

  “Ye gods, Marro!” Bellyra said finally. “There’s no people.”

  “Not along the river, truly,” Maryn said. “One army too many took their crops and livestock, and they fled. I can’t say I blame them, either, even if they’re supposed to be bound to me. But wait until you see the city. You’ll see why I’ve been scheming to keep Cerrmor under my control.”

  See it she did, late that afternoon, when with the sunset they rode through the massive outer walls of Dun Deverry and into a wasteland. Siege after siege, fire after fire, the looting of soldiers in the summer and the thieving of desperate neighbors in the winter—she saw barely two houses standing together in all the long ride through to the hill where the dun stood. As they rode up to the outer wall of the dun proper, Maryn pointed across a shallow valley to a hill crowned with oaks.

  “Things fare better there,” he said. “That’s the temple of Bel, and they managed to protect the people on the hillside.”

  “I see. Do you think the folk will return?”

  “Nevyn insists they will. I can only hope he’s right.”

  Slowly they walked their horses up the spiral road into the dun itself. At first Bellyra could make no sense out of what she was seeing. Twilight was darkening the sky, turning the jumble of brochs, towers, walls, and sheds into an incomprehensible mass of stonework. Their procession made one last turn and came out into what she assumed was the main ward, a huge cobbled open space surrounding a complex of brochs, half-brochs, and oddly random-seeming towers. Torches flared in sconces on the outer walls of a huge squat broch, and by their light she saw, waiting for them on the steps, Nevyn, Oggyn, and off to one side, Otho the smith.

  “Welcome home, Lyrra,” Maryn said, grinning. “It gets worse inside.”

  It was weep or laugh, but she was happy enough at seeing Nevyn and Otho that she laughed. Maryn dismounted, then hurried round to the side of her horse to help her down. She looked back and saw servants trotting forward to help her serving women and the nursemaids. Once she was down, Maryn hurried off to give orders to the captain of his riders, but Nevyn came forward and offered her his arm. She took it gratefully.

  “You made him come meet me,” she said, “didn’t you?”

  “I wish you were less perceptive,” Nevyn said. “You’d be happier.”

  “Well, I appreciate it, actually.” She patted his arm with her free hand. “Otho! It gladdens my heart to see you!”

  The dwarven smith stammered, blushed, and ran off.

  “His manners haven’t improved,” Nevyn said.

  “Oh, from him that greeting’s worth a thousand flattering words from some courtier,” Bellyra said. “Where’s Lilli?”

  “Ill, I’m afraid. That cough of hers troubles me.”

  Bellyra could feel him go as stiff as boiled leather. She could only think of one thing such tension might mean.

  “Will the poor child live?” Bellyra said.

  “Most likely. My apologies—I didn’t mean to make it sound so grave.” Nevyn smiled, but only briefly. “Ah, here’s your husband, come to escort you inside.”

  When Maryn strode over, Nevyn released Bellyra’s hand, but Maryn made no move to take it.

  “What’s this about Lilli?” Maryn said.

  “She’s ill, my liege,” Nevyn said.

  “Ah.” Maryn’s face went perfectly bland. “A pity.”

  At that moment Bellyra knew, just as she always knew when he tried to hide his other women. She was tempted, bitterly tempted, to ask ever so casually if Lilli were with child, but for Nevyn’s sake she kept silent. Maryn finally offered her his arm, and, smiling, she took it, to let him lead her into Dun Deverry’s great hall.

  For some days after the princess’s arrival, Lilli barely saw Prince Maryn. Although she left her door unbarred at night, he never came to her chamber. During the day he would walk in the ward, but always with his councillors and pages. When their paths crossed, she would drop him a curtsy, and he would acknowledge her with a smile. At times she saw him in the great hall, but often the princess sat with him, at other times he was surrounded by his men. Even though she felt stronger every day, Lilli was at first glad of her illness, simply because it gave her such a perfect excuse to stay away from the women’s hall. Quite regularly Elyssa would stop by her chamber and ask after her health, and Lilli could always answer in perfect honesty, “Nevyn’s worried about it.”

  Branoic was another matter. During the brief times when Nevyn allowed her to go out and about the dun, Branoic kept her constant company. He was so solicitous, bringing her food or drink when she needed it, letting her lean upon his arm when they walked together. Once, when she’d walked much too far, he insisted on carrying her up the staircase to spare her the effort. Guilt began to gnaw at her soul. How could she let him dote upon her like this, in happy ignorance, when the truth about her affair with Maryn would doubtless drive him away? Finally, on a morning when she’d slept better than usual and thus felt she had the strength, she made up her mind for honesty.

  “I can’t stand it anymore,” Lilli said. “There’s a thing I’ve got to tell you, Branno.�
�

  “Indeed?” Branoic smiled at her. “What?”

  Seeing how easily he smiled hurt. She found herself on the verge of gasping for air and for a long moment could do no more than look at him. Despite the grey sky and the chill in the air, they were sitting on their usual bench in the kitchen garden, one of the few places that, Lilli could be sure, Maryn would never go. She wrapped her cloak tight around her and tried to think. Her carefully prepared speech had deserted her mind.

  “What’s so wrong?” Branoic said at last.

  “I can’t marry you.”

  “Ah ye gods!” Branoic slumped down on the bench with his legs stuck out in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your brother’s spoken against me, hasn’t he? I always knew he would.”

  “It’s not that! Anasyn thinks you’re a fine man. He’s already told me that we can marry provided you can support me. It’s—well—” She paused, gathering breath. “It’s the prince. He’s taken—I mean, I’m his—” The words stuck in her throat so badly that she wondered if she were going to cry.

  Branoic uncrossed his arms and turned on the bench to face her. She’d expected rage, but he seemed merely solemn.

  “I’ve heard rumors,” he said at last. “So they’re true?”

  She nodded, swallowing hard. She should have known, she supposed, that the court would be speculating. Branoic laid one long arm on the back of the bench behind her.

  “I couldn’t go on lying to you,” she said.

  “And you have my thanks for that. But I’ve got to say that I’m disappointed in our prince. It’s more than a bit selfish of the man to forbid you to marry. You need a place of your own at court. Just in case things change, like.”

  “What? He didn’t forbid me anything.”

  “Then why can’t you marry me?”

  Lilli could not have been more surprised if the day had turned to night around her.

  “You mean you would?” she whispered. “Still marry me anyway?”

  “A lord whose wife has the king’s favor is a lucky man.” Branoic considered her for a moment. “Lilli, I’m not saying this because I’m jealous, though I am that, or to be harsh and get a little of my own back. But truly, I’ve seen somewhat of the world, and a bit more of our prince, and how long do you think Maryn will dote upon you, anyway? Half the women at court will be setting their caps for him, and he’ll not see any reason to deny them.”

  The tears did come, rough and painful, as if she wept hot sand. She covered her face with both hands and sobbed. Branoic put a brotherly arm around her shoulders.

  “There, there, hush,” he said. “Forgive me, will you? But I think me I’ve only said aloud what you’ve been thinking.”

  “Just that.” She managed to force the words out between sobs. “Just that.”

  One sob too many, and she felt her chest tighten so hard she began to cough and weep at the same time. She fumbled in her kirtle for the cloth she’d tucked away there, but she just couldn’t seem to find it, and the frustration made her sob the more. Branoic fished into the folds of cloth, pulled the rag free, and handed it to her.

  “Blow your nose,” he said.

  She did, then wiped her face on the clean part of the cloth. She crumpled the soggy mess in her fist while she breathed, forcing herself to inhale long and calmly. When she looked up, she found Branoic smiling at her, but sadly.

  “What does old Nevyn think of this?” he said.

  “Oh, he was ever so angry. He’d told me not to give in to the prince.”

  “I figured that. What will he think if we marry?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve not said a word about it. I just assumed you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

  “Well, you were wrong. Why not talk to the old man about it today, like? You’re his apprentice now, anyway, and it’s up to him to announce the betrothal.”

  “So it is. Oh ye gods, I just thought of somewhat! If people have been gossiping, the princess must know.” Lilli held a hand out in front of her and found it trembling. “How am I going to face her? Branno, I feel so wretched. I’m not worthy of you, truly I’m not.”

  “That’s a stupid thing to say. If I thought that, I’d have spurned you on the rumors alone. Your Maryn’s said he’ll make me a lord, but in my heart I’m still a silver dagger, and ye gods, I’ll not be giving myself airs.”

  “But I’m not being fair to you!”

  “Fair?” Branoic shrugged the comment away. “Fair is where you go to see the pigs race, my lady.”

  She managed a smile.

  “That’s better,” he said, grinning. “Now, if you’ll have me, I’ll figure out a way to get to Hendyr and ask your brother, all formal—like. Well, if Nevyn gives his approval, that is. I’ll risk Maryn’s jealousy, but cursed if I’ll cross Nevyn. I’ve never wanted to be turned into a frog or suchlike.”

  “Oh don’t be silly! Dweomer can’t turn men into frogs.”

  “Well, that’s a relief, but I’m not crossing him anyway.” He grinned at her. “But I think me he’ll be sensible about this.”

  “So do I. He worried, he told me, about what would become of me if he should die or suchlike.”

  “And he’s not getting any younger. So you tell him what we’ve decided.”

  “I will, but I want to sit here with you for a bit.”

  Branoic smiled, and all at once she wondered what it would be like to sleep with him. She knew, now, what love meant. As if he’d caught the drift of her thoughts, he took her hand in both of his, drew her close, and kissed her on the mouth. Pleasant, warm—a congenial sort of kiss, she felt, but next to the passion she shared with Maryn, it held all the excitement of a bowl of warm porridge, another pleasant companion on a cold day. Still, for his sake she slipped her arms around his neck and let him kiss her again.

  “You know what?” she said. “I’ve been sewing on your wedding shirt.”

  “Have you now?” He grinned, so genuinely pleased that she began to share his pleasure. “When did you start that?”

  “A fair bit ago. After you left for Cerrmor.”

  “Huh. You’re lucky I didn’t change my mind.”

  They shared a laugh, then another kiss. Lilli felt a gratitude so immense that she could almost mistake it for love. A marriage with Branoic would keep her steady and safe, the way a keel steadies a boat when it runs before a storm, desperate for harbor.

  “My lord?” It was Lilli, standing in the doorway. “May I speak with you?”

  “By all means,” Nevyn said. “Come in and shut the door.”

  Lilli did so, sitting in the chair when he offered it to her. He was pleased to see her calmer than she’d been in days.

  “Branoic still wants us to marry,” Lilli said. “Even though he knows about the prince.”

  “Indeed? Well, that’s large-hearted of him! Do you want to marry him?”

  “I do, but will it interfere with my dweomer work?”

  “I doubt it. Branoic will be at best a very minor lord, so his household will be simple for you to run.”

  “We’ll be glorified farmers, more like.” Lilli smiled. “I can’t imagine Branno sitting in his hall doing naught when there’s work to be done outside, no matter how much land owes him dues.”

  “No more can I, frankly. Well, then, my blessings on you both.”

  “Oh, my thanks! You know, Sanno’s already given me his permission, so you could announce the betrothal if you’d like. I mean, you’re my master in a craft.”

  “So I am! You know, I’d not thought of it that way.”

  “Although—well, they announced my betrothal to Braemys here in the great hall.” Her smile vanished. “It seems like a bad omen, to announce a second betrothal there.”

  “So it does. I’ll just spread the word around to those who need to know.”

  “Like the prince?”

  “Him and others.”

  “My thanks. It’s going to be a long while before Branno gets that land, anyway. I g
ather Maryn can’t give it to him until he’s the king.”

  “Just that.” Nevyn hesitated for a moment. “And that means bringing Braemys to heel, one way or another.”

  “So it does,” Lilli said. “It aches my heart, my lord, to think of him being slain. He always was my cousin, and now I know he’s my brother as well. I wish he’d just surrender and swear to Maryn. Do you think if I wrote him a letter it might help?”

  “Now that’s a thought. It might at that. Let me ponder the idea for a bit.”

  Late that night, when most of the dun had long since gone to bed, Nevyn had another visitor. He was studying certain obscure sigils relating to the planetary spirits when he heard a noise that might have been a timid knock upon the door. He rose and shut the book. The noise came again.

  “Is someone there?” Nevyn called out.

  “There is.” A woman’s voice, and tremulous.

  Nevyn crossed to the door and opened. Princess Bellyra stood on the landing, wearing a plain linen dress and a shawl over her head and shoulders. She clutched the halves of the shawl together at the neck, so that with a flick of her wrist she would have been able to hide her face from passersby.

  “Do come in, Your Highness,” Nevyn said. “I hope you’re not ill.”

  “I’m not. I’ve come to see if you can make me a love charm.”

  Nevyn started to answer, then merely sighed. Bellyra walked in and sat down in his only chair. She let the shawl fall back over her shoulders, then reached up and ran a hand through her hair, hanging loose and dishevelled.

  “I’d wager you can’t, actually,” Bellyra went on. “Love charms have the fine ring of legend about them.”

  “You’re quite right.” Nevyn sat down on the edge of his bed. “And it’s just as well. The legends are built around all the troubles they cause, you know.”

  “What I really want is a potion that makes a person fall out of love.”

  “If I had one I’d make Lilli drink it.”

  “Oh, not for her! I don’t blame Lilli for one single thing. She’s so young. How was she supposed to resist Maryn once he’d set his heart on having her? I certainly never could, so I’ll not be finding fault with her.” Bellyra paused, and oddly enough she was smiling. “The potion would be for me. It would solve so many inconveniences.”