Bright Raven Skies

by Kristina Perez

  As she drank, Xandru said, “Marc told me to keep you close when we reach the Veneti Isles.” He broke off a piece of salted pork and tossed it into his mouth.

  “He told me the same thing.”

  Xandru laughed. “Yes, he would have.” Leaning in closer, the captain said, “Despite your talent as a healer, most men who are injured in battle won’t survive the voyage home. I didn’t want you on the mission.”

  His gaze became intent. “You mean too much to Marc,” he said.

  Branwen startled at the seriousness in his voice. She choked on the water, starting to cough. Glancing around the deck, she realized the rest of the crew was keeping their distance.

  “I know it was your mother,” Xandru continued. Branwen coughed harder. “Her death has haunted Marc our entire lives. He’s craved peace since we were fourteen years old.”

  “I’ve forgiven him,” she managed.

  “Yes, that’s why I didn’t want you to come. I don’t put much credence in the gods, but I’m thankful you came to Marc’s court.” He paused, looking back at the coast as it slipped from view. “The recent … upheaval notwithstanding, a burden has lifted from Marc’s shoulders. He didn’t believe he could ever be a good man.”

  Xandru swallowed. “You don’t know the hope you’ve given him.”

  Branwen fought the hot sting of tears. “He is—he is a good man.”

  “Far too good to be king.”

  “But you love him for it.”

  The captain lurched back on the crate. His shoulders snapped together, jaw tight. The look he gave Branwen put all her senses on high alert.

  Xandru’s lips twitched. Waves lapped against the hull. She held his stare even as instinct told her to dive overboard.

  “We don’t always get to spend our lives with the people we love,” he said. The statement was too cavalier, and it fell flat.

  “No, we don’t.” Branwen knew that only too well.

  “Marc wants peace, and I want what he wants.” Dusk had faded to blue, casting a cool light on Xandru’s face. “I am not a selfless man. Marc is the one person who comes before me in my own heart.” He paused. “Why didn’t you tell your cousin when you saw us together at Queen Verica’s funeral?”

  There were many reasons, far more than Branwen could disclose.

  “It was not my truth to tell,” she settled on.

  “You wanted to come on this raid. I’ve seen men before who hunger for battle,” he said. “Why?”

  “I want peace. It’s all I’ve wanted since my parents died.” Branwen drained the remainder of the water. “I also have things for which I need to be forgiven.”

  Xandru tapped his chin, lifting one corner of his mouth.

  “Many rumors abound about how Monwiku Castle was saved,” he said. “Some say the ancient Kernyveu rose from their graves to defend their homeland.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Is there anything you want to tell me, Lady Branwen? Such as why Marc assured me you’d be an asset to my mission and not a liability?”

  “Healing is not my only skill,” Branwen replied.

  Xandru threw his head back in amusement. “I think you’re more like me than Marc, my lady.”

  Just then a shout came from belowdecks.

  Xandru leapt to his feet.

  A second later, a lithe figure raced up the ladder, emerging onto the deck, and strutted toward the captain.

  Looking from Xandru to Branwen, Alba put her hands on her hips.

  “You didn’t think I would sit out this fight, did you, cousin?”

  Xandru sighed. “Your father will have my head.”

  “Only if the pirates don’t take it first.” Alba gave Branwen a cursory glance, noting, “I see you took my advice about finding yourself some trousers.” And she had.

  “Where does Tristan think you are?” Branwen demanded.

  Alba shrugged. “He’ll need to learn to keep up.”

  Branwen almost laughed; then she looked at Xandru. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  “It’s too late to turn back,” he declared. “We must reach the Veneti Isles before dawn.”

  Alba’s smile was triumphant.

  “Could I trouble you for a sword?” she said.

  WHEEL OF FORTUNE

  THE NIGHT SEEMED AN ETERNITY until it was nearly over. One by one, lanterns that swung from riggings across the fleet, a second canopy of stars, were snuffed out.

  The Veneti Isles were clustered together west of Liones, like four petals on a clover. The fortress for the former Aquilan penal colony had been built on a promontory of the most southerly island, overlooking a sheltered harbor. By the light of the full moon, the convoy of royal forces had sailed south around the islands, bearing east to avoid being spotted, and then switched to a northern tack.

  Alba sat cross-legged on the deck beside Branwen’s crate, sharpening the blade of her kladiwos. Branwen gritted her teeth against the sound, which rang out over the waves.

  King Marc had received intelligence, most likely from Xandru, that the majority of the pirate ships would be moored in the harbor so the men could celebrate Belotnia, and Branwen found it unsettling that the pirates enjoyed the same festivals as she did. The other three islands were sparsely populated. If the combined fleet could seize the main island, it would bring them all to heel. The plan was to swoop up from below, launching a frontal assault on the pirates’ safe harbor before they could rise from their beds.

  It amazed Branwen how quiet a fleet of ships could be. Silent and as lethal as a shark. Captain Morgawr had once told her that sharks presaged a storm. The pirates had no inkling that a storm was driving straight at them, brutal and voracious. The fleet’s orders were to burn all of the pirate ships where they were docked so there would be no escape.

  For over a hundred years, no lone kingdom had possessed the maritime power to challenge the pirates. They could never have foreseen the Three Kingdom Alliance, or a king with the will to bring it to fruition.

  In the first glimmer of dawn, the rocky coastline of the southernmost island became visible beyond the front of the convoy. The ships started to arrange themselves into a diamond pattern. Small roars erupted as ropes were loosened and sails swung into position. Alba continued to sharpen her sword.

  Kernyvak and Armorican vessels took their places side by side. Black sea-wolves on blinding white sails were interspersed with red owls against yellow—the royal standard of Armorica. The Kernyvak and Armorican fleets had more experience of naval warfare and therefore comprised the first four rows of the diamond with the Dragon Rising at the very front, like the tip of a spear.

  The five ships King Óengus had contributed were positioned in the center, toward the back, with three further Kernyvak ships bringing up the rear. Scanning the golden lions set against sails of Rigani green, Branwen felt a swell of pride.

  “Shouldn’t we be getting into formation?” Alba called out, walking over to Xandru at the helm of the ship.

  The Mawort skimmed the outside of the diamond configuration, just beside Lord Diarmuid’s ship. Branwen followed Alba with her gaze.

  “I am the captain of this ship,” Xandru told his cousin, and then ignored her. She continued to stare at him to no avail. Finally, she stalked off.

  The princess wasn’t the only restless member of the crew as the waves faded from black to gray. They should make landfall at daybreak.

  Branwen withdrew the knife Ruan had given her from her boot, rolling the handle back and forth between her gloved fingers. Frigid sweat itched beneath her tunic. She’d forced down a few pieces of salted pork, which she now regretted, as bile rose in her throat.

  “Take this,” said Alba, reappearing from behind Branwen, pointing a sword at her throat. Branwen jumped. Alba scoffed at the knife. “You need a bigger blade,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  Alba kept the kladiwos aimed at Branwen for another breath, then laughed and handed it over. “Try not to stab me in the back,”
said the princess. Branwen didn’t reply. She accepted the sword, admiring the owl engraved on its hilt. “Owls are sacred to Ankou,” Alba explained. “Armorican weapons often bear her mark.”

  Her dark eyes scoured Branwen, trying to provoke a response.

  “Thank you,” she repeated. She shoved the knife back into her boot.

  The sun crept closer to the horizon, and Branwen noticed a faint outline of gold lingering on Alba’s eyelids from the wedding feast. The princess seemed far more comfortable on the brink of war than she had on her wedding night.

  Branwen stood and crossed the deck toward Xandru. In a low voice she said, “Marc told me there was more than one mission taking place in the Veneti Isles. What is yours?”

  Xandru’s hand was steady on the wheel of the ship.

  “Have you not wondered who controls the pirates?”

  “I thought no one could control them.”

  He flicked Branwen a sideways glance. “All men need a leader,” he said. “The pirates are lawless but they have a code.” He paused. “And they have a king.”

  Branwen furrowed her brow, a thousand questions swarming. It was true that she’d never given much thought to who the pirates were or how they lived when they weren’t ravaging their neighbors’ coastlines.

  “In fact, they have a new king,” Xandru continued blandly. “A man named Remus. He’s risen up quickly, seems to have powerful backers.”

  “How do you know all of this?” she said in a whisper.

  “Information is my trade.”

  “And I thought it was seeds,” Branwen told him. Xandru released a solitary chuckle. “This Remus,” she said. “You have orders to kill him?” It would not stun her to learn Xandru was an assassin as well as a spy.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Marc can’t mean to make an alliance with them?” Branwen’s pitch grew high.

  “No, my lady. But he wants Remus alive.” As if divining her thoughts, Xandru said, “Marc didn’t inform you of the details because I asked him not to. Secrets spread through court like a sieve.”

  She held her tongue. Xandru would never know all the dangerous secrets locked within Branwen’s breast.

  Sunrise skated over the Aquilan fortress, shadowy granite ramparts menacing. She stroked the thistle of her mother’s brooch, which she’d fastened to her tunic. Alba had her medallion of Ankou; Captain Morgawr wore his antler shard. Her parents’ memory was what Branwen held most sacred.

  “When we arrive,” she said to Xandru, “how will we find this pirate king?”

  One corner of his mouth tilted upward. “We have a guide.”

  From the Mawort’s position at the edge of the formation, Branwen could now spot the Dragon Rising. As it sailed into the harbor where the pirate ships were docked, sails tied up, appearing deceptively harmless, a teeth-rattling boom echoed across the water. Across the world.

  Branwen shuddered at the ripping, almost crunching noise, but she couldn’t see what had caused it. The prow of the Dragon Rising tipped violently skyward. The next two ships in the convoy—one Kernyvak, the other Armorican—glided into line with Dragon Rising. Two more booms resounded. Her knees quaked.

  All three ships were stopped dead at the entrance to the harbor, thrashing like wild stallions.

  Alba rushed toward the helm, gripping her sword. Her expression was murderous.

  The front four rows of the combined fleet began to collide, bobbing and weaving too close to one another. Branwen couldn’t help but think of apples in a barrel. When Eseult was a girl, she would challenge both Branwen and Dubthach to see how many they could grasp using only their teeth. Branwen had always let her cousin win.

  “It’s a chain!” Alba spat, talking to Xandru.

  “I can see that.” His casual stance stiffened, barely, the only sign of his alarm.

  Fear dissolved Branwen’s memory. “A chain?” she said.

  “Across the harbor, beneath the water,” Alba told her, terse, as if it were obvious. “To prevent ships from entering.” Branwen didn’t know such things existed. Doubtless more Aquilan technology. To Xandru, Alba said, “Were we aware of the chain? Why didn’t we account for it?”

  The captain rounded on his cousin. “We were aware. It should have been down during the festival.”

  “Someone warned them we were coming!” Alba swiped at the deck with her kladiwos.

  “Don’t damage my ship.” Xandru rolled his shoulders. The sign of agitation alarmed Branwen almost more than the continued noise of hulls being shredded.

  “In battle, things rarely go according to plan,” he said. “Which you well know, cousin.” He gave Alba a long look. As Xandru barked orders at his crew in languages Branwen didn’t understand, a sense of dread pervaded her. The ships farther back in the formation began lowering their sails, attempting an about-face. Chaos ensued.

  Someone had betrayed their plan to the pirates. The element of surprise was lost.

  On the battlements of the fortress, Branwen saw great fires being lit. They glowed like angry eyes—like the deathless eyes of the Shades. Her magic simmered beneath her skin, destruction calling to her, a sister.

  Then the fire took flight. Enormous balls of flame were flung at the Dragon Rising. Branwen gasped. The fort was armed with five catapults.

  The first fireball hit squarely on the mast of the Dragon Rising, slicing it in two. The top half crashed to the deck, burning. The second fireball, thankfully, landed just short of the prow, plunging into the water with a tremendous splash.

  The remaining three shots hit their mark, crashing through the hull of the vessel.

  The crippled ship burned as it sank.

  Branwen bit down on her knuckles to stifle a scream. There would be no repairing the Dragon Rising this time. Her chest heaved. Would it be possible for any man to survive in the wreckage?

  There was a temporary respite before the catapults were reloaded and began to assail the fleet once more.

  An unexpected hand touched Branwen’s shoulder and she batted it away.

  “Captain Morgawr brought you from Iveriu,” said Alba. Branwen nodded. Tristan must have told her. “I’m sorry.”

  “We still have a mission to carry out,” said Xandru. Branwen swallowed. She couldn’t mourn yet. Sorrow was for later.

  Alba jutted out her chin. “Someone needs to get the chain down.”

  “Not us.”

  “What could be more important?” she retorted. Branwen saw panic in her eyes, and guilt. Alba had led men to slaughter herself; she would never abandon them to their fates.

  “Finding out who sent the pirates to Karaez,” Xandru answered. He exchanged a glance with Branwen. That was why Marc wanted the pirate king alive. “The peace will always be endangered if we don’t know who started the war.”

  Alba’s eyes widened. She parted her lips, but no protest came.

  “Let’s give the wheel of fortune a spin,” said Xandru.

  The Mawort broke farther away from the convoy. A good wind fanned its sail as full morning broke, illuminating the carnage at the harbor. The pirates continued to lob fireballs from their catapults. Another row of ships started to sink.

  A golden lion followed the Mawort. Lord Diarmuid’s ship. Ivernic vessels were smaller than those of the royal Kernyvak and Armorican fleets. While its design wasn’t as ingenious as the Mawort’s, Diarmuid’s ship managed to pursue at a fair clip.

  Alba paced the bow as the island drew closer. Branwen stayed near Xandru. That was where she’d promised Marc she would be. Xandru was navigating them east along the coast, behind the fortress, toward a rocky beach. The water was shallower, a crystalline blue, and treacherous.

  Tension closed like a vise around the Mawort as the captain dropped anchor. Behind them, Branwen glimpsed Diarmuid’s ship come to a halt.

  “Is Lord Diarmuid part of the plan?” Branwen asked. Xandru shook his head.

  The crew started preparing a rowboat to take them to shore. Xandru called out
various names. Branwen followed Xandru to the boat, and Alba joined them.

  “You’re staying here,” Xandru told his cousin.

  “Try to make me.” Alba rested one hand on her hip while lifting her sword with the other. Eyeing Branwen, she said, “Why would you take the healer and not me?” Suspicion flared in her gaze.

  “I’m not the heir to a kingdom,” said Branwen, as Xandru snapped, “I don’t have time to argue with you, Alba.”

  “No,” she agreed. “You don’t.”

  Xandru looked from Alba to the five men waiting to board the boat. He made a lightning judgment.

  “You and Branwen stay together.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Fine.”

  He pointed at the men, naming each one for the women’s benefit, although Branwen scarcely took them in. The sounds of the battle carried on the wind, and her heart thundered.

  “This is Otho,” Xandru said, directing a gaze at a short man of forty summers, skin pale and weather-beaten, gray at his temples, snaggle-toothed, with a bulbous nose. “Otho is not a supporter of the current pirate king. He will be our guide into the fort.”

  “We can’t trust him!” Alba exclaimed. She stared at the pirate as if she were vivisecting him. Slowly.

  “I don’t need trust,” said Xandru. “I have gold.”

  “He might have already betrayed us!”

  “I’ve taken precautions.” His voice was so cold that Branwen didn’t want to know what those precautions might be.

  Branwen, Alba, Xandru, Otho, and four other crewmembers crammed themselves into the rowboat. The remaining men lowered the boat into the water. They would protect the Mawort until their captain returned, prepared to make a speedy escape.

  Another rowboat splashed against the choppy waters from Diarmuid’s ship. Xandru grimaced as he spotted it. He didn’t trust anyone but his own men. Given the trap the pirates had laid for the fleet, he had good reason.

  Their boat reached shore first. Xandru ordered everyone out as two of the crew—a wiry man from the Melita Isles and a broad-shouldered Mílesian—dragged the boat onto the pebbled beach. Seawater permeated Branwen’s calfskin boots.