Blood of Ravens

by Jen McIntosh

‘What did he say?’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ he told her. Then he looked at her suspiciously. ‘Did you say anything to Renila? Or mother?’

  ‘No,’ she promised. ‘I knew you didn’t want me to.’

  He frowned at her. ‘You were upstairs for ages before breakfast.’

  ‘Renila was telling me a story,’ she said.

  Erion’s attention perked at the sound of his mother’s name. ‘Which one?’

  ‘One she hasn’t told us before,’ she informed them, voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

  Lucan snorted, his disbelief echoed by Erion’s laugh. ‘Not a chance – she’s told them all!’

  ‘Not this one,’ she assured them, leaning forward. ‘It’s about the Graced and where they come from. They were made by an Immortal Princess, whose baby was stolen by the Dark Prince Sephiron.’

  Lucan rolled his eyes and looked at Erion who shrugged and flopped down on the floor beside him.

  ‘Right enough, I don’t know it,’ he agreed. He frowned, trying to remember. ‘And I thought we’d heard all the stories about the Graced.’

  ‘Where does she get them from?’ asked Lucan, more to himself than anyone else.

  ‘I had an idea,’ said Suriya. Lucan looked up at her, his brows arching in surprise. ‘What if she gets them in letters?’

  Erion frowned. ‘I never see her reading any. Besides, who would send her letters from outside the castle?’

  ‘Your father,’ Lucan said, without thinking.

  The scowl Suriya afforded him was ferocious, and Lucan winced, glancing at his friend. Erion’s gaze had become distant, his eyes stormy grey. Still, Lucan wasn’t about to apologise. He’d much rather they considered him uncaring than thoughtless. Suriya gave him a look that said she wasn’t fooled and warned him to drop it. He stuck his tongue out in response and closed his eyes again.

  ‘Ignore him, Erion,’ she murmured.

  Fathers were a touchy subject in the castle. Their mother refused to tell the twins anything about their sire – they didn’t even know if he was still alive – and Erion’s father was never spoken of. Not around the Lady of the castle. That had been a rare, stern warning from Renila when they were younger. Suriya had wondered if their fathers were the same man. Lucan had laughed out loud when she’d suggested it and they both knew better than to ask.

  Awkward silence followed, save for the soft crackle of the fire burning in the hearth, but Lucan did his best to ignore it. The sound of his mother calling his name broke the tension.

  He jumped to his feet, just as she glided into the room, offering a contrite smile and tentative bow of greeting. Behind him, Suriya and Erion also rose – but while Suriya curtseyed, Erion retreated to the shadows. They all knew the Lady had little tolerance for him.

  ‘Mother,’ Lucan said, gesturing to her favourite chair by the fire, opposite Suriya’s.

  ‘Shouldn’t you both be in bed?’ she asked as she sat.

  ‘I was waiting for Renila to come and finish the story she started telling me this morning,’ Suriya explained. ‘Lucan wanted to hear it too.’

  ‘You’re a little old for bedtime stories, aren’t you?’

  Lucan shrugged and sat in Suriya’s chair. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘But it is a wonderful story. You should stay and listen to the rest too, Mother,’ said Suriya.

  ‘What would be the point in hearing the end when I don’t know how it begins?’

  ‘Lucan didn’t hear the start either. But I could tell you – although I don’t think I’d tell it as well as Renila. She tells it almost like she was there!’

  ‘Does she indeed?’ the Lady laughed, attention fixed on the fireplace. After a moment, she pulled herself away to study them. ‘Go on then, Suriya, tell me how the story begins, and I’ll stay and listen to the rest of it from Renila.’

  Lucan tried not to laugh as his sister adjusted her posture into something she thought more fitting of a storyteller and began.

  ‘It’s the story about the Graced – the story of where they came from. It was during the Rebellion, when the Dark Prince Sephiron rose and created the Darklings. Even though they were stronger, the Immortals were losing the war because they were so outnumbered. But then one night, Sephiron kidnapped a child. Nobody knows why he did it, but it was the baby of an Immortal Princess, so the Princess created her own army to defeat him. That’s where Renila left it …

  ‘Quite a tale,’ murmured their mother. But even Lucan could tell her expression didn’t match her tone. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes tight. Across from him, Suriya shifted uneasily. He didn’t blame her. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. But before either of them could say anything, their storyteller entered.

  ‘My Lady.’ Renila greeted the twins’ mother, curtseying.

  Their mother inclined her head in response. ‘Suriya tells me you have a story for us.’

  ‘I started telling her one this morning but didn’t have time to finish it, my Lady,’ Renila explained. If she was annoyed, she didn’t show it.

  Their mother waved a dismissive hand. ‘Suriya already told us what we’ve missed. I’m keen to hear the rest.’

  Nodding, Renila seated herself on the low settee by the fireplace while Erion folded himself onto the ground at her feet, trying to avoid drawing the Lady’s attention to him.

  ‘Where were we, Suriya?’

  ‘The Princess was making her own army.’

  Renila’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she stared into the flames before her, toying with the chain around her neck. Nodding again, she began to speak. ‘Her lands had been ravaged by the war, her people scattered to the four winds, when Sephiron came for her. Mortal or Immortal, it did not matter to the Dark Prince. He wanted nothing less than the complete destruction of her bloodline and all those loyal to it. Her Immortal kin held the line, stood their ground while she shielded the mortals as they fled. The Darkling horde snapped at their heels all the way to the Glimmering Sea. And there, on the shore, she made her stand, loosed her power upon the descending host and burned them to dust. But by the time she returned to her lands, there was naught left but ash and ruin.

  ‘They say that tears streamed from her eyes, falling like glittering stars, sharing her light with all those who dared reach up and catch them. They say each drop contained a kernel of her power, willingly given to those prepared to fight and die to end the war. Mortals, from the four lands bordering her own, who had sheltered her people from Sephiron, hidden and shielded them at the cost of their own lives, chosen for their bravery, their wisdom and cunning, for their warrior hearts. Each was gifted with a portion of her magic to help them fight the Darkling hordes. Spell-casting, shape-shifting, mind-reading … immortality. Four powers for the four peoples who had answered her call. And so were born the Graced.

  ‘The Princess stood back from her work, proud of what she had wrought. And so it was that she rode out to join her people, with her army of Graced at her back. Finally, the tide of the war turned in their favour, for the Darklings could not contend with the strength of the Graced.

  ‘The war was won, Sephiron’s Rebellion crushed, and when the Immortals faded into the realms of myth and legend, they left behind the Graced to guard against the darkness. And guard they did. For centuries they stood watch, defending humanity from Darklings and worse … until Sephiron’s heirs rose and brought about their Fall.’

  Silence roared. Lucan stared at her, so enthralled by the tale that he barely noticed she’d stopped speaking. He glanced around to see his sister and Erion equally entranced. Their mother, meanwhile, looked distinctly less captivated. In fact, he would even say her expression was grim. Renila hardly seemed to notice any of it, staring into the fire. Then without warning, she stirred and looked down at her son.

  ‘Time for bed,’ she said with a quick smile.

  The twins’ mother rose, her lovely face stern. ‘I couldn’t agree more. Goodnight.’

  And then she was gone.
/>
  Renila sighed and led them up the stairs to their room. Erion followed. He was quiet, his eyes storm-grey as he watched her get the twins ready for bed. Lucan tried to entice him into conversation, but even though Erion’s black moods were few, when one appeared, there was little that could pull him from it. And when Renila moved to tuck them in, Erion slipped from the room without a word. If Renila noticed, she didn’t show it, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Suriya’s forehead.

  Then she crossed the room to Lucan and whispered, ‘No more nightmares tonight.’

  He smiled and nodded, even though he didn’t believe it. Not when his mind was swirling with tales of Immortal Princesses and rebellion … the birth of the Graced. He’d heard so many stories about the magically gifted warriors. Knew all the names. The legends. Kah Rorrin. Lady Vianka. Queen Benella. Kalielle Half-Elven. But to hear of their creation? Forged like weapons to fight the Darkling scourge.

  Maybe Erion was right. If Darklings were real – and he doubted it – then so were the Graced. And that was indeed a comforting thought. Grinning into his pillow, he closed his eyes and let his mind take flight. He lost himself in fantasies, drifting off to sleep, imagining himself as heir to one of those mighty bloodlines.

  Renila found the Lady on the drawing-room balcony, her starlight hair snapping in the cool night breeze. Shivering in the cold air, she hugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and waited.

  ‘What is it Renila?’ the Lady said, eventually.

  ‘The children grow curious,’ she replied.

  ‘It is not surprising, when you fill their heads with such nonsense,’ the Lady admonished, rounding on her.

  Renila frowned. ‘They’re just stories.’

  ‘That may well be the case, but those tales are not fit for the ears of children,’ she hissed, pointing an accusing finger in Renila’s face. ‘They are too close to reality.’

  ‘They deserve to know the truth,’ Renila argued. ‘The twins are coming into their powers far more rapidly than you said they would. The visions they’re having, the nightmares, they’re becoming clearer every time. They dreamed of the Ravenswood last night. Captain Farran told me this morning that there were Darklings spotted in the forest, and Lucan said they saw a woman being chased by a Hunt.’

  The Lady scowled and turned away. ‘It can wait a little longer.’

  ‘I don’t think Erion can. I worry about him – he grows weaker with every passing day, and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. And he’s restless. He wants to know about his heritage, about where we come from, about his father. We all deserve to know the truth.’

  ‘No,’ said the Lady, shaking her head. ‘Now, I suggest you speak no more of this, or else I might have to reconsider harbouring either of you here at all.’

  Renila looked at her incredulously, but as she opened her mouth to argue, the Lady turned to her once more. At the look in her fathomless eyes, Renila closed her mouth. The Lady nodded and breezed past, leaving Renila alone to share her fears with the stars.

  Chapter Three

  It was still dark outside the castle. The sun had not yet risen, but Renila was wide awake and staring up at the ceiling, seeking the will to leave her cosy bed. She always woke before the dawn. As usual, she was careful not to wake Erion as she rose, wrapping herself in her dressing gown and slipping from the room in silence. Her slippered feet were soundless on the cool flagstones as she padded through the corridors. She paused in the kitchens, setting a kettle to boil and greeting Mal as the cook arrived to begin her preparations for breakfast. Mal grunted in response and took the mug of steaming tea without a word of thanks. Renila only smiled and slipped through the kitchen like a wraith, dodging bleary-eyed servants arriving to start work.

  There was a time when the trek up the hundreds of spiralling stairs to the topmost tower of the castle had made her head spin and her breath catch in her throat. But that was long ago. Now, she glided up.

  She reached the top and stepped out onto the turret in silence. Farran, the Captain of the Guard, stood by the parapet, his dark brows creased with concentration as he scanned the lightening horizon. Renila moved to his side and set the other mug of tea on the wall in front of him, before looking out to the forest. The sky had taken on the cold, pale quality which signalled dawn was not far off. It was a relief to note it had stopped raining, though a thick blanket of mist now shrouded the ground between them and the forest. The air itself was still heavy with the damp, but as she took a deep breath, she revelled in the refreshing scent that so often came with persistent rain. Without taking his eyes off the horizon, Farran picked up his mug and sipped his tea, wincing as it burned his mouth. Renila smiled to herself and wrapped both hands around her own mug, savouring its warmth.

  This had always been their morning ritual. Every day, for as long as Renila could remember, she had risen before the sun and sought the highest vantage point to watch the dawn. It had not taken her long to discover the turret, nor to befriend the stern-faced Captain. Farran always volunteered for the most dangerous shift, from sunset to sunrise the next morning. Sunlight didn’t harm Darklings like it did some other creatures of night, but they had no love for it. If an attack came, it would happen while the sun slept.

  Precisely when Farran slept was a mystery. He was on guard all night long and then spent all day training his soldiers. Somehow, he still found time to oversee the fortifications of the castle and then work his way through the mountain of paperwork that seemed to breed on his desk during his absence. Renila did not understand of what the paperwork comprised, only that Farran hated it more than anything and that it was always last on his list of priorities. Second last, since Farran had no time for his wife, vain and selfish as she was.

  Perhaps that was why he worked so hard. He made no secret of his distaste for the woman. It had been a match arranged by their parents, long before either of them had come to the castle. The Lady would have never allowed such nonsense on her land. But honour was the code Farran lived by, so he’d tried to be a good husband. His wife had lost whatever beauty she once possessed long ago, but instead of discouraging her affairs, this only increased them. Farran, meanwhile, had never strayed – despite the temptation of many invitations from various women in the castle.

  The Captain was an attractive man: tall and lean, with warm brown eyes the colour of tilled earth. His russet skin was weather-beaten and his short, dark hair peppered with grey about the temples. He looked in desperate need of a shave and dark circles shadowed his eyes, but to Renila, these were endearing features.

  It was that selflessness which had drawn Renila to him. He was a young man when she’d first met him atop the turret. He had greeted her politely and offered to escort her out of the cold and back to her rooms. She’d smiled and declined, explaining that she wanted – no, needed – to see the dawn with her own eyes. She had stood by his side, wrapped in his cloak, and watched the sun rise over the forest. That was in the days following Erion’s birth, a little over twelve years ago now.

  She sighed to herself and glanced at Farran. The side of his mouth quirked in acknowledgement, but he was otherwise still as he awaited the dawn. It was not long before the sun deigned to poke its head over the horizon. Over her heart, the pendant she always wore warmed from the touch of those early rays. Beside her, Farran huffed a relieved sigh as he watched its slow, lazy ascent into the morning sky.

  ‘We survive to fight another day then?’ Renila asked, a playful smile on her lips. Farran scowled at her as he sniffed at his tea.

  ‘It’s no laughing matter,’ he admonished her. ‘They’ve never come this far north before. It can’t be a good sign.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, dipping her head. ‘I shouldn’t make light of something so serious. But at least the castle is warded – we’re more fortunate than most.’

  ‘The wards can’t protect us from everything,’ he warned. Renila shivered, but it had little to do with the bitter cold
of the morning. Farran gave her a knowing look and glanced out across the forest once more. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘They’ve never ventured this far into the forest before. And why should they? They’re drawn to large, dense populations – not a few dozen souls hidden miles from anywhere. They’ve no reason to be here, and that’s what worries me.’ He looked down at her then, his dark gaze mixed with worry. She stepped closer to him, placing a slender hand on his chest.

  ‘They don’t know we’re here,’ she assured him. ‘They were just hunting; they followed their quarry into the forest, that’s all. There’s nothing here that would interest them.’ There was a tightness in his eyes that said he did not entirely believe her, that he saw the glimmer of the lie beneath her words. She schooled her face into an impassive mask. It pained her to lie to him, but the children’s safety came first.

  He covered her hand with his own and held it over his heart, smiling softly. She leaned in a little closer, her smile broadening to a grin as Farran sighed in exasperation and pulled away.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, shaking his head in frustration. ‘Get inside before you catch a chill. I’ve never understood why women insist on dressing in such flimsy garments.’ Renila laughed and twirled for him, fanning the skirt of the silken dressing gown out around her as she did so.

  ‘For your pleasure, Captain,’ she confided with a conspiratorial wink. Farran snorted and looked to the heavens imploringly.

  ‘Go,’ he ordered, chasing her back down the stairs. ‘Get dressed, see to your boy, and our Lady.’

  She blew him an impudent kiss and darted back down the stairs into the kitchen before he could scold her further. The kitchens were in full swing now, with Mal stood in the middle of the room barking orders like a general directing troops on the battlefield. Renila chuckled as she sidled through the throng with practised ease, pausing only to place the mugs on the growing pile of dirty dishes. She threw a sympathetic smile to the young scullery maid sitting nearby eyeing the pile with trepidation, before slipping through the door and back out into the hallway.