Blood of Ravens

by Jen McIntosh

  If he was honest with himself, he didn’t know what else he’d expected of his daughter. She was too much like him – too stubborn, too proud. And if even half of what he had heard about Keriath was true, she was just as bad. He’d heard the rumours of a third child, another raven-haired daughter. He knew it wasn’t true, much to his disappointment. So much bloodshed could have been avoided if she had been his – though she was too powerful to ever bring to heel.

  Not that he’d say any of that to Jenia. The rumours grated on her. He knew what it would do to her if he ever admitted he wished them to be true. She had a hard enough time swallowing what he’d done to produce Théon and Keriath.

  When he’d finally moved against the Graced, he’d offered her Kylar’s life as a peace offering. The memory of what she’d done that night still haunted him. What she’d tried to do to Keriath. She’d never felt that way about Théon. She hadn’t been welcoming, not by any stretch, but she tolerated Théon’s presence in their lives.

  The irony was not lost on him that she had found it in her heart to forgive him for raping Diathor. Something that still caused him to wake in a cold sweat a hundred years later. But she could not tolerate the fact that Kylar had come willingly to his bed. She was contrary like that.

  But he’d needed heirs. And she could not give them to him.

  Pursing his lips, he pushed those fears from his mind and reached out a tendril of power, tapping on the mental shields of the presence lingering in the hall outside. Corrigan answered the summons, slipping inside on silent feet and closing the door behind him.

  ‘Sire,’ he said, bowing.

  The King did not take his eyes off the map. ‘Any word from Kieyin?’

  ‘Seren was successful in infiltrating the keep,’ the Nightwalker reported, his voice as flat and unfeeling as ever, ‘but last we heard, her search for the Princess was ongoing. Kieyin was to hold back and stay out of sight until she gave the signal.’

  ‘And Alexan?’

  ‘Back within the safety of the wards and beyond our reach for now.’ Irritation flickered over his otherwise impassive face – as much emotion as he’d ever show. The King repressed a smile. His generals’ hatred of each other was legendary, and a hundred years enduring each other’s company had only made it worse.

  ‘Do we know what happened?’

  Corrigan’s dead gaze sparked with annoyance. ‘It appears he and the Princess had become lovers.’

  The King tore his gaze from the map to glare at the Nightwalker. ‘What?’

  ‘The Steward didn’t tell you?’

  He glanced towards the bedroom. ‘She’s been a little preoccupied.’

  ‘I see,’ Corrigan said, a slow flush creeping over his cheeks. ‘Her report stated that she found them together in a cave on the coast of Stormkeep. It was quite clear what had transpired between them. She ordered Alexan to kill the Princess, but after the deed was done, he turned on her.’

  The King stilled, his voice nothing more than a deadly whisper. ‘He was feeding from her.’

  ‘Probably,’ Corrigan admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘If Your Majesty remembers, I did suggest that perhaps Alexan might not have been the best choice to send after the Princess.’

  ‘He was the only choice.’

  Corrigan placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. ‘I fear that was short-sighted, sire. The Court chafes against your rule more and more every day. You barely won the last challenge; you are still weak from the battle. Not that you dare let even so much as a hint of it show. Now, with Alexan gone, Prince Kieyin and I are the only thing standing between you and utter ruin.’

  ‘Don’t push your luck,’ the King hissed, magic flaring with his temper, with the fear lurking beneath it. ‘I wear the crown, Corrigan. I give the orders. You follow them. Question me again, and I’ll have your head mounted on a spike before you can blink.’

  Corrigan held his ground. ‘Ah, there he is, the dread Shade King. Power incarnate. All should bow before him in fear. Except we both know it’s a lie.’

  The King checked himself, freezing even as his blood pounded through his veins. ‘Do we indeed?’

  ‘I have served you faithfully for a hundred years, sire,’ Corrigan breathed. ‘Do you think me so ignorant that I would not see the heart of you in all that time? And yet I am still here. Still serving. As I swore I would be – until my dying breath. But I cannot protect you if I am kept in the dark.’

  A vicious snarl ripped out of the King, but he looked away. Picking up the obsidian-hilted dagger, he was silent for a long time as he considered. Eventually, he nodded. ‘Very well. You wish to know the truth? He did not kill Théon. Whatever spell was containing her power, it is now broken. The Shade is free. Just as I planned.’

  The concession was difficult to swallow, but he could not afford to lose the Nightwalker. Shoving his frustration down, he looked back to the map, ignoring the sharp breath of relief that escaped Corrigan, and threw the dagger. End over end it spun, before impaling itself tip-first in the map – into the heart of the Ravenswood.

  ‘What about the Ravenswood? Did you find out anything more about that?’ he asked.

  ‘Initial reports suggest you were right – it was the Rookery,’ said Corrigan, straightening. ‘It’s sustained serious damage, but it is mostly still standing. The magic is strong.’

  The King grunted. ‘It would be. My father’s power ran deep.’ He paused. A possibility occurring to him. ‘What about the Phoenix girl? Any sign of her?’

  ‘Not since Arian helped destroy what was left of the Hunt Kieyin took. There has been some movement out on Ciaron’s Western Wing – likely just the Hal bastard causing trouble again, but I have sent a Hunt to investigate.’

  The King made a sound of distaste. He would have to deal with the Dragon at some point. Arian too. She was one who had slipped through his fingers a few too many times for comfort. A shame that they had been unable to capture the other Phoenix woman. He could count on one hand the number who had survived the slaughter in Elucion. There was little doubt this stranger was linked to the new power rising. Then his attention turned to the final piece. ‘What about the boy?’

  ‘What about him?’ Corrigan asked, feigning disinterest. It was an irritating habit he had – developed to get information from others in the Court, and now so ingrained, he did it without thinking.

  The King rolled his eyes and let it slide. There was little to be gained from pushing him. ‘I’m not sure what to make of him,’ the King admitted. ‘He’s powerful, that much is obvious – though that containment spell will need to be broken if he’s to survive. A sharp mind too. If a little timid.’

  ‘I thought he was surprisingly brave,’ countered Corrigan in a rare – and unexpected – display of perceptiveness. ‘I doubt you would find many children that age who could meet either my eyes or yours and flinch as little as he has.’

  Shrugging to concede the point, the King continued. ‘I want to know where he came from. How he got into that room. There’s something … familiar about him. About his power. I don’t like it.’ He trailed off, lost in thought while he considered the puzzle the boy presented. ‘I’ll keep him here for now. See if I can break the spell, if I can get anything else out of him.’

  ‘Seren isn’t happy,’ Corrigan began.

  But the King cut him off. ‘I don’t care. If it becomes problematic having him here, I will send him to her, but for now, I want to see what I can find out for myself. Who knows? Maybe we can even persuade him to ally himself with us.’

  Yet another lost child for Jenia to raise as her own. Just as she’d raised Kieyin – the closest thing he’d ever had to a son. His adopted heir, for now. Unless either Keriath or Théon were returned to him. He prayed it was soon. Otherwise, it would all crumble …

  He heaved a sigh and looked back at his general. ‘Gather the Court. All of them. If Mazron and Zorana don’t answer the summons, declare them traitors and sentence them to death. It’s
time we dealt with this uprising. And get word to Kieyin – tell him, if he’s successful, take her to Ashmark. It won’t be safe for him to bring her here with the Court gathered. If not, I need him back here as soon as possible.’

  ‘And Alexan, sire?’

  The King pursed his lips. ‘Let him be. He will find his way home. The manner of his return will decide his fate.’

  Corrigan inclined his head in acknowledgement, a muscle leaping in his jaw the only sign of his displeasure, and turned without a word. Then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him, and the King was alone once more with his thoughts. He took another sip of whisky, savouring the burning sensation as it slipped down his throat. The roaring had quietened to a purr for now, but his mind was never truly silent. Not since that day he had read those fateful words Sephiron’s heirs will rise … an ember may yet raze all to ash … only with faith can the Raven’s line be cleansed … any price is worth paying to end Sephiron’s line …

  His thoughts were cut off by a ripple of power that shook the very foundations of the earth. He lurched to his feet, gasping for air, the crystal tumbler smashing to the floor as it slipped from his grasp. That thrum of magic like a fist around his heart.

  ‘Reith?’ Jenia’s voice echoed through their chambers, her voice heavy with worry. Then she was at his side. A wicked-looking dagger in hand – he wished she would stop sleeping with that thing under her pillow – and bloody eyes flashing as she searched for the threat.

  ‘I’m alright,’ he gasped, waving her away.

  Jenia gave him a look that said she was unconvinced, but she lowered the dagger. ‘What is it?’

  He ignored her, collecting the various papers he’d knocked from his desk and clearing away the shards of shattered glass with a gentle sweep of magic. Jenia’s expression was inscrutable, but there was a tension in the set of her shoulders that told him just how agitated his lover was. Finally, he met those red eyes.

  ‘A Rising.’ She flinched. Infinitesimally, but there was no hiding the naked fear in her bloody gaze. ‘A powerful one.’

  ‘Resari?’

  He shook his head. ‘She hasn’t been able to summon that kind of power since the Fall. It’s something else. Something new.’

  ‘The boy’s mother?’

  ‘Possibly.’ He didn’t want to talk about it. Fear had frozen the blood in his veins. This was a power to rival his own. If it was fully fledged, it would be nigh on impossible to stop.

  Jenia seemed to sense his unease, placing her dagger on the desk behind him as she pressed her body against his and kissed him. Filled him full of her fire. And when fear had loosened its hold on his heart, she pulled back and whispered against his lips, ‘Reith, come back to bed.’

  Acknowledgments

  I learned a long time ago that success is seldom single-handed. One does not get far in the sporting arena without recognising the invaluable contribution of others to the achievement of our goals, and though this work feels more my own than any medal I’ve ever won, I am under no illusion as to how many people have got me to this point.

  Though it may seem strange, it’s actually the people who helped me win medals rather than write manuscripts that I would like to thank first. To all those I worked with throughout my years as an athlete, who helped shape me into the person I am today. To Kris, Simon and Paul who did their best to keep me sane and taught me so much about myself – knowledge that I have used not just to make me a better writer, but hopefully a better person too. To Alison and Maggie, whose expert care and instruction continues to help me to this day – particularly after hours at the writing desk. And most of all to Colin, for everything.

  Transition from athlete to author was never going to be straightforward, and the continued support of everyone at sportscotland, Team Scotland and my colleagues at STS means the world to me – the support of those athletes now under my care most of all. And to all those teammates – particularly Áedán, Fiona, Dave, Sheree and Sian – whose ongoing love and encouragement over the years has been a source of great comfort during some of the more difficult days.

  But all the love and support in the world was never going to take my first draft and turn it into a publishable work, so to my editor, Sam Boyce, and proofreader, Kat Harvey, for that I say: thank you. Thank you for your patience and guidance while I navigate this new chapter in my life. Most of all, thank you for helping me make this story the best it can be.

  Thank you to everyone who has bought, read and supported this book. I had two dreams growing up. Go to the Olympics. Become an author. Thank you to everyone who has helped me achieve those dreams.

  Most of all, thank you to my friends and family, without whom I would be nothing. To Naomi, Petra, Snježana, Chelsea and Keri-anne – the best friends a girl could wish for (and a particularly huge thank you to Petra for helping with the production of the map). To my family – Caroline & Phil, Tommy & Mary, John & Frances. Grandma. Mum. Dad. Seonaid. There aren’t really the words to express the kind of gratitude I hold in my heart for all of you.

  And lastly. Andrew… and Brego. I love you. And thank you. For everything.

  About the Author

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  Jen McIntosh is a two-time Olympian and Team Scotland’s most decorated female athlete. A lover of books and all things magical, she took to writing as an escape from the pressures of competing in one of the Olympics’ more obscure and controversial sports – target shooting. Following her retirement from sport in 2018, she escaped to the Scottish Highlands where she lives with her husband and their hyperactive spaniel.

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  To learn more about Jen and follow her journey from Olympian to author, check out her blog at:

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  www.jen-mcintosh.com