by Ann Fisher
The Raven
Ann Fisher
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
The Reckoning Excerpt
1
Closing her eyes, Lorel urged her body to relax. Sleep eluded her as it had done more often than not of late. She should have taken Cinn’s advice to visit a healer for a charm to ward her dreams or a draught to drug her senseless. Bran swore by the bottle, but she wouldn’t go that route. How could she?
The ship rocked like a cradle on the peaceful swells of the bay. The only sounds that came to her ears were the creaking of ropes, the slap of water against the hull, and the distant sigh of waves sliding to shore. All of it innocuous. All of it familiar. This ship had been her home for the last year and a half and she knew the rhythm of it as well as her own heartbeat. Nothing was amiss.
Before she’d gone to bed, she’d cracked open the porthole. During her time at the Keep, she’d developed a preference for sleeping with the windows open. The cool breeze stirred her hair, and if she tipped her head just so she could peer through the opening to see the stars filling the cloudless sky. There was no moon tonight, but this far north the stars provided enough light to see by even without the wavering spirit lights that sometimes danced above the waters.
Above deck, Dani called out to the watch and Eamon growled at her. The laggard had fallen asleep again. Lorel would need to speak to him come morning. With Cinn stuck on Erys recovering from a lung infection, Lorel was in charge of the Raven and if anything happened to the ship while it was in her care, Cinn wouldn’t let a little thing like death stand in the way of revenge.
Truth be told, Dani was more in charge of the day-to-day operations of the ship than Lorel was. Not yet twenty, Cinn’s daughter had an almost unnatural affinity for the sea. She could read the weather nearly as well as the ship’s Keeper and navigate currents like a water spirit. Veteran sailors deferred to Dani without question. Dani should be the captain on this trip, but Cinn had refused to give her the title, likely suspecting that once given it would be difficult to revoke. Lorel smiled. Cinn was probably right on that count.
Hopefully, Cinn would be ready to sail again by spring, and Lorel would no longer have to stand in the middle of the tempestuous mother-daughter relationship.
That wasn’t what was keeping her up nights though.
She’d long ago grown used to the bickering, Cinn’s tyrannical nature, Dani’s adolescent defiance and the crew’s angling to take advantage of it all. No. What kept her awake was the knowledge that as soon as she closed her eyes, the dreams would come.
She never remembered them fully upon waking. She would recall only flashes of strange images. Lightning shot blue eyes tugging her into an empty darkness. The musty smell of damp stone. Coarse rope cutting into her ankles and wrists. Sometimes she remembered pain. Sometimes there was pleasure.
The pleasurable dreams were almost more disturbing. She’d wake up panting with need and the knowledge that Janek was long gone. He was at home in Ghadria, dealing with the palace court and all its intrigue. She was certain he’d forgotten all about her already. She knew he never intended to return.
From across the cabin, the soft breath of innocent slumber mocked her restlessness. The captain’s quarters were the largest aboard ship, but they were still small enough that sound echoed strangely. Heaving a sigh, Lorel rolled from the bed to land lightly on her feet. Padding across the room, she skirted the small desk bolted to the floor and traced the glyph carved into the lamp hanging from the rafter. Soft light, golden as a flame, spilled into the room. It wasn’t fire, which could be dangerous aboard ship. Even though the Raven was built of bloodwood which resisted burning, Cinn didn’t permit fire aboard ship. The oven and stove in the galley were similarly spelled. There weren’t many ships like the Raven. Bloodwood was rare, native only to Erys and seldom harvested. There hadn’t been a new bloodwood ship built in more than a decade. That was changing. With the consul gone, Bran had diverted all of his energies into building a fleet.
When she turned, her hand knocked against a cup on the table. It clattered to the floor and she bent to retrieve it, holding her breath and praying that Conri didn’t wake.
He’d been nearly impossible to get to sleep. It was as if he somehow sensed that she was preparing to leave him behind. On these short jaunts between villages away from the grip of the empire, she felt confident enough bringing him along. The cold northern islands were far more peaceful than Ghadrian-governed Erys. But on the next trip it would be impossible to bring him. He’d need to stay with his aunt and uncle. It would be the first time she’d been separated from him since his birth.
As much as it pained her to leave him, she wouldn’t risk his life just because it made her heart ache to do so. She watched as he relaxed again into his milk drunk stupor. The frown creasing his brow eased and his sweet small hand unfurled like a flower. She gently untangled the blanket from his foot and pulled it up to his waist.
Nearly a full year old, he didn’t look like a baby anymore. He wasn’t yet walking, but he soon would be. He’d probably take his first steps while she was gone. She anticipated it with a strange mix of pride and dread. Once he started walking, she wouldn’t be able to keep him strapped to her back while she tended to her duties. Cinn would ask her to leave the ship or demand that she leave Conri behind. She couldn’t leave Conri behind because there was no one else to care for him.
One more run.
She’d leave Conri just this once while Cinn was landbound and then she’d never have to do it again. She’d sunk everything Janek had given her into one shipment after another. A few had been lost—once to Asaran pirates, once to Ghadrian seizure. But with the coin from this run, she’d have enough to last for several years if she was careful. Long enough for Conri to grow up and for her to figure out a new way to make a living.
Conri’s frown briefly returned, reminding her of his father. So much about him reminded her of Janek. From the moment of his birth when he’d focused on her with his solemn blue eyes as if weighing her soul, Conri had reminded her of the man who’d broken her heart. Strange really, considering that Conri would never meet the man.
She felt a familiar twinge of regret at that, but there was nothing to be done for it. By the time she’d realized she was pregnant, she’d been several miles off the coast of Asara and Janek was in Ghadria. She had no way to send word to him. She’d briefly considered following him despite the risk, but Devlin had convinced her otherwise.
Conri was born at sea. The first breath he drew into his lungs was salt laden, and his cries had mingled with the gulls flying overhead calling them back to land.
Lorel had been happy this last year, remarkably happy, all things considered. The mostly female crew of the Raven were like family to her. She loved Cinn and her daughter Dani, even if they drove her crazy sometimes. Dev was the same as he’d always been, laughing and without a care. She would rebuke him for that but there didn’t seem to be a point. Their mother had always said Dev was born charmed with good luck and Lorel had to admit it seemed to be true.
Dev had never once rebuked her for lying with an invader, and he accepted Conri without reservation. He was home now nursing Cinn back to health, and he’d agreed to take care of Conri for her while she made this last run. Conri was nearly weaned.
She bent to brush the dark hair f
rom his forehead. She’d leave the Raven for Conri’s sake, to build a new life for her and her son. She’d give up the rebellion for her son. And Janek… She shook her head. How was she to track down the emperor’s butcher if he didn’t wish to be found? Janek was on his own, exactly as he’d wanted it.
Eamon called out the hour and, touching Conri’s chest one last time to feel him breathing, Lorel turned off the light and slipped back into her empty bed.
2
Janek shoved Caden toward the door—not the ten-foot-high, gilded monstrosity they’d entered through when they first arrived at the palace, but a narrow servant’s door hidden behind a potted lemon tree. “Run.”
“They—”
“They recognized you.” Janek grabbed the boy’s arm to prevent him from stopping. “The one on the left, Darshel’s apprentice.”
“That’s impossible.” Caden looked as if he’d like nothing better than to argue the point, but he allowed Janek to herd him out through the kitchens, into the gardens and through the gate. A year and a half of living on the run had taught him to move first and ask questions later.
Caden turned at the first alley and jogged down a narrow flight of stairs into the courtyard of a nearby inn. Janek trailed a step behind him as they passed through the courtyard and onto a well-traveled side street. Silently, they slipped through the city, weaving through back roads and alleys toward the harbor.
When they reached the Carillo, Caden slowed his steps and looked to Janek for direction. They’d need to cross the square, but plowing through the crowd would only draw attention. Janek gestured to the right, and they skirted the edge of the square, staying to the shadows. They were two low-ranking nobles on an errand, not men fleeing for their lives.
Caden glanced at him. “I’ve never seen that man in my life, and I have a good memory for faces. If I’d recognized him, I wouldn’t have spoken to him directly.”
“I know that.”
Caden was a clever boy, though he wasn’t truly a boy any longer. Janek needed to stop thinking of him as one. This last year had aged Caden considerably—sharpened an already keen mind, refined his instincts, hardened his heart.
He looked far older than his twenty years. His dark hair, lightened from the sun, lay braided down his back in the northern style. The sun had darkened and thickened his skin. The creases bracketing his mouth were new as were the muscles that added breadth to his shoulders and depth to his chest. It was a wonder that anyone had recognized him. Janek barely recognized him.
Tonight at the public dinner, the other courtiers had twittered about the hall like brightly colored birds while Caden had sat as still and watchful as a young wolf. Janek had had to remind him to smile.
He feared the boy had not fared well in his care.
“We’re leaving the city this time.” Janek caught his arm and directed him to the left. Before Caden could argue about leaving, he said, “It’s not safe. I know it never was, but the risks now far outweigh the advantages. We know who has allied themselves with the Archmage. We know where to look for support. We gain nothing by staying.”
“My sister—”
“Will live.”
Mira was to wed Serat in three days time in order to appease her father’s old supporters and strengthen her distant cousin’s claim to the throne. The Houses had accepted Serat because of his bloodline. The Archmage had accepted Serat because he needed a spineless puppet. No one, he was sure, had asked Mira’s opinion on the matter.
Mira would be pampered, feted and called empress, even if she was more slave than bride. Janek would do much to spare her such a fate, but not if it meant losing both of the surviving imperial children. The Archmage had already executed the empress for fighting the betrothal.
“You’ll have the pleasure of severing the marriage bond with your blade.” Janek’s mouth tightened. “Or Mira will. I’d place the sword in your sister’s hands if it comes to it. She’ll have more right to it than you.”
Caden’s silence was more alarming than any argument he might have made. They’d reached the street leading into the poorer district, and after checking for pursuit, slipped down one of the less traveled side alleys before breaking into a jog.
Up ahead, Janek saw the high arch of the old city gate. It wasn’t the most direct route to the harbor, but it would do. When they passed the intersecting road that led into the warrens of Southton, Caden glanced back toward the palace.
Janek stood ready to tackle him to the ground if necessary. His leg was bothering him, had been bothering him more often of late, and it would be difficult to carry Caden the last mile to the ship, but he could do it if he needed to. It seemed he had a boundless capacity for doing what was necessary. Asil had always seen that as a virtue. More and more, Janek saw it as his most despicable trait. There should be a limit, a point at which a man said, “No, I will not do that,” regardless of the price. But if there was such a line somewhere inside of himself, Janek had yet to find it.
Caden continued to walk at a brisk pace, but Janek could tell he wanted to go back. Charge back in with blade drawn to challenge Demir and Serat. Die a noble and pointless death. A year ago, Caden would have attempted to do just that. A year ago, Janek wouldn’t have trusted him enough to bring him to the capital.
Tonight, they’d gone to the palace at considerable risk to see if there was anything that could be done for Mira. She was so well protected they hadn’t even been able to enter the wing where she was being held. Janek knew the palace as well as he knew his own blade. If he couldn’t find a weakness in their defense then there was no way in.
They’d been about to leave when Caden had spotted Mira’s little pet. For her tenth birthday, the Asaran ambassador had gifted Mira with an infant capuchin. She’d named the little beast Niko and trained him to carry notes to her friends. Niko came to Caden readily when called.
They’d sent Niko off with a note tied to his leg, and then they’d waited nearly two hours for their messenger to return. Two hours spent sweating beneath their court clothes, disguised as Karn of House Coresa and his youngest son. Coresa was at the very edge of the southern border of the empire and Karn hated court. No one knew what Karn looked like, and there was little chance that he would be present. Janek didn’t worry about Caden being recognized. His father had kept him isolated in the mountains of Pinalt for most of his childhood, and Caden had changed much in the last years. Serat hadn’t recognized him on Erys, so there was little chance that he’d recognize him here. The soldiers and staff who’d served in Pinalt had been silenced. Rumors had reached the capital that the mountain stronghold was no longer standing.
Clumsy work, in his professional opinion. He’d have used them all in his search for the prince.
As for himself, he’d lost a good deal of weight since leaving the capital. Two years as an exile had made him lean and hard. He’d bought a charm from a woman in the marketplace earlier in the day to soften and refine his features. It wasn’t marked with his magic so the mages wouldn’t be able to sniff it out if they were looking for a particular brand, and the charms were so commonly used amongst the nobility that it was unlikely to cause comment.
It was still a risk they probably shouldn’t have taken. But how could they just walk away without even trying to save Mira? It hadn’t been entirely a lost cause.
Janek had been able to see with his own eyes which men were hanging about the palace seeking to curry favor with the new emperor. There were a few nobles from powerful families who’d fallen out of favor with Asil for one reason or another, Golshan who was blood kin to Caden, and a great many inconsequential courtiers who had no choice but to support the man holding the scepter no matter how they might feel about that man personally. He and Caden had remained in the shadows as much as possible, which was not difficult considering the flood of people grasping for power in the tumult of the succession.
The sight of Serat seated upon Asil’s throne had filled him with rage. The Archmage, Demir, had stood re
spectfully behind the emperor’s throne, even though the whole court knew that he truly controlled the scepter. Serat looked much the same as he had on Erys—slender and proud, but now draped in richer silks and jewels.
Janek had instinctively begun to pull aether into himself before he realized what he was doing. Thankfully, no one had seemed to notice. People had noticed the pallor of Caden’s face and the way he began to shake. Janek had caught only the briefest glimpse of Mira before he’d been forced to hurry Caden from the room.
Mira’s note, when it came, was short and to the point. Leave the city. Save yourself. Janek had expected nothing less of Asil’s daughter. Still, it was a nasty business.
He’d considered slipping the small vial of poison he kept in his boot to Mira through Niko, but had decided against it. Mira wouldn’t take it and Serat would have taste testers to protect himself. And now they had no choice but to leave.
As they passed the open door of a tavern, Janek glanced at Caden’s face and winced. Beneath the beard, Caden’s jaw was set. His face was drawn as if he were in pain. Janek didn’t try to speak to him.
What could he possibly say? Nothing.
The only thing he could do was continue to guard Caden’s back, herd him aboard the waiting ship and bribe the harbormaster so that they could set sail immediately. The tide was changing, and they’d be first out. He could do that. Mira might be lost to him, but Caden he could still keep safe.
3
The wind came out of nowhere. Cold and strong, it drove the waves to white-capped peaks and ushered in the most ominous looking storm clouds Lorel had ever seen. She tried to hide her concern. They were five days out from Cassar on their way home, and it had been smooth sailing up to now. The sky ahead of them was a bright, clear blue, but only a few miles behind black thunderheads boiled up from the water like smoke from a fire. Lightning flickered inside the shadowy mass, accompanied by the vibration of distant thunder. Above her head, the sails danced like mad, whipped by that strange wind.
