by Cat Bruno
“The book! I have spent all of my time looking for information on Conri, but never did I think to look at the other clans. Truthfully, I had forgotten the other two existed. Show me the Ravens, Kennet!”
For the next several hours, and after Bronwen had washed herself clean, the two examined the book, reading and trying to commit to memory anything that referred to the Ravens. What they discovered only deepened Kennet’s fears.
The Ravens were the reason why ordinary men and women panicked at the sight or mention of the Tribe, for they were fearless and blood-thirsty and hungered for the bodies of the dead. More than once, Bronwen had read them described as Servants of Death, describing the relationship between the Dark God Nox and the Raven clan. While the Wolves were considered the most powerful of the three clans that made up the Tribe, and the Bears the strongest, the Ravens were the most hated, and the deadliest. One would often see the onyx bird circling when death came rolling in behind to collect lost souls and carry them home.
Bronwen and Kennet read through the night and tried to make sense of how the carrion-feeders were also known as the truth-speakers, wondering how both could be true. In one story, a man, a native Northerner and a member of the First Ones, black-haired and pale-skinned, claimed that he had once saved a Raven’s life. As a gift, the man had received a newly hatched bird, its down white and shining. Later, the bird learned to speak, and when the man questioned it, the raven never spoke an untruthful word.
The man once asked the bird how it could talk, as he had never taught him, and the bird replied, “I do not speak. You now hear.”
And then it cackled, its shrieking laughter echoing around the tented room until the man could no longer stand the sound. He opened the wire cage that he kept the raven in and yelled at him to be gone, shooing him from the tent. As the bird took to the air, its white, iridescent wings reflected the morning sun. The man watched in awe as the white wings slowly darkened to gray; then, as it circled above him, the gray transformed to black, until the raven glistened, its fine feathers sleek and smooth.
The man yelled to the still-cackling bird, “Why can I now hear?”
And the raven’s only answer was a caw, which the man could no longer understand. Once he had freed the bird, he had become deaf to its cries, the gift rescinded.
Bronwen and Kennet were confused and tired, and when Bronwen’s eyes began to close, Kennet excused himself, telling her he would return in the morning. But, when he saw the fear in her eyes, and she begged him to stay with her through the night, he could not object, and, instead, squeezed his long body onto her little sofa, where he stayed until the morning.
36
When the sun rose the next morning, Louissia hurried from the small room that she shared with Talia and made her way to the Academy, more quickly now that she knew the way so well. She veered by the library and headed toward the students’ quarters, where she hoped that she would find Pietro. When she had found the letter in Kennet’s office, Louissia had wanted to search for Pietro right away, but she had had to hurry back to the tavern. Nearing Pietro’s door, she wondered how he would react to the information she had and hoped that she would leave with coins in her hand.
Remembering which door was Pietro’s, she approached it cautiously, uncertain if it was magicked, about which she knew little. She slowly lifted her hand and tapped the door, stepping back and waiting for him to open it. The sun was only just making its rise from the eastern side of the campus, toward the coast as Louissia pressed her ear to the heavy teak door, listening for movement.
When she felt a hand tap her shoulder, Louissia jumped. Turning around, she relaxed as she stared upon an older Tretorian woman carrying a large covered bowl in her tanned hands. The woman smiled at Louissia, a look that hinted that she knew that she had been spying, and before Louissia could correct her, the door was swinging open. The small woman entered the room, holding the food before her like an offering. Louissia did not want to miss the chance to enter, and she quickly followed her into the room and blushed deeply as she saw Pietro standing across the clean room in only underclothes, his chest bare.
“Louissia, what brings you here this morning? Am I being given women with my morning meal now?”
She could hardly speak, and, when she tried, the words were mumbled together, until Pietro raised a hand, silencing her. Then, he turned his attention to the woman that Louissia had followed into the room, taking the plate that she offered and directing her to a pile of dirty robes. The woman nodded, grabbed the robes, and departed, leaving Pietro and Louissia alone.
Her cheeks burned red as she listened to his steps across the stone floor, and she could feel him nearing her.
Then, he was in front of her, lifting her chin with his fingers until she could do nothing but stare into his clear eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered how violent he had been with her, yet now he was smiling and handsome, smelling of jellied bread and eyes twinkling and light. Her legs were shaking underneath her, and Louissia wondered if he could hear her heart thumping in her chest.
Again, she opened her mouth to talk, uncertain how to begin, but Pietro moved his fingers from her chin to her lips, holding them there until Louissia was melting with the urgency to taste them, her face burning with shame. Her cheeks burned anew as she felt him pressing into her, his body covered with a healer’s robe, but bulging beneath his waist.
He whispered, “Have you brought me news, my lady, or are you here to wake me up?”
His laugh boomed throughout the room, bouncing off the stone floor and plastered ceiling before knocking into Louissia’s stomach and sending her reeling. Yet, she couldn’t move, and only her chest showed any motion, rising and falling with her breath. She had forgotten why she had come, had forgotten too about Kennet, and Talia as well. For a moment, Louissia sickened with hatred for the Rexterran. Yet, when he smiled, his whole face softened, and Pietro saw her hatred fade, noticing the way that her body was leaning into him. He knew that she was his.
So he traced her lips with his fingers, then let them trail down her neck, until they settled on the curved top of her dress, tucked beneath a lacy fabric that edged the simple gown. His other hand had found its way to the bottom of her back, and, with little effort, he had drawn Louissia even closer to him. She could feel his manhood stirring underneath his robe, and, for a moment, Louissia grew frightened, but not enough to back away from him.
The air about them hummed, and the mage-light that had colored the room dimmed, until only a slight glow encircled them. Pietro sensed Louissia’s fears, yet his body ached for release, and he was blinded with need.
Pietro bent closer until his lips hovered above hers, pausing with much effort, waiting for her to reach up to him, allowing her need to grow, and knowing that it would, no matter how much she fought it. He had seen the way she looked at him when she had first entered his rooms, and he had watched the desire creep across her features. And then, she shifted, slightly, her chin tilting upward until her eyes met his, fire rimming the edges of his, a blood-gift.
Once ignited, the flame would consume him until release, as with all men of the royal line, although most learned to control it. But not Pietro. He reveled in the flames that heated his body and had long vowed to never fight the gift, although he had pretended to learn to leash it, for his father’s sake. Often, with Talia and most of the other Tretorian women he had dallied with, the flame would not light at all, which had caused him to fear that he had been too long from Rexterra. Staring at the plain-faced girl, relief coursed through him.
Alive and burning, he could feel the fire as it tingled through his body. His fingertips nearly aglow, his skin burning and wet with beads of sweat across his brow and over his chest. Yet, he waited. And burned.
His vision grew hazy, shadowed and smoky, but he could still make out the face of Louissia, her dark eyes under arched eyebrows, wide and wild. For a moment, his head cleared and he wondered why he burned now, yet had not done so
with Talia, who was sweet and pretty, with a full bosom and small waist that invited his touch. He had taken her and enjoyed it, but his flame never lit.
Unable to think any longer and unable to watch Louissia’s lips quiver beneath his stare, he exploded onto her, his mouth almost swallowing her own. He tasted honey on her lips and licked the stickiness from the corners of her mouth. She moaned as he cradled her, one arm still behind her. When the fire came, Pietro often gained strength, from he knew not where, and this time was no different as he picked Louissia up and carried her to the neatly made bed. She whimpered as he threw her to the bed, but the throbbing behind his eyes drowned out her cries.
In a flowing move, his robe was on the floor and he straddled her clothed body wearing only the finely made undergarment that he had been wearing when she had entered. Next, he was untying the modest laces that closed the top of her dress, his fingers swift and smooth. As each stitch unraveled, her breasts rose to meet his curious hands, until the top of her lay naked. Rising to his knees, Pietro yanked at the dress, pulling it over her thighs and down her legs, unaware of his own force.
Pausing, he leaned back on his heels and admired the scene spread before him, Louissia nearly beautiful in the glimmer of the mage-light, naked and untamed, ripening under his touch. Her hair lay disheveled about her shoulders, wild, dark tresses like snakes curling about her neck. He wanted to devour her, but he hesitated again, breathing deeply and letting the fire rage, until he felt as if his breath was aflame.
Then, he sunk onto her again, licking the light sweat from her forehead before moving downward, sucking her dry and letting the moisture cool his smoldering throat. She howled, her voice feral and luscious, and deeper he plunged, flaming.
He could wait no longer as the fire threatened to devour him, and Pietro ripped the underclothes from his body, then shattered onto her, his body breaking into pieces as he entered her. Louissia screamed, lightning exploding inside of her, while Pietro bellowed as the flames leapt about him, gloriously.
The light in the room flashed red and tinted orange as the air crackled. With one final roar, Pietro collapsed, rolling onto his side, sweaty and spent.
In the dying embers of mage-light, Louissia glanced at him, frightened, yet spellbound. She knew, then, what it felt like to be mage-touched.
37
Bronwen woke well past sunrise and found Kennet sitting at her desk, head bent in concentration.
She groggily asked, “I never thought that I’d sleep so long,” adding, after noticing his smirk, “but perhaps I had a little help.”
Without looking back at her, Kennet said, “Just a little trick that I learned before I got kicked out of the Mage-Guild.”
Adjusting his robe, wrinkled and ill-fitting from his fitful night of sleep, he turned to look at her, embarrassment at the corners of his eyes, having realized that the relationship between Bronwen and him was not as simple as it had once been.
Before he could think any more on the subject, Bronwen asked, “What shall I do with myself today, Kenny? I have an afternoon class with Master Baldwin, and then I was to be at the clinic. I can’t go back there. Not yet, at least.”
Her voice had started out evenly, but as she continued to speak, her words became thick with emotion. He agreed that she should avoid the clinic and told her so, going as far as to suggest that she ask Master Ammon for a suspension of her work there.
“Willem would see him dead, of that I am certain. But would bring more focus on me I fear.” As she neared, her words became clearer, and she added, “Last night, you mentioned your uncle’s visit. I’m sorry that I did not thank you then for all that you have done for me, Kennet. Do you know when he is coming?” “He could arrive within days. There is much for you to think about and understand, as it is not simple magic that he works in. It will be expensive, and we must find somewhere outside the Academy for you two to meet.”
His words were grave, and his smile had disappeared.
“I will not have you any more involved. And, if asked, I will never let on that I found Aldric through you. I do not know how I came to be entangled in this web, but I cannot allow anyone else to suffer for the choices that I make. You should not even be there when I meet your uncle.”
The two now stood in the center of the room, the mage-light dull as rays of early afternoon sun slanted in the windows, spreading dancing shadows over the walls. Kennet stepped back after hearing Bronwen’s words, dismayed that she would get rid of him so quickly after all that he had done for her. Days ago, he would have said nothing, yet as she changed, so did he.
“Bronwen, I will be there! And I will deal with whatever consequences should come of our actions! I will not send you off with him unaccompanied. And we will not discuss this again. I must be going, but I will let you know whenever I have news.”
Before Bronwen could respond, Kennet was closing the door behind him and hurrying away, afraid to turn back to see if Bronwen followed. Instead, he rushed on, feeling the midday breeze rush across his face, cool and salty. Inhaling, he thought he smelled the pine-scented air of the North, even though he knew it could not be so.
38
“Lord Crispin, your brother is here to see you. Will you see him?” asked the tall, thin man dressed in a well-sewn, garnet jacket and tapered gray pants tucked into tightly laced boots.
Crispin was seated behind a large oak desk, books piled neatly to one side, and tapped a narrow, feathered pen against his bottom lip. He should not have been surprised by his brother’s visit; after all, he had been spending a considerable amount of time with their father of late. The king had not worsened over the last moon, yet his health had not improved either, and talk was beginning to spread about his fitness to rule. So his brother’s visit was expected.
“Send him in, Tavano.”
A few moments later, his brother rushed into the room, a large rectangular space near to the king’s own quarters. The wall behind Crispin’s desk was lined from floor to ceiling with shelves of books, while the wall to his left housed tall windows, which allowed the dying evening light to filter into the room. Over the wooden-planked floors rested a large, plush rug, patterned with leaves around the edges, orange, red, and brown. Across from his desk were two large oak chairs, and it was into one of those that Delwin landed, his breathing labored.
“What is the matter with you? Are you ill?”
His brother laughed, a loud, lively sound, “Ill? Not at all, Cris. I have just been with father, then hurried to find you.”
Of course, thought Crispin, he has heard from father that I am planning to decrease the numbers of the Rexterran forces, and he is here to argue against it.
“What can I do for you, Delwin?”
“Is it true that you are seeking to evaluate the numbers necessary to keep our borders guarded? Surely, that is an outright mistake. We are a rich nation, and we must keep ourselves protected from those who seek to steal from us.”
“Have you forgotten what our coffers look like, Del? We were once a rich nation, yes, but our reserves are not what they once were. We need not have this same argument again, and I will not further tax our people. Father has already given me approval to do what is necessary.”
Delwin’s face darkened, and his hands clutched into fists. The two brothers had long argued this same point, often with the king looking on, and both refused to concede. Delwin wanted to increase the size of the Rexterran troops, which would allow the forces under his control to expand into lands outside of Rexterra. Crispin, however, was heavily opposed to the idea and wanted to increase the coffers by rebuilding much of the King’s City and imposing a toll on the King’s Road. Even as children, the two had rarely agreed. After a few moments, Delwin replied, leaning forward until his hands were on the edge of Crispin’s desk, “Father is no longer capable of taking care of himself, let alone taking care of this Kingdom! Under his watch, the damn coffers have dwindled! Will you have all of us become Northerners?”
Cris
pin tried to hide the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. His brother sounded like the ignorant fool that he was quickly becoming as he tried to simplify the politics of the treasury, which were nearly impossible to understand, even for Crispin who had been spending the better part of each day trying to make sense of the declining numbers. He wanted to laugh aloud at Delwin’s suggestion about the North overtaking Rexterra, a new fear that Delwin had recently developed, forgetting that their father’s sister had married a Northerner, and many of the king’s trusted advisors had Northern blood.
But he had little time to discuss such nonsense, and nearly told his brother so, instead, he steadily answered, “I have much to finish. We will have to continue this later.”
Delwin rose from the chair, straightening the always-present military jacket that he wore, numerous patches sewn onto the navy fabric, all of which he had fairly earned.
Before he could leave, Crispin added, “Delwin, give me some more time. That is all I ask. New roads are being constructed, with pay stations, and many docks are being rebuilt. Eventually, we will begin to see our reserves replenished.”
“Fine. You shall have one moon year from this conversation, Brother. Then I will no longer hold my tongue. And my men will march.”
Delwin turned on his heel and marched from the room, letting the door swing open behind him. Crispin slammed the ledger shut that he had been reading, no longer able to look at declining figures. His brother’s words hung heavy in the air.
He was holding his head in his hands when the sound of children giggling interrupted his thoughts. As he looked to the door, his son Cassian ran into the room with his other son Juliano trailing behind him. When the boys noticed that the door was ajar, a rare occurrence these last few moons, they tumbled in, wooden swords in hand.
