“Here,” Sten said as he handed her a chunk of bread.
Selene tore off a piece and hardly chewed before she swallowed and broke off another piece. Bread had never tasted so wonderful. Sten handed her a thick slice of ham. The salty and smoky-flavored pork brought a groan to her lips. After living off of hard biscuits and dried meat the last two days, this simple fare was a feast.
The men began to chat and laugh as they enjoyed food and drink. Selene listened as she finished off her own meal. The dim light, pleasant company, and full belly brought fatigue crashing down on her. What she wouldn’t give for her bed back home in Rook Castle.
Her spirits dimmed and she looked around. She wasn’t home anymore. She could never go home. This was her life now. Her eye caught Damien’s just as the door opened and Jorgen walked in.
“One of the families here in Riveram has a loft that two of you can share. Another family has offered their stable. Lord Maris, I would like to offer you and your wife my own home for the night.”
“And where will you sleep?” Damien asked.
“In my stable. It’s clean and dry, but small.”
Selene almost expected Damien to protest. It seemed to be his nature to serve everyone else. Instead, he bowed his head. “Thank you, Jorgen.”
The older man made his way through the crowded cabin and opened the chest next to his sleeping mat. He pulled out a faded quilt and cloak, then stood. “Here,” he said, extending the blanket to Damien. “It’s not much, but it should cover the both of you.”
Selene’s heart leapt into her throat. She wasn’t completely ignorant of all that a marriage entailed, but her parents did not share a bedchamber—not to mention a bed. And it was her understanding that was the usual way for every Great House. Was House Maris different? Did Damien expect her to sleep beside him?
Her stomach clenched even harder at the thought, and her hastily eaten dinner threatened to come back up.
“The rest of you may come with me, and I will show you where you will be staying for the night.” Jorgen bowed to Damien. “Grand Lord Maris, good night.” He glanced at Selene and continued his bow. “My lady.”
Selene tried to nod but found herself frozen in place.
Taegis came up to Damien’s side as the other men exited the cabin. “I will be sleeping outside Jorgen’s cabin,” he said quietly. “We might be in our own lands now, but I will feel better once we reach Northwind Castle. Especially with this talk of highwaymen.”
“Thank you, Taegis. I would join you, but I think it would be an offense to Jorgen’s hospitality and generosity.”
“I agree. Good night, Lord Damien.”
“Good night, Taegis.”
Taegis turned and caught sight of Selene. He bowed his head. “Good night, my lady.”
“Good night.” Her voice cracked halfway through her words. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry.
Taegis left, closing the wooden door behind him. Silence descended upon the cabin, only broken by the soft crackle of the fire.
2
I know what you’re thinking, and I want to put you at ease. You’ll have the sleeping mat, and I’ll sleep over here by the table.”
Selene turned.
The orange glow from the fire lit up Damien’s face. Stubble graced his jaw and twin pinpoints of light shone from within his dark blue eyes. “I felt it was best to let Jorgen know why you are traveling with us. It is better for people to know the truth than to speculate. You are a lady, and I will not let your reputation be tarnished in any way. But”—he raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck—“this . . . marriage bonding . . . is new. Neither of us was expecting it. I think it is best to figure this out before . . .” He coughed and looked away.
“I agree,” Selene said hurriedly. “There is a blanket on the mat. I’ll use that and you can use the quilt.”
“Good idea.”
Damien set about laying the quilt along the dirt floor while Selene put the last bit of ham and bread back into the larder. The air was tense and silent inside the cabin. She hated it, yet did not want to break it either. And Damien had yet to ask her about her gift. Her stomach twisted as she shut the cupboard door. That was a long explanation best left to a later time. She hoped Damien thought the same.
Selene headed over to the sleeping mat and removed her cloak. She still wore the same black tunic and leggings she had worn for her mission. Between two full days and nights of travel, not to mention slogging through a river, her clothing was beginning to smell ripe.
She sighed and placed the cloak down, folded, beside the mat. Nothing could be done about it. Besides, she was sure she wasn’t the only one who smelled. She removed her boots, then knelt down and undid the leather cord that held her hair in a braid and began to comb through her hair with her fingers, undoing the knots that had developed.
“I’m sorry we don’t have a brush,” Damien said behind her.
Her fingers froze, and she whipped her head around. He was watching her?
“After we leave tomorrow, it will be three days before we reach the town of Rone. Rone is a large center of commerce for the Northern Shores. We will be able to procure more supplies, as well as some personal items, such as a brush, or even clothing, if you wish.”
“That would be nice.” And she meant it. She never considered herself a lady who could not live without the luxuries of life, but right now she missed even the simple things.
“Good night . . . Selene.”
Her breath caught in her throat at his use of her first name. “Good night,” she said quickly and turned back around. She couldn’t say his name. And she couldn’t call him Lord Damien.
Selene finished rebraiding her hair, then crawled beneath the blanket, which smelled of hay, and curled up on her side with her back toward Damien. Slowly her muscles began to relax. No matter how agitated she felt, her body was too tired to care. Sleep. That’s all she wanted right now. To close her eyes, forget about the world and her new way of life, and rest.
Darkness. A grey haze. Filled with howling wolves. The fog slipped away, revealing burning trees. Then the screaming began. Renata stood next to a burning wagon, her hands held out, her eyes wide. “Please, my lady, save me—”
Selene woke with a start and sat up. She breathed heavily as she looked around. Where was she? Her hand reached out and brushed the edge of the sleeping mat. The last of the burning coals smoldered in the hearth. A figure slept beside it.
Damien.
She let out her breath and slumped forward. It was just a dream. A really bad dream. She lay back down and curled up on her other side. Damien continued to sleep on, apparently unfazed by her sudden awakening. Good. The last thing she wanted now was for him to wake up to every little noise she made. Her experience during her reconnaissance missions was that he was a heavy sleeper.
Selene yawned and snuggled down deep beneath the blanket. Sleep pulled her back under.
A woman wailed beside a burning pyre, beating her chest with her fists as embers shot into the night sky. Fire turned into a dark cabin where a small girl stood crying in the corner, her face gaunt with hunger. The cabin and girl disappeared. Trees as tall as the castle walls surrounded her, and on the path between them lay a red-haired man, his throat ripped open—
Her eyes flew open, her heart racing inside her chest. Selene rolled onto her back and stared up at the thatch ceiling. Faint light from a nearby window indicated morning was quickly approaching.
She recognized the dead man from her dream. Hagatha’s father. And she could remember the other dreams, all of them from servants at Rook Castle. But why was she dreaming about them now? She’d never relived anyone else’s dreamscape before.
Damien shifted.
Selene quickly rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she could find a little more rest before she had to wake up for the day.
But sleep never came. Only image after image of previous dreamscapes. She curled into a tighter ball, her bod
y so tired she never wanted to leave the sleeping mat. But her mind would not let her drift off.
She heard Damien move as the first rays of light entered the window and shone across the far wall. Too late. Day was already here. A day that would be filled with more traveling.
She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard. Then, drawing on all of her strength, she opened her eyes and sat up. Her body felt heavy and slow, and her eyes were dry and scratchy.
“Sleep well?” a tenor voice asked.
She gripped the blanket between her fingers and stared down. “I’m afraid I don’t sleep well in new places.” Maybe that’s what was causing the nightmares.
“My brother was the same way.”
Selene looked over at Damien. He was kneeling down beside the hearth, folding the quilt he had slept on. “Your brother?”
“Yes.” He glanced over. “Quinn hated traveling and could never sleep anywhere but in his own bed.” He chuckled and stood, but Selene didn’t miss the way his eyes shifted and lost their spark.
She vaguely remembered seeing three caskets sent out to sea in Damien’s memories and hearing her father speak of another son of House Maris. “My father told me of your loss.”
He sighed. “It was almost two years ago. I wish I’d had more time with him.”
Selene didn’t know what more to say. Her family wasn’t close, not as close as Damien’s seemed to have been. She couldn’t even imagine that kind of closeness. When her grandmother died years ago, she barely reacted. Perhaps she would miss her father if he passed away, and she would cry over Ophie, maybe even Amara, if they passed. She wasn’t sure how she would feel if her mother died. And she certainly would not be still grieving two years later.
She frowned as she pulled the blanket back over the sleeping mat. What kind of love had knit House Maris together?
Damien’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We will be heading out soon. Let me know if you need anything before we start back on the road.”
Selene glanced over at him and nodded.
Damien left and the cabin grew silent. Selene made sure everything was put away and straightened up. Jorgen had been kind enough to let them use his home; she wanted to make sure they left it tidy. Then she walked over to one of the small windows and looked out. She spotted Damien, Taegis, and Sten standing in the middle of a small group of villagers near the community well. Thatched homes surrounded the village square.
She studied Damien. He appeared confident and strong as he spoke to those around him. The villagers smiled and laughed. They loved him. She could see it on their faces and hear it in the tone of their voices.
Selene slipped away from the window, picked up her black cloak, and pulled it over her shoulders. There had been a time when her own people loved her. Petur doted on her when she would play in the castle gardens as a little girl. The servant girls would smile when she walked by. Then she started dreamwalking and learned of their darkest secrets. Secrets she buried within her own frozen heart. Then they all whispered that she was the Lady of Ice.
She clenched her hand and held it over her chest. Did her heart even exist anymore? The chilling numbness had become such a part of her that she was afraid it was all that was left.
She pulled her hood over her head and opened the door. Not wanting to attract attention, she made her way along the outskirts of the village to where she’d spotted Karl and Cohen standing on the other side. Only a few people noticed her, but she kept her head low, allowing her hood to hide her features. She caught Damien’s last words of thanks as she reached the men.
“Lord Damien is a lot like his father,” Cohen said quietly, a smile on his face. His light-colored hair stuck out around his head like stalks of hay.
Karl nodded, his arms folded across his chest. His dark, curly hair was damp, and there were circles beneath his eyes. “Yes, he is. And well respected too, just like Lord Remfrey was.” His eyes slid over to Selene. “House Maris has always been respected.” There was a hint of malice in his words.
Selene ignored the surly guard. But on the inside, she felt the shaft of his words burrow deep. She did not belong. A chilling numbness spread over her, stealing away the verbal barb until she felt nothing at all. This was where she was safe. Where nothing could touch her heart.
Cohen turned his attention toward her. “Good morning, Lady Selene.”
“Good morning.” Her voice came across as crisp and cool.
Cohen frowned and studied her until Damien and Taegis walked over.
“I was able to secure six horses,” Taegis said with a smile. “That means we should be able to make it to Rone in half the time.”
“That’s great news,” Cohen said.
“I agree. Thank you, Taegis,” Damien said.
“I also was able to obtain enough supplies to see us to Rone. If we start now, we should be there by early evening tomorrow.”
Damien nodded as he rubbed his chin. “And after that, almost a week to reach Nor Esen.”
“As long as we don’t run into any trouble,” Sten replied.
“Or bad weather,” Karl said ominously.
Selene remained silent, watching the exchange between the men. There was a tightness in her chest. Rone. Nor Esen. These were unfamiliar places to her. While the men were excited to reach home, those names only reminded her that she had left her home, land, and all she knew behind.
But I am alive. That, at least, is worth it.
3
Amara stood in the back of the audience chamber of Rook Castle, the cowl of her cloak pulled over her head, hiding her face from those present. Captain Stanton and his men knelt before the obsidian throne, heads bowed, waiting for her mother to speak. Sunlight poured in along the high windows, but the light brought neither warmth nor comfort.
Lady Ragna placed her hand on one of the stone ravens that flanked the throne and gazed out over the men. Her hair was pulled over her shoulder and her gown followed her curves. She raised her dark eyes and spoke. “House Maris has taken my daughter and fled. Lady Selene must be brought back at all costs.”
Captain Stanton glanced up. “And what if the water-wall has been raised between our lands?”
“See if there is a weakness or a place where you can cross. They are over two days ahead. If you can cross, you can reach them before Lord Maris makes his way back to Nor Esen.”
“And what do we do if we catch up to Lord Maris?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Whatever you must to get Lady Selene back.”
“Anything?”
“He has broken faith with our house and our people.”
Captain Stanton bowed in acknowledgment. “And if we can’t cross?”
“Then set up a patrol along the entire Hyr River. Lord Damien is young and inexperienced. He can’t keep the wall up forever. The moment it comes down, send a message by raven.”
Captain Stanton pressed a fist to his chest and stood. His men stood with him. “Yes, my lady.” He shouted out a command, and the men turned around and started for the double doors in the back. Amara stepped deeper into the shadows and watched from beneath the hood of her cloak as the men departed.
When the last man left and the doors closed, Amara turned to approach her mother when another man appeared from the left side of the throne. She paused beside one of the stone columns, just out of sight, and frowned. What man had the privilege to approach her mother unannounced and unbidden?
“You don’t really believe Lord Maris took Lady Selene, do you?” the man asked, dark humor in his voice.
“No. It is she who led Lord Maris away from the castle through the underground tunnels. And she will pay for that.”
Amara’s body stilled. Selene betrayed their house? She blinked, hardly believing what her mother had said. Selene? The heir of Ravenwood? The one destined to bring their house to greatness?
Her mother continued to speak to the stranger, but Amara could not hear their words above the pounding of her own heart. What had poss
essed her sister to do such a thing? Not that she loved Selene, but never did she think her sister was capable of such duplicity—and to leave with House Maris of all families? What was Selene thinking?
To betray their mother . . .
A burning hope sprang up within her heart. Amara lifted her hand and stared down at her palm. With Selene gone, this could be her chance. Her gifting would arrive any day now, and when it did, she could become what her sister had thrown away.
“Amara, come here.”
Amara dropped her hand, her mother’s harsh voice quenching the heated hope inside. She stepped around the column. The man beside her mother was short, broad in the shoulders, and dressed in a dark robe with a cord around his waist, similar to the ones the disciples of the Dark Lady wore. His face was clean-shaven, and his eyes were as dark as his robes. She didn’t recognize him, but then again, she never paid much attention to those who worshiped the Dark Lady.
He glanced over at Amara and sneered.
A rush of heat spread across her body. It was as though he had appraised her and found her wanting. She curled her hands into fists and clenched her jaw. The man didn’t know her, nor did she know him. So what right did he have to look down upon her?
Lady Ragna turned back toward the man. “This is my second daughter, Amara.”
“Can she walk yet?”
Walk? Did he mean dreamwalk? Amara curled her lip as she made her way toward the throne. Whoever he was, he knew about their family gift.
“No, but she will soon.”
“Is she as powerful as the first one?”
Lady Ragna glanced at Amara. “She could be.” But there was doubt in her mother’s voice.
Amara steeled her jaw.
The man continued to study her. “That could be an issue.”
“We haven’t failed you yet.”
“What do you call the faithless actions of Lady Selene?”
“A gross miscalculation.”
“Commander Orion is counting on you—both you and Lord Friere. See that you don’t disappoint him. We have a renegade team scouting the lands. Last I heard, they were near the Hyr River border. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, they are still in the lands of House Maris and can take care of this little problem for us, since your men seem ill-equipped to do so.”
Flight of the Raven Page 2
