Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles)

by Amy Rose Davis

  “Give the sayas humane treatment. If you would have me as an ambassador to the kirok, you will need to expect that kirok elders will want to see the women when they arrive.”

  He nodded and turned back. “What else?”

  “I want the same considerations as any other ambassador you hire—payment for the services I give in addition to whatever I need to accomplish my duties. You will treat me as an honored guest in the castle and give me the freedom to roam and visit the sayas whenever I wish.”

  “And what kind of payment will you expect?”

  “Offices and rooms of my own, and three maids, at a minimum. And I will need clothing that befits my station, as well as gold to maintain a standard befitting a noblewoman and ambassador. I fear my belongings from Eirya were left in the sayada, and I assume they were burned with everything else.”

  “All right. What will your father say when he hears of this? The Eiryan ambassador left shortly before I took Torlach, but he will be back. Will I be facing your father’s wrath when Lord Guinness returns?”

  “I can handle my father.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  She smiled. “Lord Guinness owes me a favor. He can intercede for me.”

  He tipped his head. “A favor.”

  “Aye.”

  A long silence fell. “I don’t suppose I can find out what that favor might be.”

  “It’s between me and Lord Guinness.”

  He crossed the room, nearly closing the gap between them. “I don’t trust you, Igraine.”

  “I don’t trust you, Braedan.”

  He nodded. “I want you to work with my seneschal. He will oversee everything you do until I know that you are acting in my best interests. And I want you here in the castle—not in the Eiryan ambassador’s house.”

  “I work for you, not for the Eiryan crown.” She held out her hand to clasp his as a man would. “Do we have a bargain?”

  His mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “I may yet regret my decision to keep you alive.”

  “Then I will have to ensure that you don’t.”

  He clasped her arm. A slow smile crossed his mouth. “A woman ambassador. You have much to prove, your highness.”

  “Do you doubt me, Braedan?”

  “No.” Vague surprise hovered in his voice. “I don’t.” He offered her his arm again. “For now, you may stay in my mother’s old chambers. My father—” He stopped and cleared his throat. It was a crack in his armor that Igraine did not miss. “Her things are still there,” he said, his voice steady again.

  He led her through the corridor to another oak door and a room very much like the study they had just left. Lush tapestries that told the old Taurin legends decorated one wall. A fire crackled in the hearth, and silver sconces flickered around the room. In the corner, a large oak door stood ajar. A carpet woven in the warm hues of Tal’Amun covered the stone floor, and the carved teak chairs near the desk were lined with soft silk cushions. The door to the side of the desk stood ajar; he led her through it to a bedchamber. “I trust this will meet your needs?” he asked.

  She walked into the room and ran a hand over the carved cherry dressing table. “The tapestries—they tell the stories of old Taura.”

  He joined her next to one. “My mother loved the old stories.”

  “Your father must have loved her to leave her things in here all these years.”

  He stared at the tapestry with his arms crossed. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough. He pointed at a man on horseback holding a woman at sword point. Above them hovered the Ferimin, huge black-winged raven-like creatures of myth. “The story goes that Ohmin discovered his wife had betrayed him. He killed her and let the Ferimin feed on her flesh and the flesh of her men.”

  Igraine turned to him. “A warning?”

  Haunted blue eyes met hers. “For my father or my mother? I was never certain.”

  Igraine gestured to the picture. “The stories are mine, too. My ancestors came from these shores centuries ago. When Ohmin’s wife died, her blood drew the wrath of the earth on Ohmin’s head. The Morrag called Cuhail and his warriors, and they destroyed Ohmin and his men. If I recall, the Ferimin feasted with equal vigor on Ohmin’s entrails as they had on his wife’s.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I would say there was warning for both your father and mother.”

  Braedan’s eyes locked on hers. “Perhaps.” He turned away. “I hope you’ll make use of my mother’s belongings. It would please me to see you dressed in something other than sayada robes.” He opened the wardrobe doors, revealing silk dresses trimmed in lace or filament, fur robes, palace slippers, riding clothes, boots, and other finery.

  She pulled out one of the gowns, a dark blue silk with an impossibly small waistline. Did his mother never eat? “Your mother must have had similar coloring to mine.”

  “Her hair was more blond than red, and she had blue eyes, not green, but her skin was fair as yours.” He fixed his eyes on her face. “You are a beauty, my lady. Forgive my insolence, but you shine as a single poppy in a field of dull grass.”

  Does he think he can charm me? She tilted her head and toyed with a chain around her neck. “Do you know there are no snakes in Eirya?”

  He laughed. “Truly?”

  “Aye. ’Tis said they grew tired of their charms being ignored and left to find more gullible ears.”

  He grinned. “And you think you can ignore my charms?”

  “I think you will grow tired of using them on me.”

  He pointed at her neck. “I thought the sayas didn’t wear jewels.”

  She pulled the chain free of her robes and lifted the murky gray stone. “Being a royal lady has some advantages. My mother gave it to me. I wear it to remind me of home.” And I promised I’d never take it off.

  A long silence fell. Braedan shifted his feet. “I am not the monster you believe I am. I am just doing what must be done for the good of my country.”

  She gave him a cool smile. “Of course you are.”

  He inclined his head. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, your highness.”

  She returned the gesture. “Good night, sire.”

  When he shut the outer door, she sat down on the bed and let out a long breath. Eirya waited across the rough Galoch Sea—Eirya, a suitor from the west, and a father who insisted she wed or find a path in the kirok. Igraine chose the kirok. Religious devotion didn’t enter into it. Serving in the sayada was less awful than staying on Eirya to marry the man her father had chosen for her.

  She rang for a servant and requested ink and parchment. When it arrived, she sat down at the writing desk, twisting the stone on its chain, the quill poised in her hand as her thoughts tumbled. Write my father—he makes it sound so simple. What do I say? How do I tell him I can’t come home, that I can’t live the life he’s chosen for me? With a deep breath, she dipped the quill in the inkwell and began to write.

  ***

  A king’s bedchamber. Emrys picked up a goblet on the night table near Braedan’s bed and sniffed. Water. When he could have wine. And an empty bed when he could have any harlot waiting for him. He snuffed out torches on the wall, sat in a corner, and waited.

  He’d listened to Braedan and Igraine’s entire conversation, but the Taurin wards still prevented him from acting directly on this world. That sacrifices made two thousand years ago still protected this island and the relics hidden somewhere on it gave Emrys no end of grief. To find an ambitious, charismatic man of noble blood—one with a grudge, at that—who could be convinced to do Emrys’ bidding was no small thing. Emrys had thought to have some influence over the state of Taurin affairs through this princeling. But now, if he was already making his own choices . . . .

  Emrys lifted his hand into the light from the fires of the sayada below. He clenched a fist. His body was still weak, despite his frequent feedings. The wards took a toll. Just being on Taura was painful. But a few weeks ago, I couldn’t even be here for an hour. Months ag
o, I couldn’t be here at all. The wards weaken.

  The door creaked open, and a thin shaft of light pierced the room. “I told you to kill them,” Emrys said.

  Braedan’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword. He stood very still, eyes fixed on the corner of the room. “I was convinced that it might not be prudent. Many of their number were missing, anyway. I assume the heir was among them.”

  Emrys stood. “She is no longer on Taura. Send your men into Culidar to find her.”

  “I already did. Boats are preparing to sail tonight.” Braedan folded his arms. “You didn’t tell me an Eiryan princess lived in the sayada.”

  “You were supposed to kill them. You didn’t need to know.”

  “You almost sent me to war with Eirya. I can’t risk that. The throne is too precarious to go to war with anyone right now, and Eirya has powerful allies.”

  “If you had killed them all, you could have told the Eiryan king you didn’t know she was there and apologized after she was dead. Now, you risk your throne. You led her to believe that you might give the kirok some power, but I tell you that as long as those faithful to Alshada remain on this island, you will never be secure on your throne.”

  Braedan stepped closer. “I think the throne can be stronger than the faith these people have, and I think Igraine will prove useful.”

  Emrys clenched his fists and buried the anger rising in his chest. Oh, you foolish boy—you don’t know what you tempt. I could feed on you for days. “This course will cost you the throne.”

  “I disagree. I can’t go to war, and perhaps, if I treat her well, I can use her to gain leverage with Cedric. I can treat with Cedric. He’s not a fool, and he sees the advantage of maintaining ties with Taura. Without Taura, Eirya’s merchants have to sail to Espara to find a good harbor.” He grinned. “Besides, the princess amuses me. She has a sharp mind.”

  You are an idiotic whelp who thinks only of what’s between her legs. “There are other women of noble blood. I can give you one. But this one is not for you.”

  Braedan frowned. “What do you mean?”

  She is a powerful, dangerous creature. “She has powerful protection. Pursue her, and you will lose your position. Kill her, take another noblewoman to wife, and your descendants will reign in Taura for generations.”

  Braedan scoffed. “What kind of protection is so powerful that it could harm me now? I have a force of loyal men that you helped me gather. Are you saying the men you sent me aren’t as talented as you claimed they were?”

  “If you wish to lose your throne, I cannot stop you. I ask one more thing of you.”

  “You want me to find the Sidh village.”

  As if it will be so easy. “The village is still hidden from the eyes of men. You will have to go through the tribes to find it.”

  The single remaining torch flickered as a cold breeze passed through the room. Braedan rubbed his arms and shivered. He latched the window, never taking his eyes from Emrys’ face. “The tribes are best left on their own. Going into the great forest will awaken their anger. How do you propose I contact them without angering them?”

  “You claim to be a king. If you can’t even perform such a simple task, how can you rule a whole kingdom?”

  Braedan flinched. “If I find this village, are we done? Is this the last thing?”

  “Yes. Find the Sidh for me, and you will never see me again.”

  “Very well,” Braedan said.

  Emrys held Braedan’s eyes. I could feed on you for days—but not yet. He nodded once and slipped into the space between the elements to return to Culidar.

  Chapter Five

  Trust a tribesman, trust a thief.

  — Brae Sidh saying

  The first fingers of dawn and the sound of waves against rocks awakened Mairead after a few hours of edgy sleep. She rubbed gritty eyes. Her hand throbbed with a dull rhythm and her knees protested as she straightened fresh scabs.

  Connor lay on his back at the cave entrance. When she sat up, he turned his head. “How long have you been awake?” she asked.

  “Since just before dawn.” He sat up. “Let me see your hand.”

  She stepped into the light. “It still aches, but it’s not too bad.”

  He untied the cloth around her hand. “It’s raw. Try to keep from using it too much. You don’t want it to split open.”

  “I’ll try.” As he retied the kerchief, she studied his dark skin, bold nose, and strong chin. A faded silver scar above his left eye and another smaller one on his chin hinted at past skirmishes. Short, spiky black hair rose in a haphazard muss on his head. He wore brown doeskin breeches and a leather jerkin over a green linen tunic. “I don’t suppose you have some more suitable travel clothes for me?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “You don’t think a serviceable woolen dress will suffice?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “You’re smarter than I thought.” He gestured to one of the two packs in the cave. “There’s a change of clothes in there.” He brushed her hair off her shoulders. “Put your hair up, too. It’ll get in the way like that.”

  She touched her hair. “It’s a sin—”

  “Putting your hair up is a sin?”

  Her face grew warm. “We were taught it makes us look like the women of the city—the ones who seek a man for—” She stopped. “Can’t I just braid it?”

  “Braided hair isn’t a sin?”

  “Not in service to Alshada. I think this counts.”

  “If you can manage with that hand.” He stood. “I’ll wait over there.”

  Mairead changed into the woolen breeches, linen tunic, and leather boots she found in the pack. She folded the wool dress, wrapping the stiff shoes into it. A pang of loss passed through her as she thought of Saya Hana, Sayana Muriel, and the women who left the sayada to distract Braedan. “Alshada, help me be strong,” she whispered. She tried to braid her hair, but the cut made the exercise cumbersome and difficult. She brushed her hair out with her fingers.

  As she stepped out of the cave, she took a deep breath of the fresh salt air and blinked to adjust her vision. Smoke hovered above Torlach.

  “Braedan burned the sayada sometime last night,” Connor said.

  Mairead swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. You are royalty. Tears are for others. You must be strong. “I need a few minutes. I need to say morning prayers.”

  He blinked. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No—why?”

  The sea spray wet her face as she waited for him to answer. “I’ll wait over there,” he said, pointing to a nearby rock.

  Mairead knelt, lowered her head, and folded her hands. She recited memorized words: “Alshada, give me wisdom. Open my ears to hear your voice. Open my eyes to see your ways. Open my heart to understand and obey you. I pray for safety and wisdom, and I pray that we would show your love to those we encounter. Please guard our steps today. So be it.” Her voice broke near the end, and she realized it was the first morning prayer she could remember without Sayana Muriel’s voice leading and a chorus of female voices, young and old, speaking together. She squeezed her eyes and shook her head. The sayada—burned. What about the women? Muriel? She put her folded hands to her forehead and lowered her face to the ground. Alshada, please protect them. In a few moments, she stood and turned back to Connor.

  He gave her a small piece of jerky. “Breakfast. I have some hard tack, too. Why didn’t you braid your hair?”

  “I couldn’t—my hand—”

  “Do you want me to do it?”

  “You?”

  “I’m a tribesman. Braids are easy.”

  “I thought you were Sidh.”

  “Can’t I be both?”

  She touched her hair. “I shouldn’t let a man—”

  “As you wish.” He dug through his pack and pulled out a leather strip. “Tie it back with this.”

  She pulled her hair into a mass with the strip, fighting the ache in her hand, while he turned back to
the cave and busied himself with packing her blanket. When he finished, he lifted his pack onto his shoulders and helped her put on the smaller one. As he tested the straps and the weight, she caught his eye. “Something amiss, saya?” he asked.

  She shook her head. I can’t tell him he puts me off-balance. He’ll think I’m an idiot. “Which way are we going?”

  He pointed at a narrow animal trail. “That path leads to level ground.”

  Mairead kept a short distance between them and watched Connor’s feet, stepping where he stepped. His lithe stride surprised her. He made less noise than she did as he walked, and he had no trouble balancing himself while she had to steady herself several times. “How did you know about that cave and the trail?” she asked.

  “My work.”

  “What kind of work is that?”

  “I’m a freelance.” He didn’t slow or look back.

  “Do you often need to hide fleeing royalty in caves?”

  He chuckled. “No. You’re my first. I do my research. I knew I’d be sneaking you out at night, and I knew you had to get off Taura as quickly as possible, so I found a cave and arranged for a boat.”

  She panted with the effort of climbing. “The boat—those were water talents?”

  “Yes. No more talking—just climb.”

  When they reached the top of the cliff, Connor hoisted himself up over the last hurdle in one fluid movement. He reached down to offer Mairead a hand up. As he pulled her up to level ground, she slipped. He steadied her with a hand on her arm. “You all right?”

  “Yes.” Her hands tightened on his forearms as she regained her balance. “The ground is slick.”

  He grunted an acknowledgement. “Keep moving. We have a long way to go before dusk.”

  The first hints of early autumn had descended along the shore. Mairead followed Connor’s lead, trying to avoid trampling the dry leaves that littered the ground. A brisk breeze wafted through the few tendrils of hair that had escaped the leather strip, and once, she shivered and drew her cloak tighter about her. “The wind smells like autumn,” she said.