Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles)

by Amy Rose Davis

  Minerva leaned against the tree and let a smile touch her lips. Where are you now, Aurel? So many years—gone. Do you have babes? Her forehead tightened. If Aurel had wed and given birth, any child would be at least five or six, perhaps older. A decade. More. The world can change in a decade.

  Their father called Minerva and Aurel his moon and sun. Though they both had his dark eyes and skin, Aurel had the beauty and spirit of a summer day, where Minerva shone quiet like a winter half-moon, he always said. “I can tell your moods by the moon,” he always told Minerva, lifting her chin and smiling down at her. “Aurel is always the same—bright and constant. She brings warmth everywhere. You are different every day, and yet always the same.”

  Not the same, Father, she thought. Her palm itched. She clenched her fist tight and burrowed deeper into her cloak to ward off the chill of the afternoon. Never the same. My heart is inconstant.

  By the time the sun hovered at the edge of the horizon, her palm itched so much she feared she would break the skin from digging her fingernails into the brand. She clenched her fist. I will not forsake my vows.

  The thick canopy of trees overhead shielded her from all but the thinnest streams of waning sunlight. Shadows deepened around her. She stood, motionless and silent, and stared into the forest away from the tribal village. The horse stood next to her, nibbling at low plants on the forest floor, unconcerned. The sun continued to lower . . . lower . . . .

  A quick shimmer darted in front of her. Was that one of them? She focused on the trees. Another shimmer. Another. As the sun lowered, more and more of them. The shimmers turned to sparks and spots of light that flashed in and out of the trees. She heard laughter, music, snatches of conversation. She shivered and rubbed her arms. The watchers. The sun fell below the horizon, and the sparks and flickers transformed into the flesh and blood forms of the Brae Sidh.

  For one moment, the veil between the world of human and Sidh disappeared, and Minerva might have been standing at the entrance to any village in Taura. Women called children in for supper, men tended to business in the open square, and animals roamed free.

  Except that it was entirely unlike any village Minerva had ever seen. And in the moment she waited, gaping, the veil shimmered again. Startled, she jumped forward, crossing the boundary, and realized that her blood was strong enough. Another human would have seen the shimmers and reduced them to tricks of the light or heard the voices and thought them the wind in the trees. She rubbed her arms again. The watchers. And Alshada help me, I am one of them.

  Her father had told her of the Sidh village, but none of his stories had prepared her for the first vision of it. The small huts of the hidden folk merged with hillocks, trees, and small pools of water in seamless, graceful lines. She couldn’t tell where homes ended and the forest began. All around, moonbugs flitted above the ancient paths, lighting the village with a golden aura. Scattered stones gave off light of varying hues—mauve, ochre, violet, azure—the colors of sky and earth and water. The Sidh burned no candles or lamps. The entire village emitted an eerie glow of its own, part magic and part nature.

  The people were dressed in a wispy, thin fabric that shimmered in the light—sidhsilk, they called it. Woven from particles in the air that the Sidh weavers gathered and spun into threads as strong as spidersilk, the fabric helped shield the Sidh from sight. Sidhsilk held the temperature of the season it was woven in. A gown of spun summer brought warmth in winter, but a pair of breeches woven in winter would cool during the heat of summer.

  All around her, children and forest animals scampered together. The Sidh queens protected all animals on their lands. More than one tribal hunter who wandered into Sidh territory after a prize stag came away muttering inanely and refusing to hunt again. Some humans had wandered into Sidh territory and never returned, living out their days with the Sidh queens and her ladies.

  Minerva stopped walking as a Sidh man approached her. He wore breeches and tunic the color of fresh straw, but no shoes or weapons. He had the hale look of youth and the dark hair and eyes typical of the Sidh. Minerva reminded herself that he could be centuries old. “Blessings upon you,” he said, bowing. “I am Llew. We are honored by your presence.”

  He is beautiful. The magic shines in his eyes. “I am Saya Minerva. I need to see Queen Maeve.”

  “The majesty is not accustomed to seeing outlanders.”

  “It’s very important. I have news for her from Torlach.”

  He bowed again. “I will take you to her.” He took her arm. Though he was small for a man, Minerva was only a finger taller. “You are saya, but you have the blood of the people.”

  “My father’s side. I’m not sure who it was. Some say one of my grandmothers fell in love with a Sidh man and went to live with him. Others say it was a grandfather of mine who captured a Sidh girl as a pet and then became utterly devoted to her.” She stopped. “Forgive me. I prattle on. I’ve never seen your village. It’s a feast for the senses.”

  He laughed. “Yes, outlanders say so. To us, it is just home.”

  A pang of sadness hit her. They have no idea what awaits them. “Your people—do you hear much of what is happening in Torlach?”

  “The majesty tells us what we need through the codagha. You know of this?”

  She nodded. “The binding web that connects you to her.”

  He inclined his head. “There is little from the world of outlanders that concerns the Sidh.”

  The world of the outlanders may concern you soon. “What is your talent, Llew?”

  “I am stone. You?”

  She laughed. “I have no elemental talent. My blood is too weak.”

  “But you have magic. I sense it.” He stopped and turned to her.

  Minerva clenched her fist. “I was tribal, once. I have the earth magic.” Why tell him that? Why tempt him to fear you?

  But Llew only smiled. “Ah. The earth magic. I know of this.” He lifted her hand and turned it over to examine the brand. “Minerva of the tribes and the sayada and the Sidh. How is this so?”

  “It’s a long tale. Too long.”

  “Perhaps you might stay and tell me after you speak with the majesty?” His eyes were earnest and curious.

  “No, I can’t—”

  “You fear the stories.”

  She couldn’t answer.

  He laughed. “Servant of Alshada, we do not take prisoners. We are Sidh. But many who come are beguiled by our ways and wish to stay. It is easy to lose track of time when there is nothing but ease.” He brushed her hair from her shoulders.

  Minerva’s cheeks flamed. “Perhaps you should take me to Queen Maeve now.”

  “As you wish it, saya.”

  They walked in silence. The simplicity of Sidh life awed Minerva. I could have lived here, she thought. But no, her father wanted to be in the outland. He’d always wanted that—to live close to power, to marry his daughters to wealth and importance. A Sidh life would have bored him. It did bore him when he came here. He acknowledged his blood only for the power it brought him as a healer.

  She shook her head. Alshada, forgive me. I should not think ill of him. Still, her father remained close to wealth and power. Should he remember how to find the Sidh village—should Braedan discover his blood— She blinked back tears. These people have no defense. They still believe their magic will protect them. What will they do when enchantments fade and Braedan finds them? What if my father leads him here?

  The dirt trail Minerva walked turned into a stone path. Llew led her to the door of a hut at the end of one of the wending streets. He knocked. “Majesty, a saya of Alshada is here to see you.” Maeve’s door opened, and Minerva walked into the queen’s hut.

  Queen Maeve sat in a soft chair near a large warming stone that glowed a muted orange. She was smaller than Minerva expected, small even compared to the other women in the village. Her thin silver circlet sparkled in the muted light, and the stone in the crown’s center glowed with a faint golden aura. She wore a sidh
silk gown dyed the deep indigo of early morning.

  Maeve smiled at Minerva. “Saya. Your presence here tells me the unbeliever has succeeded.”

  Minerva knelt before Maeve and bowed her head. She felt ungainly and clumsy next to the tiny royal. “Your majesty. I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

  Maeve touched Minerva’s head, and Minerva straightened. “As do I.” She gestured to another chair. “Sit, saya. Would you like oiska?”

  Minerva shook her head. “It has been many years since I tasted oiska. Or mead or ale, for that matter. Service to Alshada required me to put away such things.”

  “Something warm, then. And to eat?”

  “As you wish, majesty.”

  A flicker of a smile crossed Maeve’s face. “I make decisions every day, saya. There are days I wish someone would take this mantle and make decisions for me. No matter. My lady will bring us some savories and sweets.” She made no move to call anyone. “Tell me your news.”

  Minerva removed her cloak and sat in the chair next to Maeve. “The unbeliever has made his stand and taken the throne. Sayana Muriel and most of the sayas were taken to the castle prison. Some of us got out before the siege, but I fear the rest are lost.”

  “Have you found any of the others yet?”

  “No. I needed to find the tribes and you first.”

  A Sidh woman interrupted them with a tray of stuffed mushrooms, sweet cakes, dates, and almonds. The infusion in a small ceramic pot on the tray filled the hut with a sweet, heady scent. The woman’s sidhsilk gown shimmered in the colors of sunset as she moved. She gave Minerva a cup of the steaming infusion, and Minerva sipped, enjoying the sharp sweetness of the unfamiliar taste.

  “Black currant,” Maeve said. “My favorite. Thank you, Evie.” The woman curtsied and left.

  Minerva twisted her cup in her hands. “I’ve been to see Hrogarth.”

  Maeve sipped again. “Please, saya—eat. I’m sure your journey must have been difficult.”

  “Your majesty, you cannot ignore this. You need the tribes.”

  Maeve’s face turned to regal ice. “You have no authority here, guardian.”

  How does she know I’m a guardian? Minerva clenched her fist again and thought of Llew. Did he tell her through the codagha? Or can she sense it? “Forgive me, your majesty, but chaos is coming. The earth is preparing to fight.” She held up her hand to show Maeve the faint glow of her wisdommark. “The earthspirit is calling those with her marks—the ravens, the guardians, the traithas. Those she has branded will do her bidding or die.”

  “The earthspirit’s brands do not concern the Sidh.”

  “They do if you cannot make peace with the tribes.” Minerva caught the rising panic in her voice and lowered it. “Majesty, please. There are those in the tribes who would rather die or destroy you than ally with you once more. I beg you—put your anger aside and make peace. Strengthen your enchantments and alliances before Braedan finds you. Give the earthspirit time to raise her army.”

  Maeve set down her cup and tilted her head. “I’m curious. Did you use your mark to reveal the village? Or was it your Sidh blood?”

  Minerva closed her hand. “It was my Sidh blood. But the fact that someone with such a small amount of blood as I have could see the village shows how weak the enchantments already are.”

  “Your father—Felix, the king’s repha. I knew him. He came here to learn his magic many years ago. It’s the Sidh magic that makes him a good healer. He has a fine sense for air and water. He discerns symptoms that some other human healers would miss, and he’s a very talented apothecary. Does your father still live, or has Braedan taken out his wrath against his father on all of the old castle workers?”

  “When I left, my father was alive. He knows how to play Braedan’s games.” She hoped Maeve didn’t hear bitterness in her voice.

  Queen Maeve took a deep breath. “I will not go to the tribes. I will not grovel before them. They want Sidh gold. I will not beg before greedy savages.”

  Minerva opened her hand again. “I am one of those greedy savages.”

  Silence fell around them. “It was not always this way between the Sidh and the tribes,” Maeve finally said. “Once we both served Alshada. They have lost much. They allowed greed and arrogance to replace the truth of Alshada’s ways.”

  “As you have allowed faith in your magic and the enchantments around you to replace the relationship Alshada gave you with the tribes?”

  Maeve’s spine stiffened. “I know what you say is true,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but it held a proud, unyielding edge. “I know that the enchantments are fading and the unbeliever is on the throne. I see these truths as well. I feel the magic fade every day, all around me.” She leaned forward and fixed a fierce gaze on Minerva’s eyes. “Hear me, saya: I will not go to the tribes.”

  Minerva’s stomach twisted. “Then you will sit and wait until Braedan hunts you down, destroys you, and takes the relics?”

  Maeve leaned back in her seat and straightened her robes with regal self-assurance. “He will never find the reliquary. It is well-hidden. I am the only one who can reveal it, and I am bound by the magic to protect it until the rightful deliverer comes.” She sipped her tea. “How much do you know about the reliquary, saya?”

  Not enough, and too much. “I know Braedan and the Forbidden want it.”

  The queen gave her a thin smile. “They cannot use it, saya. Only one without any human blood can use it. Even if they find it—”

  “No human blood. As a Ferimin, perhaps? Or Syrafi? Like Namha?”

  The queen raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “But not even they would have the power to control it.”

  “No, only to destroy mountains, shift rivers, and flood plains. They want chaos, your majesty. In chaos, humans commit the greatest evil. The greatest transgressions give Namha the greatest strength.” She put down her cup and knelt before Maeve. “Your majesty, I do not doubt that you would never give up the reliquary, but Braedan listens to evil counselors. Do you not believe he would strip you down to the bone if it meant finding the reliquary? If Alshada removes his hand from Taura and your Sidh magic fades, all that will be left is the earth magic. You and the reliquary will be laid bare if you do not have the tribes to protect you.”

  “You wish me to choose between two enemies. Must it be either the unbeliever or the tribes? Is there no other way?”

  “Make peace with the tribes before it is too late. Use me. I am part Sidh. I can go to the tribes—I can go between you and Hrogarth.” If he doesn’t kill me. “Or move your people. Take them somewhere safe. Go to Eirya—to the mountains. Please, your majesty.”

  Maeve’s mouth was tight and her face pale. “You can leave in the morning. Go find your sayas, Minerva. Rebuild your sayada somewhere away from this place. Go to Eirya or Culidar or the far north. Braedan’s arm is not long enough to reach everywhere.”

  Minerva bowed her head. This is futile. “No, your majesty. I will go now.”

  “You cannot leave. The veil is not thin enough until morning.” Maeve stood. “Llew will shelter you.”

  Minerva’s heart raced. “Llew? Forgive me, but it wouldn’t be proper—”

  “Here, you are Sidh. Let go of your false sense of propriety.” Maeve’s voice carried an edge. “He led you to my door. It is his privilege to host you. Should you refuse, you will shame him.”

  Minerva’s mouth went dry. She forced herself to swallow and respond to the queen. “Forgive me. I have your blood, but I know little of Sidh ways.”

  “Llew can take you to the boundary in the morning.”

  The dismissal was final. Before Minerva could say anything else, the door opened. Llew stood there. She tried to smile at him, but she couldn’t manage it. Alshada, forgive me. “Llew. I will be glad of your company tonight.”

  ***

  When the saya left, Maeve took off her circlet and buried her head in her hands. This is so hard. She kne
w Minerva’s words were true. She knew the Brae Sidh needed the alliance with the tribes. She knew all of this, but she could not bring herself to go to Hrogarth or Edgar.

  An owl’s screech beckoned her to the rear window of her hut. The massive bird landed and shimmered into the form of an ageless woman with flaming red hair and green eyes. She clothed herself in robes the color of the forest and pulled a hood over her hair, giving some measure of disguise should any of the Sidh look in her direction. “Minerva has been to see you,” she said, tucking her hair inside the hood.

  “I sent her away.”

  The Syrafi woman’s mouth tightened. “Maeve, you need the tribes. You need to let this hatred go.”

  “They expect too much. Pay them? For the task Alshada gave them? I won’t.”

  “You hold on to more than that.”

  “They took my son, Bronwyn. I cannot forgive them for that,” Maeve said.

  “They did not take him. He chose that path. And it was chosen for him.”

  “My son was not yours to take. He was not Alshada’s to take, or the tribe’s. He was mine and Culain’s, and we never had the chance—”

  “You had him for seventeen years. More, if you consider that he visited you still after he left. He would visit you now if you would—”

  “Did you just come to vex me? I can go to Edgar for that.”

  Bronwyn paused. “Maeve. Why do you spew your anger on me?”

  Maeve closed her eyes and folded her arms. “I’ve sensed him fight. I know he’s been in danger. I delivered him as you asked, and I was told he would be protected.”

  “He is protected, but the journey is not without peril. Your son will fight many things on this path. I can tell you what was told me: your son is the only person who can perform this duty. Protections or no, it is something he is meant to do.” She paused. “Have you told him about his power yet?”