Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles)

by Amy Rose Davis

  She laughed. “I won’t mind. And I hope you’ll keep training me. I can be more useful to Alshada if I am well-trained.”

  “I doubt Sayana Muriel would approve.”

  “I can live with that.”

  He laughed, and as the road stretched out ahead of them, they fell into comfortable conversation. Connor thought that they could have been halfway to Sveklant at this point if he didn’t have to train her, but he realized that somewhere along the way, he had stopped worrying about the pace. We should be going faster. Every day on the road is a day she’s in danger. But behind that thought came another. As soon as we get to Sveklant, I have to leave.

  For the first time since the journey started, it was a thought he dreaded.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When the Forbidden rise, the earth will call its own.

  When evil poisons and chaos returns, the ravenmarked will rise.

  — Second Book of the Wisdomkeepers

  Braedan stretched stiff arms and shoulders as he returned to his chambers. I’ve grown soft since I came home. His entire body ached from the hour-long sparring session, and he bore new nicks and bruises over his whole body. The Dal’Imuri freelance he retained as armsmaster taught more by forcing Braedan to defend himself than by offering instruction. At least he almost made me forget how early it is.

  He rounded the corner to see his seneschal waiting at his chamber door for their morning briefing. “Cormac.”

  The seneschal turned. He wore his full green and gold Taurin livery, as usual, including the purple and gold sash that indicated his rank. His pale blue eyes bore dark circles underneath, and his thin, rounded shoulders slumped with weariness. The man was never a picture of haleness, but Braedan wondered if his new duties were too much for him. If he weren’t so competent, I’d look for someone else. Hard to believe he’s my age. One would think him a decade older.

  Cormac bowed low. “Sire. Did I have the wrong time for our briefing? I thought—”

  “This is the right time. I was up early and decided to spar.” Braedan entered his study with Cormac close behind. He removed his thin black linen tunic, poured water from a flagon near his desk, and drank. The servants had delivered his morning meal. He ignored the mead and stabbed a sausage with a knife as he sat down. “What do I have today?”

  Cormac placed a pile of parchments on the desk and picked up the top one. “Lord Duncan Guinness has returned from Eirya. He requests an audience with you and the Princess Igraine to discuss her position in your court.”

  “Coordinate scheduling with her highness and prepare a response. I want to meet with him as soon as possible.” He drizzled honey on a poppyseed cake. “How bad is the audience hall today?”

  “I’ve cleared as many petitioners as I could, but you have several lords waiting. Lord Mac Rian of Kiern has been quite vocal. He wishes to discuss trouble with the tribes.” He paused. “A tribal chieftain awaits an audience with you as well. I do recommend, majesty, that you call him soon. I fear your men will have trouble keeping the lords and the chieftain separated.”

  Braedan grimaced behind his goblet. I knew we should have left them alone. Ancient treaty allowed the tribes sovereignty over the great forest, but Braedan had violated the treaty in his attempt to find the Brae Sidh. He’d already lost several men to skirmishes along the border. He didn’t want to take the battle to the forest where the tribes had the advantage, but he had to find the Sidh even if it meant war with the tribes. If they even exist. I have to make a show of looking, at least. But what will the dark man demand next? Have I made a deal with Namha himself? That thought twisted his stomach. “Keep Lord Mac Rian stewing. I’ll see the tribesman first—alone, away from the other lords. Mac Rian can wait.”

  “Forgive me, majesty, but Mac Rian insists that you show him the same courtesy your father showed him.”

  Braedan set down his goblet. “Tell Mac Rian that I am not my father.”

  Cormac inclined his head. “Of course, sire. He also wishes to let you know that he brought his daughter Olwyn with him. I believe he wishes to introduce her to your court.”

  He wants to secure his position by offering his daughter as a bride. “Ask the kitchens to prepare a banquet for tomorrow evening. It need not be extravagant—just enough for Mac Rian and the lords and ladies who are at court.”

  “Yes, sire. Lord Seannan and his daughter will expect some kind of preference.”

  “They may sit at the end of the dais.” He sipped his water and thought. “Invite Duke Guinness.”

  Cormac blinked. “Sire?”

  He grinned. “Let’s not allow Mac Rian or Seannan to think they have any preference at court. Call this a dinner to welcome back our most trusted ally—the Eiryan ambassador.”

  “And her highness?”

  “I’ll talk to Igraine.”

  Cormac cleared his throat. Faint concern hovered on his face.

  “Something else, Cormac?”

  “Majesty, there was a maid here this morning.”

  Braedan leaned back. “A maid?”

  “One of the princess’ maids. She left your chambers while I was waiting for you.”

  “Yes. She slept here.”

  Cormac frowned. “Princess Igraine’s rooms are quite close to yours, and she is rather protective of her maids. If she were to discover indiscretions—”

  “If Igraine is concerned about her servants, I’m sure she will discuss her concerns with me herself. She isn’t shy with her opinions.”

  “Sire, perhaps it would be more appropriate for me to find entertainment for you in the city.”

  “I think I can deal with Igraine.” I actually quite enjoy dealing with Igraine. He took another drink. “What else must I attend to for the day?”

  Cormac inclined his head and picked up where he left off. “If you could find some time to go through some correspondence with me—”

  “After the midday meal.” Braedan picked a slice of pear. “I need to bathe before I meet with petitioners.”

  “Yes, your majesty. I will inform the chieftain and lords of your schedule. May I have your leave?”

  “You may.”

  Braedan finished his morning meal, bathed, and dressed in the clothes laid out by his squires—black wool breeches, silk undertunic, and a green doublet trimmed in ermine and embroidered with the raven in wing on the breast. Last, he picked up the raven crown—a relic of the days over a thousand years before when kings and queens ruled Taura. Logan had discovered the crown in a deep vault beneath the castle while looking for anything that might help them find the Brae Sidh. The crown was carved from a single piece of onyx. The whorls and curves and knots of the piece had no beginning or end, as far as Braedan could tell. He’d lain awake for hours the night Logan found it, staring into the depths of the onyx in the firelight from his hearth, following the curving lines with a finger and inevitably losing track of where he’d begun.

  He handed the crown to his squire, who placed it on his head. The weight pressed on him, and he flinched away from his reflection in the mirror. I have as much right as anyone to wear this crown, he reminded himself. This is no different than sitting on the Raven Throne. “You may go,” he told the squire, fidgeting with the collar and sleeves of the doublet.

  He left his rooms flanked by guards. Igraine was returning to hers in her riding habit. She pulled leather gloves off delicate hands and inclined her head. “Sire.”

  “Did you enjoy your ride, highness?” Loose strands of hair escaped from her hat to cling to the faint sheen of moisture on her slender neck, and he fought the urge to tuck them behind her ear, remembering how she’d scolded him about touching her hair without permission.

  She offered her hand, and he stepped closer to lift it to his lips. “Aye. ’Tis brisk. Autumn has arrived. I confess I am thankful for your climate. In Eirya, I would be confined to a library with my needlework by now, watching ice and snow pile around the castle.”

  “I can’t see you confined
anywhere, your highness—certainly nowhere that needlework is your only option for entertainment.” She gave him a tilted grin, and he stepped closer. “I have petitioners to see now, but I’d like some time with you later if I may?”

  “At your pleasure, sire.” She hesitated, head tipped to one side, and reached up to fuss with the shoulder of his doublet. “Tsk. Did your squires not pass a brush over your clothing, then?” She showed him a small piece of string. “Such finery spoilt by a stray thread. For shame, your majesty.”

  He grinned. “Perhaps you should dress me.”

  “I’m not a squire, my lord.” But her voice was tinged with amusement rather than irritation for once. She gave him a perfunctory curtsy and walked away with her maids in tow.

  He turned to watch her, admiring the stately posture and proud lift of her head, before continuing on his way. In front of these castle people, propriety was all, but when they were alone, formalities were dropped, and they sparred and teased and argued and traded innuendos as he had never done with another woman. Her very presence both disarmed and invigorated him.

  Cormac waited in the audience hall with a man dressed in a woolen kaltan that skimmed his knees, dark brown boots, a sleeveless linen tunic, and fur sashes. The man’s graying hair was braided into dozens of plaits all over his head and drawn into a single leather cord at his neck. Dark blue dye snaked and coiled across his face in a web that covered the skin from above his left eye to just below his nose.

  Cormac’s hands shook when he gestured to the tribesman. “Traitha Hrogarth, your majesty. Traitha, the king of Taura, Braedan Mac Corin.”

  Braedan inclined his head, but Hrogarth stood stoic, arms folded. “Traitha Hrogarth. You are welcome to Torlach and my court,” Braedan said.

  Hrogarth spat. Braedan’s guard put a hand on his sword. “Do not begin our discussion with lies,” Hrogarth said. “You do not welcome me. You make me wait as a commoner among men who look upon me with distaste and disrespect. Speak to me with truth, as one king to another.”

  “Traitha Hrogarth is the chief-chieftain of the tribes. He speaks for all the tribes,” Cormac said.

  Braedan inclined his head. “Forgive me, traitha. We intended no offense.” Cormac wore a tight expression. He couldn’t have known or he would have insisted I see Hrogarth sooner.

  Hrogarth didn’t react. He was shorter than Braedan by at least a head, but his tattoos and the veins and muscles that stood out on his arms gave Braedan cause to stand back. Braedan knew he could swing a short sword reasonably well, but he didn’t think Hrogarth would even break a sweat if they went up against each other in single combat.

  Cormac cleared his throat. “Traitha, may I bring you refreshment?”

  Hrogarth grunted. “Oiska. Men cannot treat over this water you call ale.”

  Braedan nodded to Cormac. “Oiska, then.” Cormac bowed and left the room.

  Braedan gestured to a small table and chairs near the dais where the Raven Throne sat. “Will you sit, traitha?” The man didn’t twitch a muscle. Braedan wasn’t sure if he should sit or stand, so he remained standing. May as well get to the point—he seems to be waiting for it. “Traitha Hrogarth, you requested audience. How can I be of service to the tribes?”

  “Stay away from the great forest.”

  “Perhaps if you could help me find what I seek—”

  “There is nothing within the forest that concerns the Taurin throne, yet your men trample sacred places every day. You violate a treaty that has stood for two thousand years.” His eyes narrowed. “I do not come to negotiate. I come to warn: Stay out of the forest, or suffer the sting of a tribal spear in the heart of your country.”

  If this is the way he wants it . . . “I need access to the great forest. I know my men outnumber yours. I intend to keep searching for what I need, and if I lose more men, so be it.”

  Hrogarth snorted a laugh. “You know nothing.”

  Braedan took one step toward Hrogarth. “How many can you afford to lose? How long until we find one of your villages?”

  A lazy, menacing smile crossed Hrogarth’s face. “You won’t find our villages.”

  “Are you certain?” The question masked his own doubt. We haven’t found a single village yet. “I can double or triple the men I have in the forest right now and do no harm to my defense forces here in the city and the countryside. Can you say the same?”

  Hrogarth stood silent.

  “How many sacred spaces do you wish to see trampled?”

  Hrogarth didn’t move or speak. Braedan waited. Cormac entered the room to set a small jar of oiska and two cups on the table. Braedan poured one cup, sat down, and swirled the drink before he swallowed it. Hrogarth didn’t move. “My father was your enemy,” Braedan said. “I have enough enemies, but I can make room for one more if need be.”

  Hrogarth poured oiska, drank, poured another cup, and sat down. “Have you ever seen the west coastline of the island?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  A languid smile crossed Hrogarth’s face. “It’s not hospitable, but pirates like it. So do venom runners and slavers. Eiryan forces patrol the Galoch Sea, but they can’t catch everyone. Many hide in the coves along the west coast. Some come toward the forest. We drive them back, but we could stop. We could turn away as they come through the forest and bring their venom and the slave trade to your borders.” He drank again. “You have a choice as well, princeling. You can leave the tribes alone, or we can break our side of the treaty.”

  Braedan poured another cup of oiska. “It would seem we are at an impasse, then.”

  Hrogarth poured another cup. Sat back. And waited.

  How can the man drink oiska so early in the day? Hrogarth said he did not come to negotiate, but to warn. The dark man told him that the tribes could find the Brae Sidh. He needed an earth guardian, and Hrogarth could provide one. There must be something he wants. “Lord Mac Rian of Kiern awaits an audience with me. He says he is having trouble with the tribes. Would you know anything about that?”

  “He intrudes on sacred spaces. He pays the price.”

  Braedan frowned. “He’s sending men into the forest?”

  Hrogarth nodded.

  Why would Mac Rian be intruding in the forest? “Do you know why?”

  “Ask him yourself.”

  He knows. It came to him. “I might be able to help you rid the forest of Mac Rian if you provide something for me.”

  Hrogarth drank again and set his cup down. “Ask.”

  How did he end up in control? “I need an earth guardian.”

  Hrogarth was still steady, even after the three cups of oiska. “I’ll not give up a tribal woman, but there is a woman who has the power of an earth guardian. If I tell you where she is, will you leave the great forest?”

  “Yes.” Braedan leaned forward. “Where is she?”

  Hrogarth shook his head. “Get the Taurins out of the forest and I’ll tell you. When all of you are gone, I will come back.” His mouth twisted into something like a smile as he stood. “I want to see you keep faith.”

  Braedan stood. “It will take time to reach all of the men in the forest, but I’ll do it, and I’ll see that Mac Rian stays on his side of the road. And then you will return?”

  Hrogarth nodded. “I keep my word, princeling.” He held out his weapon hand with a dagger drawn, hilt side offered to Braedan. “Give me your word.”

  In a breath, Braedan’s guard had drawn his sword and leapt between Braedan and Hrogarth. Braedan stared at the dagger in Hrogarth’s hand. “How did you get that in here?” I shouldn’t have said that.

  Hrogarth grinned. “Your word.”

  Braedan motioned to the guard. “No swords. The traitha comes to treat, not to wound.” The guard relaxed, but he didn’t reseat his sword. Braedan reached down and drew a dagger from his boot. He stepped around his guard and held out the dagger, hilt first. “You have my word.”

  They exchanged daggers. Braedan ran a thumb acros
s the carved bone hilt of the dagger in his hand. It contained unfamiliar runes and a murky stone similar to the one he had once seen around Igraine’s neck.

  Hrogarth leaned forward. “That is a sacred blade. Break your word, princeling, and I will sheathe it in your heart before I take it back.”

  Braedan met Hrogarth’s eyes. “I will keep my word.”

  Hrogarth stuck the blade Braedan had given him into his belt. “Drink with me. Seal our bargain.” He picked up the jar of oiska and poured himself one more cup.

  Braedan poured another cup and lifted it to Hrogarth’s. “To alliances old and new.”

  Hrogarth shook his head. “Trade.”

  Braedan hesitated, but reasoned that he had seen the man pour the oiska—oiska he had already tasted—and he hadn’t had time to poison it. But I didn’t see him draw the dagger, either. Braedan held out his cup, and they traded.

  “May the earth’s wings shield you,” Hrogarth said, lifting his cup.

  Braedan lifted his cup. “A tribal toast?”

  Hrogarth gave one terse nod. “Drink.” They drank together, and Hrogarth slammed the cup down and inclined his head. “You will hear from me soon.” He left the room, two guards flanking him. Braedan’s guard at last relaxed and sheathed his sword.

  Cormac entered the hall. “Majesty, is everything all right?”

  “Better than expected.” He gave the sacred blade to his guard. “Tuck this away. I have no desire to announce my possession of a tribal artifact. You can deliver it to my chambers later.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Braedan turned back to Cormac. “I’ll need some time to clear my head of oiska before I hear petitioners. I need to take a walk.”

  Cormac inclined his head. “As you wish, majesty.”

  Braedan left the throne room by the rear exit with guards close on his heels. His head spun. It had been some time since he’d had to shake off a night’s debauchery with more of the same. Oiska didn’t agree with him at such an early hour anymore. He needed to gather his wits before he met Mac Rian.