Selene’s stomach tightened into a ball of lead as they neared the training rooms. It would be her job to fulfill those missions. Her job to kill.
She sucked in a quick breath and pressed on.
It was still too early in the morning for Amara to be here, and even if she were to arrive early, she would soon be privy to the Ravenwood secrets when her own gifting emerged. “You mentioned seeing souls inside the dreamscape.”
“Yes.” There was a cautionary note in her mother’s voice. “The dream world is made from the dreamer’s memories, mind, and subconscious. Because of that, there is always the chance of the soul appearing inside the dreamscape.”
“You said it can come in different forms, but that I will know it by how it feels.”
“Yes,” her mother said again. They entered the training room. Mother walked along the perimeter, lighting the torches as she went. “Because the soul is the very essence of the dreamer, it will feel the most real, the most powerful, inside the dream.”
Selene followed her. “You said never to touch the soul. Why?”
Mother lit another torch. The light inside the training room grew brighter. “We cannot control souls, only dreams. If you touch the dreamer’s soul, he or she will wake up and stop the nightmare. But even more importantly, they will know your identity.” Her mother turned around, the lamp still in her hand. Her eyes were wide, like black coals, her face serious. “You must never let anyone know who you are.”
“But what about marriage? House secrets cannot be kept from a consort.”
“Yes.” Her mother’s face darkened. “That is why we only marry those from lesser houses. That is how we have been able to keep our house secrets from those who would fear or abuse our ability.”
“But House Friere knows our secret.”
“Not quite. I think Lord Ivulf suspects, but he has never said anything. His cut on the contracts helps keep him quiet. He fears the rumors if they are true, because that would mean I could take him out if I so chose. Never underestimate the power of rumors and secrets, Selene. They are what have kept our family safe all of these years.”
Mother finished lighting the last torch and placed the oil lamp down on the table. “There is one more group of people I must warn you about. I learned of them years ago, a coalition of sorts that has formed amongst the lesser houses and people. There are those who are jealous or feel threatened by the power possessed by the Great Houses. They wish to merge the Great Houses and do away with the gifts.”
“But why? Our gifts help our people.”
“Balance of power. Envy. We may be a small house, and exist in secrecy, but I will never unite with the other Great Houses. Never forget that it is the other houses that allowed our house to almost fall. We must stand on our own. Be wary of any group that wants to unite us all. In the end, they only want to take away our power. Our gift is what keeps us safe. We must guard that. Now, enough questions. I want to see how well you’ve been practicing.”
They stopped in the middle of the training area.
“We do most of our work in the dream world, but there is always a chance that someone will find us while we are in the dream. We must always be prepared to fight and run.”
“Were you found during a mission?”
“Yes. Twice. Once by a guard, once by the nobleman’s wife. I was able to escape both without my identity being compromised.”
“How?”
“I had to kill the guard. But I was able to escape the man’s wife. That is why we wear black and cover our faces, and why you will take your swords with you on your missions.”
“But didn’t your appearance cause alarm? Didn’t people become suspicious?”
“Yes, it did, and I had to let the rumors die before taking on more jobs.”
“So there might be people out there who suspect what we do?”
“There might be. But the Ravenwood women have been very careful for hundreds of years. And we will continue to be, as long as you remain vigilant. You will spend your evenings practicing your gift of dreamwalking. You must learn how to enter the dreamer’s room without waking your target, how long to spend in the dreamscape, and what to do if your dreamer ever awakens. These things you will carry out around the castle.”
“On the servants?” Selene asked as Amara walked into the training room. Exhaustion hung across her body, making her thoughts and vision cloudy.
“Yes.” Mother’s eyes darted to Amara. “And don’t forget to close off your heart. You cannot do what needs to be done until you’ve learned to do that.”
“I understand.”
Her mother turned. “Amara.”
Amara looked up. “Yes?” she said with eagerness in her voice.
“I wish to see you and Selene spar. I want to see how far both of you have come in your training.”
Amara raised her chin, her gaze set on Selene. “Yes, Mother.”
Selene grit her teeth. She hated it when Mother pitted them against each other. It did nothing to help their relationship.
Amara grabbed her sword from the nearby table. Selene already had her twin blades with her, their weight becoming even more familiar each night as she learned to dreamwalk. Selene waited for her sister in the middle of the large cavern. Mother stood by one wall, her arms folded, her eyes dark with pinpricks of red from the torchlight.
Selene slid her swords from her sheaths. Why did Mother want them to fight now? Fatigue and the ebbing shock from her mother’s revelation penetrated her muscles like a poison, making her feel sluggish, while Amara was fresh from a night of sleep.
Constant vigilance.
Mother’s words rang inside her head as Selene wove her blades in preparation. Perhaps Mother wanted to see how well she could react after a long night if she were ever caught—
Selene barely had time to get her left sword in place as Amara’s blade came in at a slant toward her chest. Selene deflected her sister’s sword and answered with her right one. Dart’an! She usually wasn’t this slow.
Amara left her little time to react as she came in on Selene’s other side.
Again, Selene deflected as she jumped back to put some space between them. The single sword used a combination of strength and stamina, whereas her dual-sword technique required dexterity and speed. With her blades, she could continue to strike, beating an opponent back, or parry and thrust at the same time. However, time was against her and eventually she would wear out. Which was already happening.
Selene panted, then went in with a rush of strikes.
Amara blocked all but the last.
Selene grazed her sister’s arm, then danced to the side and dodged Amara’s swing. The tip caught her near the shoulder, a stinging nick through her tunic and skin.
“Enough.”
Mother’s voice echoed along the cavern walls. Selene dropped her arms and panted. Amara did the same.
“Very good, both of you.”
Mother’s words were like sunshine to Amara. Her face lit up with confidence and elation.
Although she was tired, a small smile slipped across Selene’s face. It was good to see such joy in Amara’s eyes. If only she could witness it more often.
“Selene, you are dismissed. You will continue dreamwalking tonight. Amara, we will train together this morning. I wish to see how you are progressing in other areas.”
Amara straightened, her face beaming. “Yes, Mother.”
Selene turned away, her mother’s words casting a shadow over the bright moment. She would be dreamwalking again. And the next night. And the next. She lifted her hand and stared at her palm, a hollow feeling spreading across her chest.
This was her life now. Her burden.
But . . .
She glanced back. Amara still wore that look of confidence as she lifted her sword and prepared to spar with their mother. As long as she was the dreamwalker her mother desired, then perhaps Amara wouldn’t have to experience the things she had to.
7
&n
bsp; A spring rain sprinkled across the courtyard, filling the air with a gentle pattering and the smell of dirt and vegetation. Selene pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders and continued across the courtyard. Far off, the blacksmith’s hammer rang and the clank of soldiers practicing their sword work echoed on the other side of the bailey.
Today was Opheliana’s fourth spring, and Selene was determined to find the first violet in the herb garden for her little sister. Ever since Selene’s gifting had arrived, a dark shadow lay over her heart, and the thought of visiting her little sister was a ray of light amongst the shadows.
“Morning, my lady.” The guard who stood near the second gate gave her a short bow.
“Good morning, sir.”
She passed under a stone archway and toward the gardens. She slowed. This path looked so different during the day compared to when her mother had brought her to Petur’s humble home under a sliver of moonlight. Selene shivered and rubbed her arms. She passed under another archway and entered the garden.
It was as large as the inner bailey and bright green in the misty rain. Trails of river stones wove through the patches of flowers, herbs, and trees. Although cultivated, the garden still retained its wildness. When she was young, Selene would pretend it was a fairy meadow deep within the Magyr Mountains and roam the garden with a flower wreath on her head.
Selene stopped beside a crooked apple tree, breathed in deeply, and sighed. The sound of a spade turning over fresh earth caught her ear. She could almost smell the dirt.
Quietly, she headed along the path to the right, drawn to the familiar sound. Just beyond the first bend and past a trellis full of ivy she spotted a man bent over, a floppy hat on his head, turning the dirt.
Petur glanced up at her approach. “My lady!” He pulled off his hat and bowed. “It has been some time since you visited the gardens.”
Her eyes were drawn to the scars along the right side of his face and the way his hand trembled as he held the hat. Selene felt as if a millstone had replaced her heart. She clutched a hand to her chest and sucked in air.
“My lady?” The wrinkly smile vanished, replaced with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I am . . . fine.” Mother was right. Selene could feel the deep connection she had made with Petur that night, so much so that the sight of him and his scars hit the very core of her being. All she could see was the fire and the old cabin in the woods, and she felt Petur’s grief, fear, and regret. She glanced around and spotted a stone bench near a cluster of daisies. “I just need to rest for a moment.”
Selene sank down onto the hard bench. The rainwater soaked her gown and cloak, but she didn’t care. No wonder Mother said she needed to lock away her heart. She pressed a cold, wet hand to her cheek. She had thought she only had to do it during the mission, but she was wrong. The connection, once formed, was now there, linking her to Petur, to his deepest secrets and fears.
She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nostrils, willing her heart to disappear. She imagined a cedar chest inside of her, and taking all of these feelings for Petur and placing them inside, she closed the lid. Every time her heart beat, she pressed down on the imaginary lid again and again until—finally—she felt nothing but the cold condensation in the air.
Selene opened her eyes. Petur stood before her, his hat still in his hands, that same concerned look on his face. She only felt a hint of those feelings from moments earlier. I am becoming better at this. I am growing stronger at controlling myself.
Yet, that did not pacify her. Deep down, she grieved. She was sacrificing her heart for House Ravenwood.
Would she ever get it back?
Selene stood up and lifted her chin in the same way her mother would. “I’m looking for a violet for Lady Ophie—Opheliana. Have you seen one?”
Petur blinked at her. “Yes, my lady, I have.”
“Then take me to it.”
He visibly swallowed and placed the floppy hat back on his head. She wanted to take back her cold words, but it would only reopen her heart. Petur gave her one more glance, the scars across his face tightening, then turned around and headed for the eastern part of the garden.
The small smooth stones crunched under their boots. Raindrops clung to the slender new leaves and unopened buds along the path. There was such peace here in the gardens. A part of her wished she could just stay here and never go back to the main castle. But that was not her lot. No, hers was to sacrifice her heart so that House Ravenwood and the mountain nation could live.
She gripped her fingers tightly. I must never forget that.
“Here you go, my lady.” Petur stopped and pointed at the small purple flower. It was the only one amidst the leafage. Selene bent down and plucked the tender shoot. It would not last long, only a day or two, then the flower would wilt and die. Her throat tightened at the thought.
Selene straightened up, the flower clutched within her hand. “Thank you, Petur. Lady Opheliana will love this.”
Petur gave her a shy smile, and Selene felt like a dagger had been thrust into her heart. “My pleasure, my lady. Please visit the gardens anytime.”
Selene merely bobbed her head and turned swiftly in the direction of the main castle. The gardens were a place of tranquility and calm. Because of that, she could never visit them again.
Selene pinched the flower between her thumb and finger as she made her way through the castle toward Opheliana’s rooms. Would her sister speak to her today? Or would she give Selene her usual silent smile?
She looked down at the fragile bloom, her dress swishing between steps. The rain started again outside, lightly pattering against the windows that lined the long, shadowed corridor. Mother rarely visited Ophie anymore. She was dismayed when Ophie refused to talk—or maybe couldn’t. The healer wasn’t sure. Selene couldn’t understand her mother’s reaction. It was true that Ophie hadn’t spoken a word since she was born and barely even cried. But she had the most wonderful smile and sparkling eyes. And there was a tenderness in her youngest sister that was lacking in herself and Amara. Perhaps that was what drew her to her sister the most. Ophie was everything she was not.
Selene reached the wooden door and turned the handle. Quietly, she opened the door and peeked inside. The main room was paneled in dark wood with a thick crimson rug on the stone floor, a fireplace to the right, and a set of high-backed chairs near the fireplace. She could hear a voice coming from the room beyond, crooning a soft lullaby.
Selene slipped in and shut the door behind her. She crossed the main room and looked into the bedroom. Two beds covered in furs and thick quilts were set on either side of the room, one larger than the other. A dark blue rug lay on the floor between them. Above, a long narrow window let in what natural light there was on this rainy day.
Ophie stood in front of the window, her face pressed to the glass, her head barely clearing the bottom rim. Her dark hair hung in curls down her back, with a red sheen to the strands. She wore a simple brown frock and soft-skinned boots. Nursemaid Maura sat on a stool next to her, singing in a low voice. She wore a white cap over her mousy brown hair and a matching apron over her woolen dress.
“Ophie,” Selene said quietly.
Maura stopped singing and looked over. “Lady Selene!” She stood and gave Selene a short curtsy. “I did not hear you enter.”
Opheliana turned around. Her dark eyes grew wide, revealing a hint of amber around the pupil, and a smile spread across her face with a dimple in each cheek. She dashed across the room and grabbed hold of Selene’s dress, burying her face in the fabric.
Selene brushed the top of Opheliana’s soft head. “I wanted to give Ophie a present.”
At the word present, Opheliana looked up. Selene waited for her sister to say something, but her tiny mouth remained closed. However, her eyes darted across Selene’s face, then toward her hand. At the sight of the flower, her smile grew even wider and her eyes sparkled.
Selene took a step back, then bent down until she
was eye level with Opheliana. “Today is a special day. Four springs have passed since you were born. I brought you your favorite flower to celebrate.”
Selene held out the delicate violet. With equal gentleness, Opheliana took the flower, cradling it between her small fingers. Selene waited, but Opheliana never said a word, just stared at the flower as if it were the greatest treasure in the world.
The emptiness and darkness from the last week disappeared from inside of Selene, replaced with a powerful feeling of warmth. Everything was simple with Opheliana. Every flower a treasure, every act of kindness cherished. Her throat tightened as love for her sister overflowed inside of her heart. Who cared if her sister didn’t talk? She spoke volumes with her actions.
Opheliana looked back at her and placed a hand on Selene’s cheek. Selene’s eyes grew misty. Then a thought hit her.
She never wanted to see her sister become a dreamkiller. Never.
Such an occupation would shatter the sweet little girl. Instead, Selene wanted to see Opheliana grow up and remind the world that there were still good things, that there was still light and hope. The same went for Amara. Though they didn’t get along, she didn’t want to see either sister become a dreamkiller. Not if she could help it. That was why she needed to remain the heir to the Ravenwood dynasty. So that Amara and Ophie never had to.
Selene let out a long, shaky breath. “I have to go now.”
Opheliana’s face dimmed, and she cocked her head to the side.
“I have some very important things to do.” The thought of going back into people’s dreams and reliving their deepest nightmares made her stomach clench. It was like spending a moment in the sunshine, knowing she had to go back into the shadows.
But I will do it. For you.
“Opheliana!”
Selene stiffened and glanced back.
“Opheli—Selene.” Amara stopped in the doorway, a small wooden toy in her hands. At the sight of Selene, her face darkened. “I didn’t know you were here.”
Mark of the Raven Page 6
