Ravenwood (Violet of Ravenwood Book 2)

by J. M. Taylor

  “Still hurts, does it?” he asks, but I say nothing in return. “I imagine that lovely pale skin of yours will have a nasty scar. I struck you quite hard to get you off that horse, perhaps harder than necessary.”

  He licks his lips and runs his hand down my back, slowly searching for where it hurts the most, pressing and squeezing while watching my reaction. He wants to see me cringe in pain, but I refuse to give him the pleasure. This irritates him.

  “Get in front of me and keep going,” he barks.

  I am tempted to snap back at him and let him know that I could move faster if he would only untie my hands, but it dawns on me that I am not completely at his mercy. My arms are tied, but my legs are not. Now that I am in front of him on the stairs, I have the advantage.

  Stupid barbarian of a warlock. I turn swiftly and sweep his legs out from under him. He hits the rough stone and tumbles down behind me. I don’t look back.

  Running two and three steps at a time, I make my escape. I know he won’t be able to catch me – even if he is still conscious. I swing open the small door at the top, but the room behind it is filled with white and gold light, piercing my eyes like shards of glass.

  “I see you have found your way here on your own,” a man says from across the room. I can’t see him yet. My eyes still burn.

  I hear others around me. One brushes past me and descends the steps, no doubt in search of Lord Warrick.

  “Come to me. Let me see you more clearly,” the man speaks again.

  Shadows are forming now. I can make out silhouettes and random details. There are many people in the room - a grand hall with thick stone columns and arched windows stretching skyward.

  I blink hard a few times but still struggle to see.

  “Please, Wilhelm, cover the windows for her.”

  “Mother?” I recognize her voice, but no matter how hard I squint, I can’t make her out among the shadowy figures and painful light.

  “Violet,” she says. There is agony in her voice. Her footsteps approach, but then there is shuffling, and men are commanded to restrain her.

  I can feel the tears welling up from the frustration of not being able to see her, but I refuse to give in to them. I will not cry. I am stronger than this.

  My eyes are failing me, but I have other senses. I listen carefully. A dozen warlocks or more, shifting where they stand. Their hearts racing in fear and anticipation. They are afraid of me. Good.

  And witches. I feel their presence - the strongest is my mother’s. They are not afraid, but their anger and pain weigh hot and heavy in the air.

  Buried deep beneath all of this, there are slow pulses faintly beating from the center of the room. They are low to the ground. Two different heartbeats, neither witch nor warlock.

  “Father? Ronan?” I barely whisper, not intending to speak their names aloud. The regret is instant.

  “So, it is true,” the man says. “You are the bastard of Silas.”

  “There are no bastards in our world,” I argue, still unable to see clearly. “No kings or lords, either. This is all a farce, and you are a fool.”

  “Silence!” the man shouts at me, and at the same time, I hear the slamming of shudders around the room. “I assure you, my dear, I am no fool. Look upon me.”

  Now that the windows are covered, the room darkens. With every blink, the stinging in my eyes subsides and faces finally begin to appear among the shadows.

  For the first time, I see the man behind the voice. He is an older warlock with a dark, graying beard and long silver hair down his back. He is dressed in robes of deep red and shimmering gold, and he carries a staff with the head of a gilded bear claw. It is Wilhelm, leader of the Borthen Clan.

  “Welcome to Ravenwood,” he says with a deceitful smile. “I understand you have never had the pleasure of living here. Such a shame. A beautiful witch such as yourself should never have been denied a place in her own coven.”

  “Beauty has nothing to do with one deserving their rightful place,” I reply, but I’m no longer looking at him. I’m scanning the room. I see my mother being detained by two strong warlocks, the same slick black rope that binds me is wrapped around her arms and waist. The look on her face is of worry and regret. I know her. She feels like she should never have trusted them, and now I am in danger as well. She blames herself.

  There are other warlocks, most of them young and strong. They are standing with silver crests on their chests and helmets tucked under their arms. They are no ordinary warlocks. They are an army. Behind them, the wounded witches from the coven are bound like me and seated on the floor at the feet of hooded witches in long gray robes. I see a few that I recognize from the ones that followed my mother here, but I do not see Myrna. She is not among them.

  Silas and Ronan are on their knees in the center of the room, swords at their throats.

  I swallow hard upon seeing them. They are in immediate danger, and I have a strange feeling the only reason they haven’t been executed yet is that his royal eminence, or whatever he calls himself, has been waiting for me.

  “I am prepared for you to not only live at Ravenwood,” Wilhelm says to me, gesturing grandly before his audience, “but to -.”

  He’s interrupted when Lord Warrick storms into the room from behind me. “You little bitch,” he mutters through clenched teeth and moves to strike me. Blood trickles down from his hairline and stains his face.

  “Stop!” Wilhelm says in a loud, angry voice. “You do not have permission to strike her. Step away and calm yourself.”

  Lord Warrick struggles to do what he is told. The resentment he feels is obvious by the look on his face. He wants to hurt me because I am the reason that he feels ashamed and being chastised in front of the others by Wilhelm just adds to his humiliation.

  “You have made a deadly mistake,” he whispers to me before forcing himself to walk away.

  “My apologies for Lord Warrick. He can be a bit of a brute at times, but he is invaluable to me. Almost as much as you are.”

  “I have nothing to give you and will never do anything to help you in your quest to rule over Ravenwood. You have wasted your time here.”

  “I think not,” he says and looks to the men holding my mother. “Chain her.”

  My mother protests, but the black rope coils around her neck and mouth. The men drag her to the wall and clasp large iron restraints around her wrists. One of them wrenches a heavy chain from a pulley above, and with every tug, my mother is hoisted and stretched until her toes can barely touch the ground.

  Wilhelm speaks to me but with the purpose of rousing his clan. “You will marry my son Malin and serve as his queen. Ravenwood will become the most powerful kingdom in the land. We will rule over all beings, and finally be what we should always have been.”

  “My daughter will never do your bidding,” Silas says, his voice raspy and his breathing labored. “She is too strong, even for you.”

  Wilhelm snarls back, “Have no doubt, she will enter into a union with my son, and she will do so willingly.”

  “I am not willing. And you will not force me into anything.”

  Silas chortles. “I told you.”

  “Your father forgets himself,” Wilhelm says. He grabs Silas by the hair and yanks his head back to show me that he has removed my father’s eyes.

  My face flushes hot and the labyrinth burns bright beneath my skin, but to no avail. The slick black rope glistens and my fire runs like cold water through my veins.

  Wilhelm grins and releases Silas.

  I will not marry your son,” I say. “Besides, it is a human tradition, not ours. Your dream isn’t to rule over other beings. It is to become human. You envy them and their ways. I see it now. A warlock who wants to live in the human world. Pathetic.”

  Wilhelm’s eyes narrow and his lips curl back from his teeth. “We will not live as one of them. They will do our bidding, or we will destroy them.” His rage builds as he speaks, and he hurls his staff at Silas’s head, knockin
g him unconscious to the floor.

  Ronan moves to help Silas, but the sword at his neck digs into his skin, warning him not to move another inch. His back is to me. I cannot see his face.

  I know I spoke to rile Wilhelm, but his rage towards humans surprises me. Still, I refuse to go along with his plan. His son is obviously not here, and I can only imagine what he must be like to have been sired by such a father.

  “You have one more chance,” Wilhelm says to me. “Do you agree to marry my son willingly?”

  I want to stand firm, but I remember what the old woman had said about making the right choice when the time came. Was this it? Was this what she meant when she said I must choose wisely? I look to my mother for some reassurance. Should I agree to marry Wilhelm’s son? My mother looks at me, her eyes wild. She shakes her head fiercely, defying the black rope that binds her. It tightens around her throat and mouth until she flails about, the chains clanking against the wall as she struggles to breathe.

  “No,” I look back at Wilhelm. “I will not marry your son.”

  “I summon you to me,” he says, closing his eyes and raising his staff. He is no longer speaking to me. “I call upon you to serve as you once promised. Fulfill your oath. You are bound to me in death as you were in life. Rise up and be mine once more.”

  I look around the room, waiting to see if someone responds to him, but no one moves. They are all looking at an intricately carved stone altar in the back of the large hall. I hadn’t noticed it before. Spread out upon it is what is left of Thayna. I recognize her remains - not from the pale empty hide but from the long blonde hair swept over the side. It is only what is left of her there until Wilhelm repeats the words “Rise up and be mine once more,” and then her body begins to take shape.

  One of the hooded witches bearing a red and gold gown in her arms approaches the altar, kneels before it, and waits. Once Thayna’s transition is complete, the old hooded witch dresses her and runs her withered ashen hand down Thayna’s hair to smooth it.

  I’m finding it difficult to breathe and my head begins to hurt. I can’t believe it. Thayna has been brought back to life. Impossible, even for the most powerful witch, so less a warlock. When she turns to face us, she is almost as lovely as when I last saw her, but there is something amiss. She approaches Wilhelm, but her stride is unnatural. Her body flinches and jerks its way forward. Her skin is dull, and her eyes are black.

  “My darling,” Wilhelm says, drawing her to him for a kiss. His actions seem false. There is no love in his voice. I wonder if she notices as well. Her parted lips do not move against his, and her eyes remain open.

  I hear a disapproving mumble and look back to see a look of disgust on Lord Warrick’s face. He catches me and snarls, reminding me that I am not in his good graces. I ignore him. There isn’t time to worry about him now. I have bigger concerns. What magic is this that can bring someone back from the dead? How powerful will Thayna be now?

  “You have brought the daughter of Clara to me after all,” Wilhelm says to Thayna as if they are alone. “In your own way, you have succeeded. Still, it was not as we had planned, and I cannot allow that to go unpunished. You will serve me now as you once promised.”

  There is no reply in words, but she does her best to make sound rise up from her chest by pushing air in and out of her lungs. The result is a terrifying moan.

  Wilhelm twirls her hair around his fingers before running his hand down her body. “Hush, my dear. There’s no need to upset yourself. You will grow accustomed to being a Mire Witch soon enough.”

  He looks at me again and says, “You have made the decision not to marry my son, but I have a feeling you will soon change your mind.”

  Although I am trying to appear confident and strong, I am trembling with fear.

  “Go to Clara,” he speaks into Thayna’s ear and hands her a golden dagger with a bejeweled handle. “Take this and drag it down her body until the skin peels off like the rind of ripe fruit.”

  Thayna does what she is told without any indication of feeling. She moves to where my mother dangles from chains.

  I can’t believe this is really happening, and I am stunned into silence until the blade draws blood and my mother’s muffled scream awakens a fury in me that I have never felt before.

  The room darkens and thunder rolls across the sky outside. Candle flames bend to an unseen force. Blood lines my mouth and races hot beneath my skin.

  “No!” I cry out, but my voice doesn’t sound like my own. It is otherworldly, rattling through the walls of Ravenwood as the black rope melts from my arms and a blinding flash fills the room. A burst of energy as hot as white lightning blasts from the very core of my being, heading outward in every direction.

  It isn’t until it is over that I see what I have done.

  The great hall stands in ruins, injured warlocks and witches alike rise from where they had taken cover behind great stone columns and shields.

  But my mother had been left defenseless, and now she barely clings to life.

  “Mother,” I cry out and run to her.

  The chains have broken, so I pull them through large rings above her head and release her. She collapses in my arms, and I hold her tightly while letting my tears flow freely.

  “I am not strong enough. I am not ready,” I whisper to her.

  “Look what you have done,” Wilhelm says. “You have not learned to control your powers. Your mother is dying, and it is your magic that has doomed her.”

  He knows exactly what to say to hurt me, and I can do nothing because he is right. I did this. It’s my fault.

  His men approach me cautiously at his command and bind my hands again.

  “Take Clara away,” he says to his men, ordering Thayna to follow. Then he turns to me and says, “Marry my son of your own free will, and I will see to it that your mother is looked after.”

  “Don’t just look after her. Heal her,” I say. “I know you can. Heal her, let my father, Ronan, and the coven go free. Do all of this, and I will marry your son Malin.”

  It isn’t as though I have much left to bargain with. I have proven to be more powerful than anyone imagined. I can see it on their faces. But I can’t control it, and what good is power if it can’t be controlled?

  “Your mother will be looked after if you marry my son of your own free will. However, I cannot allow your coven to be released. They will remain here in the dungeons until they agree to bind themselves to me.” He waves his hand, and the coven members are escorted from the room through broken doors.

  I don’t know how to save them. A feeling of hopelessness creeps over me, despair I have never experienced before. All seems lost until I spot little Titan bobbing his head as he bounces his bright blue feet along the sill of a broken window. Snow and ice rain down from the dark sky behind him, but I feel warmth fill my heart. Myrna is out there, and she has sent her little bird to find us.

  Wilhelm commands Lord Warrick, “That is the bird of their great warrior witch, Myrna. Do not let it out of your sight. Take others with you. Follow it. Find what remains of the Ravenwood Coven and kill them all.”

  I protest as loudly as I can, but Lord Warrick leaves anyway. Titan dances on the sill for only a little while longer before flying away. If the coven is found and captured, I will lose everything I have just gained. Ronan can help. He can reach them faster and warn them.

  “Spare my father. Let Ronan take him and leave Ravenwood now, and then I will marry your son.” I see no other choice.

  “No!” Ronan cries out and fights against the guard trying to restrain him. “I will kill you Wilhelm of the Borthen Clan, you and your son. He will never have her.”

  “Take his head,” Wilhelm tells the guard.

  I run to block the sword, and the guard backs away.

  My hands are tied so I can’t hold Ronan, but I have a strong desire to do so when I look into his fierce green eyes.

  “You must protect my father now,” I say to him. “You must live
to make sure he is safe, that you are both safe. I can take care of myself.”

  Ronan looks down at me through his tousled dark hair. His jaw is tight, and his nostrils flared. “I cannot allow this. You cannot marry another.” He then hesitates before finally uttering, “I love you.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” I reply. My reaction is instinctual, but the hurt expression on his face burns through me and I realize I may feel much more for him than I have admitted to myself. Still, I need to know that he will be safe.

  “You must go and take care of Silas. He has been a friend to you for many years.” There is a hole in my chest and a lump in my throat when I say. “I am not yours to look after, and there is no reason for you to endanger your life for mine. I do not feel the same for you, and I probably never will.”

  Wilhelm snickers. “You heard her, Son of Lilith. She has chosen her path. She knows what is best for her people and will not whore herself to your kind as her mother did.”

  My pulse races, and I can feel heat rush to my face. I groan as the black rope slithers ever tighter.

  “Don’t do this,” Ronan says as he is blindfolded by the guard.

  “I must,” I say quietly. “You heard His Eminence. I must do what is best for my kind.”

  Wilhelm smiles. Although it looks more like a smirk, I can tell he is pleased. He has won, and he knows it.

  “You will never again be able to find Ravenwood,” he says to Ronan and Silas as gray smoke seeps from his staff’s bear claw into their noses and mouths. “Even when you stand before it, you will not see it. Ravenwood is lost to you now.”

  He nods to his guards, “Take them away. Escort them to the edge of the woods and leave them there. Give the order that everyone is to use a cloaking spell when traveling through the woods. I want no one following you.”

  One of the guards appeared to be unsettled by this. “What if we must fight? We cannot do both. Defending ourselves will require all our strength. Cloaking spells are draining enough for one, Your Eminence, but for many, we may not be able to -.”