by J. M. Taylor
“Who will attack what they cannot see?” Wilhelm interrupted, disgusted by his guard’s lack of respect. “Just do as I say and do not question me again.”
Ronan is still resistant. He doesn’t appreciate being blindfolded and manhandled as he and Silas are taken from the room. How I wish I could have gone with them.
Now, I am alone with Wilhelm and his Borthen guards, watching his son enter through the broken doors.
He is not what I expected. He is strong and handsome with dark blonde hair and chiseled features. Like the others, he wears the armor of his clan, but his clothes are finer and threaded with gold like his father’s.
“What happened here?” Malin asks, surveying the burnt columns, blasted walls, and broken glass.
“I told you,” Wilhelm greets him, “she is powerful. There is no one else more suited to be your queen. But she will need taming. I trust you to see to that, my son.”
Malin doesn’t look happy. He glances at me but does not take me in the way other members of his clan have done. Quite the contrary, he is dismissive.
“The Borthen Clan is powerful enough on its own, and I am not without my own qualities of strength. Have I not proven myself to you, Father?”
“You will be King of Ravenwood, and you will need more power than any other being in any realm. This girl is the perfect match for you.”
Wilhelm takes me by the arm and pushes me closer to Malin. “Look at her. She is not only powerful, but she is also beautiful. You are a fortunate man. She will make you a good wife.”
Malin looks at me, and I know instantly that he feels sorry for us both. This is not what he wants, but he will not defy his father and soon, we are standing before Wilhelm, side by side. A Yuram ribbon of fine golden silk used for taking oaths is wrapped around our hands, and it’s as though Malin sees the slick black rope that binds my arms for the first time.
“Is this necessary?” he asks, pointing to the rope.
His father doesn’t answer him but instead urges him to repeat the vows he has written for the ceremony.
Malin does as he is told. “When and where you are Violet of Ravenwood, I then and there am. All that I have in this world, I share with you ‘til death depart us.”
I am prompted to do the same, and I do my best to repeat the words willingly as they are said to me – for the sake of my mother, my father, my coven, and for Ronan. Yes, for Ronan. Quite unexpectedly, I am thinking of him as much as I am anyone else.
“Speak the words,” Wilhelm says through clenched teeth.
I push the desire to resist out of my mind and recite the vows without thought. “When and where you are Malin of Borthen, I then and there am. All that I have in the world, I give to you freely ‘til death depart us.”
The moment the words leave my lips, the Yuram ribbon shines brightly, and I feel a tremendous force pull away from my body. I watch as a labyrinth of fire blazes beneath Malin’s skin. My legs weaken beneath me, and he sweeps me into his arms to keep me from falling and holds me close, even though he is gasping for air as my magic surges through him.
Wilhelm is pleased. “You will be the first warlock king this world has seen in over two thousand years, my son. There is no one to stop you now. All that this girl had, she has given to you, but do not cast her aside, for she is still of use to us. The children you have with her will be powerful. Make the most of her while she is still young enough to bear you many of them.” He then points at my arms and says, “Release her.”
The black rope slithers away from me and coils at his feet, and the full realization of what I have done dawns on me. I spoke the words “all that I have in this world, I give to you freely” while wearing the Yuram ribbon. I have willingly and unwisely given my powers to Malin.
Whatever magic I have left, if any, is barely enough to keep me a witch. I might as well be human.
III
“I had no idea there was ever such a thing as a warlock King. You must feel quite special,” I say to Malin with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
I’m testing him. I want to know what he thinks when his father isn’t around to speak for him, but he doesn’t answer me. He will not even look at me.
The stone floor in his bedchamber is so polished it shines like marble beneath the flickering light of candles. Images of the coven are elaborately painted on the walls, visible only in the spaces between massive Borthen tapestries. A fire burning in the fireplace does its best to warm the room despite the blustering winds and icy rain that beat endlessly against the shuttered windows.
Two of the women in gray have accompanied us.
Positioning me beside the bed, one works carefully to untie the black silk gown I had been fitted with only hours before. I remember the stench that arose from beneath the gray hooded cloak of the previous witch all too well and do my best to hold my breath until she is no longer directly beneath me. She finishes unlacing the sleeves, slips the gown over my head, and runs a soft brush through my long dark hair.
All the while, I keep my eyes on Malin, but he continues to look away from me as the other hooded woman removes the bear claw brooch from the cloak draped over his broad shoulders and unfastens his chest plate. She places his things on a nearby chair before untying his belt and stripping him of his heavily embroidered tunic. Strands of his blonde hair cascade down his now bare chest and over the bulging muscles in his arms. Shadowy ridges form lines across his firm stomach, but his hair is too fair for a proper path to his manhood.
I miss Ronan. Still, I am curious.
Malin knows I am staring at him, and I wonder how he can resist looking at me now that I stand before him wearing nothing.
Yet he is unmoved, and when the woman in gray tries to untie the straps at the front of the brown leather trousers that ride low on his hips, he pushes her away and orders both of them out of the room.
“Who are those women?” I ask, watching them leave. “Or better still, what are they?”
“They are Mire Witches. In life, they were once witches like you, with their own free will. But they gave it away when they promised themselves to my father.”
I feel my breath escape my lungs, and I am instantly filled with grief and regret, and my nakedness shames me. “You mean to say that I will become like them now that you have my powers.”
“No, they are not like you.” There is sympathy in his voice as he grabs his cloak and wraps it around me. “They bound themselves to my father, so that even now – in death – they are forced to serve him. You have made no such promise to me. I would not have allowed it. For what it’s worth, some of my principles are still intact, and despite my father’s influence over me, I do what I can to maintain them.”
“Only some of your principles?”
“My father is a powerful and influential warlock, and you would do well to remember it.”
I expect his words to resonate with a sense of pride, but they do not. He is not trying to convince me of his father’s greatness but instead provide a rueful warning. His father is a dangerous man, and he knows it.
“The other members of the coven – my mother’s coven – are they to become Mire Witches as well?” I ask.
“Yes, that is what my father intends. The more of them he creates, the more powerful he becomes. You see, a Mire Witch will maintain her powers as long as she lives, but she is obligated to do the bidding of the one to whom she binds herself. In death, he reserves the right to call upon them to serve him again.”
“Thayna.” Her name escapes my lips amid a heavy sigh.
“Yes, she has been bound to my father for many years now - not long after your mother left Ravenwood.”
“But why would she do that? She had already won. My mother was gone from Ravenwood, from the coven. If she had only left us alone, I doubt we would have ever returned.”
“You said that I must feel special,” he says. “I don’t. Not at all. But you are special, Violet of Ravenwood. And the moment Thayna told my father about you, he knew
it. They would have never left you alone. For whatever reason, Thayna bound herself to him, and he has sent her in search of you ever since.”
“And the coven never knew this about her, did they?”
“No. They knew nothing. Thayna was their new leader, and they did their best to follow her faithfully. But Thayna was taking too long to capture you, and my father grew impatient, so he took Ravenwood as soon as he saw an opportunity to do so.”
“I can’t believe no one from the coven would fight for their home.” The thought of Myrna crosses my mind. I can’t imagine her not putting up a fight for Ravenwood.
“My father didn’t give them a chance. They were gone. They had followed Thayna looking for you and your mother, as they had done for years, determined to find you in time for the Wolf Moon. That was the time of year when your mother’s cloaking spell weakened, and Thayna was convinced it was the only time she could win in a battle against her. My father moved a faction of the Borthen Clan here in their absence. Those witches who had remained were promised the lives of their loved ones if they bound themselves to him, but he tricked them and had them killed so he could raise them from the dead as Mire Witches. Destroying them is nearly impossible, for despite their misery, they will fight to remain alive for the sake of their master.”
“What happens if you kill them? Or rather, kill them again? Will it free them?” I ask.
“No. If you ever find yourself in a position to destroy one of them, you will not be setting them free. Their spirit will remain in a tormented state, one crueler than they exist now. To cross over into the otherworld with the coven’s ancestors, their maker must be killed first. Your sisters know this, and my father has used it against them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Many of them returned once, with every intention of defying Thayna to reclaim their home, but my father saw them coming. He ordered his men to shield themselves with the Mire Witches and slit their throats should anyone make a move to attack.”
“You were here? You were a part of this?” I’m baffled, as I can’t see him being so cruel, even at his father’s command.
“I was here, but I was being held captive in this room. I spoke out against it, and my father did not appreciate my insolence. I learned long ago that if I cross him, he will not hesitate to destroy me.”
He breathes heavily through flared nostrils, but despite his anger, there is hurt in his eyes.
“Once your coven was assured that no Mire Witch would be killed and Ravenwood would be theirs again when they returned with proof of you and your mother’s death, the matter was settled without incident and my door was unlocked.”
“I understand now,” I say. “They had no choice but to follow Thayna and search for us. But your father was after my mother’s death, not mine. Thayna had every intention of bringing me here alive.”
“Yes, that was always been the plan. Because of Thayna and my father, your fate has always been tied to mine.”
“I am glad you are not like your father. It is sad, but I fear that you are no more valuable than a Mire Witch to him - bound to his will and oppressed by his lust for power.”
My words touch him, and he leans down to kiss me, his eyes open, his hesitation obvious. When his lips meet mine, they are warm enough, but his kiss is cold and passionless.
I feel sorry for him. Perhaps his father has crushed his longing or maybe he has never known a woman. I have no desire to have his children or fulfill his father’s wish, but Malin strikes me as a man doing his best to survive his father’s tyranny, and he is handsome.
Letting one side of the cloak slip from my shoulder, I take his hand and place it on my breast in hopes of offering some encouragement, but he immediately backs away and sits on the bed, shaking his head and burying his face in his hands. “I cannot be with you.”
His words are weighted with guilt, and I am curious. “What do you mean? You cannot, or you will not?”
He stretches out on his back and adjusts the pillow under his head. “You must be tired. Get into bed and get some sleep. When the storm passes and the moon rises, I will show you around Ravenwood.”
He has not answered my question, but I sense it is best not to ask again. Besides, the moment of temptation to ease his apprehension has passed, and I am relieved it went no further. I owe my body to no one for any reason. Taking a lover should always be a blessing, never an obligation or an act of sympathy.
IV
Ravenwood is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
It is frigid but clear in the hours before daybreak. The icy rain from the day before failed to wash away the snow. Instead, it has formed a glistening layer of ice over the white that shines blue under the moon and cracks beneath our feet.
The vast walls of Ravenwood encircle us, shimmering in the light. Arched openings decorated with intricately carved stone reveal hints of stairways and corridors behind them.
Whatever was burdening Malin yesterday seems far away now. He is pleased to be my guide around Ravenwood, and it is clear that he has grown to love it here.
“I’d like to show you the elder oak trees that tower over the front iron gates. They are truly something to behold.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about them,” I say. “I understand they never lose their leaves, not even in the dead of winter. They remain as green as a summer’s day and are best viewed from outside the gates where their branches reach out to each other and intertwine overhead.”
“They are a source of great pride,” he says.
“Do you speak for the coven or the clan?” My bitter sarcasm has returned.
He doesn’t answer, because he knows he should not speak for the coven and has no right to feel pride for Ravenwood as a member of Borthen. They are intruders here. Ravenwood does not truly belong to them.
He ignores my comment and glances in the direction of a guard that has been tasked with keeping an eye on us.
“Unfortunately, we are not permitted to leave the grounds, so we won’t be seeing the elder oaks from outside the gates of Ravenwood yet,” he says. “It isn’t safe. But trust me, they are magnificent. One day, I will show them to you.”
Until I am with child, and Malin has proven to his father that he has fulfilled his duty as future king by ensuring a powerful successor, we are expected to remain in Ravenwood. But Malin doesn’t desire me, and I can only think of Ronan. At this rate, we will remain prisoners of Ravenwood forever.
He escorts me into a large garden where all that grows sleeps heavily beneath ice and snow, waiting for spring. A trickle of water from a nearly frozen fountain captures my attention. It sits under the moonlight at the garden’s center, a dark marble statue of a young woman holding a tilted urn over a large cauldron. Her garment is sculpted thinly over her curvaceously plump body, and there is a familiar grin on her face.
Malin notices me admiring it. “She’s known as a remarkable healer, and many have sought her out for her skills. My father said she had healed my great-grandfather after he sustained fatal injuries from a fall as a child, so I imagine she is as old as she is powerful. They say this statue was made for her by a human she loved long ago before your kind and mine set down laws against it.”
I see a hint of writing peeking out above the frozen snow and scrape it away to reveal the words:
Leanora
My Love, My Life, My Wife Forevermore
“They were married?” I ask, surprised to see the final dedication. “She was married to a human?”
“No one knows for certain if she actually took traditional human vows or if he simply thought of her as a wife, but they were together for many years – up until his death, from what I understand.
“I have been told that she is still alive. The coven fiercely protects her. There was a rumor that she had a child, but my father said the coven kept that a secret as well. He was never able to pry it from Thayna. I suspect someone removed it from her memory the moment they knew she might be a threat to the c
oven.”
“Why would your father want to know about Leanora’s child anyway?”
“She is not only a powerful healer; she is a seer as well. He would love to have her under his control, and the easiest way to lure a witch out is to threaten one of her offspring.”
“Witches don’t rear their sons, only their daughters. The sons are handed over to the warlocks, as you know. Perhaps her child grew up in another clan?”
Malin lets out a deep breath and shakes his head. He is growing tired of the conversation. “Or perhaps the child was more human than witch or warlock, so she left it with them in a village somewhere. If that’s the case, the child would be long dead by now. Humans don’t live as long as we do.” Upon saying these words, his boredom suddenly shifts to sadness. He looks to the distant sky, consumed by his own thoughts.
“Are you alright?” I ask, bringing his attention back to me.
“Yes,” he says. “We may never know the full story of Leanora, but if she is still alive and you ever get the chance to meet her, perhaps you can ask her for yourself.”
I have met her but say nothing. Malin is kind to me, but he is still his father’s son and could betray me. If Wilhelm thinks I am valuable to him now, I can’t imagine what he would do if he found out that Leanora is my grandmother.
Learning this about her causes me to see her in a new light. I only hope that I have a chance to know her better someday. I wonder what happened to the child she had with the human. Is it possible that my mother is that child? No, I cannot believe it. My mother is too powerful to be part human.
I kneel quietly on the cold, hard ground, and marvel at all that I see, from the blessing stones placed around the garden to the immense walls of Ravenwood.
Malin finally breaks the silence. “I’m disappointed in your mother for not telling you more about her coven and this place.”
“She had every reason to keep me from longing for a place I might never see and a coven to which I might never belong. My childhood was one of survival and uncertainty, and my mother did the best she could. I only hope we can see each other again before it is too late.”
