Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) (2 page)

Culain put one rough hand on his son’s head. “You’re a man now, Connor. You can take the tattoo and wear the braids, but there’s more to being a man than marks. Find a just cause to fight for and a woman to love, and then spend your life building a legacy. And always keep your word.”

A lump formed in Connor’s throat.
Men don’t cry.
He swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

Culain let him go. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He returned to the fire, and Connor continued into the vision hut.

A dozen mats were scattered around the perimeter of the large hut, and a basket of flatbread sat in the center of the mats next to a large trough of water. Connor drank and took two pieces of flatbread to a mat. His thigh burned and his head reeled.
What legacy can a man doomed to madness build? And what kind of woman would love a man who could turn on her any moment?
He discarded the bread and lay down on his side.
A bastard-born half-breed with weak magic. And now a spirit of death to bear, too. Alshada has a cruel humor.

A rasping cackle echoed around him. Connor bolted upright, hand searching for a weapon.
I’m alone. But—

The Morrag’s rasping croak came back in his head as clearly as when she’d stood before him in the clearing.

You will be my first. My raven.

Chapter One

Be it henceforth known:

By acts of treason against the Raven Throne, House Mac Niall hereby forfeits all lands, holdings, titles, and money to House Mac Rian.

— Royal Taurin Proclamation, issued in the ninth month of Year of Creation 5987

Razor-sharp scales glinted in the Esparan sun. Connor gripped his harpoon, ready to strike the massive fish. He adjusted his footing on the sandy sea bottom, dropped chum, and waited. The bloodhunter’s mouth cut through the water toward his leg. Connor held the harpoon ready.

Another shimmer distracted him. “Damn it!” He missed his chance to strike and leapt away to avoid losing a thigh to the razorfish’s teeth. Coral stabbed between his toes. He gritted his teeth as the razorfish circled.

“Connor.” Violet braids of air carried her voice over crashing surf and crying gulls.

“Not now!” The fish charged. Connor thrust his harpoon into its neck. The creature thrashed, and salt water stung Connor’s eyes. He drew a knife and stabbed the fish between the eyes. When it stopped moving, he lifted the harpoon out of the bloody water and grinned.
Not bad for a quick morning swim.

When he turned toward the shore, the grin faded. “Mother. You nearly cost me a leg.”

Queen Maeve stood on the white sand, hands on hips and mouth in a grim frown. “How in the name of Bachi’s teeth did you end up in Espara?”

He waded toward her. “I’m on holiday. Helene invited me.”

“Who?”

“The countess who owns this island.” He gestured to the sprawling villa behind her. “Did you come to release me?”

She folded her arms. “No.”

“Then we have nothing to discuss.” He hefted the harpoon over his shoulder and walked toward Helene’s villa.

“Your foot is bleeding.”

“I stepped on a piece of coral. Goodbye, Mother.”

Within a few paces, the air braids gathered in his path again. They faded to reveal his mother. “I need to talk to you.”

“Not until you release me.”

“Connor—”

“No, Mother. Release me or go.”

She crossed her arms.

He shrugged. “As you will.” He walked around her.

He made it to the steps of the villa before she blocked him again. “Connor, please. I need your help.”

“You have the nerve to ask for help after what you did to me?”

“Please, just listen.”

He stared down into dark brown eyes that matched his own. “Tell me.”

“There’s a woman who needs an escort from Taura to Sveklant. I need you to take her.”

“Why me?”

Her mouth twisted as if she’d swallowed unripe fernberries. “Because you’re the best. Because when people mention freelancers, your name is always at the top of the list.”

“Flattery won’t work. I’m busy.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I am. I have to lead a merchant train through Nar Sidhe territory and then I’m going to Taura for the tribal hunt and then I’m wintering in Dal’Imur.”

“With torturers and savages?”

“With rich silk merchants who pay well. It’s warm there, and the women think I’m intriguing.” He started walking again. “Find someone else.”

She took two steps for every one of his. “I don’t have time to find someone else. Things are changing in Taura. Regent Fergus is ailing. He and his Table have chosen a new successor, but we think Prince Braedan is mounting a coup. He’s built an army in Culidar. Duke Kerry pretends neutrality, but he’s building up his own forces and sending money to help Braedan.”

“Kerry—Braedan’s uncle?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“I have one loyal to me among Braedan’s men. He’s sent a few messages.”

The sand merged with rare translucent marble paving stones cut from the mountains of the Eastern Ridge in Tal’Amun. A servant wearing ochre-hued silks and a silver collar awaited Connor on the marble patio. Connor set down the fish and harpoon. “Deliver that to the kitchen. Prepare it however the lady wishes.”

The man bowed. “Yes, my lord. And wine?”

“Veidara. The lady prefers it.”

The man held out a kerchief to Connor. “For your foot, my lord. Do you need a repha?”

“It’s a scratch. No healer is necessary.”

“Of course, my lord.” He tried to lift the fish, but settled for dragging it away. Within moments, another servant arrived with a pail of water to clean the bloody drops Connor had trailed up the steps and patio area. Rarely did even an olive leaf linger on a courtyard stone more than a few moments at Helene’s villa.

Connor tied the kerchief around his bleeding foot and walked up to the balcony outside Helene’s bedchamber with Maeve close behind him. “Why bring this to me? I don’t care if Fergus’ son becomes regent.”

“He doesn’t want the regency. He wants to set himself up as king.” When her revelation didn’t garner the response she wanted, she spoke as if to a small child. “To call himself king, he must get rid of the rightful Taurin heir.”

He stopped and turned to her. “This woman I’m supposed to escort—she’s the heir?”

“Yes.”

Now—after a thousand years?
Prophets and scholars and religious fanatics had spoken of the eventual upset of the regency and return of the rightful Taurin line to the Raven Throne, and every now and then, a pretender would emerge to claim his birthright. Maeve never gave them a moment’s thought.
She must believe it or she wouldn’t have brought this to me
. “How do you know she’s real?”

“She fulfills the prophecies.”

“According to who?”

“According to a very trustworthy woman on Taura.”

Connor pulled his braids over one shoulder and squeezed water onto the balcony. “A religious woman?”

Maeve’s mouth tightened. “This isn’t the time to discuss your issues with the kirok.”

“But it’s time to discuss forgotten royal lines and legendary heirs?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

“I’ve seen her. I’ve watched her for years. She’s the one, Connor. Her line will reunite the Western Lands.”

He walked through the gauzy drapes that separated Helene’s bedchamber from the outside world. “It’s not my concern.”

Maeve followed him into the room. “This is your country. Your people. How can you—”

“I’m only half Taurin—the attainted half. I told you six years ago. I want nothing to do with any of it.”

She eyed his tattooed arm and frowned. “You’ve visited the tribes.”

He crossed his arms, accentuating the blue dye. “The tribes aren’t Taurin.”

“So you’ve visited the tribes, but you’ve not seen fit to visit me.”

“If you wanted me to visit, you could have forced it.”

She flinched. “Have you seen Edgar?”

“No. I’ve stayed in the south.”

“You won’t even return to your own tribe?”

“Did you forget? Edgar agreed with you binding me. I won’t be subject to a chieftain who would see my will bound to my mother’s.” He stepped closer to her again. “Release me from the magic, and we can talk.”

Her voice dropped. “Connor, I can’t. Please believe me. I’m trying to protect you.”

He turned away. “Go, Mother. We’re done.” He picked up Helene’s sarana, the long piece of fabric he’d wrapped around her when she emerged from her bath. It had only stayed on her long enough for them to share a meal. The bed was still unmade, and the scent of their night together hung in the air, honey and jasmine and veidara and passion woven with salt air and silk.
Why would I leave any sooner than I have to?

Maeve’s eyes followed him as he moved around the room. Six years before, she had taken advantage of their shared Sidh blood by binding his will to hers through the
codagha
, the binding web that connected her to the Brae Sidh. “I’ve not used the bond on you in all this time, and you’re still angry?”

He whirled to face her. “Wouldn’t you be angry? To be bound to your mother’s will knowing that if you make a wrong move she’ll snap the bond back and force you to do her bidding? To wonder, ‘Is this the day she’ll make me come back? Is this the day I’ll stop making my own decisions and be subject to my mother’s whims?’ I’m a grown man. I’ve never asked you for a thing—for money, for a home, for a title—and yet you bind me like an infant at the tit.”

Her eyes watered, but her voice remained steady. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re all I have left.”

“And you think binding my will to yours will keep me safe? Tame?”

She closed her eyes. “What if the Morrag calls you?”

A faint tremor in her voice was her only concession to the fear, but he knew what she thought—that the Morrag would call him to avenge the murder of his father and sisters.
Or worse, go on a murderous rampage.
The only thing worse than the threat of her control over his will was the constant ache of the Morrag in his chest.

The rasping voice of the vengeful spirit resounded in his head—an eerie echo with more substance than dream, less than reality.
You’ll be my first. My raven.

You’ll never have what you want from me.
He crossed his arms. “I can control the Morrag.”

“Other men thought the same once.”

Do you think I don’t know that?
“Do you think it hasn’t flared in all this time? I can control it.”

Conflict hovered on her ageless, fine-boned face. The Sidh Queen still had the beauty of a young woman, despite her indeterminate age. Her ebony curls still tumbled heavy and full to her waist, and her face was unlined. Connor had his mother’s Sidh coloring but his father’s stature. “I worry for you,” she said.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I feel it every time you kill. When you’re escorting someone, when you fight, when you’re wounded, I feel it. I sense your rage. I tell myself that when it comes for you—when the Morrag calls—I can stop it. I can use the binding to keep you free of it.”

He scoffed, tossed his handful of clothes back on the floor, and threw up his hands. “So this is my fate—to be bound to you or to her?” He bit off a curse, took a deep breath, and stepped closer to her. “Give me my will, Mother. Let me be a free man as long as I can. I’ll worry about the Morrag later.”

She didn’t speak for some time. The salt air hung about them, heavy with the promise of warm, brief rains and the tension of unspoken emotions and griefs. “Will you do this for me? Take this girl to Sveklant?”

He sighed. “You really believe she’s the rightful heir?”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t find anyone else? Can’t you go to the tribes? Edgar—”

“If you want to dance in the heather with painted beasts, so be it.” Her voice rose in indignation. “I’m not going anywhere near the tribes.” She paused. “I’ll pay you if I must.”

“There’s not enough gold in all the Sidh vaults to make me do this for you.” He picked up a thin blanket from the bed. “Couldn’t she go somewhere else? Somewhere closer? What about Eirya? I could get through tribal territory—”

“There’s a town in Sveklant—Albard. There are people there who will teach her and help her build an army. Besides, the prophecy says the heir will return from the place where fire meets ice.”

He snorted a laugh. “There’s always a prophecy. Some underfed kiron takes a few extra sips of wine and sees fire and ice, and we all assume it means Sveklant. Why can’t it mean Eirya? I’ll take a torch to a glacier myself if it saves me a trip to Sveklant.”

Her mouth was tight again. “This doesn’t come from me, Connor. There are other forces at work here.”

Don’t drag me into this.
“I don’t want to have anything to do with Taurin royalty.” He walked behind a partition and removed the short linen breeches he wore for swimming, brushed sand onto the floor, and tied the blanket around his hips.

When he stepped out from behind the partition again, Maeve’s eyes were hard, and a muscle twitched in her jaw. The queen had a towering fury. Her dedication to her people and her powerful Sidh magic gave her a steely edge that far outweighed his skill as a warrior. “I could compel you to do this,” she said.

“Try it. See how easy it is for you to run roughshod over my will. I will fight you every step. You may succeed, but not without great pain to you and the Sidh.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m asking you, Connor. Please. For me. Would you just put your life—” her voice held an edge that said she didn’t think his life was worth going back to “—aside for a short time and take this woman to Sveklant?”

“Escort her. Nothing more? She’s not expecting me to help build this army, is she?”

“She’s expecting nothing more than an escort. Get her to Albard, and then you’ll be free to leave her.”

“And then you’ll leave me alone? Let me get back to my own life?”

“Such as it is, yes, I will. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not the life of a pauper, Mother.” He gestured at the room. The low bed was large, comfortable, and covered in woven blankets and soft pillows. A cedar table near the opening to the balcony held a tray of fresh fruit next to a carafe of wine and two goblets. Every morning, he swam in the warm Aldorean Seas and lay in the sun, and at night, he slept ensconced in the breezy waves of warm Esparan air with a beautiful woman who smelled of jasmine and cinnamon.