Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) (39 page)

Her stomach plummeted. “You can’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s the law.”

“Then I hope you can serve Ronan Kerry as capably as you have served Braedan.”

His eyes snapped open. “What?”

“I’m convinced he has designs on the throne. Getting rid of Braedan’s most trusted guard is just one step.” She shrugged. “Follow the law and Kerry, or do what’s right. Your choice.”

He gritted his teeth. Color returned to his face. “I will not serve that man,” he said, low and lethal. “I will not. I will see my king’s throne secured.” He leaned forward. “Tell me what you would have me do, your highness.”

***

Igraine gave up on sleep long before the horizon began to lighten. She called her maids and dressed in dark, subdued colors, bundling herself in black fur and refusing any jewels.
Fitting for an execution,
she thought, surveying herself. “Fetch the guards,” she told Gwyn.

“My lady, won’t you eat?”

“No. I have no appetite.”

A guard from Stone Coast escorted her to the courtyard, where a small crowd of guards and soldiers had begun to gather. Anywhere Braedan’s men gathered, men from Stone Coast found some excuse to hover nearby or break them apart. Igraine’s mouth tightened.
He will send Braedan’s men away one by one, unit by unit, until he has control of the castle. Then he’ll make his stand.

Word had spread that the king’s High Commander would be executed, and the lords and petitioners in the castle gathered in the pre-dawn light for the spectacle. In the center of the courtyard, a hooded figure leaned on his ax near a stained wooden block. Cormac stood near the castle doors, his hands twisting in front of him. He bowed to Igraine. “My lady.”

She let go of the guard’s arm and stepped close to Cormac. “Were you able to accomplish everything?” she asked in a low voice.

“Yes, highness. It wasn’t easy. Kerry has been watching me carefully since yesterday.” He dropped his voice even lower. “Duke Kerry has barred the castle gates. He refuses to let anyone but a few servants in and out, and those only after being searched. And he informed me yesterday that he will no longer allow me to correspond with the king unless he reads my messages first.”

Ire rose. “By what authority does he—”

“As chancellor, lady. He justifies himself by saying it is necessary for your safety and the safety of the lords and ladies within the castle.”

At least it keeps the crowd down to manageable limits.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “This isn’t over, Cormac. If this is the way Ronan Kerry will have it, then so be it.”

The castle doors opened, and Ronan walked onto the steps flanked by guards and various lords who hung on the chancellor’s every word. Lord Seannan and Lady Aislinn were in the group. Ronan approached Igraine. “A rather somber choice of colors, my lady, given that we execute the man who tried to ruin your efforts here in Taura.”

She lifted her chin toward Aislinn, who wore a deep red gown and gold jewels. “It would appear the lady Aislinn brought enough color for all of the ladies present at this obscene event,” she said. She stepped toward Aislinn. “Tell me, my lady: what did he promise you for your presence here? A crown?”

Aislinn’s cheeks flushed, and her father put himself between her and Igraine. “See here, your highness—”

“Forgive me,” Igraine said. “I wouldn’t wish to sully your daughter’s good name.” She turned her back and faced the wooden block. “I want his body,” Igraine said, low, to Ronan. “I want to see that it’s cared for properly.”

“The headsman will take care of it.”

She clenched her fists. “No, Ronan. As the only legitimate agent of the kirok in this castle, I will see to his proper burial.”

A long silence hovered around them. “Very well,” Ronan finally said. “As an act of goodwill, I will let you see to his burial.”

Igraine let out a long breath.
I still have some small sway with him. I can’t squander it.

The sun crept toward the horizon, a slit of orange prying the night away from day. Ronan paced away from Igraine and back again. He motioned a guard toward him. “I told them to have him here at sunrise,” he said. “Find out where they are.”

Igraine’s heart raced. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Please, Alshada.

The sun climbed higher. Murmurs flitted around the courtyard. Men from Stone Coast huddled together in conversation. Cormac and Igraine exchanged glances, and then Cormac bowed to Ronan. “My lord, perhaps I should see what’s keeping them?”

A muscle twitched in Ronan’s jaw. He started to nod, but a general clamor erupted from the guard towers, and three men from Stone Coast ran across the courtyard to Ronan. “My lord,” one said, bowing. “My lord. We don’t know how it’s possible. We can’t find Logan Mac Kendrick anywhere.”

Ronan’s face turned red with fury. “Escaped? How is this possible?”

Igraine’s heart raced.
Make this convincing.
 
“Is this some trickery? Did you do something with Logan in the night?”

Ronan whirled toward her, his mouth a grim, angry line. “Perhaps I should ask you the same, my lady.”

She gave him a thin smile. “When would I have had the time or ability? My lord kept me confined to my rooms all day yesterday.”

Ronan swore. He strode back and forth, fuming, one hand clenched on his sword, the other clenching and unclenching at his side. “What do you know?” he asked the guard.

“Not much, my lord. One of the royal guards was on duty. We found him tied up in the cell with a black eye. Mac Kendrick seems to have treated him mildly. We haven’t figured out how he escaped the castle.”

Ronan’s voice carried the cold fury of a man bent on vengeance. “Find this man. Now. I want him back here in irons by the week’s end. If you have to bring him back dead, so be it. I want his head on a spike at the Traitor’s Gate.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man bowed and left the room.

Ronan turned to Cormac. “What do you know of this?”

“Nothing, Lord Kerry. I thought he was guilty as well. I was prepared for an execution this morning.”

Ronan swore and paced. “The court will hear no petitioners today,” he said finally. “I will unleash the dogs and drag this coward back to face his crimes.” He returned to the castle in a fury.

One of the men from Stone Coast took Igraine’s arm and began to lead her back to her rooms. “Wait,” Cormac said. He took Igraine’s arm. “I’d like to escort the lady back to her rooms.”

The man bowed aside, and Cormac led Igraine through the castle doors. “He has a letter for Braedan,” Cormac said, barely moving his lips as he spoke and keeping his eyes straight ahead. “With luck, the king and his men will return before winter sets in.”

Igraine nodded. “We have a long road.”

Later in the day, when Igraine sat in Braedan’s bed with her leg propped on pillows, Gwyn announced Repha Felix, and Igraine ushered him in. “Thank you for checking on me, but I don’t know what you can do,” she said. “It’s sore, but it’s healing well. It needs time, I’m thinking.”

He sat next to her and picked up her leg. “You may perhaps know the law, but I know healing,” he said, opening the bindings around her calf. He prodded the wound, frowning. “There’s barely more than a thin scar.”

“’Tis always this way for me,” she said. “I broke my ankle once. It mended in two weeks.”

Felix said nothing as he reapplied a poultice and bandage. He stood and took a book from the pocket of his long apron. “Some reading for you, your highness.”

She took the book.
A History of the West
, by Xinias zha Astr. “A book of history written by a Tal’Amuni?”

He inclined his head. “I thought you would find it interesting. If you read it carefully.”

She opened it with cautious fingers. The brittle parchment was worn and stained on the edges, but the ink was still dark inside. “‘The rending of the Brae Sidh people came at a great, but necessary, cost to the geography of the west. With the help of the Syrafi . . .’” Igraine looked up. “This is written in Amuni. How did you know that I speak it?”

“When I treated you in your chambers the night Matthias attacked you, I saw your pile of reference books. One was in Amuni.” He nodded toward the book and picked up his bag of supplies. “When you’ve finished it, perhaps we might speak again?”

She forced a smile. “Perhaps so. Thank you, Felix.”

He bowed and left.

Igraine leaned back against her pillows.
Braedan, I will hold this place for you as long as I can, but I need you here. Hurry.

Chapter Twenty-Three

He will bring justice. She will bring mercy.

— Second Book of the Wisdomkeepers

Morning with Kenna and Mairead consisted of sparse conversation and unspoken emotion. Mairead cast Connor subtle glances, but she said nothing more than was required for travel. He offered to look at Kenna’s bruises and cuts, but she shook her head and ducked her eyes.
It’s an improvement,
he thought.
At least she’s not flinching.
“The man who hurt you is dead,” he told her.

She averted her eyes. “Th-thank you.”

Mairead and Kenna mounted the palomino while Connor took the bulk of the supplies on the sorrel. They continued west toward Kenna’s home, arriving late in the afternoon amid a heavy, cold rain. Kenna slipped from the horse to run to her father’s arms, and Mairead spoke quietly with the man before she remounted. “She’ll be well,” she said.

Memories tugged at Connor’s composure.
Donal held Aine that way.

They rode wide around the village and finally came to a small stand of trees late in the day, well after sunset. Connor built a fire, and they ate in silence. When they finished, Mairead pulled out her blanket and curled up close to the fire. “No evening prayers?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know how to pray anymore.”

He sat down next to her, and she tensed. “It’s time to tell you about Aine.”

“All right.”

Where to begin?
“I was close to her at the farm. We never shared a bed, but she thought she loved me. But I knew the Morrag—” He broke off the thought. “I told her I couldn’t stay. She didn’t believe me. I left one night. I didn’t know she followed me. Donal caught up with me on the edge of Nar Sidhe territory. He’d found her, but he needed my help—” The words stuck.

Mairead waited. Memories tugged at his resolve not to grieve again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing back the sting in his eyes. “She was in a brothel—the worst kind,” he said. “She was a slave, like Kenna. She’d been beaten and abused. She was with child. Someone had found her on the road, beaten her, and deposited her at the brothel, and she was too broken to escape.”

Mairead let out a long breath. “And you rescued her?”

I should have kept it from happening.
“That was the night the Morrag quickened. It drove me to kill every man in that place. I didn’t even know if any of them had anything to do with what happened to her, but it wasn’t quelled until every one of them was dead.” His throat swelled with emotion, regret and grief and guilt fighting with the satisfaction of having killed so many in the name of the Morrag. “I had no control over it. I just killed. When the rage retreated, there were bodies, limbs, brains everywhere. Some of the men were still alive. I had to finish them. To leave them alive was worse.”

“And Aine?”

He squeezed his eyes closed. “She sat in a corner, weeping and screaming, covered in blood. It scared her so much to see me that way that she wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I took her and Donal home, and then I left.”

“So that’s why Donal and Aileen are so grateful?”

He said nothing for a long time. “If I had been more faithful, she wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“You’ve carried this guilt for that long? You can’t be blamed for her choice.” Mairead took his hands. “Your only crime was leaving without saying goodbye.”

“Tell that to the men in the brothel. How many innocent men did I kill?”

The grip on his hands tightened. “They weren’t innocent. They were in a brothel—as you said, the worst kind.”

“But you’re right. I’m not a god. I’m not even a very good man. It’s not my job to decide who gets to die and who gets to live—not unless I’m defending someone else.”

A long silence fell. “Are you the one the stories speak of? The ravenmarked one who will defeat the Forbidden?” she asked finally.

“I don’t know.” He put his hand over hers. “You want to know why I do the work I do? Because I can defend people with my sword and convince myself that I’m doing the right thing. You want to know why I won’t marry? Because I won’t bind a woman to me with children or marriage or home. I don’t want to destroy her or my children or anything I build with her.” He took a deep breath. “The stories say the earliest men with the ravenmark killed their own kinsmen, wives, children. If I let this thing go—if I let it have control of me—I have no idea what I might do. I can’t risk it.”

She shook her head. “Don’t resign yourself to this hopeless path, Connor. Do you really want to spend your life roaming from woman to woman and job to job with no real peace?”

He avoided her eyes. “There is one place I’ve found peace.” He paused.
Should I say it?
“There is comfort in being with you.”

The fire crackled behind them. She let go of his hands and sat up straight. Her fingers worried the bottom edge of her tunic. “I don’t know what to call this,” she said finally, quietly. “I have no experience with men. I don’t know what you feel for me. But I know that I don’t want to say goodbye to you.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye to you, either. If it weren’t for this thing, I would never leave, Mairead, I swear it. I’m—” He stopped short.
If you tell her you’re in love with her, you can’t leave. You take away your options. You can’t do that.
“Do you still want me to find someone else to guard you?”

She shook her head. “I want you to stay with me.”

A wave of relief shivered through him.
There’s still time, then. Maybe I can find a way to stay with her. Maybe I can find a way to just serve her—be close to her.
“I will be more careful with your affections. If we’re to spend the winter in Galbragh, I’ll be more careful when we’re together.”

She laughed, a sad, rueful sound. “I think it’s too late to be careful with my affections.” She touched his arm, and he took her hand again. “What will I do without you? When you leave?”

I don’t know.
“I promise I’ll be certain you’re with someone safe if I have to leave.”

Her mouth quivered into a sad smile. “I wish—” She bit her lip and turned her head.

I wish I could be with you. I wish I could hold you, feel your skin against mine, hear you whisper my name. I wish I could stay with you for the rest of my life. I wish I didn’t have this damn demon inside of me.
“I wish it, too.”

She squeezed his hands and stood. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” She picked up her bow.

“You shouldn’t—”

“I’m not tired, and you’ll sleep better if you know someone is awake.” She pulled her cloak tighter around her. “Besides, I learned from the best.” She walked to the edge of the camp and sat down, the bow slung over her shoulder.

He pulled his blanket from his pack and spread it on the ground, but he couldn’t sleep. He could only watch Mairead.
One winter isn’t enough. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough. I need this woman.

***

In a large, rambling house surrounded by slave camps, Emrys watched a grim-faced steward read a wrinkled parchment. The man’s face paled. “Ye’re certain this is true?”

The messenger nodded. “Got that straight from the man what saw it happen. Rode three horses into the ground to deliver this.”

The steward muttered a curse. He folded the paper. “I almost pity the man who did it.”

Save your pity,
Emrys thought.

He’d felt the Morrag awaken days before when the raven finally heeded her call. He’d awakened with her need for blood—
his
blood—tearing at his chest.
Claw. Rake. Maim. Kill. You’re not safe, Forbidden One. He comes for you.

Emrys clutched at his chest, his hands clammy and his heart pounding fiercely against his ribs.
I have time. I still have time. I must have time.

He slipped in and out of the elements for days, finally tracing the raven to the brothel where he’d killed in the Morrag’s name. He hovered in shadow while the slaver’s men and the brothel owner tried to trace the man who’d left a bloody streak of death in the common room and freed several of their best whores. He even searched for the raven and the heir himself, but by the time he found them, they had too much of a start for the brothel owner and his men to catch up.

But the trail led him here, to the slaver Seamus Allyn. The slaver had long been a source of pride for Emrys. He kept Allyn alive, relishing the vile touch he brought to all of his endeavors. Emrys settled into the shadows of a corner and waited. Allyn read the letter, cursed, and threw the parchment on the ground. He poured a generous shot of oiska, drank, and poured another. “What am I going to tell his mother?”

“Perhaps the truth this time.”

Seamus grimaced. “It doesn’t matter what a worthless piece of shit he was, she’s still his mother. She won’t want to hear that he died in a whorehouse with his bowels on the floor.”

The steward inclined his head. “I realize that, sir, but there is little you can do to hide the truth. It’s only been a week, and word is spreading.”

Seamus put down his cup. Emrys knew he had no love for his son. Seamus complained that he should have killed the woman who bore him once he was done using her. Emrys had been near Seamus long enough to know that the slaver had tried to give his son opportunities to buy into the slaving family, but his every attempt was met with the aggressive incompetence of a man who would rather indulge his base desires.

“Sir,” the steward said.

Seamus looked up.

“We should respond.”

Seamus nodded. “I won’t have the Mac Mahons thinking we can’t avenge our own. Do we know who did this? Did he know who he was killing?”

“I’ve got men looking for answers. They captured several of the women who left the brothel and got descriptions after applying a bit of pressure. The brothel owner gave a description as well. Nothing special—big, dark, heavily armed. The brothel owner said it was the spawn of Namha himself. The women said he was a warrior of Alshada.”

“So I should tell the men to look for either a demon or an avenging angel? Fuck.”

“There was one other thing. He had tattoos.”

Seamus frowned. “Tattoos?”

“He had several blue rings around his upper arm.”

Seamus leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. “It’s something. A start. Find him. I want his head. He used my son as an example. I’ll use him as one.”

The steward inclined his head and left the room. Seamus drank another shot of oiska. He went to his door. “Go to the camps. Find me a woman who hasn’t been used too much.” The guard inclined his head and walked away.

Emrys emerged from the shadow and sat in Seamus’ chair. Seamus spun around and pulled a dagger from his belt. “Who are ye?”

Emrys leaned forward. “You want the man who killed your son? He’ll be in Galbragh tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed. “How d’ye know that?”

“I have sources you don’t have. Do you want him?”

The dagger twitched in his hand, but he didn’t sheathe it. He finally gave a slow nod. “All right. Tell me.”

“Promise me one thing. The girl he’s with—deliver her to me.”

“Fine. Who is he?”

“His name is Connor Mac Niall. He’ll be at Prince Henry’s palace tomorrow with a girl he’s escorting. Do what you want with him, but deliver her to me.”

Seamus straightened and thought it through. “In the palace? It won’t be easy.”

“I’m sure a man of your means has ways. Mac Niall doesn’t like to be quiet. He’s quite confident in his abilities, and he has money. He’ll be in the open in the palace district at some point. He’ll probably take his woman shopping.”

“
His
woman? Not just a woman he’s escorting?”

Emrys frowned. “I’ve seen how you get men to talk. I’ve seen what you do to their women. I need her alive and sane.”

“Not unspoiled?”

“That doesn’t matter. Beat her, fuck her, pass her around—just make sure you don’t leave her a babbling idiot.”

Seamus folded his arms. “This is too easy. What else d’ye want?”

“Give me the woman, and you’ll never see me again.”

Silence cloaked the room, as thick as Allyn’s transgressions. “All right. How will I find you?” Allyn finally said.

“I’ll find you.” Emrys slipped back into the elements and hovered in shadow again to watch.

Seamus let out a breath. He fingered the dagger in his hand, sheathed it, and slumped in his chair. He started to pour another shot of oiska and stopped. Instead, he picked up parchment and quill and started to write.

Emrys let a slow sneer cross his face as the words ordering Connor Mac Niall’s death appeared on the parchment.