Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) (11 page)

“I don’t see you wielding a sword. You could barely mount a horse three days ago.”

She squared her shoulders. “I’m descended from the kings and queens of old Taura and the Western Lands.”

“You’re a silly girl who was raised in a sayada and puts far too much faith in a god whose greatest gift to the earth was leaving it alone.”

Anger flashed in her eyes, and her face flushed pink. “How dare you—”

“How dare I? I’m the best freelance in the known world. Merchants and nobles pay me very well to make sure they get where they’re going. I’ve made a career of evaluating clients and threats. I look at you and I know—you’re prey.”

“
Prey?
”

“Yes, prey.” He gestured toward the dead men. “What if those had been thieves? Slavers? Do you know what they would have done to you? They would have stripped you, beaten you, raped you, and left you dying in the forest. If you were really unlucky, they might have beaten you, raped you, and sold you to a brothel.” He stepped closer to her. “You may not like it, but I’m the best protection you have.”

“Then teach me to fight so I can defend myself if the next attackers are thieves or slavers.”

“You have me to protect you. You don’t need to fight.”

She clenched her jaw. He saw what she intended the moment her hand flicked out.
She wouldn’t—
But she did. She grabbed the hilt of a dagger in his belt, and his hand snatched her wrist and twisted her arm up. “Drop it,” he said.

“No. Teach me to fight.”

“No.” He tightened his hand on her wrist. His fingers overlapped around the fine, slender bones, and he knew he could break them if he wanted to. She gave one faint grunt, and a flicker of pain passed over her brow, but she didn’t drop the blade.
This is one determined woman.
She swung her other arm up in a broad, clumsy arc toward his head. He grabbed her other wrist. “I don’t like to hurt women. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Drop the blade.”

“Teach me to fight.”

He sighed. “If you want it this way—”

He brought one leg forward, kicked her legs out from under her with a lazy swipe, and let go of her arms. She slammed into the ground. The blade fell in the dirt. She gulped for air, choking and gasping.

He knelt next to her, picked up the blade, and stuck it in his belt. “Just lie still and breathe. You’ll be all right. You just got the air knocked out of you.” He paused. “I did warn you. I don’t like to hurt women, but no one steals my knives.”

She closed her eyes, drawing slow, even breaths. “I don’t like this. I don’t like being weak.”

“You’re not weak.”

“I am. I’ve never been the weak one before. At the sayada, I was the strong one. I was the one who worked later, the one who served more. I was the one Sayana Muriel turned to when she needed help. For the first time in my life, I don’t know how to take care of myself. You’ve had to do everything for me since we started this, and I don’t like it. I don’t know how to find food or start a fire or treat a wound or fight or anything.”

When have I ever escorted a woman who would ask this of me? It’s not her fault she’s defenseless. She was raised to marry and have children.
He stared out into the forest, thinking.
How many men can say they serve their country by training its queen to fight? I suppose if it’s all I do for Taura, it will be enough.
When she opened her eyes, he offered a hand. “You look better. Do you think you can sit up?”

“Yes.”

He helped her sit up, let go, and crouched next to her. “If I teach you what you want to know, will you bring justice to Kiern?”

“Justice?”

He nodded. “For Duke Mac Niall and his family and the townspeople who died when Mac Rian attacked. I want the duke’s name cleared and his holdings given to someone worthy of them—someone who will live in peace with the tribes and the Sidh, and who will maintain the lands the way Duke Mac Niall would have. Will you promise me that much?”

“Did you know Duke Mac Niall?”

Old grief reared its head.
She doesn’t need to know who I am. Not yet
. “Only in passing.”

“He had a son, didn’t he? I heard stories.”

He grinned. “Really? Stories about a son? What did you hear?”

“That he’s illegitimate and lives wild. They say his mother is a witch or a sorceress. Duke Mac Niall would never say who she was. I heard he was bewitched into siring his son and that his son has some kind of dark magic.”

Dark. You could say that.
He snickered. “Do you think it’s true?”

“I don’t know what’s true anymore.” She paused. “Do you know him?”

“It’s accurate to say I know him fairly well.”

“And you don’t think those stories are true?”

“He is illegitimate, and the wild part is probably true. The rest?” He shrugged. “People make up stories when they can’t verify the truth. His mother is not a sorceress.”
Though she is a harpy.

She frowned. “How do you know him?”

“He’s a freelance, like me. I’m better, though.”

She stared. “What are you not telling me?”

“What makes you think I’m not telling you something?”

“I don’t know.” She narrowed her eyes. “Would the younger Mac Niall want the estate?”

“No. I can promise you he would not want the Mac Niall holdings.” He held out his hand. “Do we have a bargain? Do you promise to bring justice to Mac Niall’s family and town when you ascend your throne if I teach you what you want to know?”

“I promise. If you teach me to fight, I swear I will bring justice to the Mac Niall name. But if I discover something you haven’t told me—if I discover that Mac Rian was right and Mac Niall conspired against the crown—”

“You won’t.”

She gave him a slow nod. “All right. I swear it.” She paused. “You’ll promise to teach me to fight?”

“My word is my promise. I say what I mean.”
I sound like my father.

She clasped his arm. “Thank you.”

He put one hand on top of hers. “Don’t think I’ll give you quarter because you’re a woman or a noble. I’ll train you the way I was trained.”

“I expect nothing less.”

I’m sure you don’t.
He stood and held out his hand to her. “Can you stand?”

She nodded and took his hand. He helped her to her feet and held her arm until her balance returned. When she was steady, he took the sheathed dagger from his belt. “Take this.”

“Why?”

“You risked your safety to reach for it. You must know that I could have killed you, but you did it anyway. You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who had the fire to reach for a blade of mine. You are either very brave or very stupid, and I don’t think you’re stupid. I do think you’re stubborn, but at least you know what you want. I like that.” He offered it again. “Take it. You’ll need a blade for practice.”

She took the blade and ran a light touch over it. “Thank you.”

He turned to the horses. “We should get moving. We’ve already wasted too much of the morning.”

Mairead tucked the dagger into the top of her breeches and mounted her horse. As Connor set his stallion at a walk, she fell in next to him. He fixed his eyes ahead.
This woman may be my undoing, but at least it will be an entertaining trip.

Chapter Ten

My servant’s voice fades into the sky.

It returns through the strength of stone.

– Second Book of the Wisdomkeepers

The edge of autumn teased Minerva with frosty fingers as she traveled north through tribal territory. Each night, she slept in the earth shrines and sacred groves that dotted the forest. The brand in her palm itched and burned when she entered the shrines. She chewed willow bark for the pain and prayed to Alshada for forgiveness.
The shrines bring warmth and safety,
she said in her prayers.
Forgive me for entering them.

Behind her prayers, she knew the truth—if she would make the blood sacrifice, the mark would cease to bother her. But to perform the rites would forsake her vows to Alshada.
I will not forsake my vows. I will not be an oathbreaker again.

She ate from her meager provisions and the late berries and nuts she found, and on the second morning away from the hound tribe, she woke to find a freshly killed rabbit next to her. She stood, scanning the brush for signs of the warrior who left it, but saw only a wisdommark scratched in the ground near the rabbit. “Thank you,” she said, then shook her head.
You are in their world, now.
“The earth bless you as you have blessed her guardian.”

A faint rustle of branches nearby was the only response.

She took the time to build a fire and cook the rabbit, but she ate while she rode, skirting the edge of the stag tribe. Her breath formed white puffs in front of her, and she pulled her cloak close around her, wishing for the fur sashes and pelts she used to wear as a guardian. The days were cold and the nights colder, but the rain held off.
Better cold than soaked to the bone.

The third morning, she found another rabbit outside the earth shrine, and the fourth morning brought a quail. Each time, she spoke the words of thanks and heard the rustle in the bushes that indicated a retreating warrior. She never saw them, and she didn’t know if they knew her identity or merely helped her out of obligation to her mark, but she was grateful for the food. Despite being an oathbreaker, she felt safer traveling in tribal territory than she had traveling from Torlach. Few places in the world were as safe for a woman as the tribes. Wives, lovers, guardians were held in high esteem, and men who abused any woman were usually taken deep into the forest and disciplined in brutal ways by tribal elders.

The fifth morning, she smelled fires and heard the distant, familiar sounds of a tribal village. She took a deep breath and approached the sentries again, tugging the glove off her right hand. “I come from Torlach,” she said when the men in leathers dropped out of the trees. She opened her palm. “I seek your traitha, Edgar Wolfbrother.”

A muscular man of medium height stepped forward. The twisted, snaking brand of a traitha wound over his face, and the hunting tattoos circled his arms almost all the way to both wrists. A mass of dark auburn, gray-streaked braids fell to his shoulder blades. “Your quest is rewarded. I am Edgar.”

She frowned. “You serve as sentry?”

“It was my turn.” His eyes passed over her in appraisal. “You have the wisdommark, but you dress as a Taurin woman.”

Minerva’s stomach twisted. “A hound warrior told me you could help me find the Sidh.”

Edgar’s hand twitched toward his sword. His eyes narrowed. “What do you want with the Sidh?”

Two wolf warriors closed in toward Minerva’s horse. “I mean no harm,” she said. “I—I am Sidh.”

One of the warriors snorted. Edgar silenced him with a sharp gesture. “If you were Sidh, you would not need my help.”

Minerva’s heart rose in her throat. “I’m only p-part Sidh. My b-blood is thin. I come with a warning for the Sidh queen. Please, traitha—if you can’t help me find them, would you at least take a message to her?”

A jumble of emotions crossed Edgar’s face, ending in a stony frown. “Come,” he said. “The warriors will care for your horse.”

“But—”

“We have things to discuss.”

A warrior took her horse’s reins. She dismounted. The traitha turned and walked into the village, and Minerva stepped quickly to catch up. He led her to a hut just inside the edge of the village and opened the door.

Minerva hesitated. “Your hut?”

He inclined his head.

She peeked inside. Weapons, a sleeping mat, a small fire pit, a few provisions—and no sign of a woman or children. She turned back to Edgar. “I am a saya. It wouldn’t be proper for me to enter your hut without an escort.”

“You’re free to leave. But I can help you, and without my information, you could wander around this forest for months or years before you find the Sidh—if you ever do.”

She lifted her chin. “My blood will lead me.”

“Are you certain?”

It hasn’t yet.
She stepped into the hut, and Edgar entered and let the door fall shut. “Can you leave that open?”

“Don’t worry. No woman leaves my hut weeping.”

Minerva’s face heated. “I just meant—”

He held up a hand. “Enough. Tell me what you want with the Sidh.”

The hound warrior’s words rang in Minerva’s memory.
Not all of us believe as Hrogarth does.
She straightened her shoulders. “Braedan Mac Corin has claimed the Raven Throne and installed himself as king. He listens to evil counsel, and they tell him to seek the Sidh. He wants Queen Maeve to reveal the reliquary.”

Edgar folded his arms. “And how does he expect to accomplish this?”

I don’t know.
“Sayana Muriel believes he will come through the tribes. He needs a guardian to reveal the village.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek and tilted his head. “What makes your sayana think a guardian can reveal the Sidh village?”

“B-because—because I told her.” His eyes widened, and Minerva continued in a tumble of words. “Forgive me, traitha. The sayana asked if there was any way Braedan could find the village, and I remembered my lessons. I told her. She fears for the Sidh.”

“And why do you not simply reveal the village yourself, guardian?” His voice held an edge, but there was also curiosity in it.

“I never finished my training in the earth wisdom,” she said, ducking her eyes away from his. “I never came into the full power of a guardian. I don’t have the strength to thin the veil.”

He took a step closer to her. “Why do you bring this to me? Hrogarth represents the tribes with Torlach.”

“I’ve seen Hrogarth. He refuses to set aside his pride and fulfill his obligations.”

“Then I don’t know what you expect me to do. Hrogarth is my traitha. To defy him would split the tribes. I will not be an oathbreaker.”

Does he know who I am?
She wet her lips and met his eyes again. “I thought if I could warn the Sidh—if I could just tell Queen Maeve what Braedan intends to do—perhaps she could move the Sidh.”

Edgar snorted a laugh and gave her a tilted grin. “You’d have better luck asking a mountain to throw itself into the sea.” He held up his hand when she started to speak. “You say you have Sidh blood? You can find the village. Go to the shrine on the northern edge of the village. Wait for sunset. If you have enough blood, you’ll see the veil thin and you’ll be able to walk through.”

She nodded. “And if I don’t see it? Will you promise me you will protect the Sidh if I can’t warn Queen Maeve?”

His green eyes bored holes into her own. “I am bound by my oath to Hrogarth,” he said. “I can lift no weapon in defense of the Sidh unless he gives leave.” His grin turned feral. “But I do promise you, guardian: I defend my own tribe and all of its environs with every breath in my body. Any Taurin who finds himself near my territory without my leave will find ravens feeding on his entrails.”

He protects the Sidh without their knowledge or Hrogarth’s leave.
Shame flooded her face.
I have misjudged this man.
She nodded. “I thank you for your help.”

He opened the door to his hut. “Will you stay with us today? Eat and drink?”

She thought of the guardians she might see and shook her head. “I—I thank you, traitha, but no. I will spend the day in the forest in meditation and prayer.”

“As you will.”

Minerva stepped outside, Edgar close behind. She took the reins of her horse from a warrior outside Edgar’s hut and turned back to Edgar. “Alshada bless you and keep you, traitha.”

His eyes twinkled in amusement, but he gave her a respectful bow. “The earthspirit guide your steps, guardian.”

Minerva tensed, prepared to remind him that she no longer served the earthspirit, but she stopped herself and forced a smile and a nod. She took the reins of her horse and walked away. Edgar’s eyes followed her out of the village.

She found the shrine just outside the northern edge of the village and spent most of the day wandering the forest around it, but she saw no signs of the Sidh village.
I feel them, though.
She’d known the sensation since she was a small girl. “The watchers,” her sister always said when they’d both rub their arms and look around their rooms with wary eyes. Pretty Aurel’s face always shone more brightly when she felt them near, and she’d look up in eager anticipation. “They watch over us.”

Minerva leaned against the tree and let a smile touch her lips.
Where are you now, Aurel? So many years—gone. Do you have babes?
Her forehead tightened. If Aurel had wed and given birth, any child would be at least five or six, perhaps older.
A decade. More. The world can change in a decade.

Their father called Minerva and Aurel his moon and sun. Though they both had his dark eyes and skin, Aurel had the beauty and spirit of a summer day, where Minerva shone quiet like a winter half-moon, he always said. “I can tell your moods by the moon,” he always told Minerva, lifting her chin and smiling down at her. “Aurel is always the same—bright and constant. She brings warmth everywhere. You are different every day, and yet always the same.”

Not the same, Father,
she thought. Her palm itched. She clenched her fist tight and burrowed deeper into her cloak to ward off the chill of the afternoon.
Never the same. My heart is inconstant.

By the time the sun hovered at the edge of the horizon, her palm itched so much she feared she would break the skin from digging her fingernails into the brand. She clenched her fist.
I will not forsake my vows.

The thick canopy of trees overhead shielded her from all but the thinnest streams of waning sunlight. Shadows deepened around her. She stood, motionless and silent, and stared into the forest away from the tribal village. The horse stood next to her, nibbling at low plants on the forest floor, unconcerned. The sun continued to lower . . . lower . . . .

A quick shimmer darted in front of her.
Was that one of them?
She focused on the trees. Another shimmer. Another. As the sun lowered, more and more of them. The shimmers turned to sparks and spots of light that flashed in and out of the trees. She heard laughter, music, snatches of conversation. She shivered and rubbed her arms.
The watchers.
The sun fell below the horizon, and the sparks and flickers transformed into the flesh and blood forms of the Brae Sidh.

For one moment, the veil between the world of human and Sidh disappeared, and Minerva might have been standing at the entrance to any village in Taura. Women called children in for supper, men tended to business in the open square, and animals roamed free.

Except that it was entirely unlike any village Minerva had ever seen. And in the moment she waited, gaping, the veil shimmered again. Startled, she jumped forward, crossing the boundary, and realized that her blood was strong enough. Another human would have seen the shimmers and reduced them to tricks of the light or heard the voices and thought them the wind in the trees. She rubbed her arms again.
The watchers. And Alshada help me, I am one of them.

Her father had told her of the Sidh village, but none of his stories had prepared her for the first vision of it. The small huts of the hidden folk merged with hillocks, trees, and small pools of water in seamless, graceful lines. She couldn’t tell where homes ended and the forest began. All around, moonbugs flitted above the ancient paths, lighting the village with a golden aura. Scattered stones gave off light of varying hues—mauve, ochre, violet, azure—the colors of sky and earth and water. The Sidh burned no candles or lamps. The entire village emitted an eerie glow of its own, part magic and part nature.

The people were dressed in a wispy, thin fabric that shimmered in the light—
sidhsilk
, they called it. Woven from particles in the air that the Sidh weavers gathered and spun into threads as strong as spidersilk, the fabric helped shield the Sidh from sight. Sidhsilk held the temperature of the season it was woven in. A gown of spun summer brought warmth in winter, but a pair of breeches woven in winter would cool during the heat of summer.

All around her, children and forest animals scampered together. The Sidh queens protected all animals on their lands. More than one tribal hunter who wandered into Sidh territory after a prize stag came away muttering inanely and refusing to hunt again. Some humans had wandered into Sidh territory and never returned, living out their days with the Sidh queens and her ladies.