Flight of the Raven Read online

  She turned around. “I’m going to wash up before this evening.”

  “All right. I think I’ll join Taegis and walk the castle.”

  Selene headed inside their private room to the bowl and pitcher she had spotted earlier. The water was tepid and smelled lightly of roses.

  She started with her hands, then washed her face and neck. She paused and stared into the bowl, the water dripping from her fingers. This trip was going to be harder than she’d thought. The other houses would soon discover the duplicity of House Ravenwood. On top of that, she was facing her own personal battle inside her dreamscape and . . .

  She swallowed hard, and her fingers began to shake as fear spread again across her heart. She clenched them before reaching for the towel nearby.

  What would happen in the next couple of days? Where would she stand with the other houses? Who would she choose to be? Who would she follow?

  No answer came the next morning. Instead, the city of Lux Casta was greeted by low horns blowing at the first light.

  Grand Lord Warin had passed away at dawn.

  35

  That morning, the banners of House Luceras were brought down and replaced with black standards. Inside the castle, everything was draped in black, from the paintings to the sculptures and statues.

  There was a somberness that hung over the castle, similar to the mourning cloth that draped the furniture. Words were spoken in hushed whispers. Tears were shed behind closed doors. The bright sunlight that shone down on Lux Casta seemed irreverent toward House Luceras and their grief.

  Selene stood beside the long windows in her bedchambers and watched everything from her vantage point. She never knew Lord Warin and did not feel the same pull of grief everyone else did. Damien, however, appeared mournful, so she let him have his space in the common room.

  She sighed and walked back toward the bed. The talks had been canceled for the time being, understandably so. It was unfortunate that Lord Warin had passed on, but the Dominia Empire would not wait. Alliances needed to be officially formed and the nations ready or all would be lost. Selene knew that when news of Lord Warin’s death reached her mother, she would not hesitate to use the confusion to her advantage.

  She held a hand to her head as a pulsing ache started to form along her forehead. She hadn’t dreamed since the night Damien interceded for her, and it was starting to take a toll on her body. The need to dream was almost as vital to her as sleep itself, and yet she had closed off that part of herself as best as she could. But soon, the dreams would come back, like a dam breaking loose. And she had a feeling that when the dreams came, so would the Dark Lady.

  The day moved by slowly. Selene stayed to her room as much as possible so as not to intrude on the sorrow of others. Tomorrow was the public memorial and viewing of Lord Warin. Sometime after that, the talks would begin, but who knew when that would actually start?

  Dinner came and went, a private affair within their room, with quiet conversation between Damien and their small party. The light was gone from Damien’s eyes again.

  Was he feeling Lord Warin’s death just as intensely as he did his own family’s death? After all, their families had been close, and he had experienced the death of his own father only two years ago. He probably understood what the Luceras siblings were going through, while she still felt like a stranger to their grief.

  Selene shook her head as she pulled on her nightgown.

  Damien came in a minute later.

  She finished brushing her hair, then placed the brush on the table. “How is the Luceras family doing?” she asked as she glanced over her shoulder.

  Damien finished changing before he responded. “They’re grieving. Lord Warin had been sick for a while, but I don’t think anyone expected him to pass this soon.”

  She nodded but felt disconnected from his statement. And that disturbed her. She walked toward the bed and pulled the covers back. Why wasn’t she feeling anything? Did she not care? Had her heart slipped back behind iron doors without her knowing?

  Selene blew out her own candle and climbed into bed. The covers were cool to the touch, colder than she was expecting, so she curled into a ball and pulled the blankets tight around her neck. Moments later, the bed moved and she felt Damien crawl in beside her.

  They both lay there quietly. Then Damien moved and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. His breath was warm against the back of her neck, his body like a warming brick, burning away the chill from the bed. He didn’t say anything, just held her.

  Slowly she relaxed in his embrace. Maybe he needed this. Maybe he needed her. She snuggled in closer and closed her eyes. Even if she wasn’t experiencing the same grief he was, she could still comfort him in this small way. If there was one thing she never wanted to lose, it was him.

  Crowds of people spilled into the courtyard and Palace Levellon the next afternoon in order to pay their respect to House Luceras and former Grand Lord Warin. The sun shone as brightly as ever over Lux Casta, and a warm breeze blew through the city.

  Selene held Damien’s hand as they made their way through the crowded halls within the palace and toward the doors to the audience chamber. She caught sight of the scowl on Taegis’s face as he kept close to Damien’s side, his hand no doubt on the hilt of his sword. Karl followed on her right side, his face grim as his eyes moved to and fro across the crowd.

  Once they reached the grand hall, the people stood to either side, allowing the nobles and lesser houses to make their way to the front of the cavernous room. As they walked between the crowds of people, she felt their gazes, felt their questions press against her mind, even as a hush lay over the audience chamber. They were here to mourn their leader, and she was not one of them. Selene’s fingers were cold within Damien’s hold, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of a sudden chill within her or because his hands were always warmer than hers.

  The Luceras siblings stood below the throne where the light from the high windows along the hall converged onto a stone table, leaving a pool of light around the pedestal where Lord Warin lay.

  The chill inside her spread.

  Lady Bryren stood to the right of the pedestal, dressed in leather and linen, next to a gruff-looking man wearing a similar fashion. They both nodded toward Damien and Selene as they took their place beside the couple. There were no tears on the fierce lady’s face, no red eyes or puffy cheeks. Only an intense, solemn look. Was Lady Bryren remembering the death of her own father?

  Damien stood quietly as he looked up at the Luceras family, then back at the body of Lord Warin. There were no tears in his eyes either. The only show of emotion was the way he gripped her hand tighter.

  Time ticked along as the assembly stood quietly within the great hall. Every so often, Lady Adalyn hid her face and dabbed at her eyes. A sliver of pity entered Selene’s heart. She would not want to stand in front of a crowd while grieving for her own father. What were they waiting for? Weren’t they there to say farewell to Lord Warin? It seemed torturous to make the family wait in front of all of these people.

  Selene kept her gaze to the side. She wasn’t ready to look at Lord Warin yet. An undefined fear seemed to hover across her spirit, and she was afraid it would break upon her the moment she finally looked at the body.

  Minutes later, a priest dressed in white crossed the dais and stepped down near Lord Elric to stand before the pedestal. His bald head glistened in the sunlight. He gazed across the room before lifting his hands. Then he spoke, his voice breaking the silence of the room.

  The corner of Selene’s lip lifted in scorn. His words were rote with no heart. Not like the emotions she witnessed when Damien spoke of the Light. It made her wonder if he really followed the Light, or if it was simply a duty to him.

  She tuned the priest out, his voice a buzz inside her ears. Her eyes kept roving back toward the pedestal, but she resisted. She had never seen a dead body in real life, only in dreams. But it was like there was a tether between her and the
body, and before she knew it, her eyes were upon Lord Warin.

  The dead man lay on the stone, dressed in his full regalia of gold and white, with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. His grey hair and beard were combed back. He looked like he was sleeping, save for the pale color of his skin and lips.

  The growing chill inside her swept across her body, as if the claws of death had grabbed her by the throat. She could sense the absence of his soulsphere. All there was before her was an empty shell. There would be no more dreams, no more living for Lord Warin.

  So where was he now? The real Lord Warin? What was on the other side of the veil? Where did the soul go when the body died? Who was there? The Dark Lady? Another shudder rippled down her back as the image of a lady dressed in black filled her mind. Was that who was waiting for her?

  She suddenly realized the priest was reciting the benediction while he made some strange motions with his hands. She let out her breath, ready to leave this place.

  But as the priest walked away, a woman dressed like the priest took his place. Selene clenched her free hand. Would they have to endure more empty words?

  The woman’s white robes rippled across her body as she stood beside the pedestal. Then, with a voice like a clear bell, she began to sing.

  Slowly, Selene unclenched her hand as the song filled her mind. The words were in the old tongue, but she could almost understand them, as if they had been spoken in the modern language.

  The young woman sang of the Light, of that Selene was sure, and it sounded like waterfalls, flowers, and the songs of birds. As if all of life was raising its voice to the Light.

  Like the sun’s rays at the end of a rainstorm, the woman’s song swept away the chill inside of her, leaving behind a tender warmth.

  The song ended on a long, low note. The hall was silent. No one moved, not one word was spoken.

  Selene stood there, spellbound. She wanted to hear that song again, to have it fill her, like the song the people of Nor Esen sang at the Festival of Light.

  The moment was broken by a quiet sob from Lady Adalyn.

  Those around the pedestal stirred and slowly began to move away. The crowd behind them lined up in order to view Lord Warin. Lady Bryren turned and acknowledged Damien and Selene with a tilt of her head before leaving with her consort by her side.

  Damien caught the eye of Lord Leo, while Lady Adalyn hid her face in Lord Elric’s shoulder. Lord Tyrn looked stoically over the crowd. Damien nodded and the oldest Luceras nodded back.

  Then Damien squeezed her hand and turned, leading her out of the grand hall. As they walked back to their room, Selene glanced at Damien. The heaviness that hung across the castle—coupled with the song she had just heard—seemed to have finally penetrated the numbing fog that had shrouded her the past day.

  For the first time, death felt real—more real than it ever did inside the dreamscape. Death came to everyone. And with the conflict coming up, there would be more.

  But perhaps, like the song seemed to indicate, there was light in the darkness of death.

  36

  Here you go.”

  Amara looked up into the face of one of the pilgrims she had joined a couple of days ago on her way to Lux Casta. The young man smiled at her, his eyes twinkling as he handed her a bowl of gruel. Morning sunlight filled the meadow where the small band of pilgrims had stopped the night before. Dew clung to the long green grass. The trees had begun to bud, and birds warbled out their tunes. Spring seemed to arrive earlier here in the hill country compared to the Magyr Mountains.

  Amara took the bowl and almost grunted a reply back, but realized it was not how the pilgrims treated each other, so she put on a smile and said, “Thank you.”

  He seemed to take her answer as an invitation because a minute later, he was sitting beside her with his own bowl of gruel.

  “Name’s Breven. What’s yours?” he said before taking a bite of the grainy cereal.

  “Mara,” Amara replied. It was easier to lie when the lie was close to the truth, something Mother had taught her.

  “I’m from Shanalona, the capital of House Vivek and north of Ironmond. I’ve been on the road for over a month. Started my journey the moment the snow was passable. How about you?”

  Amara paused her spoon before her lips. Not only was she going to have to deal with company, she wasn’t going to be able to eat either. She lowered her spoon and licked her lips while mentally taking a deep breath. “I’m from the Magyr Mountains.”

  “The mountains? Which side?”

  Amara stirred her cereal. “The west.”

  “Then you haven’t been on the road long.”

  “No, I haven’t.” She took a quick bite, hoping the questions would stop.

  “Have you ever been to the Temple of Splendor?”

  “No.”

  “Have you always followed the Light?”

  Amara about choked on her cereal. “No.”

  Breven glanced curiously at her.

  “I’m—uh—new to the order.” Dart’an! What did they call themselves? Followers? Pilgrims? The faithful? Even though she had been with this group for days, she had tuned out most of their words. Breven was the first one to come and chat with her.

  He smiled back, his teeth white against his dark skin. “So am I. I’m glad I’m not the only one. Most everyone here has followed the Old Ways for years and even made multiple trips to Lux Casta.”

  “They have?” Amara looked around at the ragtag group of people with their dark cloaks, worn clothes and boots, and hair cut short as a sign of their pilgrimage. Amara tugged absentmindedly on the tuft of hair that curled below her chin.

  “Was it hard to cut off your hair?”

  Her eyes widened, and she dropped her hand. Breven seemed to have no boundaries to his questions.

  “Yes,” she said and went back to eating.

  Breven tapped his spoon against his bowl. “It was hard for me too.”

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His black hair was less than an inch long around his face. She tried to imagine what his hair was like when it was longer. Probably very curly and handsome. Once again she wondered at the strange traditions of the pilgrims and shook her head.

  Breven seemed content to finally be quiet, and they both finished breakfast in silence. Besides protection against bandits and robbers, at least there was one advantage to traveling with this group: food and someone to cook it. Everybody shared what they had. However, she could do without all the talk about the Light. Then again, it came with the group.

  Days passed. Breven seemed to always make his way to her side, chatting away like the songbirds that filled the trees. The first day, she tried to ignore him, but he never got the hint. The second day, he managed to get her to talk a little. The third day, she actually laughed at one of his stories.

  “So what was your life like back in Shanalona?” Amara asked, finally curious about the young man who seemed insistent on walking with her.

  He shrugged. “Nothing special. I’m the fourth of six children. My father is the curator for one of the libraries, so I grew up always reading. We didn’t have much, but we always had enough. I knew once I turned of age that I wanted to make a pilgrimage to the Temple of Splendor, so I did what I could, picking up jobs here and there until I had enough, then I started walking about a month ago.”

  “Just to see the Temple of Splendor?”

  Breven smiled, which made her heart do a weird flip. “I started following the Light two winters ago. And I want to work in the libraries like my father someday, maybe even handling the history of the Old Ways. But before I begin that part of my life, I wanted to see the Temple of Splendor for myself, the place where the Light first revealed himself.”

  “I . . . see.” She had no idea of the history behind the Temple of Splendor.

  He turned and looked at her. “How about you?”

  She froze. “Well . . . I . . . I wanted to get away. My family life . . . it’s not so go
od. I hope to make a new start in Lux Casta.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but in many ways, it was the truth.

  He nodded slowly. “Many start this journey running away from something. I hope in the end you find something to run toward instead.”

  He flashed her that bright smile again, and for the first time, Amara found herself blushing. Dart’an! She needed to guard herself before she found herself falling for his sweet personality and this Light he followed.

  A few days later, Amara finished up her breakfast and washed out her bowl the best she could before returning it to Hari, the eldest pilgrim and the one who made them breakfast every morning.

  “Thank you for the food,” she said as she handed him the bowl. After so long on the road, she was getting used to this role of a pilgrim. In a way, it allowed her to pretend to be someone else.

  Do I want to be someone else?

  “My pleasure.” His smile made the wrinkles across his face crease even deeper. Then he returned to putting out the fire beneath the black pot.

  Amara brought her mind back. “How long before we reach Lux Casta?”

  “We’re almost there. The weather is nice, so I’d say we should arrive by noon.”

  So close. Only hours away. And then she would no longer be a pilgrim but a dreamkiller on a mission. Her first step in becoming grand lady of House Ravenwood.

  Amara turned away and pulled her cloak close to her body. So why did she suddenly feel so torn?

  The sun reached its peak as the small group crested the last hill and the city of Lux Casta came into full view. Behind and to the right of the city, blue water stretched out to the horizon, and to the left were the rolling hills of Serine. White birds flew over the orange-tiled homes. The few people she could see beyond the walls were no bigger than a finger from this high up.