Flight of the Raven Read online

“Amazing,” Breven said, coming to stand beside Amara. She silently agreed with the young man.

  A fresh wind blew across the company, tugging at the auburn curls around her face and cloak. Ironmond, the capital of House Friere, looked exactly like it sounded: a fortification of iron and stone. Part of her was expecting Lux Casta to be the same, a stronghold of sorts for the family of Light. Instead, with all of the white buildings and walls, the city itself seemed to be light. Except for one thing. Black banners flew across the ramparts and from the castle in the midst of the city.

  “Black standards,” someone murmured. “What does that mean?”

  Hari came forward. His grey brows creased as he looked down on the city. “Someone important has died.”

  “Died?” another person said. “Who?”

  “Most likely someone from House Luceras,” he replied.

  “I heard Grand Lord Warin has been sick for a while,” a woman said behind them.

  “If it is Grand Lord Warin, then that would be sad news indeed. I suspect we will find out once we reach the city.” Hari hefted his pack, his pot swinging from the corner, and started down the path that led toward Lux Casta.

  Grand Lord Warin Luceras? Dead? That could work to her advantage. Many houses held the tradition of allowing their people to view their lord or lady before the body was put to rest or burned. She had been Opheliana’s age when her own grandmother, Lady Sunna, passed away, and she remembered how crowded Rook Castle became during her grandmother’s viewing. If House Luceras operated the same way, then Lord Warin’s death could give her a way into the palace—not to mention the chaos it would cause as House Luceras crowned a new leader.

  It was almost as if the Dark Lady was smiling on her plans. Almost. Not that she wanted anything to do with the Dark Lady.

  A hush seemed to lie across the city as the pilgrims arrived at the gates. Guards met them at the entryway, dressed in chainmail and white tabards. “Are you pilgrims on your way to the Temple of Splendor?” the closest guard asked.

  Hari stepped forward, his pot rattling as he moved. “Yes, we are. Many of us have been traveling for weeks, or even months.”

  The second guard stepped forward and held his spear at his side. “You are welcome to Lux Casta.”

  “May I ask what the black standards are for?”

  Amara leaned in to hear more clearly.

  “Our lord passed away early yesterday morning.”

  “Grand Lord Warin Luceras?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid you came at a mournful time.”

  Hari bowed his head, along with many of the others. “We are sorry to hear that. We will lift up prayers for House Luceras and Lux Casta.”

  The two guards stepped back to let the pilgrims inside the gates. “You will find the temple near Palace Levellon. Follow this street through the city until you reach the middle.”

  Amara readjusted the satchel across her body as she followed the other pilgrims into Lux Casta. There were hardly any people out on the streets, and the few they met were dressed in black and barely said a word to them.

  The city itself was at least three times as big as Rook Castle, with shops and smiths of every kind. The air was warm and filled with the scent of budding flowers and baking bread, a contrast to the sober state of the people.

  Hari led the small group along the cobblestone road that ran in a circular motion around the city. They passed two lower walls and gates before he took a left and headed inward toward the middle of the city, where high above the green trees and orange-tiled roofs stood Palace Levellon.

  Amara stared at the palace for a moment before continuing on. It was a lovely building, with its white towers, glittering gold ornaments, and arched windows. But if she had to choose between Palace Levellon and Rook Castle, she would take Rook Castle. Despite all of the bad memories, there was a sense of freedom and ancient power within the grey stone of the Magyr Mountain castle.

  At the next corner, a gasp went up from the people in the front of the group. Amara craned her neck to see what had caused their response, then felt a gasp escape her own lips.

  Ahead, with the palace on the right, stood the Temple of Splendor.

  The entire building was made of white stone and stood three stories high, with buttresses along the sides. Wide steps led up to a portico lined with thick, ornate columns. Above the massive double doors was a circular window made of colored glass in the shape of a brilliant sun. An internal light glowed from within the temple, radiating through the glass sun and spreading rays of orange, red, and yellow across the steps, as if the sun itself was shining through the stained-glass window.

  There were more gasps and whispers at the sight. Even Amara felt her heart taken in by the beauty of the temple.

  “I can see why it’s called the Temple of Splendor,” Breven said beside her.

  Amara could only nod. Everything about the temple was opposite of the Dark Lady’s sanctuary back home.

  As the group of pilgrims approached the temple, the doors opened and two women dressed in white robes stepped out onto the portico.

  “Welcome, pilgrims,” said the first woman. “We are humble servants of the Temple of Splendor. I’m afraid you have arrived during a sorrowful time in our city. Grand Lord Warin Luceras has passed away, and our people are in mourning. However, our temple is always open to the seekers. We will have limited prayers tomorrow in his honor. In the meantime, you can find food and shelter at an inn nearby that serves those who have come to reflect at the Temple of Splendor. Come, we will show you.” The two ladies stepped down the stairs and headed to the right. A two-story building stood near the temple, not as ostentatious, but the architecture was similar.

  Amara followed the others inside. There was a small common room on the first floor. A handful of people sat at a long, rough wooden table, eating from wooden bowls and drinking from wooden cups. Smoke lingered in the air from a pipe. Stairs on the right led up to the second floor.

  A tall, lean man with stringy grey hair approached the party with a dish towel in one hand. “Pilgrims?”

  “Yes,” replied Hari.

  “I have two rooms available with ten beds in each. You’ll have to share. Many hill country citizens are starting to arrive for the viewing of Grand Lord Warin, so there’s limited space.”

  Amara looked around. Between the party, both rooms would be filled. “How much for a bed?” one of the men asked.

  “Ten copper coins.”

  “Do you have separate rooms for the men and women?”

  “No, I treat all pilgrims the same.”

  A few of the women shifted uncomfortably as everyone reached for their pouches. She had no problem sharing a room with the men—not that she would be using the bed much. If any man stepped out of line, she had a dagger strapped to her side and another one in her boot. And there was always her sword.

  The innkeeper’s eyes gleamed as the pilgrims placed the coins in his outstretched hand. Amara curled her lip as she waited to give him her own coins. It only took one glance to see the innkeeper cared nothing for the pilgrims, just for the money.

  Typical.

  After everyone had paid the innkeeper, he led them upstairs, the coins jingling in the pouch around his waist. There were multiple doors along the second floor. Within each room five beds lined the walls on either side, with a window at the end.

  Compared to the beauty and splendor of the temple, these accommodations were plain. It almost seemed as if the dichotomy was purposeful, to remind the pilgrims of who they were compared to the temple. It rubbed Amara the wrong way.

  “These are the empty rooms,” the innkeeper said, pointing at the two doors at the end of the corridor. “Choose whatever bed you like. Soup will be served this evening for another copper coin.”

  After the innkeeper left, the pilgrims scattered between the two rooms. Amara chose a bed closest to the door, so as to have easy access to and from the room during her mission. The women took most of the other beds in the r
oom, but she did spot Breven taking the bed across from her.

  He saw her glance up and cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m used to sharing a room with my siblings and wanted to keep an eye on you. That is . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks darkened. “What I mean is that even in Lux Casta there are scoundrels.” He laughed nervously. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  When was the last time she had met such a decent young man? Lord Raoul Friere, although a lord of a Great House, did not compare to the simple pilgrim across from her.

  Remember who you are, and why you are here.

  Amara shook her head and placed her pack on the bed. “I don’t mind,” she said without looking up.

  She had a limited window of time to form a plan and to gain as much information as she could, including finding out if House Maris had arrived yet. This was not the occasion to be swayed by dark eyes and a warm heart. If any questions arose about her comings and goings from the inn, she could claim she was praying and reflecting. And the viewing would give her access to the palace.

  Breven let out a tired sigh as Amara pulled a toy from her pack. It was a tiny bird whittled out of wood and painted red. Opheliana had given it to her before she left.

  She gripped the toy in one hand and closed her eyes. No matter what happened, no matter what it took, she needed to accomplish her mission and return home. Nothing could dissuade her from her purpose here. Everything she was doing was for one reason only.

  For the sake of her little sister.

  37

  An hour later, Amara watched the crowds gather outside the gates of Palace Levellon. There would be three days of this. Three days where the palace would be open for the people to view their lord. Three days for her to study the palace and the guards, discover the whereabouts of Lord Damien, and plan her attack.

  Grand Lord Warin’s death couldn’t have come at a better time.

  She leaned against the wall of a shop right outside the palace gates with her arms crossed. The overhang from the shop offered some shade, but not much. The one benefit to having her hair cut short was the feel of the afternoon breeze along her neck and through her curls.

  Every few minutes, someone would glance her way, their gaze darting to her hair, then away. The corner of her lip quirked upward. Make that two benefits to having short hair. She didn’t have to explain who she was. People simply assumed she was a pilgrim here to visit the Temple of Splendor. As much as she hated to admit it, her mother had been right about this disguise. It was perfect.

  From here, she studied as much as she could of the palace, then eased into the crowd as a bell rang. The service for House Luceras and the lesser houses had finished, and now the three-day viewing would begin for the masses. She hoped to catch a glimpse of the houses in attendance to confirm House Maris was here. If not, she would have to resort to other ways of finding out, but a glimpse would be the best.

  A bell rang again, and the gates slowly opened. The crowd surged forward. Amara partly wondered if some of the people gathered were more interested in seeing Palace Levellon than actually seeing their lord. There seemed to be more excitement than a body viewing would generate.

  Amara flowed in through the gate with the crowd into an expansive courtyard surrounded by manicured lawns, blooming flowers, and green trees. The air was filled with a heady floral scent. Servants and guards ushered the people along in a barely controlled manner. Rook Castle had been crowded when her grandmother died, but nothing like this.

  Amara took everything in as she walked along the perimeter of the crowd: from the trees and waterway, to the other buildings that surrounded the palace, to the palace itself, noting the architecture and window style, should she need to climb.

  At the front doors, the crowd narrowed and slowed down. A line was formed, one for allowing people entrance into the palace, one for the exit. Guards stood at the doors and along the hallway inside, at least from what she could see from where she stood.

  Amara sighed and waited her turn to enter. Time passed, and the crowd shuffled forward. The fountain splashed, a pleasant sound amidst the talk of the people. The sun moved overhead, momentarily blocked by a cloud, then reappeared.

  Then it was her turn to enter.

  She stepped past the guards into a vast entryway. Everything was white, from the walls to the floor to the formal attire worn by the guards. The only color was from stained-glass windows high above, with images of previous lords and ladies of House Luceras etched in the glass.

  People whispered and pointed at the glass. Yes, she was right. They were here partly to catch a glimpse of Palace Levellon.

  It was a short walk from the entryway, down a wide corridor, to the main audience chamber. Just as the crowd reached the doors, three guards stepped in front of the people and held out their arms. Behind them, men and women dressed in lavish dark clothing exited the chamber.

  Amara craned her neck to catch a glimpse of those exiting as she pressed her back against the wall in order not to be jostled. There were at least twenty people between her and the guards, but she could still see who was leaving.

  She went up on her tiptoes to get a better view. It looked like the people departing the hall were members of lesser houses taking their leave from the viewing.

  Then someone caught her eye. A woman with long black hair with a blue sheen to it.

  Her body stiffened and a tingling spread across her limbs.

  Selene.

  Her traitorous sister who ran off, leaving her to pick up the mess Selene left behind. To try to fulfill their mother’s demands. To protect their little sister, Opheliana.

  Anger, jealousy, and hatred twisted like snakes inside her gut as she watched her sister exit the audience chamber. Amara clenched her hands, her chest so tight she couldn’t breathe. She could barely keep her eyes on her sister as a red haze filled her vision.

  No, I will not lose control.

  She took a deep breath in, loosening her hands one finger at a time. Then she noticed the man walking beside Selene as they turned and headed down the corridor in the opposite direction of the crowd. Dark hair, slightly taller than Selene, dressed in the blue colors of House Maris.

  Her target: Lord Damien.

  She stared at him, her jaw set. He was here. The one man who could solidify her position with her mother and House Ravenwood. All she needed to do now was take the next two days to plan out her attack.

  Lord Damien and Selene disappeared. Amara sank back down onto her feet, her mind coming back to the present. A man stumbled sideways and bumped into her.

  “Pardon me,” he muttered.

  Amara ignored him. She was already creating a mental list of everything she would need to know in order to pull off her first mission: where Lord Damien was staying, who else was with him, the best way to access his room, his habits, the ins and outs of the palace, and the security and guard rotation of Palace Levellon. She was thankful for the small map her mother had drawn from her memories of Palace Levellon, one less thing she would need to study.

  Amara didn’t have much time, but with her skills and resources, she felt confident of forming a plan. And when the moment presented itself, she would strike.

  38

  Morning broke the next day in an array of light. Selene watched the sun’s rays move across the stone floor from the large windows across the room from her pillow.

  Damien shifted beside her. Moments later, he kissed the back of her head. “I’m going to support the Luceras family today in any way I can,” he said. “Would you like to go with me?”

  Selene stiffened. “I’m not sure how much help I would be. They barely know me. Perhaps it’s better if you go alone, since you’ve known them from childhood.” And I would have no idea what to say or do.

  “I understand.” He sat up, pulling the covers with him and letting the cold air in.

  Selene shivered, having half a mind to pull the blankets back and stay where she was. Another dreamless n
ight had left her body fatigued. But if Damien could get up and help others, then she could at least get up.

  By the time she had dressed, the chill in the air had turned to a warmer temperature. Damien placed a sleeveless jacket over his black tunic, closed the wooden chest, and looked up at her. The dark tunic matched his hair and caused his eyes to appear even more brilliantly blue in the morning light, sending a flutter across her heart. She would never tire of those eyes.

  He walked over to her and held out his hand. “I thought we could break our fast together in the common room before I go.”

  Selene tugged on a lock of hair. “I haven’t done my hair yet.”

  “Then let me.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “You?”

  He smiled back. “Yes.”

  Before she could answer, he crossed the bedchamber, picked up the brush she had left on the desk the night before, then approached her again.

  Selene blinked and turned around. She had decided not to bring Essa on this trip, as there was no reason to bring the young woman on such a long journey when she could take care of herself. Could Damien really do any better?

  He brushed out the long black strands, then pulled all of her hair back and began to braid it. “When my mother was sick, I took care of her hair every morning.”

  “Why didn’t her maidservant do it?”

  “Many of the servants, including her servant Breta, came down with the plague. There were only a few of us healthy enough to do anything. It was a way I could serve my mother. By braiding her hair every morning.”

  A lump formed in Selene’s throat. What had Damien’s mother been like that would compel such a loving gesture from her son? Part of her wished she could have known his family.

  She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his fingers as he tugged and pulled the strands together. There was something intimate about having her husband do her hair, and it sent another flutter through her heart.

  “There,” he said a minute later. “Do you have a ribbon to tie it off?”

  Selene handed him the thin black piece of satin, then glanced at one of the windows at her reflection. It was a simple hairdo, but she felt like a queen. “Thank you,” she said, her voice full of emotion.