Mark of the Raven Read online

  Selene went into the nearest cavern, a small one, where black clothes were laid out on a slab of rock. Quickly, she changed out of her blue gown and into the loose-fitting clothes, then grabbed the set of swords that hung on the wall behind the slab of stone, one sword slightly longer than the other.

  She headed for the larger room. The noise in the main cavern had stopped. As she approached, she spotted Amara standing in the archway that led into the training room, her sword hanging at her side, her face glistening with sweat.

  “Selene,” Amara said with a slight lift of her chin.

  “Amara,” Selene answered, preparing for the verbal barrage.

  “So did it happen?” There was no excitement in Amara’s voice, no congratulations. Instead, years of contention were vivid across her face.

  As Selene stared at her younger sister, she wished at that moment they were closer, with the kind of relationship where she could share what the gifting had felt like, and her apprehension about this evening and what Mother was going to teach her. But Amara would not have it.

  “Yes.” Selene let a cold mask fall across her features, her defense mechanism against Amara’s heated jealousy.

  “And . . . what was it like?” A small flame of curiosity sparked in her eyes.

  Selene readjusted her grip on her swords. “It was just as Mother said it would be: intense and painful.”

  Amara’s lips curved upward as if savoring Selene’s words. “Painful, was it?” Then her face went back to its hard features. “Will you start dreamwalking tonight?”

  “Yes.” Selene’s stomach tightened at the thought.

  Amara watched her with keen eyes, but Selene’s face revealed no indication of her apprehension. After a moment, Amara’s face turned sullen and she spun around and headed back into the main room.

  Selene dropped her shoulders. She wished again that Amara’s gifting had come first; maybe then it would have brought them together instead of driving them further apart.

  The cavern was set up much like the training grounds in the barracks. Torches cast an orange light across the stone walls. Straw-stuffed dummies were propped up, some showing more wear than others. A table sat in the back with leather whips, swords and knives of different sizes, and a set of brass knuckles her great-grandmother had wielded.

  Selene preferred her own twin blades, employing the ancient dual-blade technique that Rabanna had brought back from the Dominia Empire and improved upon for House Ravenwood’s own use.

  Amara swung at one of the more worn dummies with her single blade, her hair swishing around her face. Selene watched her sister. Their fighting styles were different. Amara attacked with passion and ferocity, while Selene’s own style was more of a calculated dance. For a brief moment, she wondered what their little sister Opheliana would be like when she grew older. The youngest Ravenwood had come as a surprise to her parents. And knowing how much they detested each other, Selene sometimes wondered how another daughter had come to be.

  Selene headed across the room from Amara toward her own dummy and raised her blades to begin her exercises. Maybe she would drop by the nursery later to see Ophie. The nursemaid had said she was showing signs of talking soon. Selene hoped so. With each passing year, whispers were spreading around the castle that something was wrong with Opheliana, that the youngest Ravenwood female was cursed. Maybe Selene could coax some words out of her little sister. The thought brought a small smile to her lips.

  Selene paused an hour later, her blades in the air, and glanced over at the stone archway nearby. Lady Ragna Ravenwood stood in the doorway, dressed in the same dark, loose-fitting clothing Selene and Amara wore. Her black hair was pulled back into a single braid, with only a sprinkling of grey amongst the dark strands.

  Selene lowered her blades and walked over. “Mother,” she said with a slight bow.

  “Selene.”

  Mother turned around and started down the tunnel. “Walk with me, Selene.”

  Selene caught sight of Amara’s hurt features before she turned and joined her mother. A sliver of pity entered her heart for her sister. Mother could have at least acknowledged Amara.

  Their soft-skin boots barely whispered across the stone floor as the two ladies headed down the tunnel. “I had business with House Friere this morning, or else I would have been here earlier,” her mother said, her voice echoing across the walls. “However, the news is in our favor. Someone within House Friere is interested in engaging our services.”

  Never had Mother spoken openly about the family business before. Unease spread through Selene.

  “It is good that you will be dreamwalking tonight and testing out your gift. Soon I will be needing your abilities.”

  Mother’s words echoed inside her mind and made her stomach churn. However, she answered in a clear voice. “Yes, Mother.”

  Her mother stopped and looked at her. “The coffers are running low and the silver mines in the south have not produced as much as we had hoped. Therefore, it falls on us again to provide for our people.” Over and over again, as long as she could remember, it had been drilled into Selene that their people came first—by whatever means necessary. The torchlight along the walls sharpened her mother’s features. Her ebony eyes bore into Selene. “You must learn quickly if you are to help our people.”

  Her throat tightened. “I understand.”

  Mother nodded. “I look forward to seeing what you are capable of.”

  What she was capable of? Selene hardly knew herself. Once again, the weight of who she was sank into her soul. Her family’s future—and that of all the mountain people—rested on her gift. The very thought brought on a sudden wave of dizziness.

  Mother didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she glanced down the tunnel where the faint sounds of Amara’s training echoed. “No more training today. You will need your rest for this evening. When the moon rises, meet me in the upper room. In the meantime, I will work with your sister.”

  Selene bowed once more, then left her mother standing in the tunnel. Amara would be pleased to have their mother to herself this morning. Selene might have the stronger gifting, but Amara had passion, something Mother did not seem to realize.

  After sponging off the sweat from her workout and changing back into her gown, Selene made her way up the narrow passage and back into Rook Castle. In some ways, the split between castle and tunnels mirrored her own life: upstairs where she lived out her public life as Lady Selene Ravenwood, and down in the tunnels where privately she trained as the next heir to House Ravenwood.

  What would it be like to just have one life? To simply be a lady of a Great House, where her only occupation would be an education in politics, the running of a household, and preparing for a future marriage alliance with another house?

  Selene entered the small sitting room and pressed her fingers into the three indents, closing the secret door behind her. She looked around the sitting room, noting the thin layer of dust across the high-back chairs and the empty fireplace.

  Was that what life was like for the ladies of the other Great Houses? Did Lady Adalyn Luceras sit every morning and work on a tapestry? Did Lady Ayaka Rafel meet with the steward to go over that day’s procedures?

  Selene left the sitting room and headed to the library to continue her studies of the seven Great Houses, knowledge she would need to have when she took over House Ravenwood as grand lady someday.

  Every house had their secrets—secrets bound by blood or by marriage. The only people who knew of the Ravenwood gift of dreamwalking were the Ravenwood women, their consorts, and whomever the grand lady of Ravenwood told. The rest of the family was bound to silence, willingly or unwillingly.

  When she was young, she had tried to explain the gifting to her nursemaid, but instead of speaking, she had stood there with her mouth open and no sound. Later, Father had explained to her that only the head of a Great House could speak of the house secrets.

  “But what about you, Father? Why can I speak to you about
it? You’re not a Ravenwood.”

  Father sighed and placed his book down on the small side table. “Because I am bound to your mother through marriage. When the words of bonding are spoken, all family secrets between the man and the woman are revealed. That is why many times those of a Great House choose to marry someone from a lesser house, to keep those secrets from the other Great Houses.”

  Selene wrinkled her face. “So, when you and Mother married, you found out about our gift?”

  “Yes, the moment I spoke the words of rite while holding your mother’s hands.”

  “And what did you think?”

  Her father looked out the window nearby at the craggy peaks of the Magyr Mountains. “I—like most people—had believed the gift of dreaming had died out. It was a shock to find out the gift of the dreamer still existed. The women of Ravenwood have hidden their gift well for many years.”

  “But you can never tell anyone.”

  “No, I cannot. It is not my secret to tell.”

  “And that’s why Mother married you, because you were from a lesser house.”

  He turned back, his face impassive. “Yes.”

  “Will I be forced to marry someone from a lesser house someday?”

  “Most likely. As heir of Ravenwood, someday the house secret will become yours.”

  “But what if I married someone from one of the Great Houses?”

  Her father shook his head. “Your mother would never let that happen.”

  “But what if I did?”

  “Then one of the Great Houses would know your secret.”

  “And I would know theirs.”

  Her father laughed. “Most of the Great House gifts are known, and most of them have grown weak over the centuries.”

  Selene cocked her head to the side. “Or so we think.”

  Her father sobered and nodded. “Yes, you are right. It was not supposed to be like this when the gifts were bestowed upon the seven Great Houses. The houses were given these gifts to help their people work together for the good of all. Sadly, greed, ambition, and pride fractured the unity between the houses.”

  “Do you think there could be unity again someday?”

  He stood up from his chair. “I hope so, Selene. I hope so.”

  Selene opened the door to the library, the memory of that day fading away as she entered. Since then, Father no longer answered her questions, almost as if he had been silenced in the same way she could not speak of the family gift.

  She sighed and closed the door behind her. Rows and rows of shelves lined either side of the long, narrow room. Leather-bound books and tomes dating from the first grand lady of Ravenwood lined the bookcases. The faint smell of dust, smoke from an old fire, and aging paper filled the room.

  She glanced at the empty chair in the far corner, right next to the set of windows that looked out onto the Magyr Mountains. She missed those conversations with her father.

  “Preparation must be done before you dreamwalk.” Lady Ragna stood in the darkest corner of the hallway where the moonlight could not reach. “You must study the sleeper, use the skills you’ve developed to infiltrate his or her room, move in complete silence. But none of this matters if the sleeper awakens. That is why you must also be aware of your surroundings while inside the dream.”

  Selene stood beside her mother, dressed all in black, her long hair pulled back in a braid that hung down to her waist. “And how do I do that?”

  “Being in the dreamscape is like being underwater. You are moving, hearing, feeling the water, but you are still aware of what is happening on the surface. Same with the dream world. You will be inside the dreamscape—hearing, feeling, experiencing the dream of the sleeper—but you must also be aware of your surroundings outside the dream. To make tonight’s visit simple, I placed a sleeping draught inside Petur’s drink. When on a mission, this isn’t always possible, which is why you mustn’t rely on sleeping herbs but rather be vigilant, both inside and outside the dream.”

  Her mother’s explanation somewhat made sense. Hopefully she would understand more once she was inside the dream. “We are entering the gardener’s dreams? Why him?”

  “He has a tragic past, one that will be easy to manipulate for your first dreamwalk.”

  Manipulate? Selene crossed her arms, an empty feeling expanding inside her stomach. What did that mean?

  “And remember, do not dreamwalk in your human form.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Although how exactly she was going to change form, she wasn’t sure. Mother had explained the basics of dreamwalking when her training had first started, but hearing about it and actually doing it were two different things.

  “One more thing. It can be difficult to enter a dream the first time.”

  Selene looked up.

  “Dreamwalking is entering the river of consciousness inside another person. And much like a real river, entering and navigating a flowing stream can be difficult at first.”

  “Are some people’s dreams more difficult to enter than others?”

  “Yes.”

  Selene waited, but her mother did not elaborate, tapping her fingers across her forearms in unease. Minutes ticked by as the moonlight moved across the floor beneath a nearby window.

  “It is time.” Without waiting for Selene, her mother moved along the hallway like a shadowy apparition, blending in with the darkness of the night.

  Selene followed, her footsteps as silent as her mother’s. Down to the first floor they went, and then outside through the servants’ courtyard. After checking for anyone about, they headed to the other end of the courtyard. At the corner, they turned left and went toward one of the doors that lined the square.

  Her mother stopped at the farthest one. She glanced around, then quietly opened the door.

  The door gave a small creak. Selene held her breath, but nothing moved. They both entered the small dwelling. The one-room home was barely half the size of one of the bedchambers inside the castle. A table sat against the wall, next to a small fireplace. There were no personal items, no handmade touches, no flowers or herbs hanging from the rafters, not even a rug on the floor. The place was as bare as a dungeon cell.

  Next to the fireplace was a sleeping mat with a figure slumbering away beneath a threadbare blanket.

  An ache filled Selene’s throat. She had known Petur for as long as she could remember. The old, scarred man tended the herb and flower garden on the other side of Rook Castle. He had a gift for coaxing bright and colorful plants out of the cold, hard Magyr Mountains. Once he had given her one of the mountain daisies from the garden when he caught her watching him. She had kept that flower in her room long after it had wilted and died.

  Selene approached his slumbering form and knelt down beside her mother. He looked so frail and small on his sleeping mat. And his room . . .

  She looked around again and felt a pang in her heart. There was no warmth here, no love. Not even a flower. Why?

  “You must make skin contact in order to enter his dreams,” her mother whispered.

  Selene turned her attention back to Petur.

  “It doesn’t matter where. You just need a point of contact between your skin and his.” She nodded to herself. “His arm will do.”

  Selene spotted one of his arms sticking outside the blanket. He wore a loose tunic, leaving his wrist and forearm exposed.

  “Are you ready?” There was an eager glint in her mother’s dark eyes.

  Selene forced her body to relax and took a breath. Now to see if she was truly as gifted as her mother believed her to be. She reached over and held her hand over Petur’s arm. He slept on, oblivious to the two women at his side. Her fingers tingled, and her heart beat faster.

  Then she clamped her fingers around his forearm.

  3

  Mother said the first time would be the hardest.

  She was wrong.

  Selene slipped into the dreamscape the moment her fingers touched Petur’s bare arm, as if she were subme
rging herself into one of the hot springs hidden beneath Rook Castle. As she passed into the dream world, she imagined one of the ravens used as couriers for House Ravenwood. In response, her body began to change. Her neck elongated while her back arched. Her arms and fingers grew longer as black feathers sprouted along her body. Her legs shortened and her head changed. Within seconds, she gave out a caw and flapped her wings.

  She blinked her eyes. She felt the same and yet different. She tested her wings—such a strange sensation. And she knew what to do next, as if she had always been a raven. With a flap of her wings, she lifted up from the ground and rose above Petur’s dreamscape.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still sense the small one-room cabin, and where her fingers were wrapped around Petur’s forearm, but it was just as Mother had said: like being underwater, barely aware of what was happening on the surface.

  She looked around the dreamscape as she flew. She had expected some sort of color, perhaps faded like an old tapestry left in the sunlight, but color nevertheless. However, only a forest of black, grey, and white spread out beneath her. Tall, bare oak trees were scattered as far as the eye could see, save for one bare spot in the middle of the black forest.

  Selene pumped her wings and glided along the wind toward the open area in the middle of the trees. As she drew closer, she spotted a cabin in the midst of the bare area. It was old and decrepit, with the thatched roof in disrepair and gaps between the hay.

  She circled down and landed on one of the branches of a nearby oak tree and scanned the area until she spotted Petur. The old man stood silently beyond the tree line. At first he seemed surprised to find himself in this place. Then the surprised look morphed into shock as he took in the old cabin. He grabbed his chest with a clawlike grip and took a step back. “No,” he moaned. “Not this . . .”

  Selene looked around again, then watched Petur with a furrowed brow. Whatever Petur’s past, it had to do with the decrepit cabin. Selene shifted her claws across the branch, her small body filling with unease.