Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) (17 page)
He inclined his head. “Is that all, highness? I have duties.”
She gestured in the direction of the scribe chambers. “May I walk with you?”
“What about the kirons?”
“The servants will care for them. They can wait.”
He hesitated. “I’m going to visit the sayas. I may be a while.”
“So early?”
He took a long breath. “I don’t want the king to know that I visit them.”
She blinked. “Are they well? What are you—”
“They’re well,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “But you can’t say anything to the king about what you see. Do I have your word?”
She hesitated for a long moment.
This is a good man. This man is better than the king he serves.
She finally nodded. “Very well. You have my word.”
With justice, mercy.
With death, life.
With the raven, the dove.
Balance arrives in the place with no law.
— Songs of King Aiden, Book 15, Verse 3
The great expanse of the Wilds stretched before Connor and Mairead as they rode at a steady pace past small homesteads and through deep forest. Rain muddied the road with a nearly continuous downpour for two weeks after they left Keely’s village in the night. The rough weather made travel difficult and cold, but it kept thieves and brigands away. “It’s a two-edged sword,” Connor told Mairead. “Thieves are lazy, so they stay out of the rain. We’re miserable and they’re warm, but at least we don’t have to fight them.”
To her credit, Mairead didn’t complain. “I think I like the rain,” she announced one night as it hammered the small lean-to he’d fashioned to keep them dry.
“Liar.”
She laughed. “If I keep saying it, I might start to believe it.”
“Are you warm enough?”
“I’m all right.”
“On the other side of the Wilds there’s a fair-sized city called Leiden. A lot of merchants and traders and freelances stop there. It’s the only real city between the Wilds and slaving territory. We can stop there, find an inn, and warm up.”
“Is there nothing between here and Leiden?”
“Not much.”
She was quiet for a moment. “How did he know we would go there?”
“Who?”
“The one who’s tracking us. How did he know we’d go to that tavern in that village?”
He turned his head toward her. “I wondered that, too.”
“Perhaps it doesn’t matter where we stop—perhaps he knows where we are right now. He knew where we were after Aileen and Donal’s house, and he knew where to send the Taurins.” She turned to him. “How do we fight that?”
Her eyes really are pretty.
He rolled away. “Get some sleep.”
They slept close to each other that night, wrapped in separate blankets, their small fire smoking and sputtering nearby. When Connor woke in the morning, his arm was draped over Mairead’s waist, and she was curled up close to his chest.
She smells like fresh rain. I just smell like wet horse.
“Mairead.”
“Hmm?”
“Time to ride.”
She opened her eyes, saw where she lay, and scrambled to sitting. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what—” Her face turned crimson. “You must think I’m no better than—” She bit off the words.
“I thought you were cold, that’s all.
It was an arm, Mairead. Nothing more. Your honor is still intact.”
She crawled out of the lean-to. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute. I need to say prayers.”
He wondered how much supplication it would take until her god forgave her for being cold enough to curl up next to him.
Three nights later, they sat huddled separately in a small grove. The trees sheltered them from the worst of the rain, but their wool cloaks were soaked, and they struggled to keep the fire burning all night. Mairead sat with her knees to her chin against a tree trunk, shivering and sniffling, a steaming cup of tea in her hands.
Connor inched closer to her. “Tea not helping?”
“Not much.”
“Let me put an arm around you.”
“No, I’m all right.”
“You’re not all right. You’re teeth are chattering, and you’re nearly in tears.”
She wiped her nose on her cloak. “If I weren’t so wet, I could tolerate the temperature. I just feel like I’ll never be warm again.”
He wrapped his cloak around her and pulled the blankets over both of them. She tensed at first, but as he rubbed warmth into her back and arms, she started to relax. She sighed against his chest. “I shouldn’t do this. It’s not proper,” she said.
“Would you rather catch a chill and end up waylaid for the winter?” He put his other arm around her. Her shivering slowed. “I’ve seen men die from consuming coughs and fevers, and I don’t want history to remember me as the man who let the Taurin heir die.”
Mairead laughed. “Then I suppose I will suffer your arm around me.”
He grinned. “And I suppose I’ll suffer a pretty girl next to me. The sacrifices I make for my job.”
She laughed again.
The next day, the rain started to ebb and the temperature rose a bit. When Connor smelled a distant cook fire, he directed Mairead off the road. They followed a narrow, barely visible path through thick brush to a grove deep in the trees. A few goats bleated in surprise, and a man emerged from the house with a bow drawn and aimed at Connor. Connor held up his hands and offered to pay for a warm meal and a dry bed, and the man lowered his bow and gestured them to a shabby outbuilding with only three sides. “At least it’s dry,” Mairead said.
They tied the horses to one end of the shed and went to the woodsman’s house. He was a gruff man in middle years with little to call his own, but he’d cooked a thick stew for his supper, and he was willing to share for the coins Connor dropped on his table. When Connor brought out his skin of oiska, the man gave them a brown-toothed grin and suddenly offered Mairead a shabby fur. She tried to refuse, but Connor gave the man another coin and poured oiska into a worn clay cup, and the man draped the old pelt over Mairead’s shoulder.
When she settled onto her straw bed later, Connor spread the pelt over her. “It’s not what the noble ladies in Torlach are wearing, and it stinks like dead mice, but at least it will keep you warm,” Connor said. He moved away to sleep at the other side of the pile of straw. When he rolled away from her, he could still feel her eyes on his back.
The rain held off for the next several days, despite the overcast skies. They finally crested a hill and broke through the line of trees that marked the northern edge of the Wilds. Connor pointed to the labyrinthine sprawl below. “That’s Leiden. They say it’s the oldest city in Culidar. I’ve heard there’s a well in the center of the city that dates back to when the Western Lands were united.”
“How many times have you been here?”
“Dozens, years ago. I used to pick up work here. I ran a lot of these northern routes back and forth until I started getting more work in the south.” He dismounted. “We can’t make it to the gates before they close at sunset. We’ll have to wait until morning.”
They built a fire and ate, and she retreated to say her evening prayers. He stirred the fire with idle distraction as she returned to sit across from him. “Your face is always peaceful when you finish praying,” he said.
“I know it’s a nuisance to you, but it centers me on what’s important. It helps me remember to be thankful.”
“Some would say you have few reasons to be thankful right now.”
She blinked, surprised. “How? I have my life, for one thing. Some of the sayas cannot say the same. I’m healthy and safe.” She gestured at the sky. “It’s finally dry and not too cold. We had apples and salted meat for supper, and you made that delicious flatbread. Don’t you have any faith in anything?”
“I have faith in myself. When I rely on myself, everything is perfect.”
She said nothing.
The silence pressed on him like a pebble in his boot. “I used to pray, but I don’t see the point,” he finally said. “The gods, the earth, Alshada—they do what they want and I do what I want. My prayers can’t change anything.”
She worked her hair free of its braid. “What about the ravenmark?”
“What about it?”
“Don’t you think it came from Alshada? Don’t you think there’s a purpose for it?”
“I don’t know.” He thought. “I’ve seen the earth magic. I know it’s real. There’s more to it than just the Morrag. The tribes say that when the chaos grows strong enough on Taura, the Forbidden will return to power and the earth magic will rise to seek vengeance.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tasted the earth magic when I’ve hunted with the tribes. And after what we’ve already heard and seen on this journey, I believe more and more that the Forbidden are coming out of hiding. But still, it seems like a leap of faith, and I’m not very good at those kinds of jumps.”
They slept across the fire from each other, and in the morning, she practiced her bow and her hand fighting skills. “You’re getting stronger,” he said, panting. He rubbed his thigh where she had kicked him. “I’ll have a bruise here.”
She beamed. “When will you teach me the sword?”
“When you’re strong enough.”
“Do you need me to kick you again to prove I’m strong enough?”
He chuckled. “That’s not the strength I mean. I’ll know it when I see it.”
They reached Leiden at midmorning. Plain-dressed guards let Connor and Mairead through the gates. They held quarterstaffs at the ready and wore swords on their hips, and Connor noticed Mairead glance up at the arrow notches in the towers above the gate. “Graymen,” he told her. “They train under the old city walls.”
“Under them?”
He nodded. “This city is ancient. Some say the Sidh built it, but even the Sidh queen can’t say for certain. There are caves and hideouts under the old walls. Every male youth of fourteen is required to present himself for training for three years. They don’t see their families the whole time. The elders keep them locked away under the walls or in the center of the city where they train in the arenas. When they can defend the city, they are free to go. Every man who’s completed his training is required to serve at the gates or on the walls for three days of every moon cycle.”
“Why do they call them graymen?”
“Because they wear plain clothes so they’re hard to see. For every one you see guarding the gate, there are five in the crowd who are on duty, but not posted. And since every man is trained the same way, all of them are ready to defend the city at any moment.”
Connor directed Mairead toward the commerce quarter. He found his old favorite public house—the Ciderpress Inn. They rented a room, ate thick porridge and sweet ham, and drank warm, fresh cider. The maid flirted with Connor, but he turned his attention to Mairead and ignored the maid.
When they had finished their meal, Connor stood and took Mairead’s hand. “Let’s find you some better clothes.”
“Connor, I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”
“I’ve watched you shiver yourself to sleep for the last time. I’m finding you something warmer.”
After a morning in Leiden, Mairead had a new set of bracers and two pair of soft leather breeches. Connor also bought her warmer tunics, a fur-lined cloak, and a wrap made of wolf pelts that didn’t smell like dead mice.
As they walked back toward the public house, Mairead stopped and frowned. He turned back. “What is it?”
“Do you hear that?”
He stood still. “I just hear city noise.”
“No, there’s more. I hear crying. Like a child crying.”
He listened for a moment and followed her eyes. “I hear it. It’s a faint mewling.”
“A baby?”
“I don’t know.”
She followed the sound down an alley and behind a building. Connor followed, hand on a dagger in his belt out of habit.
Mairead gasped as she rounded the corner. “No.”
A woman in thin, ragged clothing lay collapsed against a wall, her open mouth and eyes gaping skyward. She had no shoes or cloak, and the dress she wore didn’t cover her legs. The weak mewling sound came from a bundle on her lap. She had been nursing the child, or trying to, when death came. Her shriveled breast was exposed, raw and empty and blue from cold.
Connor knelt and put a hand to her neck, though he knew it was hopeless. “She froze to death. Or starved. She gave the child her shawl.”
“But it’s not that cold.”
“You can say that? As cold as you’ve been these last nights? Imagine if you’d been underdressed and hungry and perhaps sick.”
She closed her eyes. “No. You’re right.” She knelt and picked up the baby. “He can’t be more than a couple of months old. And he’s so cold.” She wrapped her cloak around him. “He needs food. We need to find a wetnurse.”
Connor stood. “Where?”
“Is there a kirok in this town?”
“Across town. But the inn is closer than the kirok.”
She bit her lip. “Sayana Muriel had to give a babe goat’s milk once. Perhaps they have some at the inn.”
He carried their purchases as they walked back to the Ciderpress Inn. Connor asked the innkeeper for fresh goat’s milk. The man blinked in surprise. “Goat’s milk?”
“We found this child,” Mairead told him. The baby fussed weakly from her arms. “His mother was dead. He needs to eat. Do you know any wetnurses?”
“No, but the baker’s wife just had a baby. She may be willing to help.”
“Would you send her to our room?”
“Aye.”
“Is there someone who can care for the mother’s body?” Connor asked.
“I’ll send word to the gravedigger and the elders. We’ll see if we can find the lad’s father.”
Connor took Mairead and the baby to the room. She cradled the baby and fell into a natural swaying rhythm where she stood. She smiled at the bundle. “He’s beautiful.”