Olwen #2
More murmurs. These sounded different. Uncertain, yes, but also... awed? The clan members below were staring up at the balcony with expressions I couldn’t quite read.
Cador stepped forward.
He moved to stand beside me at the railing, close enough that his arm brushed mine. Close enough that anyone below could see we were together, a united front. His palm settled heavy against my spine, a silent claim.
“Lady Mabyn.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. The voice of a king, accustomed to being heard. “I appreciate your concern for my wife’s wellbeing. Allow me to ease your mind.”
“Your Majesty.” Mabyn dipped into a curtsy, and I could see the calculation behind her grief-stricken mask. She was adjusting, reassessing, looking for the angle that would give her what she wanted. “I meant no disrespect. I only want to ensure my niece is safe.
“She is not sick.”
The words shattered her performance.
“She is not mad.” Cador’s hand pressed harder against my back. “She is not in need of treatment, or confinement, or return to any facility you might name.”
“But the healers said…”
“Your healers were wrong.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed. Deeper. More formal. The voice of a king pronouncing judgment.
“She is Death-Touched. And under Raven Law, the ancient law, the law that predates your treaties and your jurisdictions, that makes her a Priestess of the Realm.”
There was complete, ringing silence.
I didn’t understand. What was he doing? What law he was invoking and what card he was playing? But I saw the effect it had on the crowd below. The clan members went still. The elders exchanged glances. Even the Lawkeepers shifted, their hands moving away from their weapons.
“A Priestess.” Mabyn’s voice had gone flat. Careful. “You’re claiming she’s a religious figure.”
“I’m not claiming anything. I’m stating fact.” Cador’s hand slid from my back to my waist, pulling me closer against his side.
“My mother’s familiar recognizes her as kin. The ravens bow when she passes. The void itself marked her, and she walked out of death’s embrace to stand in my hall.”
He looked down at Mabyn.
“Would you like to challenge the religious authority of the Raven Clan, Lady Mabyn? Would you like to tell my people that their ancient laws don’t apply? Because I assure you—” the smile widened, showed teeth “—they would be very interested to hear your theological arguments.”
Mabyn stood frozen at the gates.
Her face betrayed her conflict. The sanatorium story had been her weapon, her way of extracting me legally, without violence, without creating the kind of incident that would bring consequences down on her head.
But religious authority was different. Interfering with a monster clan’s religious practices was heresy in some territories, grounds for execution in others. Even the Lawkeepers wouldn’t touch it.
She’d been outmaneuvered.
“I... see.” Her voice was steady, but I could hear the rage beneath it. The fury of a woman who’d planned everything perfectly and watched it fall apart. “I wasn’t aware of your... customs. I apologize for any offense.”
“No offense taken.” Cador’s tone was pleasant. Magnanimous. The tone of a king who’d won and was gracious enough not to gloat.
“I understand a guardian’s concern for her ward. But you may rest assured that my wife is exactly where she belongs. The Realm chose her, Lady Mabyn. And I do not argue with the Realm.”
Mabyn’s gaze lifted to the balcony, to me standing there with Lowen pressed against my legs and Cador’s arm around my waist.
The grief-mask was gone. What looked back at me was pure hatred, undisguised, burning.
She knew I’d won. Knew that her poison had failed, her plans had crumbled, her carefully constructed story had been torn apart by a king who’d found a loophole she hadn’t anticipated.
But she wasn’t done. It showed in her eyes. The calculation, the contingency plans, the refusal to accept defeat. She’d retreat now, regroup, find another angle.
She wouldn’t stop until I was properly dead.
“Thank you for your understanding,” Cador continued. “My guards will escort you back to the Veil. Safe travels, Lady Mabyn. Do give my regards to your sanatorium.”
He turned away from the railing, dismissing her as completely as if she’d ceased to exist.
His hand guided me away from the balcony, back into the corridor, away from the gates and the Lawkeepers and the woman who’d killed me once and would kill me again if given the chance.
Lowen followed, his rattling purr filling the silence.
We walked in silence through the cold stone corridors past guards who bowed and servants who pressed themselves against walls to give us room. Past the great hall and the kitchens and all the spaces where the clan’s daily life continued, oblivious to the drama that had played out at the gates.
Cador didn’t speak until we’d reached his chambers. Until the heavy oak door had closed behind us and the lock had engaged and we were alone.
“Priestess of the Realm.” I turned to face him. “That’s not a real thing, is it.”
His smile was thin. Sharp. “It is now.”
“You made it up.”
“I invoked an old law that hasn’t been used in three hundred years. The elders won’t challenge me. Lowen stood beside you. The cat made the lie true. Your aunt can’t challenge me. She has no standing in our religious affairs.”
He crossed to the cabinet, poured something dark into two glasses. “By the time anyone thinks to question the precedent, you’ll be so thoroughly integrated into clan life that removing you would cause more problems than it solves.”
He handed me one of the glasses. The liquid inside was almost black, and it smelled like smoke and berries and something older.
“You lied,” I said. “To your own people. To protect me.”
“I bent the truth.” He raised his glass. “There are ageless texts about death-touched creatures being sacred to the void. The title ‘Priestess’ is my invention, but the concept exists. I simply... emphasized the religious protection angle.”
“Is there?”
He drank. I drank. The liquid burned going down, but it was a good burn, warm and spreading, settling into the heat he’d shared while the castle slept.
“She’ll come back,” I said. “She won’t give up.”
“No.” Cador set down his empty glass. “She won’t.”
“So what do we do?”
He looked at me. Those black eyes, that sharp-angled face, the king who had lied and schemed and invoked ancient laws to keep me at his side.
“We wait,” he said. “And when she makes her next move, we destroy her.”