Chapter 7
Dreams spared me of blood and ravens, for dreams did not come to me at all. Behind closed eyes, Hendry died a thousand times as I lay restless, my mind awake, the night unforgiving. The blade catching torchlight, Lord Alistair’s serpent smile, the pain Hendry bled as death preyed. Those black veins. Gods, those black veins. Every image flogged my mind, lashing away sleep.
Dawn crows cawed an ugly tune.
I no longer knew how the birds could tell time—the days were becoming darker.
Lying in bed, I wiped the relics of tears from my face and looked at the thin, empty space beside me. Vera would be there, were she here.
I hated being away from her—the one I trusted more than any other, the one who would plan with me and hold me, just as I’d hold her. Groggy-eyed, dried drool down her face, she’d tell me I’ll put his head on a pike, because those were the sort of things she’d say. I loved her for it.
The morning cawed once more, but I did not yield to its beckon.
Deceit had left me the night before, tending to other matters I was not privy to, and leaving my mind to wander in endless directions—endless directions always pointing back to the same place: black blood twining and red blood spilling.
I did not dread time spent with the estate. I’d known estates and their scheming well, but what I feared—what locked me beneath this comforter—was the lord of this house.
Though my vow to the gods was far greater than any dread I might hold.
Throwing off the velvet blanket, shivers chased my skin in warnings of the impending winter frost. I stole a gown from my wardrobe. Black. A black gown to mourn the dead however I could while praising the lord for a triumphant kill.
I threaded the ribbon and slid the bodice over my torso, fingertips grazing the pale scar across my stomach. My mind nearly unlocked old memories—my father’s blade at the front line—but I crammed them into the darkest places of myself, covered the keepsake he gave me, and tightened the bodice’s lace. Slipping my arms through draping sleeves, leaving my hair untended, I grabbed my heels and left my feet bare to avoid disturbing the quiet.
I ambled the hallways as the estate slept.
This place was a web of disorder. I found myself in novel nooks and chambers time and again, though I crossed the same, unlit hearth five times. Some moments passed, and I stalked the dining hall beside a long table where twenty might dine. Crimson tapestries draped down the walls behind a line of empty armor.
I swung open the kitchen door. Scurry and clatter, staff tended to fires and dough. A kettle screamed nearby. Over the rows of floured countertops, cabinets lined the perimeter, and an outlet set beside a large, iron gate window.
A young boy neared in servant garb with heavy eyes.
“’Ello, miss,” he hushed, yawned, and looked me up and down with a scrunch to his nose.
“You lot aren’t supposed to be in this part of the house.”
I knelt and placed a glow upon my face—bright eyes and rosy cheeks. Perhaps some variety from the pale, heartless men this boy was accustomed to.
“Good morning, child. Who is not to be in the kitchen?”
“My mum says those in fancy clothes don’t belong with us. Told me to be careful around people like you, but I don’t know why. Just says you lot are dangerous.”
Wise mother.
An aproned woman ran over, flour smeared across her face.
“Ewan, love, leave the miss alone.” She bowed to me and wrangled Ewan to her waist.
“Apologies for him, miss.”
“Please, no need to apologize.” I smiled.
“You’re the new advisor, I take it,” she said.
“Rhoswen Fallen?”
“I am,” I said with a nod and offered my hand.
“It’s a pleasure.”
Reluctantly, she looked from my palm to my eyes, a furrow between her brows, as though I might bite if touched. An uncomfortable moment passed—other servants’ eyes on me—but she consented, placing her hand in mine.
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Fallen,” she said, rehearsed and impassive.
“Please, just Rhoswen.”
Her grin hesitated, if I’d even consider it a grin.
“I am Lilian, and this is Ewan.”
“How long have you tended to the kitchen?” I asked while gazing intently. Memorizing. Olive eyes, rounded cheeks, thin lips, auburn hair. Servants were often useful—the people paid to be unseen while near enough to hear a summons.
Ewan beamed.
“My whole life, I have! Mum says I was born right over there.” His little hand pointed to a mound of flour sacks.
Lilian hunched over with a cracking spine.
“Hush, Ewan. Go mix up the dough, eh?” She whisked him away, and little Ewan left with a mope in his step.
“Can I get you some tea, Miss Rhoswen?”
“You are kind, but that is not needed. I am only attempting to familiarize myself with the estate. I have lost my path many times this morning.”
“Twenty years, I have served, and I am convinced the halls move. I hear creaking in the nights, and you are not the first to have lost your way.”
I scrutinized my surroundings.
“Strange magic, is it?”
“Ha! Careful what you believe.” She laughed for a moment, then seemed to retrace the casualty of her words and recoiled.
“Sorry, Miss Rhoswen. I-I don’t believe in strange magic. Dark magic, yes, I’ve seen plenty of that. But, strange? I think it’s foolish to chalk things up to strange magic when there might be a plausible reason.”
“These are strange days we live in. Though I suppose it is the dark magic that brings the strange. The mysterious.”
“That, I can agree with, my lady. These are mysterious days.”
“Just as the lord and his council,” I hushed.
“Oh yes, our new lord—” Lilian was quick to shut her mouth with eyelids tightening to slits.
“Sorry,” she muttered and cleared her throat.
“I can’t speak to that, Miss Rhoswen.”
Cautious one.
“Ignore my troubles, Lilian. I’m only hoping to better understand this place, but people have been awfully careful of misspeaking.” I lifted my hands in a gesture for information. For anything.
“If there is anything you can share…”
“Count me as one of those careful people, miss. The help ain’t to listen and tell.”
Servants nearby were at a standstill, watching as though Lilian just opened a cage, and I was the beast inside.
“Of course, Lilian. I only did not know our good Lord Alistair was blessed with Shadows until I arrived. I’m doing my best to avoid any further surprises.”
“It ain’t my place, Miss Rhoswen.” Lilian stepped back.
“Now, if you won’t be needing anything, I’ll be getting back to work.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you.” My farewell chased her back as she left without another word, and the other staff continued in their household chores.
Olive eyes, rounded cheeks, thin lips, auburn hair.
…
I dwelled in a darkened hall, torches untouched, and grand doors before me. A sliver of radiance lulled from the cracks in the other room—perhaps a promise of warmth to melt my frozen body. The hinges did not creak, did not startle, as I yanked them open and stepped within. Floorboards were exchanged for carpet, easing the strain on my feet.
I peered near and far, high and low, becoming overrun by tomes and scrolls.
Beneath a dome window was an old tree of silver and white, graceful in form. The bold height spoke to its age, centuries apparent in the grooves and branches that stretched outward beneath the feeble sunlight drizzling down. I reached out, letting my fingertips glide along the passing of ages this tree endured—the rise and fall of the church, the wars man waged against elves, and now this Dark Era. As I traded wings of the library, I savored the soft sound of bark along the ripples of my skin.
Bookshelves reached for the Everlaides, three stories in height, banisters and ladders every which way. I could hardly see the ceiling’s constellations and connecting strokes, so I squinted upward as I stepped towards the firelight.
I did not smile because I had to. I smiled because this library was truly immaculate.
Was it the lord’s father who dined in the library or the lord himself? Perhaps the tomes remained untouched and were merely a collection from the ancestors.
I neared the other wing of the library, looked back towards my feet, and—
Rooted like the tree beside me. Bit down a gasp.
Lord Alistair sat before me, and my blood turned cold.
Back to the hearth, he stole whatever warmth the fire still owned from the dying embers. He did not fret my company, hadn’t measured me. His spine curved forward, chaotic hairs cloaked his brows, and his shoulders rose and lowered slowly.
Lord Alistair slept with the rest of his estate, and his hand strewed over old pages of a gilded book.
Carefully, cautiously, I neared him on tiptoe, breath quiet.
When I stood beside him, The Everlaides was discernible between his index and thumb. Another auburn leather book was upon the table, the sight making my heart skip and sink simultaneously. Ink pooled in a silver vessel, quill down. If those instruments were present, that meant this book was not a book at all, but a journal. A journal fanned open, welcoming my curious eyes.
A light ignited in my chest—the feeling, the anticipation, the insufferable ache of knowing, dragged me closer.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I bent down to see the text more clearly. An amulet was drawn upon the open pages with a stone set in the center, and several lines extended from the heart, similar to how one draws the rays of the sun. Alistair’s penmanship was messy. I tried to make out his writing, but it could have been in a different language for all I knew.
His slow breath wafted over the journal, a candle’s flame trembled, and I lifted my gaze to the lord. His dreams held him tightly, his lips gentle and far from the sinister grin I’d known. With long breaths and no tension upon his brow, he was entirely unrecognizable from the man I’d seen in the wine cellar.
And the firelight—the firelight was… kind upon his face.
I shivered and reeled myself back to his journal.
As my eyes adjusted to the text, it became increasingly difficult to decipher. Then it struck me—much of this was written in another language, one I didn’t recognize, one I had never seen. I began to stand upright, to tiptoe the way I’d come, perhaps follow him and learn where he kept this journal, and—
Shadows battled, no moment to react, a hand stormed in and shackled my wrist.
I looked up without a yelp, without a tremble. He wouldn’t see me scared so easily.
“Do you have a death wish?” Lord Alistair growled. His hand tightened, and he yanked my reach from his journal. The hum of embers was swallowed by the dark vision in his gaze—no dark magic, no inky veins, only the bottomless depths of his eyes.
Hostility leapt to his form, each motion somehow fixed between refined and wolfish. His breath was hot on my face, his latched hand, hotter still.
Dangerously close, I could see the daggers in his eyes.
I stirred sour air in my lungs and let it drift around the lord’s senses, and I spoke in a spell of deception.
“I was merely familiarizing myself with the library, my lord.”
Perhaps it was the night of his eyes or the shadows that drowned us, but there appeared to be no glass upon his eyes.
I spoke again.
“It is a beautiful library, Lord Alistair.” I blew my magic-drenched breath to him.
“I was merely familiarizing myself.”
“You already said that,” he bit.
The god’s magic appeared to have no sway. My stomach settled in my gut, and I attempted to stand straight—to make distance from Alistair—but my wrist was locked in his hand.
“Release me,” I said, calm and civil. It took all Deceit’s magic to not let anger and spite heave up my throat.
Lines strained his brow.
“I am not to be given orders in my house.”
“Perhaps when the matter does not concern my arm, I will honor your request.”
Eyes locked on the other, we contested with our stares. This felt like another challenge. Who would break first?
“Please, my lord,” I said softly.
“Release me.”
The lord’s canines showed, the bags under his eyes twitched—I held his stare—and he unhanded me with a growl.
I won.
Gloating in my victory, my prize was my smile, and I slipped away to tend to a nearby bookcase—more so to construct distance from him. Fingers tracing a tome’s spine, I fixed my attention on the silver ridges as I asked.
“What do you write of?” I stood in shallow waters with this Raven Lord, but I had a responsibility to the gods.
A crack broke into my ears as Alistair slammed his journal shut. I shot my eyes at him, thinking he might pounce and kill me here. Standing, he assumed the countenance of a statue. Unreadable.
“You’d be wise not to speak.” Alistair lined his feet with his shoulders, hands behind his back. Perhaps reaching for the dagger I’d yet to see.
Deception is subtle, I told myself. Calm, Rhoswen. Be calm.
I shrugged and continued surveying the books.
“I cannot give proper counsel if I am not to speak, my lord.”
Alistair lurked towards me beside the bookcase. When he stood at my side, his hand reemerged. I quickly pulled back, though he did not reach for me. He held the gilded book of the Everlaides and set it neatly beside others on the shelf.
“A word of caution, Miss Fallen,” he spoke towards the books.
“Do not bring curiosities into a house built on corruption. You’ll often discover unmeasurable travesties and secrets you only wish you never knew.”
“Is a lord to call his home corrupt?”
He tilted his jaw towards me, a glint in his eyes.
“What else would you call it?”
“Formidable.”
A half-grin slithered across his face.
“I see. Now that you actually know who I am, you’ve refrained from disrespecting my house. An advisor who tells me what they believe I wish to hear is worthless.”
Our breath mingled as he stood so close, and with each passing second, it was becoming more difficult to hold his gaze.
Alistair tucked his jaw, so I could see the intensity in his eyes.
“Formidable,” he snarled.
“Tell me, Fallen, is it respect or fear I instill?”
A hint of darkness flickered in his gaze, causing me to step back.
The serpent smile wholly took his lips, and he answered his own question.
“Fear, then.”
Once more, I felt challenged. Who would break gaze first? Who would run dry of words? I did not understand this lord. What cunning hid beneath the canvas of stone controlling his face?
Someone to be cunning was to be feared, but I had yet to know if his craft matched mine.
My fingers slid over the shelf’s edge.
“Perhaps your house is not one of corruption but merely sits upon rotting soil. These are dark days, though there are still remnants of light.”
“Do not speak to my house as though you understand. Whatever light still remains is dying quickly. We will soon be in eternal night.”
I stole the book Alistair had placed on the shelf and dared to pull it out. I opened the text, hearing Alistair’s low breath as I did, and found The Everlaides.
“I did not know lords indulged in texts of the godly afterlife. I have seen men lose their heads for speaking of it.” I looked back at him.
“You’re right, my lord. The remnants of light are dying.”
Alistair held his tongue, waiting. Curious, perhaps.
I continued.
“I only mean to say that the weight of our families is onus, though it is not our burden to follow the path they’d begun to lay. At least, when such a legacy does not adequately justify our aims. We fortify our own paths.”
His dimple came and left.
“And what would you know of family legacy, Fallen?”
The castle stones, my mother’s last breath, the span of my father’s shadow, the blood I shared with the princes, the crown, the throne, the scar across my stomach, the gods…
“Nothing at all,” I breathed.
“Raised in a small village in the east, my parents long passed, there is no legacy I continue. Any legacy I might have is merely what I make it.”
I was given silence and a look that made my skin crawl. The way he held my eyes was as though he did not believe me.
I was a servant to Deception. He should believe me.
This cradle of silence was stagnant apart from the buzzing in my mind and the final embers slipping into death. We locked eyes, waiting, as though we shared the sole purpose of learning what lay beneath the other’s exterior.
Alistair finally broke the stillness as he breathed a lungful.
“Not all are so fortunate to lay their own paths, Miss Fallen. And how can one know where to set the stones when the days are growing ever dark?”
There was a stirring in these dark waters. Lord Alistair was perhaps offering bait, so I might bite and be dragged beneath. Killers had killer instincts.
“Is your question rhetorical?” I asked.
“Should any question be rhetorical to an advisor?”
I shook my head.
“You do not wish me to be your advisor.”
“The crown has positioned you in my estate. So long as you are here, you are tasked to answer the questions posed.”
I mulled over his words, pacing myself.
“Then, I’d say, the only way to know if a path is stable is to walk it. Light or no, your feet will tell you.”
Alistair turned to face me and leaned against the bookcase. Arms crossed, eyes darkened.
“Your advice is that I rely on instinct?”
I nearly shrugged again, but his casual stance made me second-guess any movement at all. I held still.
“That is all one can do when there is so much unknown.”
“I hardly believe you have faith in my instinct.”
My eyes flickered.
“How do you mean?”
“I saw you yesterday in the cellar. How you looked at me. It was not a look of trust and faith in my acts.”
“I am here to offer counsel, not judgment.”
“Good counsel comes with judgment.”
Now, Lord Alistair was winning this unspoken contest. I believe he knew, because a faint grin swept over his face—the grin when we’d first met, teeth bright and dimple soft.
“So—” I began.
“You will allow me to stay?”
Alistair kicked himself off the shelf and squared his shoulders.
“The entire estate knows you. If I turned you away now, word would quickly spread of the Raven Estate discarding you, or you would be labeled a deserter for leaving.”
I did not know what to say. It appeared he was being considerate.
“Thank you, my lord. And I am sorry for disturbing you,” I said as I motioned towards his journal upon the table.
“I shall take my leave.”
Alistair reached for me slowly—I did not move, but something caused my heart to pound feverishly—and he plucked the gilded book from my grasp.
His hand did not touch mine.
I curtsied, tore my eyes from his, and left.
No sounds came as I rested against the door, the passageways quiet, leaving me to ponder such a strange encounter. It was as though the man at the fountain and the man of the cellar were two entirely different people.
Hello, darling.
I startled at Deceit’s abrupt presence, feeling his godly burden pour into me and weigh my head. Anything noteworthy happen while you were away? I asked the god, though he would never say—he never did, keeping his god-riddled life private.
I should ask the same of you, but he needn’t ask.
Tail twisting around my spine, Deceit scratched through my mind and the assembly of events, causing me to relive them in vivid memories. He halted his intrusive delve when he came to the present.
Deceit’s breath shifted beneath my skin. Curious, he said. Very curious.
What is it?
You managed to stake your stay in this estate without seducing him. Deceit laughed and unsheathed his talons from my mind.
Did you come back only to mock me?
He curled his spine, resting. Do not fret, child. The Divine will be pleased.
I truly doubt the High Gods care what becomes of my heart.
A heart once endowed as Princess of Andrael? Yes, child, the Divine care. He tapped my skull as he spoke. For in the tomes, it is written, ‘the lords marked by Shadow will fall to the sands of Oldurem’. May the Raven’s eyes be plucked out by the ravens, so he might leave Andrael in the hands of those worthy.
I walked to the tune of Deceit’s drumming talons, attempting to keep my thoughts quiet, but the bustling in my mind tried to make sense of one question.
Who was Lord Alistair Raven?