13. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Raven
A ll my life I hated the Havards. Now I had to face the fact that I’d been crafted by the gods to serve one.
When Caelan pressed me against the wall with his hand tight around my throat, all thoughts of vengeance drained from of me like sand through a timepiece. As he dressed my wound, the agony of his ministrations lancing through my gut like the caress of a spearhead, I forgot his name, and my own. The pain was a fire that consumed it all. Inside the flames, all the mattered was where his hand would go next. A normal woman would have been furious at the smile that split his face as he watched me writhe and moan. A normal woman would’ve hated him more for it, seeing it as proof of how sick and sadistic the Havards were.
But the threads of my character were a different color.
After he finished, he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “You said you wouldn’t scream for me. You’re a liar.”
There was delight in his voice and I burned with shame, remembering a warning my handler had given me once. “The day when you finally face the Slayers will be the most dangerous day for you, Raven.”
“Of course,” I’d said, imagining the clang of swords as armies plowed into each other on the tattered land of a battlefield.
“Do not be nonchalant,” he’d snapped.
I stiffened, adopting a formal pose of attention.
“It will be dangerous because of the way you are.” He would never be more explicit than this when referring to my inclinations, which others in the Coterie who trained me in the skill of seduction had made him aware of. His distaste for this aspect of me was evident in the curl of his lip. He wouldn’t look at me, either. He stared out a window and spoke as if to a bird on the ledge.
“The Slayers are your counterpart, Raven. Though your father, a good man, fought against their cruelty, you have your mother’s blood in you, too. The history books are littered with empresses from her family, House Cythera. And when Cytheran women weren’t empress, they served the crown as companions or favored whores.
“You are all that’s left of your father’s house, and it is up to you to live up to his name and fulfill his purpose. But your mother’s blood is a curse. Do not let it poison your hatred for the Slayers, Raven. Do not fall prey to the desire to kneel when you were meant to rule.”
I’d wanted to argue. To quote my mother’s house words, “Unbroken," to remind him that kneeling was not always a sign of weakness. I wanted to ask him what my father had seen in my mother, if her blood was so tainted. But I’d said none of these things, only thanked him for the warning and forgotten it.
Now, as I realized how right he was, it flooded back up into my consciousness, flashing a bright warning.
I did not answer Caelan’s taunt. Instead I scrambled to my feet and suffered being leashed by him again. But he had to loosen it to avoid tugging me over with him as he nearly fell over and over in the dark. Each time, his hands flew out to steady me as he righted himself. Overprotective asshole. It was infuriating to be touched and even worse that he did it seemingly as a kindness.
“Untie me and perhaps we won’t both injure ourselves when you fall,” I snapped.
He declined.
A shame. With my Sight, I could see just fine. Caelan's blindness offered my best chance yet to steal his weapons off him and stab them through his chest, but his hands on me meant he felt even my subtlest attempt to turn back towards him.
“Won’t you Bow to Darkness?” I asked him when he finally called a stop and untied me. He was feeling in Ufuk’s pack for the bit of dried meat he had left. He held out his hand with some for me to take, and I took it without touching him.
He snorted in answer. I guess he wasn’t religious, though traditionally, the emperor’s second son became the High Priest of the Temple of Divine Right. His dismissal of the Father was yet another thing about Prince Caelan that was unexpected.
“Sleep,” he commanded.
I found the dark underground comforting; sleep would come easy. But Caelan didn’t even lie down. He sat against the wall of the tunnel with his eyes open.
“You won’t sleep?” I asked. He must be very confident he’d stay awake, for he hadn’t tied me to anything. My hands were still bound, but I thought I might be able to use my teeth to coax them free when he wasn’t looking.
“No.”
Another shame. I closed my eyes and drifted away on the subtle throbbing of my wound. It beat like a heart and I counted the beats. Soon, I was gone.
I had my usual nightmare. Blinding green light, so thick it was practically corporeal, attempted to suffocate me as a high-pitched scream—I knew it was mine, and yet, it was too piercing a sound to be made in my throat—went on and on. Endless as I fell, fading only when I woke.
I rolled onto my back. The Crust still trembled intermittently, but the shivers didn’t worry me. I sent my mind back to the mountain, seeking Asherah. In a blink, my mind was no longer my own. The reborn god had hijacked it.
The goat’s blood that drained down my throat was warm and earthy. Too little in one body though; I must catch another.
The frightened beasts clung to the edge of a cliff face. They thought themselves protected there, but my wings had dried enough to allow for short flights. Hops, more like. I flapped wildly and inexpertly, but it was enough. I knocked a goat off its perch and followed it down. I sucked the blood out of it before too much drained onto the rock. The bodies, I left for the carrion-eaters. One day I’d eat them, horns and all, but I wasn’t big yet and my teeth hadn't grown in.
My skin was so itchy. I needed a Rider to rub my scales down with oils or the skin beneath them would crack. It wasn’t natural for a god to be so long without their Chosen.
I considered this when I noticed the mortal who rested nearby. But his blood did not sing to me. He tasted no better than a goat.
I would never know how my Chosen tasted, but I could hear his heart beating. His blood sang a song to me from far away, calling to me across the broken land.
I’m coming, I called to him, though he would not hear my call until we were Bonded. I’m coming.
The vision let me go and my own awareness returned. I am Raven, I thought, to steady myself.
Was being hijacked by a god something I’d someday grow used to? For now, it was disconcerting at best and terrifying at worst. My life had been filled with moments of helplessness, but there was something unnatural about being helpless inside your own mind.
Yet I could not deny my need for the visions. I knew now that Asherah was still in the mountains. Though she yearned for her Chosen, she had no choice but to eat and grow strong there before she could follow him. It would likely be several moon-cycles before she reached the river. If she got there and Tanead wasn't there to greet her, I didn’t know what would happen.
I’d read that a dragon might Bond with a Rider other than the one who had blooded their egg if they deemed that Rider unworthy. But Tanead, though slightly mad and wilder than was good for him, was not unworthy.
I have not abandoned and betrayed you, I thought, though I knew Asherah could not hear me. I will kill the prince and strengthen Tanead’s position. I will send him back to you.
It was good the god could not hear me make these promises, which were nothing more than hopes. I had no way to know yet if I could keep them.
I rolled onto my side and opened my eyes. I sought Caelan, expecting to see the whites of his open eyes bright in the darkness. But his eyes were closed. His head had slumped forward, chin to chest.
My eyes scanned the dark, searching for attackers, but we were alone. He’d just fallen asleep.
Excitement built as I brought my wrists to my mouth and tugged at the knots with my teeth. It did not take long to tease them apart. I sighed in relief as I stretched, rotating my shoulders.
Caelan grunted loudly and I jumped, my head flying round to look at him again. But he was still asleep.
As I watched him, he began to keen, the high-pitched sound of an animal caught in a trap. It startled me, such a vulnerable, horrible sound of pain coming from the muscled warrior. I waited for it to stop but the sound kept coming and coming.
If he were an animal, I’d put him out of his misery. In fact, that was exactly what I intended to do.
Another sound leaked from his mouth, a moan. So high-pitched and pitiful, I could not believe it fake. No self-respecting man would make a sound of such agony as a ploy. The prince had surely fallen asleep.
I stood silently and snuck to the alwashi. I hesitated over Tanead—should I free him? I did not know how to wake him from his drug-induced sleep. In the end, I ignored him and dug into the pack for my daggers.
The bronze hilts were cold until my palms warmed them up. I longed to slash the air, spinning with them in a training dance, but that would only wake Caelan.
I went to his side and crouched down. His mouth was open and he panted like a dog. He made a whining noise like one, too, and thrashed so suddenly that he almost hit me. I jumped back, and crept closer again when he settled.
Caelan was moments away from death. I could slash his throat and kill him before he even woke. That’s how easy it would be.
My heart racing, I pressed the narrow blade close to Caelan’s throat. This was it. The fruition of something I’d wanted all my life. I would wash my hands in the blood of an Havard. I would honor my father’s memory and make him proud.
Why would I be proud? This boy is not my enemy. Come home, Raven, to the throne that should be mine. Come home to the court of his father. The boy is merely a tool. His death serves nothing. The deep voice spoke and my elation drained from me as if the tub that held it had been overturned.
I’d never known the identity of the voice that advised me; though it spoke in my mind, it did not feel like my own. I imagined it as my father’s, built out of scraps of memories I’d now forgotten.
I can kill a Slayer! Don’t you want that? It was unimaginable to me that such an act would not make my father and handler both proud.
Caelan Havard means nothing. He will never rule. If you want to really bring down the Havards, you must kill his father and his brother. You must come home.
My hand shook and I withdrew it from Caelan’s neck. The hatred in me sang to slit his throat, but the voice held me back. I’d trusted it all my life. It was like my conscience, my guiding light.
Was it right this time? My father had never been one to take the easy way out. He’d done the right thing, even when it cost him.
I had to admit to myself that I desired to kill Caelan partly because it was the easy thing. It would prove to my handler and the Coterie how capable I was. It would prove my mother’s blood had no hold on me. It would prove I could do more than watch and wait. I could be a player in the political game and not just a pawn.
I considered the alternative: gambling on my ability to make Caelan take me back to court with him.
I’d seen his quickening breath when he held me against the wall, his fingers squeezing my throat. I knew of his proclivities. I could show him my natural reaction to his violence. I could use my nature to worm my way into his father’s court. From there, I’d be in a position to kill the emperor and crown prince. Caelan could open doors for me that led to a vengeance greater than I had dared dream.
But to step through these doors, I’d have to turn my back on Tanead and Asherah, at least for now. I’d have to put down my daggers and bury my hatred for Caelan deep, where he could no longer detect it. I was frozen inside the choice.
It sickened me to think of what might happen to me when Caelan brought me back to Vaharilar. What would I have to endure to get close to Emperor Calathan? What would I have to do? I could kill Caelan right now and hold onto my pride, or I could go into the pit with the lions and hope to get back out alive.
Don’t disappoint me, Raven. Long I have awaited my vengeance. Can you not wait a little bit longer?
I screamed in frustration inside my mind. Just a small twitch of my arm and a Slayer would die! Tanead would be free and Asherah would soon have her Rider. I would achieve what I’d followed Caelan’s party to achieve, what I’d come to Los to achieve.
But if I waited, I might achieve so much more. Asherah would lead an army of Losians to the border. The fighting would begin as the emperor fell.
Do you think you know better than me, little bird? asked the voice, coldly. It had never seemed angry before, as it did now. I’d always felt I made my own decisions, with its guidance. Now, I wondered.
Caelan shuddered and moaned. He sounded so small, like a little boy. His hair was tossed across his forehead, sweaty and plastered to the skin. He breathed so quickly, he must be fighting for his life inside the dream.
Sighing, I committed myself to my new path.
I could kill a Slayer right this moment. And I wasn’t going to do it.
Half-regretful before I’d even done it, I shook Caelan awake.
He gasped as he came to. His eyes flew open wide. His scimitar was half-drawn before he saw me squatting calmly beside him. I still held a dagger in each hand, but I didn’t raise them.
Caelan’s chest heaved with breaths. He scanned our surroundings.
“There’s nobody here but us,” I said levelly.
Blinking rapidly, Caelan came to the same conclusion. He sheathed his blade and sat up properly. His hands were shaking. He cleared his throat, looking ashamed. Then his eyes caught sight of the daggers in my hands and his whole body tensed. His face closed down and the lost boy was gone. “Give me your daggers.”
I sighed, but the command was inevitable. Wishing I’d had more time with them back in my hands, I relinquished the weapons, holding them out for him hilt-first.
He placed them on his far side where I’d have to reach across him to get at them.
“Will you bind my hands again?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
I didn’t answer him. Maybe if I stayed silent, his mind would fly to the one interaction we’d had that wasn’t faked, and he would think that my arousal when his hand closed around my neck had made me weak enough to forget my hatred of him.
Caelan peered at me through the darkness, seeking his answer in my face. But eventually, he sighed. His head fell back against the wall and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck.”
“Have you always had nightmares?” I had no idea where that question came from.
He shuddered, but tried to hide it by stretching and standing up. “Since I was young.”
“Something happened to you.”
He nodded.
“What was it?”
“The Night of a Thousand Torches,” he said curtly, and my entire body froze.
That was the night my father’s army stormed the Palace of the Suns. Their victory was practically assured. There was no way the emperor had the forces to stand against them. But my father had gone to parlay with Caelan's father, Emperor Calathan VIII, and had never been seen again. He was executed that night, and his whole army followed him into death before morning. It was the night that had made my whole life a nightmare.
Caelan stowed my daggers back in the pack and checked on Tanead. He dosed him with the last of the powder and tossed the empty package aside.
“We’ll start again,” he said.
We walked without speaking. Caelan had not bound my hands again and he didn’t stop me from climbing out first when we reached the tunnel opening.
It was still dark. Not far off, the surface of the River of Madness sparkled as the stars’ light danced on the water. I tipped back my head and took deep breaths of the open air, though it was acrid and sulfurous even here.
Caelan led his alwashi out and then joined me in silent observation. “I thought we were further from the river.”
“I lied.”
He hesitated. “Why didn't you kill me?”
“Because I want to come with you into Vaharilar.”
He was silent a long time. I knew his secret—that he was an altayr. Taking me home would be dangerous for him. I might tell.
“Why?” he asked curtly.
I’d tell the truth. “I want to go home. It’s time. And I have nowhere else to go.”
“Your master is my captive. You’re free. You may go wherever you wish.”
I laughed bitterly. “You’ve no idea what it means to belong nowhere.”
Caelan’s jaw clenched. “You expect me to take you with me…as what? Will you be my slave now? Shall I set you free once we cross into Vaharilar? You tried to kill me and you know something I’d prefer was kept secret. Why would I take you with me when you won’t even tell me your name?"
I took a deep breath and let it out. He was right, but if I couldn’t convince him to take me with him, I’d saved his life for nothing. I had to give him something, some small offering of truth and vulnerability.
“I have nightmares too,” I admitted. "I always have. The same one, actually, over and over. I don't even understand it."
Caelan said nothing.
A question bubbled up and out of me before I could stop it. “Why do you dream of the Night of a Thousand Torches?”
Caelan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It seemed neither of us wanted to speak of our nightmares, yet here we were doing it. “I think when you’re terrified as a child, it just stays with you. And no matter how big you get and how powerful, in your dreams you’re just a boy in a cage again.”
I doubted very much that Caelan had ever been in a cage. It must be a metaphor. But it was one I understood. I, who’d been raised in a cage and never once tasted freedom.
“May I come with you?” I asked, though the humility it took to ask the question burned like shame in my chest.
“Not yet,” Caelan said, staring into his lands. It was too dark to see the crossing where the water was shallowest, but I’d led us true and it was close. “For now, take me to the river.”