Eyrder Sagas

Raven and the Wolf

Mari Evers

Smashwords Edition 1, May 2011

Copyright 2011 by Mari Evers

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

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This is a work of fiction. All characters within are fictitious, and any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book contains scenes of romantic

and sexual nature, and is for adults only. All characters in sexual relations in this book are 18

years of age or older.

~*~

For me, you, and everyone who wants that happy ending.

~*~

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part One: Raven and the Wolf

Part Two: Raven and the Oak

Part Three: Raven and the Stone Pillars

Part Four: Raven and the Moon

Epilogue

~*~

Eyrder Sagas

Raven and the Wolf

Prologue

~*~

They say there was a wonder in the sky the night I was born, bursts of colour and

starfalls lighting up the sky as if midwinter feast with its fireworks had come early, even
though it was only two months into the winter yet. Father was so proud, thinking he had
finally got his precious daughter, he danced with joy. So when the midwife gave him the
bundle of cloth with me wrapped inside and congratulated him on his son, they say he didn’t
believe her. He looked at my face and said she must be making a jest. No boy could have a
face so pretty, or hands and feet so dainty, or be so small, even newly born. He didn’t believe
her until he pulled back the cloth and saw for himself.

He wept with disappointment and asked the midwife to take me from his sight.
I was one hour into this world when Father pronounced that was my first trickery and

thus named me Raven.

My mother held me for the first time just minutes after I had left her body, and for the

rest of her life I would stay so close to her it was like the cord had never been cut.

They say something happened the night I was born, that my mother was not the same

afterwards. That she didn’t smile, or laugh as often as she used to, that she had become
somehow diminished. But I saw her smile, I heard her laugh, and she was the greatest person
in my life.

Until the year I turned five.
She passed away in midsummer, on a morning so beautiful you’d cry if you saw it the

way I remember it. She had walked down to the brook to bring water for breakfast and when
she didn’t return Father sent me for her. She was lying in the grass and wild-flowers, one
hand and the bucket in the water, like she had tipped over and gone to sleep. I couldn’t tell the
difference at first, I was too young to know, but when she wouldn’t wake up or answer I got
scared. Such a fear a child should never know.

Father found me, following the sound of my cries, and I had never seen a grown man

weep before. He never shed a tear again.

At her burial Father wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t touch or hear me. The old midwife,

the only one to ever look at me without scorn, took care of me that night and let me sleep in
her little cottage. When Father came for me the next morning, red-eyed and pale, still dressed
in yesterday’s clothes and smelling of strong drink, she waved at me and told me to take care.

I thought Father would bring me home, feed me and let me rest in my own bed, but he

did not. He brought me to Mother’s grave, the soil damp with morning dew and the stone still
unturned. I wept again, clinging to his leg.

This is your fault, boy, he said to me. This is your second trickery.
I couldn’t believe his words, didn’t understand. How could I have done this terrible

thing? I wanted my mother to stay, how had that made her leave?

Father turned to look at me and said, Twice you’ve tricked me, boy. I was blind to what

you are. A third time and it’s on your head. A third time and you’re out of my house.

I tried so hard for him, remembering those words. For the next eleven years I learned and

did all he asked, all the house tasks, all the chores. He never had to wait for supper, never
bring water or search for a clean shirt.

But for all my hard work, all my eagerness to please, some things were well beyond my

sway. Crops failed that year, hunts came back empty-handed, and the smaller rivers dried up
to mere trickles. Having learned to care for the garden patch behind our house, and care well,
I helped the salad and turnips, potatoes and carrots all survive the drought. I was pleased we’d
have something to eat even when Father lost his job.

He blamed it on me, of course, that I had somehow tricked the weather, dried out the

rivers and the land just to keep my garden patch alive. I had cursed his home, and that was my
third trickery.

Father threw me out during one of his binges. I remember the stench on his breath as he

cursed me, my name, and the day I was born, all in one hand, as he threw me out with the
other. I had nothing to me but my name and the clothes on my back, but having learned more
than menial tasks all those years, I waited for darkness of night before I stole back into the
house.

Father had drunk himself into a deep sleep but even so I made myself small and quiet as

a mouse, and went about collecting what I wanted. It wasn’t much. All my life fit into the
leather satchel and there was still room for bread and cheese and a flask of water.

I left the house of my birth without looking back, but there was one place I couldn’t leave

behind without a last farewell.

Mother’s grave looked so different, flat and covered with grass and wild-flowers.

Someone had turned her stone over some time ago. It was now covered with moss, and even if
I had learned how to read, I would never have been able to find her name among the symbols.

One of the things in my satchel was a pair of earrings that had belonged to her, two small

blue stones each dangling on silver threads. She had worn them all the days I could remember
and I would wear them now in memory of her. It barely hurt when I pierced my own ears. It
bled but not much. A tribute, I thought. Drops of me in the dirt where she rests, a part of me
to stay with her and keep her company now when I had to go away.

I don’t know if Father ever missed the things I took, or if he even bothered to look for

them. He could still be sitting there drinking for all I know. But I felt curiously light, then, as I
steered my feet away from the only place I knew in the world, followed only by my shadow
and the moon. Surely this was how the adventure would begin?

~*~

Raven and the Wolf

~*~

The noise was worrisome, the press of bodies and jostling of animals and wagons

dangerous for the unwary. Even outside the city gates there were so many people, Raven
could have hardly found himself if he’d had to look. But that was the way it was, with the
drought and unrest reaching further into the land. People from the countryside and outlying
provinces came searching for the protection of the city guard and the food of the nobles’
kitchens—what food there was to be begged and bought and bartered for. Seeing the misery
in every alley and on every street corner, Raven despaired of finding a place for himself here
when there were so many scrabbling for what little there was.

The drought that had begun two years before continued, causing skirmishes both in the

land and along its borders. Apparently what you couldn’t sow and reap on your own soil must
be taken from those less unfortunate. The Kemeran people starved and complained and rioted.
The prisons filled up and those who didn’t die of starvation or sickness, died from their own
soldiers’ spears.

Raven hadn’t known there was such widespread unrest until he found his way into a

town in the more populated areas of Kemer—the Queen’s lands—his own remote village
having been spared so far from everything but the drought. He learned to want for little, not to
ask for more, and only stole when he knew he would not be caught and flogged and hung for
it.

He approached the city gates with some small trepidation. Entering into a city was

always dangerous, less chance for housing and food than what he could trap in the forests or
work for in the villages. More people here to steal what he had and leave him stripped to the
skin. He had seen plenty of robberies gone wrong.

The guards at the previous town he’d visited had been less than gentle in denying him

entrance. They didn’t want or need more mouths to feed there. But these guards had given up
trying to stop people passing through. Maybe there were too many of the refugees here,
women and children and old men. The guards leaned on their pointy-tipped spears and
seemed bored with the whole mess.

Raven passed under the heavy arch of the city wall, his footsteps echoing along with

hundreds of others, before the sprawling streets swallowed him as hungrily as any insatiable
beast with room for one more mouse.

He had been right in his first assessment that he would have a hard time finding work or

accommodation. Every inn and tavern was full, and rooms ridiculously overpriced in this time
of need. No rooms to let to one small, starved boy, or even a corner or a cupboard left to share
with other boys offering to work for their shelter. Stables and animal shelters were closely
watched by grim guards, with horses and livestock worth more than people.

Raven was kicked out of yet another tavern, the bouncer tossing him into the street even

less kindly than the last one. He stumbled and would have fallen if not for the hard body that
stopped his momentum.

“Eh! Watch it!”
Raven blinked up at the man’s square face, cheeks pocked and covered in dark stubble,

and the mark of the Queen on his tunic. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said quickly, trying to get
the man’s thick fingers off his arm so he could bow and back away.

But the guard didn’t let go. “Are you eyeing me, boy?” he snarled, leaning down close

enough that Raven felt the smell of beer on his breath. “I’ll have a finger off your hand if you
defy me.”

He tried to answer, but it was difficult with the way the man shook him. He knew where

this would lead. He knew every word he said would be taken for whatever the guard wanted it
to mean. Beaten and thrown in prison. Tempers were quick to snap if you weren’t careful.
And he had done nothing else than what everyone did these days, asking for food to last them
another day.

Another hand landed on his shoulder, leather-clad and strong, and a voice said, “Leave

the boy be, man. We can’t bring in another or the Captain will have fits.”

The guard who had grabbed Raven grunted, his lips pulling in a sneer. “This one is so

little, he’ll hardly be noticed.”

His fellow snorted. “I’m sure. Well, it’s on your head.” Then he left, leaving Raven’s

captor to decide his fate for himself. Raven had little hope of it being compassionate.

But he was lucky, the man let out a wet laugh, spittle flying. “As you heard, we’re out of

room.” His eyes travelled up and down Raven’s body. “Could’ve earned your keep, too,” he
muttered, fingers digging in before he pushed Raven away with another sneer.

Raven stumbled but kept his balance simply out of fear. Making his feet move he turned

and bolted down the street. He stayed away from the main streets from then on, keeping an
eye out for anyone that bore the Queen’s emblem.

The day passed like most days did, in hunger and aimless wandering. By late afternoon

he was hungry enough to dare nick an apple and a piece of bread from a vendor, who turned
away for a moment from his precious wares. The apple was brown and soft, the bread had
suspicious spots of white on it, but Raven ate it all quickly, lest someone came to take them
from him.

By nightfall the streets grew quiet, only the sounds from the taverns spilling out to tell

that some still had coins enough to spend on food and drink. He lingered outside an inn for a
while to see if anyone walking out would have a coin to give him, but of course no one had.

Raven didn’t know this city or its streets, but he found a dark corner behind a boarded up

store to rest in. Wrapped in his worn cloak he was at least warm enough. However, it had
been foolish to fall asleep so unprotected. He almost lost his few possessions that night when
two gangly, dirty men jumped him out of the dark. But two years living by the hand, on
streets not unlike these where you learned your lessons quickly, and with skills with the knife
learned in desperation, Raven came out of that skirmish with all his things still his. Running
until his legs shook and his lungs burned, he considered himself lucky, left only with bruises
and shallow cuts, and a pounding heart to drive the new lesson home.

The pale, pre-light of dawn found him frozen and hungry, wandering aimlessly through

the streets, jumping at sounds and shivering with fear each time he saw movements in the
corner of his eye. He was doomed here. This was not a place for him, too many fighting for
every bit of food and shelter. He was not strong enough to win the next fight and would soon
be found dead in an alley. He decided to leave the city, taking his chances with the roads once
again and what he could trap in the woods. If he was lucky he might find a farm or village
where they could take him in before winter. If not, then at least he had heard freezing to death
was not so bad.

Leaving at once was not only stupid, but impossible. The city guards closed the gates at

sundown and would not let anyone through, by threat of bodily harm and imprisonment to
those who tried. He had to wait until daybreak.

When the city slowly came awake Raven could no longer go on, thoughts as aimless and

weary as his wandering. Not caring where he was or who it would offend, he climbed a wall
where some stones had fallen, and snuck into a garden where the hedges were a mismatch of
struggling greenery and drought-dead browns. He found a nook between an old tree and a
small, flimsy-looking house with no walls. It was a strange building but he couldn’t care less
what it looked like. He lay down, wrapped his threadbare cloak around himself and the
satchel, and promptly fell into exhausted asleep.

~*~

He slept into the late afternoon in his little hideout, too tired, and too hungry and sore. He

didn’t know anything until a hand roughly shook him awake and a voice called, “What’s this?
Beggars in the Mistress’ garden. This will not do.”

Raven scrambled to get away, blinking rapidly to clear the fog. He had forgotten where

he was and the edge of the strange house brought him up short. He banged his head and
elbow, and had to bite back a cry.

“Eh, lad. What are you doing here?” The voice was less hostile now.

Raven blinked thought the tears of pain and fright, and saw a man towering over him.

Broad of shoulders and steady in stance, this man would have no trouble taking him in a fight.
He was more than a match for Raven. What else was there to do but beg?

“Please, good sir. I meant no harm,” he said, his voice weak and trembling. “I was so

tired, and this garden beckoned me to rest a while.” He ducked his head and fell silent. Words
were no use. He would be punished for trespassing.

When the silence stretched on he dared look up to see what was the matter. The man had

not moved. He stood staring at Raven with a frown that made the moustache under his nose
twitch.

“Well,” he said at last, as if he had realized Raven was waiting for what would come

next. “You should know better. The Mistress will want to see you, lad, to decide what’s to
become of you.” He leaned down to grab for him and Raven cringed back.

“Please, no! Can’t you just let me go? I swear never to come back!” He wished so

fervently not to be flogged, the punishment meted out to all who wronged the nobles these
days, having seen it happen and knowing he could die from it.

“There now, lad. No need to make such a ruckus. Besides,” his grip was firm and

unyielding when he caught Raven’s arm, and terrified him to his bones, “Mistress’ law is to
be obeyed or I’ll catch all hells for it.”

There was not much he could do, tired and weak of hunger. The man divested him easily

of his knife and dragged him from the garden towards a house the likes of which Raven had
never seen before. Towers and balconies and archways and rows of pillars, all built of the
smoothest, whitest stone. Like the stones worn round in the brook back home.

The man took him through a stout backdoor where they passed a grim watchman, who

gave Raven a narrow and dark look. Chandeliers and lamps on tall iron legs lit the hallways
they followed, candles even now being seen to by busy house boys. In this light the man’s
hair was a dark red under the leather cap he wore. Raven had never seen such a colour before.

“Mind your step there, lad,” he said when Raven stumbled on a flight of stairs leading

up, too curious to look where he was going. “One might start to think I’ve grown a troll’s eye,
the way you’re staring.”

Raven flinched guiltily and blanched. “I-I didn’t—no, I mean….”
“It’s all right.” It was said in a voice so gentle that Raven’s eyes snapped up in surprise

and hope, and then, “Well, here we are.”

Raven was thrust through a pair of doors so tall he wondered what giant had made them,

tripped and would have fallen in sudden, returning fright but for the grip on his arm. Two
pairs of eyes turned to watch his unannounced arrival, those of a man and a woman dressed in
cloth of such lustre surely it must have been woven by the fairies. Raven stared and didn’t
protest when he was pushed down to his knees on the floor.

“Mistress,” his captor said, “I found this one hiding in the gardens. No doubt up to

mischief, if you ask my meaning.”

The woman frowned, scrutinizing Raven until he thought his hair would catch fire. He

had to look away.

“That’s a poor piece of flesh if I ever saw one,” the man next to her said, his voice like

old leather and stones, a perfect match for his lined, stretched-skin face and sharp bones.
“Throw it out, I say.”

Raven dared glance up, letting his hair fall to hide a surge of hope. No flogging, no

flogging, no flogging, he begged silently.

The woman was still looking at him, her head now tilted to the side. She raised her hand,

beckoning. “Stand him up, Myche. I wish to look at him.”

The man who had caught him grabbed his shoulders and yanked him to his feet. Raven

gasped, flailing, and stood there trembling. He couldn’t look away. The woman seemed to

study every little piece of him, every strand of hair and line of his face. She hardly bothered
with his clothes, but the shape of his hands and his legs drew a slow smile from her lips.

“Hmm, not so poor a piece, my good Kierner,” she murmured at last, and the man at her

side snorted loudly. “Come now, a bit of cleaning up and a good meal in him—surely you can
see the potential?”

Kierner sneered but nodded. “If that is your wish, Mistress.”
“It is.” She clapped her hands together once, a gold bracelet on her right wrist jingling,

and that was that. “See to it, Myche.” She dismissed them and turned back to her conversation
with Kierner, pins with gems catching the light and glittering in her blond hair as she moved.

Raven was too stunned by what should have been a cruel scene but wasn’t, to take much

notice of his surroundings when the man—Myche—guided him along the corridors. Turns
and stairs and doors, and finally they came to something that caught his attention—the
kitchens. The smell of food, spices, and tea brewing, brought tears to his eyes and made his
stomach rumble.

Myche left him standing just inside the door and went about picking things from various

counters and tables, mollifying the Cook as he went and saying it was Mistress’ orders to feed
the new boy. This shut Cook up, but he sent Raven a sharp look that clearly said this was his
domain and best you not forget it.

Myche led him through another door and it could have led to a fiery pit, Raven didn’t

care, as long as all that glorious food was for him.

It was. Myche urged him to sit on a bench by the table in what was probably the

servants’ dining room, and set the plate down in front of him. At first he could do nothing but
stare, hunger or no. Such rich food he had only dreamed of lately and here was a whole plate
of it, as if the drought hadn’t reached this house or the people living here.

“Eat, lad. Mistress was right, you need fattening up.”
Not needing to be told twice, Raven picked up a piece of bread and plunged it into the

steaming pile of mashed potatoes and gravy. Buttery and hot, and so good he nearly choked
on the large mouthful. Cooked carrots and pieces of meat stew with spicy sauce all went away
so fast Raven wondered if Myche had stolen from his plate when he wasn’t looking.

Finally, the plate was empty of every trace of food and his stomach ached. He couldn’t

tell if it was from hunger still, or because he had filled it to the point of bursting. Myche
chuckled and Raven looked up, embarrassed and glowering because of it, now that he had
some energy.

“Peace,” Myche smiled, holding his hands up. “I’ve never seen someone inhale food

quite like that. I’d offer you more if I didn’t think it would make you sick.”

Raven was close to begging for it, promising he wouldn’t be sick, but Myche had other

plans.

“Well, then,” he said. “How about we see if we can clean you up a bit?”
Raven looked up. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t pay for any of this.” Best to be humble and

make that known right away, now that he could think of it again.

Myche’s eyebrows climbed up under his cap. “Pay? There is no such need, not in coins.

Mistress will surely have work for you to do.” He gave no details as to what this work would
be as he got up, and Raven hurriedly untangled his legs from the bench to follow.

It seemed this house was endless. Myche guided him downwards now, down stairs that

led from smooth-stone hallways to corridors hewn out of the very rock and earth. Raven
swallowed uneasily, feeling his skin prickling, and made sure to keep close to Myche. Just in
case.

The air got warmer, wetter, and then Myche pushed open a heavy wooden door to a small

chamber. “You can leave your things here. I’ll see about clothes for you but I suspect you’ll

have to wash those yourself if you want to keep them.” The smile on his lips was wry as he
gave Raven’s worn tunic a look-over.

Raven stood staring stupidly. Leave his things? For what purpose?
Myche gestured. “It’s the baths, lad. You have to undress if you want to use them.”
“Oh.” Raven had never been shy, never having spent enough time in the company of

others to properly develop this trait, but he felt uncomfortable now, undressing in front of a
stranger. The man seemed to understand and turned away until Raven was done.

Myche took off his own boots and leather vest, and said, “This way.” He stepped through

an archway with barely a glance over his shoulder.

Clutching his satchel, Raven padded barefoot into the baths. It was a poorly lit room with

steam hanging heavy over the floor and threading in-between several large copper tubs.
Raven stared. The best bath he’d ever had was in the pond back home on a hot summer day
when the sun had warmed the water enough not to freeze his limbs off.

Myche picked up a tall staff with a metal hook at the end and walked out into the middle

of the floor. With a practiced thrust and yank he attached it to a ring in the ceiling, and down
came a large metal pipe. It swung like a heavy arm out over one of the tubs, and with a pull on
a cord near the end to open some hidden stop, Myche carefully filled it.

What contraption was this? It made a noise like a waterfall, and stopped as abruptly as it

had begun when Myche pulled the cord again. The pipe was easily swung back into its
position against the ceiling.

“Let me know if it’s too hot for you and we’ll add a bucket of cool water. Wouldn’t want

to scald you.” Myche looked expectantly at Raven, and after a fortifying breath he came over
to test the water. It was hot but not unpleasantly so, and suddenly Raven couldn’t move fast
enough to get in.

He had to slow down and let his body adjust, though, sweat breaking out on his upper lip

and across his shoulders. But it was good, so good. Myche went about something over by a
shelf while Raven slowly sank deeper into the water, relaxing limb by limb, and his head
lolling against the rim of the tub.

“Heh, I don’t think I’ve seen quite that look on someone’s face, not from a bath,” Myche

said, a smile in his voice.

Raven opened his eyes to look at him. “It’s a very good bath, sir.”
Myche laughed. “So it is.” He dropped a bar of soap and a rough cloth into the water.

“Start scrubbing and I’ll see what we can use for your hair. I’m sure there’s some sort of
colour underneath all that dirt.”

Raven ducked his head and dutifully did as told.
The soap made the softest, bubbliest kind of lather he had ever seen, and smelled of some

sort of spice, strong but fresh. Myche returned as Raven was trying to reach between his
shoulder blades, and without a word the man took the cloth and soap from his hands.

“Lean forwards.” His hands were gentle on Raven’s skin, rubbing in circles, soaping and

rinsing, and Raven soon felt like he could fall asleep.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, blinking at the water lapping at his chest, the skin pale now

when the dirt was scrubbed off.

Myche leaned closer to better hear. “Whatever for?”
“For having you running around helping me like this, like I was feeble.”
Myche was quiet a while longer before he went back to his task. “No such thing, lad. It’s

my task to see to you. Mistress made it so.”

“She did? Why?” Raven honestly couldn’t see the need. If given instructions and some

task he would soon learn to get around, he’d done it before.

“Ah, well, I found you so I have to sort you out. And we don’t let new folk float around

like so much dust. Gets under your feet and messes with the way things are run. You’ll be left
to your own devices when Mistress says so.”

Raven bit his lip, not sure if that was a comfort or not.
“Here, hold this.” A tall glass bottle was thrust into his hands and then Myche dumped a

bucket of lukewarm water over his head. Raven sputtered and coughed, and tried not to take
offence at the chuckle he heard.

Myche began washing Raven’s hair. The stuff from the glass bottle poured onto his head

made an even better lather than the soap, and caused his whole scalp to tingle.

“I suspect a few fleas are abandoning you,” Myche murmured. “I hope you weren’t good

friends.”

Raven shook his head, too curious with this strange feeling of having his hair washed to

find words.

“Needs a bit of a trim, this,” Myche commented, lifting the mass of it with both hands.

“Would you mind?”

“No. I guess not.” He had never had his hair properly cut either, only hacked at it with

his knife once in a while when it got too long.

“Oh, what’s this?” Myche wondered, fingering one of Raven’s ears.
Raven twisted away in alarm, making water splash over the rim, his hands coming up to

cover his ears. “Those are mine! Please, I didn’t steal them.”

Myche made a soothing gesture. “All right, lad. No need to panic. I wasn’t suggesting

you had.” He waited until Raven took his hands away. “I should tell you, Mistress will not
like it that you wear jewellery. Best to hide those away.”

“It’s not jewellery,” Raven muttered. “Just stones. They were my mother’s.”
“Jewellery as in anything adorning you, I meant. Mistress is strict with such things and

you don’t have the position here to be adorned.” Myche seemed serious.

Raven had so few of his things left, and the thought of losing this most precious

possession turned his gut in a knot. “I’ll put them in my pouch.”

“Good.” Myche gestured at him to come back and let him finish with his hair. He

dumped another bucket over him, warning him this time. “Ah, I thought so, black.” He patted
Raven on the shoulder and he glanced up, smiling uncertainly. “I knew there was a colour
there. Your cheeks are pinking up too.” He picked up a thick piece of cloth from beside the
tub. “Here, get out and dry off, and I’ll go find a pair of scissors. We’ll have you tidied up and
looking less like an urchin in no time.”

Raven couldn’t argue with the need.
Myche returned with the promised scissors and a stool, and made Raven sit. He combed

his fingers through the strands, untangling and measuring, before he began cutting. Frayed-
looking snips of hair began to fall and tickled Raven’s skin, making him twitch when they slid
down his naked back. He wondered how much would come off before Myche was satisfied.

But it didn’t take long. In the end it was cut neatly just below his shoulders and his bangs

trimmed along his eyebrows. Myche declared himself satisfied and had Raven stand by the
drain in the middle of the floor so he could pour another bucket of water over him, supposedly
to rinse off all the loose hair, but Raven suspected the man did it because he thought it funny.

Being clean felt like a wonder. He was almost sad to have to put on his clothes again.

They hadn’t been clean for ages and would surely leave dust and grime on his freshly
scrubbed skin. But there was a pile of neatly folded clothes waiting for him next to his own,
and Myche explained the Mistress made sure all in her employ were properly dressed. These
too were simple, like Myche’s, but comfortable and whole, no patches or knees worn thin in
need of mending.

Raven had the urge to toss away his own clothes and good riddance. Myche helped him

with that, but he kept the belt and boots. Worn as they were, they were still durable. Myche
waited while Raven gingerly took his earrings off, watching without comment. He felt naked
without the earrings and he squeezed the pouch to feel the stones through the leather. It was a
small comfort.

Raven followed Myche back up into the house proper, wondering where they were going

now.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find some place for you to rest.”
This time Raven tried to take notice of the path. He was fairly sure they went back a

ways from where they had come from the kitchen, before turning left, and soon came into a
long, low-ceilinged sleeping hall. Myche led him down the row of pallets and found him an
empty one near a lamp.

“There. You can put your things here.” He pointed to a small, simple chest at the head of

the bed. Myche turned and headed down the room, disappearing through another door,
leaving Raven to look warily around. It was still empty except for himself, but surely every
servant would soon come for their own pallets. He was wondering what to do when Myche
returned, arms wrapped around blankets and sheets.

“Here you go. Let’s make the bed for you and let you rest.” He was efficient in his task

and Raven was of little help. “There,” he said when he was satisfied. “You sleep easy, lad.
Few enough of us will sleep in here tonight and hardly any will disturb you. Mistress will
have let everybody know by now.” He nodded at Raven. “We’ll see each other again in the
morning.” With a last smile Myche left and Raven wasn’t sure the man had heard the soft
‘Thank you’ he sent after him.

He sat for a while on the edge of the pallet, thinking. Should he stay? Was this the offer

of work he had been hoping for to make it through the winter? If he left in the night and the
Mistress took offence at his dishonesty, she would have the city guard on his heels. He would
be banned from the city, if not worse, and there would be no second chances. He might make
it to a village down the road, but there was no guarantee he’d be taken in. If he stayed? He
would be put to work no doubt, but he was used to that, and it would be a small price to pay
for food and a pallet. So far, this seemed the only option, and nothing bad had befallen him
yet.

He lay down, clutching the satchel to his chest, wishing he had his knife back. He didn’t

think he’d sleep again, having slept the day away, but the rare fullness of his stomach, the
sensation of being clean, and the softness of the pallet all conspired against him. He wondered
if this would be taken from him in the morning and if he didn’t sleep maybe morning
wouldn’t come. But the needs of his body were stronger than the will of his mind, and Raven
slept and knew nothing until dawn.

~*~

Once again a strong hand shook him awake. He blinked blearily up at Myche, smiling at

him. “Sun is up, lad. Best to see what the day brings.”

Raven mumbled something agreeable and clambered out of bed. He was still reluctant to

let go of his satchel but Myche made no comment. He brought Raven again to the kitchen and
loaded up two bowls with hot porridge and fried sausages. There were even boiled eggs, and
Raven looked longingly at them. Myche noticed his look, winked, and snatched two for him.

The servants’ dining room was filled at this time of day, men and women dressed in

green and yellow clothing sat eating and talking quietly among themselves. Their matching
clothes made them look like an odd collection of tall grasses. Few bothered to look at him as
Myche found them an empty seat, one or two only nodding a greeting to the man. He was not

dressed as the others. His brown and white clothes of linen and leather stood out, as did
Raven’s.

They ate in silence, Myche keeping an eye on Raven’s plate, and when it emptied he

added two of his own sausages to Raven’s. He didn’t know what to make of this gesture.
Never before had a stranger treated him so kindly, let alone shared his food. Myche just
winked at him again and wiped his moustache with the corner of a handkerchief.

“Well,” Myche said when he was done. “There will be time yet before Mistress is ready

to see you. We’ll have a bit of leisure, I think.” He smiled when Raven hesitated, seeing the
way he was fingering the empty plate. An eyebrow climbed up under the brim of his leather
cap. “I’ll make sure you get another meal later, lad. Come now, no need to sit here.”

There was nothing for it but to return the plate to the kitchen and follow Myche again.
But it was nowhere more special than outside, into what seemed to be a stable yard.

There were men about, tending to various fine animals and mucking out the stalls. There was
even a small smithy where the blacksmith was busy shaping a new shoe for a large draft horse
waiting patiently outside.

Myche dodged a few animals and soon found a bench against the far wall. He sat down

and invited Raven next to him. Raven blinked, bemused, but as Myche sat back with a sigh
and scratched under his cap, Raven realized it was just a break before work surely began.

“So,” Myche said after a few moments. “Lad—wait, I can’t keep calling you that. What’s

your name?”

“Raven,” he said, and glanced up at Myche’s grunt.
“Because of your hair, I suppose.”
“No, not… my father gave it to me.” He ducked his head, uncomfortable.
Myche grunted again. “And how old are you?”
“Old? I-I mean, I’m not as young as I look,” Raven assured, worried he’d be made to

leave if he was too young for work; a few merchants had used his age as an excuse when
denying him employment.

Myche looked at his face. “And how young is that?”
Raven pulled himself up where he sat. “Eighteen in another half year, sir.”
Myche’s eyebrows rose and then he burst out laughing. Raven flushed. “Dear me, I was

sure you were not a day older than sixteen, but fine, I’ve been mistaken before.” He chuckled
and leaned back against the wall. “I’m Myche, by the way.” He extended a hand and it
occurred to Raven they hadn’t been properly introduced. The man had had his hands on
Raven, helped him bathe and given him food, but they had not exchanged names. Surely that
was not the usual order of things, but it seemed no harm was done.

As Myche seemed content to sit for a while Raven took the opportunity to look around.

The yard was still half in shadow from the tall walls of the house, bustling with activity and
smelling of the animals that inhabited it. The men here, for Raven noticed there were no
women in the yard, were all dressed similarly to Myche, brown linen and leather.

“What work will there be for me?” he asked, watching a tall horse being led around a

fenced-off area.

Myche hummed. “Whatever’s in need of doing, I suppose. This is a big mansion and

Mistress is an important woman. You will not go idle.”

“Mansion?” He was unfamiliar with the word.
“Ah, yes. A house of this size is often called a mansion,” Myche explained, and patted

Raven on the shoulder. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

Learn what? Raven wanted to ask, but Myche straightened up at the approach of a young

boy in the green and yellow dress, and sighed. “Here comes a message,” he murmured.

“Master Kierner wants you, Myche. And the new boy.”

Raven’s stomach made a slow, disconcerting turn, and he looked wide-eyed at Myche as

they stood.

“Well, time to go see the Mistress, lad. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

~*~

The servant boy led them both to a large hall that could have swallowed his father’s

entire house, both lengthwise and heightwise, and there’d be room left to spare for a stroll
around it too. Myche noticed him gawking and murmured to him this was the largest of the
halls in the mansion. The walls were decorated extravagantly with colourful tapestries and
paintings, and tall windows let in the morning sun to shine on statues of all manners and
characters. It felt almost crowded for all it was just the two of them.

At the far end the Mistress and Kierner were waiting, both seated on tall chairs and

dressed in rich clothes. Kierner looked as disapproving as he had last night when he glanced
at Raven, but the Mistress beckoned them closer with a smile.

“Ah, I see he has cleaned up nicely. Well done, Myche.”
Myche bowed gracefully. “It was no hard task. He has great potential, Mistress.”
Raven didn’t quite like the sound of that, and reminded himself he didn’t know any of

these people. Even if Myche had been kind to him so far it was no guarantee it would
continue.

“Step forward, boy,” the Mistress ordered, and Raven took a few unsteady steps. “What

is your name?”

“R-Raven, Mistress.” He ducked his head when Kierner let out a sharp laugh.
“Hm, that won’t do.” The woman sounded annoyed but he couldn’t tell if it was with him

or Kierner. “What fool put such a name on you?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Your
new name will be Evrin,” she pronounced. She tapped her lower lip with a slender finger and
a smile spread across her mouth. “Yes, that will do. Evrin. Kierner, make a note of it.”

Kierner looked sour but did as told, scribbling in a small ledger on his knee.
Raven stood stunned. His name! “But—”
Kierner shot out of his chair. “You mean to argue with Mistress Chatrina? I will not

tolerate it!”

The Mistress made a low hushing sound and gestured at Kierner to sit again. The bracelet

around her wrist jingled, and now Raven could see a slender chain trailing from it to the floor
and around her chair. “The boy is overwhelmed, naturally. It’s not every day you get such a
name to call yourself. He’s not been here long. He’ll get accustomed to it.”

Kierner seemed hardly placated but sat back down, which was good or Raven would

have buckled at the knees. The greying, thin man was intimidating in his anger.

“Well, then, Evrin. What can you do?”
It took Raven a moment to realize she was speaking to him, but Mistress Chatrina didn’t

seem upset by his slow response. “I, well, I can do most of anything, Mistress. I did house
tasks back home and have worked in a few taverns, and the fields of the farms.”

She nodded, a strand of her fair hair sliding against the bare skin of her collarbone. “Do

you need another body in the stables, Myche?” she asked, and he inclined his head at her.

“I suppose it would be well and good when the new additions arrive, Mistress.”
Chatrina turned to Raven. “Have you worked with horses before, Evrin?”
“N-no, Mistress.”
“Ah, then I shall keep you to house tasks for now. Can’t have you bumbling around

among my prize horses.”

Raven nodded and bit his lip, disappointed. It would have been good to work with

Myche. Now he would be alone with people he had never met.

“You will start in the kitchen. There’s always chores to be done. You will do as Cook

says and work hard. If he sees fit to appoint you a task you will perform it without complaint,
like all my servants. When you have proven yourself you might get a new position.
Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Raven remembered to bow his head, wondering if his wobbly motions

would please his new mistress.

“Myche, see to it Cook gives him something useful to do before you go back to your own

tasks. Well done.” She dismissed them both with a flick of her hand and the bracelet jingled,
rattling the chain across the floor.

Myche bowed, his eyes turned down, and led Raven by the elbow out of the hall when he

seemed unable to walk by himself. Glancing back he saw Chatrina and Kierner leaning their
heads together, talking. Something large was stirring behind their chairs, but the doors closed
before Raven could see what it was.

Myche urged him down the hall and Raven stumbled along, stunned, bewildered. He’d

been fed and bathed, and given a job and a pallet for sleep. But he’d been robbed of his name
like it was lowly or dirty. He wasn’t too fond of his name or what it stood for, but it was one
of the few things he owned. He was glad now he had hid away his earrings, like Myche said,
or she probably—no, most certainly—would have taken those too. He squeezed his pouch to
assure himself they were still there.

Myche seemed to understand his confusion for he didn’t immediately take him to see the

cook, but led him back outside to a small garden. He made Raven sit on the rim of a small
fountain and waited until he had almost stopped trembling.

“Quite the shock, I know,” Myche murmured, and Raven blinked up at him. The man

sighed and pushed his cap back to scratch at his scalp. “You’ll learn some things are not
important in the big scheme of it all.”

Raven felt a jolt go through him. “But my name! She-she took it—!”
Myche grabbed his shoulders and gave him a good shake. “I’ll only say this once, lad.

No one can take from you that which you don’t want to give.” His voice was low and hard.
“Some things mean little more than dust on your sleeve. Just brush it away.” His eyes were
fixed on Raven’s face and in the clear light of day he could see they were a beautiful greenish
grey.

He swallowed and nodded, not sure he understood exactly what Myche meant, but

willing to play along for now.

Myche waited a moment longer before he let Raven go and straightened. “Do you feel

ready to see Cook about your new job?”

“I… I suppose so.” He needed to think but now was not the time. Hard-earned lessons

had taught him to pay for what you received from others, and he would repay the Mistress for
the food and the pallet. Then he could leave, walk out the gates or climb the wall if he had to,
and not look back. He decided a week, maybe two, should be enough if he worked hard and
didn’t eat too much meanwhile.

Myche brought him to the kitchen again, and Cook snorted and shrugged at the news this

was to be his new helper. Raven was to begin with the most menial of tasks before Cook
would be convinced to let him help with more important things, such as baking or preparing
food for the household. Scrubbing pans and kettles, that was for the new boy.

Myche seemed satisfied Raven was in good hands, if not good company, and patted him

on the shoulder. “We’ll see each other at mealtimes, lad, don’t worry. If there’s ever trouble,
come find me in the stables, right?”

Raven nodded and meant to say he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find the way, but Myche

winked at him and Cook was calling. It was time to get to work.

~*~

Such was to be his existence for the next few days. He scrubbed all manner of pans and

kettles and cutlery, wet to his elbows, and suds in his hair and mouth. Cook slowly warmed to
his presence and his tireless help, if not his person, and once in a while he was allowed to step
outside into the kitchen garden to breathe fresh air.

They fed him three times a day, and if he was lucky or if Myche managed to find him in

time, they took the morning and evening meals together. Myche asked about his work and
there was not much to tell. “Wet,” Raven said, and Myche laughed heartily. Raven liked that.

He also learned to listen to his new name, or his city name as he called it in his head.

Cook used it diligently—Evrin this, Evrin that—and he was sure he’d hate the name before
his self-imposed week or two was up.

Four days in and a loud fanfare of trumpets announced something was about to happen.

When the other maids and servants in the kitchen abruptly dropped what they were doing and
ran out to see what it was, Raven couldn’t help but be sucked along.

Down the street came riders with banners, carriages draped in red silk, and soldiers

marching in line with pendants on their spears. It was a magnificent sight from the mansion
walls and Raven gaped along with everyone else.

“Mistress’ guests!” a girl said excitedly.
“Who are they?” he dared ask.
“His Lordship Deucin, of course!” As if everyone should know that. “And his wife, and

counsellor, and their court. Oh, this will be grand. And there are the horses!” she squealed.
“Such a magnificent gift.”

Down the line of riders came five beautiful, white steeds dancing along on their leads and

lifting their hoofs high above the cobblestones. Raven had never seen horses like these before,
tall-legged with shining coats, and manes falling thickly down their necks. He wondered if
Myche’s offer of help would include a wish to see the animals up close. Probably not, but he
might just go see him anyway.

Of course, now that the mansion was to host another fifty bodies, everyone was kept

extra busy and Cook chased them inside again. Elbow-deep in another kettle Raven wondered
if Myche had already had a chance to admire the horses for himself.

“Evrin. Evrin!” Cook bellowed, and Raven pulled his head out of the kettle. “Dry up and

run to the stables. I need to know how many riders his lordship brought with him and no one
have seen fit to inform me yet.” The man scowled and gestured with the ladle in his hand.

Raven nodded and quickly dried his arms and front before pulling on his shirt. He had

learned to take if off before scrubbing, or he would have to go wet all day.

Finding his way to the stables took a little longer than he’d wanted. He had still not quite

learned his way around and took a wrong turn. He heard voices up ahead, the Mistress and
Kierner greeting their guests. Raven slowed and crept up to the doorway. Though curious, he
was careful not to be seen, peering around the door to spot the lordship and his entourage.
This was probably the only chance he’d get to see them up close.

They were all splendidly dressed, like the Mistress, and carried themselves with great

pride. The Lord himself was tall and broad of shoulders, and the slender woman on his arm
was curtsying to Chatrina and smiling. The group scattered a bit, preparing to walk further
into the mansion, and when the Mistress turned Raven saw the most astonishing thing.

A wolf the size of a small pony padded at her side, its coat a strange mixture of gold and

red, and lined with white at the face and chest and paws. It turned its heavy head and looked
right at him.

Raven gasped and pressed to the wall, heart hammering in his chest. Sweet fates, the

Mistress had a wolf! Gulping air, Raven peered back around and saw the nobles walking
away, the wolf among them as if it was the most common thing.

He stood there for a moment longer, frowning and wondering if he’d been wrong. Surely

it couldn’t have been a wolf. Could it?

He shook himself and hurried to find the stables. Myche was busy directing men and

horses, and harried stable boys bustling to make room for the guests. He acknowledged Raven
with a glance and he waited patiently by his side.

As he did he got a chance to see one of the new horses walking by, its head held high and

a look in its eye that said such hubbub was beneath its notice.

“A fine horse, if ever I saw one,” Myche murmured, and nodded to himself. He turned to

Raven finally. “So, lad. You’ve come to see me, I can tell.” He smiled and led Raven away
from the worst noise.

“Cook needs to know how many riders arrived with the Lord.”
“Of course. There are thirty-eight of them, soldiers and horsemen, but I know them and

they will eat their fill and more. Let Cook know that too.”

Raven nodded. When he didn’t leave at once with the information Myche gave him a

concerned look. “Something the matter?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m not sure, but I think I saw something strange just now.”
Myche opened his mouth to ask what, then frowned and shouted at a man across the

yard. “No! I said the east side!” He stepped away from Raven. “I’ll see you later, lad. I need
to take care of this mess.” And he was gone in the crowd.

Maybe it was for the best, Raven decided. Myche would have thought him crazy. So it

was back to the kitchen where Cook scolded him for taking so long, and made him work right
through the midday meal.

The Mistress held a banquet for her guests and by virtue of four days’ experience Raven

was promoted to fetching and carrying from the stores together with another of Cook’s boys.
They were hardly allowed to rest, and if he had never before missed being constantly wet, this
was the time to start. He was sweaty, and his arms and back began to ache within the first five
minutes.

Cook saw it fit to have him relieved only after more than an hour, and by then there were

more kettles to clean. The evening meal came and went, and Raven only knew this because
his stomach had quickly learned the hours for eating. He thought wistfully of Myche and what
was sure to be lovely cooking, leftovers from the Mistress’ table. If he was lucky there would
be some left when he was finally released for the night.

Cook did take pity on him eventually. By that time Raven was so tired he hardly tasted

the food going down. He only knew it was good because his stomach stopped aching, and
when he found his pallet he fell immediately asleep.

~*~

The following morning was slow. The guests were still asleep, Cook said, having been

up and drinking long into the night. Raven saw a chance to see Myche and begged Cook to let
him take some breakfast to the stables, promising he wouldn’t be long. Cook frowned, then
shrugged, and handed him a folded cloth with bread and cheese. “For Myche,” he said sternly,
and Raven nodded.

While the nobles were still asleep the same couldn’t be said of their staff. The stable yard

was active as usual, horses being curried and led about for some purpose or other. Myche was
at the paddocks, a helpful stable boy told him and pointed the way, and Raven was delighted
to cross the yard and find not only the man, but the horses he’d wanted to see.

“Magnificent, aren’t they,” Myche said by way of greeting, his elbows resting on the

topmost rung of the fence.

“Yes, very.” He became aware of Myche looking at him only when the man chuckled.

“What now?”

“It’s just, you seem to be gaping a lot, lad,” he explained, then made a soothing gesture

as Raven frowned. “Is that for me?” he asked, nodding at the basket.

“Yes, Cook let me go for a while. It seems to be slow for now.”
Myche nodded and headed over to a bench to sit. “Yes, it usually is, day after a feast like

that.” He broke a piece of bread and offered it to Raven who took it gratefully. He’d not
thought to bring any for himself.

It was a rare treat, having leisure to sit in the early sunshine with good company and a

full stomach. The horses wandered around the unfamiliar paddock and snuffled at this and
that. It reminded Raven of another thing.

“Myche,” he began hesitantly, waiting until he had the man’s attention. “Would you

laugh at me if I told you something strange?”

Myche looked bewildered. “What? What are you talking about? Have I laughed at you

yet?”

Raven shook his head. “No, I mean, if I said I saw something strange and you didn’t

believe me… would you laugh at me?” He was fairly sure that was what he wanted to know.

Myche leaned sideways as if to take a better look at him. “What have you seen that made

you feel the need to ask that?”

Raven shifted, uncomfortable, and mumbled, “Just that, I think, maybe, the Mistress has

a very big—oh!”

Myche’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm so tightly Raven cried out. He was yanked to

his feet and hauled towards the horses’ big water trough. He thought he was to be punished,
drowned—oh, not the water, please!—for something he hadn’t said, for something Myche
had thought he was about to say, and he begged and pleaded and promised he would never
say a bad word about the Mistress, just please don’t, not the water!

Myche held him steadily by both shoulders, shaking him to make him stop, and his eyes

were grim and haunted and terrified all at once. Raven bit his lip not to cry, grateful that he
was not being drowned, and Myche shook him again.

“Whatever you were about to say, don’t!” Myche said, his voice sounding strained and

winded. “Don’t ever talk about that, not to anyone but me, hear?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
”Listen to me! Some words are dangerous to utter here. Some words would have you

flogged or killed for saying them, even to yourself. So don’t, understand?”

Raven blinked away tears and nodded, confused and relieved, and trembling with it.
Myche let out a slow, shuddery breath and let Raven go. He looked weary all of a

sudden, rubbing his face with his hands. He gave Raven an embarrassed look. “I’m sorry I
scared you just now, but I think it was good I did.” He looked down at the water in the trough,
flicked his fingers against the surface. He came to some kind of decision and turned to Raven
again. “There are some things we need to talk about, you and I, but not here or now. Tonight
after the evening meal I’ll come find you.”

“But Cook—”
“He won’t say no, lad. I’ll come find you. Now, not a word, yes? Run on back to your

tasks and let me to mine.”

Raven blinked and turned, confused beyond measure now, and with Myche’s strange

warning he was afraid to even breathe wrongly.

~*~

The hours to midday dragged by even though the kitchen was kept busy. Raven was put

to baking bread now and would have been proud of this new task if his head hadn’t been
buzzing with Myche’s words.

Close to the evening meal Raven was nauseous, making Cook look at him oddly and

asking time and again if he was going to be sick. Maybe he was, because he could hardly eat
when he was allowed.

He began to question himself—what he’d seen the day before, what he’d almost said to

Myche, and his decision to stay to pay for his upkeep didn’t seem so very wise any more. If
he left now he wouldn’t be missed, not with all the activity, and they wouldn’t have time to
come looking for him right away. Raven could walk long and hard when he had to. He would
be long gone.

He had almost decided to go when Myche appeared at his table and asked him to come, a

smile on his lips, like nothing was amiss.

“Take care with that one, Myche,” Cook said, and Myche raised his eyebrows in

question. “I think he’s about to be ill. Has hardly eaten all day.”

Raven wanted to kick him but only shrugged when Myche looked at him.
“Well, a bit of fresh air might help, then. Come along, lad.”
Raven had to follow unless he wanted to look like a fool.
They walked in silence, Myche not even glancing at him, until they reached the small

garden with the stone bench and the fountain. It babbled merrily, breaking the uncomfortable
silence. Raven found himself drawn to it.

Myche waited until Raven turned to him, then he came to join him by the water. “I know

how strange my behaviour must seem to you, and you’re probably afraid. But you needn’t be,
not of me, and not as long as you’re aware and careful.” He waited until Raven looked up. “I
think I know what you were about to say, but I want you to say it now to make sure.”

Raven frowned, hesitated. “But you said it was not safe.”
“It’s safe now, lad. I’ve made sure of it.” He looked intently at Raven.
He hesitated anyway, drew the moment out, a breath, another, until Myche’s eyes seemed

to burn with the need to hear him say it. “A wolf,” Raven blurted. “I saw a wolf.”

Myche’s eyes shot wide and then he sagged down on the bench, his face in his hands.

“Sweet, merciful Meuri, I cannot believe it.”

“What?” Raven leaned closer. “What did you—?”
Myche reached out suddenly and pulled him down on the bench, his hand trembling.

“How can this be, after all this time?” There were tears in his eyes, Raven realized with
dismay.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, trying to offer comfort but not understanding what for.
Myche shook his head, pulled his cap off and looked at it without really seeing, his thick,

wavy hair falling in disarray.

They sat like that for a long while, long enough for Raven to wonder if Myche would

notice if Raven left, long enough for him to start feeling uncomfortable with the silence.
Finally Myche pulled himself together.

“Right,” he said, and had to clear his throat. “There is so much about this situation that

has me both hopeful and scared, and scared of being hopeful. I’m asking myself if I should
confide in you.” He looked at Raven, a direct gaze that made him squirm where he sat.
“Maybe I should,” Myche murmured. “Maybe I have no other choice.”

Raven wanted to say there were always other choices, surely there were better men than

him, but Myche went on.

“There are some things in this mansion that are not what they seem, and some things that

are more than what they make themselves out to be. No, let me finish,” he asked when Raven

opened his mouth to speak. “I know this will not be easy to accept, and perhaps it is you
who’ll be laughing at me, but you need to hear me out.” He waited for Raven’s agreement.

“What you saw is true, the Mistress does have a wolf—only you shouldn’t have been

able to see it. Not as such, anyway.” He shook his head. “I wonder why you do. The Mistress,
Chatrina, is a witch or a sorceress, or whatever you want to call it, and she has glamoured that
wolf so that to everyone who looks at it, it seems to be an ordinary dog. Except to you.”

Raven didn’t know what to say, he opened his mouth a few times but nothing came to

mind. “But you see it too, right? Or how else would you know it’s a wolf?”

Myche shook his head. “No, all I see is a dog, and I won’t tell you how I know, not yet.

What is more important is figuring out why Chatrina’s glamour doesn’t work on you.”

“I don’t know,” Raven said helplessly. “I’ve never done anything magical in my life, no

changing the weather, no flames bursting into life in thin air, or things moving around. I’m
just… me.”

“But there must be, or how else would you explain—” Myche stopped abruptly.
“What?”
But Myche only shook his head. He pulled a deep breath. “Tell me about yourself, where

you come from, your family. Where were you born, who raised you?”

Raven stood, holding his hands up against the barrage of questions. “There’s nothing! I

swear, I—”

“Please, Raven.”
His name from Myche’s lips stopped him in his tracks. He’d been called Evrin so many

times lately it was strange to hear his true name spoken out loud. He sank back down on the
bench, as if the strength drained from his muscles. “If I… tell you… will you tell me about
you? How you know?”

Lines appeared between Myche’s eyebrows and around his eyes as he studied Raven

intently for a long moment, and then he finally nodded. “I’ll tell you as much as I feel
comfortable with. No more.”

“That’s fair. It sounds like you have more to lose than I.”
Myche snorted softly. “You don’t realize…. But please, tell me now.”
Raven wondered what he had been about to say. He told Myche in short sentences about

his childhood, growing up after his mother had died, living in the village but being no part of
it. How his father had kicked him out finally and after so long alone he had ended up here.

Myche was shaking his head by the end of it. “No, there must be more.”
“What do you mean ‘more’?” he asked, offended that his life could be so easily

dismissed.

Myche gestured vaguely. “More. Why did he name you Raven?”
This was a question he was not comfortable with. He looked away and mumbled, “He

said I tricked him. Three times I tricked him and then he threw me out.”

There was a long silence. Raven was sure Myche was disgusted with him, and then,

“Raven. Look at me.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please.” Raven turned and saw that
mixture of hope and fear in Myche’s eyes again. “Tell me.”

Raven found himself blinking back tears of his own. “I… when I was born, Father

thought I was a girl and he was so upset when he saw I was not. And Mother, they said she
was never the same after having me, and when she passed away Father blamed me.” He
rubbed at his eyes and realized he was crying. Myche’s hand was warm and strong, and urged
him to go on.

“Two summers ago, when the drought came and killed the crops, I still managed to keep

the garden patch growing. But it was only a small patch, a few potatoes and carrots and—
Father saw it and blamed me and he said that was the last time—” He stopped himself and
covered his mouth with his hands.

Myche sat silently until the sobs stopped, and they did soon enough. Raven hadn’t

realized he was upset still about all that had happened, and was embarrassed about his
behaviour.

“One final question, Raven.”
“Fine. Ask,” he muttered, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“When were you born? Can you tell me exactly?”
He almost laughed at the incredulousness of it. “In the winter, two months into the

season. At night, if you must know.”

Myche nodded, seemed to have forgotten about his hand still on Raven’s shoulder until

he shrugged it off. “And you say you’re soon to be eighteen,” he murmured.

“Yes. I told you, I look younger than I am.”
“I believe you. So do I, at least from your point of view.”
Raven blinked at the change of topic. “What?”
Myche gave him a wry look. “You have answered a few of my questions, and I think I

can tell you why I needed to ask them. You see, part of what I said—that some things here are
more than they seem—pertains to me also. And to the wolf. And this is where I’m not sure
how much I should tell you.”

Raven wanted to say “Tell me everything” but knew that would have the opposite effect.

So he let Myche decide for himself. In the end it was still more than he thought he had ever
wanted to know.

“Myche is not my full name but you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it, and I was not born

here or anywhere near here. I’m a lot older in your years than I look, but in the way you count
I’m just past thirty. But what’s important is why I’m here and why I’ve never left.”

He took a moment in which Raven braced himself, feeling something shift and pay

attention inside him. “I came here when I was a few years younger than you. I came with my
master to negotiate a treaty with the Queen. She was agreeable enough, listening to our words,
discussing every point, and I think she would have signed it unless one of her councillors
hadn’t intervened.

“Chatrina had fallen in love with my master, or what his title could offer her, and asked

him to marry her. But he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, and refused her as kindly as he knew
how.” Myche broke off to swallow, his face twisting with the memories.

“Her real evil was masked behind that pretty face of hers and the sweet words. She told

the Queen my master sought to dishonour the treaty, that it would bring her nothing but
disgrace and conflict, a weakness for my people to take advantage of. The Queen listened to
her lies and believed her.

“Chatrina got what she wanted, my master in disgrace and headed for the dungeons. But

she made him a deal—stay with her or all in his company would die.” He gave Raven a grim
look. “For my master there was no choice. He’d rather die himself than sacrifice the rest of
us.”

Raven’s mind was awhirl. “But you could’ve run?”
“No, lad. There is no abandoning one of our own. I’ve stayed here this long, I won’t

leave now.”

Something clicked together. “The wolf,” Raven whispered. “He’s your master.”
“Yes. Chatrina chained and collared him so that he must always be by her side. He

refused her marriage, but this… this is much worse.”

“But why did she make him look like a wolf and then a dog? Why not keep him as a man

in her dungeons?”

“This I can’t tell you. Just know it’s important that you see it for what it truly is.”
Raven sat staring for a moment. “Why tell me this?”

“If you thought you had a chance at freedom after years of captivity, wouldn’t you take

that chance?”

Raven thought back to his decision to leave just hours before, and wondered what it must

be like not to have that choice. He shuddered. “What now? There must be something you
want me to do, or you wouldn’t have told me any of it.”

Myche nodded. “This I have to think about. The obvious goal is to escape, but the

question is how. Exactly what you can do to help me is part of that question. You say you
have no special gifts, but I think there is something you can do, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“What?”
Myche waved dismissively. “Religious rhetoric, never mind.” He stood and put his cap

back on. “I need time to think. I hope you can understand how important it is you keep all of
it secret. If she finds out you can see through her glamour, she will have you killed, or worse.”

Raven swallowed, wondering what could be worse and thought he knew. “I’ll keep quiet.

But how come we can talk of it now?”

Myche smiled without humour. “Because starlight and water disrupts her powers. In

daylight, if you are away from water, she can pick your words out of the air the moment you
speak them. So mind your tongue, yes? And your surroundings, you never know who might
be listening.”

“I’ll be careful.”
Myche turned to go, but paused. “Raven. Thank you.” And then he left.
Raven stared after him, unable to make the words in his head stop or slow down. It all

sounded like some kind of dark fairytale. And what, by the fates, could Raven ever do to
help? But Myche seemed so certain, or hopeful rather, that he could do something.

He sank down in a crouch by the edge of the fountain, dipping his fingers in the cool

water.

Starlight and water.
He leaned over the edge until his lips were only an inch from the surface, droplets

spattering his face and hair. “Wolf,” he breathed into the water. “Wolf.”

~*~

Raven had never thought he’d be able to sleep that night, but he did. Perhaps because his

mind was so tired trying to understand everything he’d been told and needed a respite.

He didn’t think the next day would be much different than the previous. The nobles had

had their feast, now they would settle down to socialize. But the Mistress was not one for
leisure when she had guests. She called for the horses after breakfast and took a large
company riding.

Raven was out in the yard when the nobles came for their mounts, so he couldn’t very

well slink away or someone might notice and take offence. He was bound to stay until the
Mistress left or dismissed him.

Kierner spotted him of course, and sneered. If only Raven knew what he’d done to

offend the man. But then his attention was drawn elsewhere, for behind the Mistress padded
the great wolf. Raven told himself he shouldn’t stare. It would look suspicious if he was
caught gawking like this at a simple dog. But the beast was magnificent, its coat catching and
trapping the sunlight. Even knowing this was a man walking among them Raven couldn’t
help but admire the animal he saw. He understood why Myche had stayed—man or animal,
this one needed to be free, deserved no less. It was a crime to keep it chained.

The company mounted and departed in semi-orderly fashion, accompanied by guards and

servants, and the yard fell silent again. Raven saw Myche across the yard, staring after the
departed, and he knew—or thought he knew—how the man felt.

And so it went. The guests kept the household busy four more days. The day Raven had

told himself he would leave came and went, and he barely noticed. He couldn’t leave now,
knowing he left someone in need behind.

Myche hardly had time to see him, and when he did he was preoccupied and quiet. Still

thinking, Raven supposed. If only he knew how to help.

“Tell me about him?” he asked one evening when they met out by the paddock, sitting

with their backs to the water trough and watching the horses dozing.

“Hmmm?”
“Your master. Tell me about him.”
Myche seemed hesitant at first but shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
“What he looks like as a man? What he’s like as a master?”
Myche chuckled. “Those are big questions. It would take all night just to answer one.”
“So give me short answers.”
Myche’s mouth quirked. “He’s tall, taller than me, and broad of shoulders. He’s been

practicing with the staff and sword all his life, you see. He has a gentle hand with the horses
and the hounds, and he likes the hunt.” He broke off and had to clear his throat. Raven
guessed it hurt to talk about something they could no longer have.

Myche sighed. “He learned politics and strategy and diplomacy like he was born to it, his

father always said. That’s why he was sent to negotiate with the Queen. And I suppose they
hoped his good looks would help.” He laughed wryly and without mirth. “He taught me much
of what I know, he was—is a good, generous master.”

He turned his eyes to Raven. “We have to free him, Raven. I know the solution is so

close I can feel it, and yet I don’t know what I can do.”

Raven put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry.” Such small and useless

words. “There is no one you can ask for help? No one who could send a message to your
family?”

Myche grunted. “The message was sent long ago. Help… all I can say is it has done us

no good.”

“Why? Send another. You can’t give up.”
“I haven’t,” Myche growled. “I’ll never give up as long as he’s alive. But I can’t go past

the gates, physically or by word. Unless he’s freed there is no way.”

Raven didn’t understand but didn’t press, Myche was upset enough.
“We have to break the chain. How do you break a magical chain?”
Raven couldn’t answer that.

~*~

As it so happened, once the guests left and all went back to normal, Cook no longer had a

need for Raven in the kitchen. So once again he stood in front of the Mistress to be given a
task.

“What do you think of my home, young Evrin?” she asked with a smile.
“It’s good here, Mistress. Thank you,” he answered, hoping that was the right thing to

say. He stifled the urge to squirm, being uncomfortable in her presence, and wished Myche
was there.

She nodded and gestured with her right hand, making the bracelet and chain jingle.
Now that Raven knew what it was and what it kept imprisoned, he had a hard time not

staring at it. The length of the chain trailed out of sight behind Chatrina’s chair.

“Cook says you are a hard worker, no complaints. I like that in my household. Do you

still not feel comfortable with horses?”

He blinked at the sudden change. “Um, no, Mistress.” Which wasn’t completely true.

“I’ve heard you like looking at my gift horses. Quite beautiful, yes?”
“Yes, Mistress. They are.” He wondered if she’d heard this by Listening, and a shudder

passed along his spine.

“Well,” Chatrina was saying, her eyes slowly running the length of his body, “I think I

shall keep you in the house for now. Such a waste to have you roughened up out in the
stables. My Chamberlain could need a bit more help, I feel.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He noticed Kierner sneering at this.
The chain began to rattle and slide along the floor, and Raven froze where he stood.

From behind Chatrina’s chair padded the large wolf, its head held low and its tail hanging
limp. But its eyes pierced Raven where he stood and he couldn’t look away.

“Ah, I see you are admiring my pet, Evrin,” the Mistress said, and it was an effort to find

the words to answer.

“Yes, Mistress.” He quickly ducked his head.
“Well? What do you think?” she demanded to know.
Raven swallowed. “It’s—it’s a fine dog, Mistress,” he murmured.
Surely he imagined it, but the wolf looked offended at his words, which it should, not

knowing Raven could see it for what it truly was—he just didn’t know an animal’s face could
betray such emotion. Then the wolf fairly scowled when Chatrina laughed merrily.

“Yes, quite the specimen, wouldn’t you say,” she agreed, showing all her teeth in a smile

as she patted the large head.

If it had been Raven he would have bitten her hand off.
The Mistress collected herself and turned to Kierner where he stood by his chair. “Send

him to the Chamberlain. He can dust and sweep and wash the drapes.”

~*~

Having service in the mansion meant Raven had a valid reason to be seen in many of the

rooms where he usually wasn’t allowed, the green and yellow of his livery giving him passage
to many places. He was sent to dust the library, where he could overhear two of Chatrina’s
usual house guests exchanging court gossip. He was changing bed sheets in a guest’s room
when the man came stumbling through the door with one of the house maids. In short, he
would hear and see such that wasn’t meant for his knowledge.

But most importantly, he could walk the hallways of the Mistress’ own wing and not be

challenged by the guards. The first time the Chamberlain had sent him to the Mistress’ wing
the two men on guard gave him a suspicious look and stopped him.

“Sirs,” Raven murmured, bowing. Experience had taught him to be meek and well-

mannered when dealing with armed men.

“Where are you going?” one of them asked sternly.
“The Chamberlain wants me to fetch the silver in the Mistress’ parlour, to be polished, he

said.”

“I’ve not seen you before. Are you new?”
“Well, fairly new, sir. I was Cook’s boy before, but not long.”
The man frowned, seemed to want to send Raven back down again.
“Come now, Baryl,” his companion said. “Look at him. A wisp of a boy. What harm can

he do that we couldn’t handle. He wouldn’t be up here without orders.”

Baryl nodded slowly. “Very well. But only the parlour, boy. We’ll know if you’ve been

anywhere else.”

Raven nodded and passed through the door the guard held open, almost of a mind to

challenge them to escort him if they were so suspicious.

He passed a few doors he knew to be guest rooms, a library and a study, and two doors

he had no idea where they led, before he reached the parlour. The Chamberlain had given him
directions not to go into any other room, but he couldn’t help being curious.

Just down the hall were Chatrina’s private rooms. He had expected there to be guards at

the door, but except for the two at the entrance to the wing, it was empty.

He glanced around, hesitating. But what would he do if he went in there? What was he

looking for? A chain was most likely fastened by a lock, so there might be a key. But where to
search? He had no way of knowing. And what if someone came while he was in there? He
had no orders and no good excuse. He’d be flogged at least.

“Oy! You there!”
Raven jumped and spun around, the hand on the parlour door trembling in fright. It was

another one of Chamberlain’s boys, arms loaded with sheets.

“Get moving. Chamberlain wants that silver done before evening.”
“Yes,” was all Raven could come up with. The boy frowned and hurried away.
He was more careful after that, keeping to his tasks and making sure no one caught him

loitering where he wasn’t supposed to be.

Being sent throughout the mansion also caused him to come in contact more often with

Kierner, which neither of them were pleased about. The man scowled or frowned as soon as
he laid eyes on Raven, who did his best to keep his head down. Kierner was Chatrina’s right
hand. When he spoke you listened and said “Yes, sir.” When he walked past you bowed and
hoped to go unnoticed.

Hurrying from the laundry to the guest rooms, he almost collided with Kierner and a

long-time guest, a man that seemed bent on partaking of more than the Mistress’ hospitality.
“Watch it, boy!” Kierner snapped, and cuffed his ear.

Raven blinked back tears, then bowed and meekly made apologies.
The guest laughed. “Seems Chatrina needs to teach this one a thing or other.”
Kierner drew himself up. “She hasn’t. Yet,” he added darkly, giving Raven a piercing

glare.

The other man took a closer look, which made Raven flush and squirm uncomfortably.

“Perhaps for good reason. Look at that face,” he murmured. “Makes me wonder if she’d be
willing to—”

“I think not,” Kierner interrupted haughtily, and Raven wondered what would have been

said. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, though, what with the way the guest looked at him.

The two men left him standing in the hallway and he waited until he could no longer hear

the echo of their shoes, before he hurried on his way. He didn’t tell Myche about the incident.

~*~

Myche seemed to have found a balance between his new worries and the level-headed

man he had been when Raven had first arrived at the mansion. He could still spend hours of
their time together in deep thought, but he would also talk quietly about his master and the
time before Chatrina’s deception. He gave no great detail on where they had come from or
who they were, but he was willing to relive old memories by telling them to Raven.

Myche’s master seemed a proud man yet without arrogance, strong but gentle with it, fair

and kind and generous. His people loved him and they must miss him surely, Raven thought.
He was beginning to, and he’d never met the man. Not really.

Myche had said he was just past thirty and with all he and his master had done, Raven

counted on his fingers and thought the master must be at least ten years older. He wondered
again how long they had been trapped here.

Raven saw the wolf a few more times, always by Chatrina’s side, its head low and tail

hanging. He thought the coat looked lifeless and dull, and wondered if it could take ill.

“I know,” Myche murmured quietly when Raven told him his concerns. “I’ve seen it

happening slowly for some time. I think he’s finally losing heart.”

Raven felt his gut tighten with worry. If the master died Myche would follow, Raven was

sure of it. “Then we must find a way, quickly.”

“How?” Myche snapped. “She takes him with her wherever she goes—bath, bedroom,

dinners. There is no time when we can safely approach him. And the chain!” He threw his
hands up and stalked away from the fountain.

Raven watched him pace for a moment. “I can go most anywhere in the mansion now.

The guards know me. If I can sneak into her rooms—”

Myche was looming over him within the blink of an eye, his gaze boring into Raven’s.

“You will do no such thing!”

“But—”
“No!” He grasped Raven’s shoulders. “If they catch you, they will kill you, and who will

I have then?” His expression softened slightly but his eyes still looked haunted. “I have grown
fond of you. I can’t imagine being alone with this again. Please, don’t do anything foolish.”

Raven had never been asked to be careful for his own sake, or the sake of another. It was

a peculiar feeling, but not unpleasant. “All right.” Myche seemed satisfied with that and they
soon parted ways for the night.

But Raven couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, one hand thrust under the pillow to

squeeze the pouch and the earrings within. The answer lay in Chatrina’s rooms. He had to get
in there somehow.

~*~

He got his chance a few days later. Chamberlain’s first three boys took ill with the late

summer fever and were told to rest until their vision wasn’t blurry and they could sit up and
eat by themselves. Chamberlain was annoyed by this disruption. He was very meticulous in
his responsibilities and illness, if anything, disturbed his order. Who would now go change
the sheets in Mistress’ rooms?

Raven fought with himself not to jump up and down in excitement, and slowly raised his

hand. “Sir, I can go. I’ve been in the wing and the guards know me.”

The man frowned, his lips a thin line, and not before Raven’s heart was beating

frantically did he say, “Fine. You go, Evrin.” He put a pile of folded sheets in his arms. “She
likes her sheets stretched tight over the mattress. Make sure you do it properly.”

Raven barely heard him but nodded anyway.
He was nervous all of a sudden. Surely it was the risk of getting caught that made the

halls seemed long and narrow, the stairs endless, on his way to the Mistress’ wing. He
wondered that they didn’t see the tension on his face, but the guards only nodded at him and
held the door open to let him through. He walked past the guest rooms and the library and the
parlour, and then he stood in front of Chatrina’s doors.

He had imagined them to be carved or inlaid or painted to show her station, but there

were no adornments anywhere. He knocked to make certain no one was in there, before he
opened the door and stepped inside.

The sitting room was larger than he had expected, wide hearths at both ends, and several

groups of furniture. He spotted a desk through a door to the left and wondered if that was her
private study. Maybe the key was in there. He would have no time to search now, the guards
would keep track of the time he spent in here. He turned to look for the bed and found himself
face to face with Chatrina herself.

Raven squeaked and dropped the sheets, stumbling and nearly falling over a footstool.

“M-mistress,” he stuttered.

She was frowning, her eyes narrowed to dark slits. “What are you doing in here, Evrin?”

she asked, and her voice was low, hinting at unpleasantness if he didn’t give an answer she
approved of.

“Mistress—the Chamberlain, he asked me. Three of the boys have fallen ill, Mistress.

There was no other.”

She came closer, studying him, and he glimpsed the wolf behind her, its eyes fixed on

him. “And what did he send you to do?”

“Change the sheets, Mistress,” he nearly whispered now, she stood so close. Having only

seen her in the Hall before or from a distance, it surprised him to notice they were of a height.
Raven was no giant but Chatrina, with her piled hair and adorned dresses, had seemed so
much larger than him. But he could look her in the eyes without having to tilt his head.

He blinked and realized in alarm that was what he was doing. With a gasp and a quick

step back, he murmured apologies and lowered his head.

It was several long, agonizing minutes before she spoke. “You may continue with your

task, Evrin.”

He got to it with such speed as he’d never moved before. Picking up the sheets he had

dropped he gave her a careful glance. She might not approve having sheets in her bed that had
been on the floor. The Mistress merely waved him on with a bored expression.

Raven did as best he could, smoothing wrinkles and stretching sheets, fluffing the

pillows and carefully arranging the duvet. He was constantly aware of two pairs of eyes
following his every move.

When he had no more excuse to linger, no more pillows to arrange, he picked up the

bundle of old sheets and prepared to make any appeasements necessary as he left. But
Chatrina had other ideas. She waved him over and poured two tall glasses of a golden-looking
liquid. She held one out to him and he wondered desperately if she would be terribly offended
if he said no.

“Come now, Evrin,” Chatrina murmured, reading his hesitation on his face. “Just a taste,

to smooth that little scene.” She lifted the glass in a way that suggested he better take it or she
would drop it.

Raven hurried to set his bundle down and carefully took the glass from her slender hand,

the hand with the bracelet. The wolf lay still and quiet at her feet. Raven quickly looked away
only to realize Chatrina was watching him.

“Do you like dogs?”
“Mistress?” He nearly fumbled the glass. It felt delicate in his grip. “Yes. A bit.”
“Better than horses?” She was smiling now, but it looked calculating.
He ducked his head. “Yes, Mistress.”
“I prefer horses myself, such proud beasts. Dogs on the other hand.” She caught him

glancing at the animal. “Yes, this one. It was a gift, you might say. But he’s getting on in
years. I might have to have him put out of his misery.” She sipped her drink, eyes narrowing
as it touched her lips.

Raven wondered if she could hear his heart pounding against his ribcage, if she could see

the panic in his eyes. He took a desperate gulp of his drink and nearly choked on it burning
his throat.

Chatrina laughed at his predicament, pleased to have played such a joke on an

unsuspecting house servant. Raven didn’t mind as long as it took her attention off the
conversation. He coughed just a little longer than necessary.

“Ah, Evrin,” she sighed. “Such an innocent boy.” She put her glass down and took his

from his cold hand. He could smell the perfume on her now. “You will be changing my sheets
again, do you think?”

“Yes, Mistress. I suppose. At least until the Chamberlain’s boys are well.” He swallowed

uneasily when one of her fingers touched his arm through the sleeve. What was this about?
Surely she couldn’t…? But he supposed she could, and no one would argue or disagree.
Except Kierner.

“Hmm. I’ll make sure the guards know to let you in each time, then,” she murmured.
“Yes, Mistress,” he mumbled. He couldn’t breathe.
Chatrina stepped back. “Run along now. I believe those sheets need washing.” She

dismissed him with a gesture and watched with interest as he bowed his way out into the
hallway. When the door clicked shut between them Raven turned and ran.

~*~

He had decided not to tell Myche about any of it. He was embarrassed and uncomfortable

enough with what had happened, Chatrina’s strange behaviour not the least. But Myche
already knew.

He came and dragged Raven away from his washing of the Mistress’ sheets, pulled him

by the arm across the laundry yard and didn’t stop until they stood by the well, away from
everyone else. Myche was furious and the only reason Raven knew was because the man
could hardly speak.

“I’m sorry,” Raven said quickly, compelled to speak when the other couldn’t. “I saw a

chance to have a look and couldn’t let it slip me by. I wasn’t going to do anything, just see
what her rooms were like.” He didn’t say they were too large to easily search.

Myche ground his teeth together and his grip on Ravens arms hurt.
“I’m sorry,” he offered again.
Myche finally let out an explosive breath and his shoulders slumped. “You scared me

half to death, lad.”

“How did you know?” Raven wondered. Surely rumour wouldn’t spread about the

Mistress herself?

“I know because she was with her Horse Master and the gift horses when she suddenly

went all strange. She took off to her wing—almost running, by the fates—and I just knew it
was because of you!”

Raven stared. “But… how?”
Myche lowered his voice. “She knew because she has wards on her door. Only those she

has allowed can pass them without alerting her.”

“But the guards know me, they let me—”
“Not ‘guards’, wards. Magic,” he hissed.
Raven tried the unfamiliar word on his tongue. Then he frowned at Myche, angry. “If

you had told me before!”

“I know, lad, I know.” He made a shushing motion with his hand and glanced around to

see who was watching; there were only a few others, busy with their tasks and not interested
in a quarrel between servants. “It was my mistake not to warn you, but you did promise not to
go there and I trusted your word.”

Raven was ashamed now, cheeks pinking, but he would not admit it.
Myche sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
A group of maids came through from the laundry then and Myche looked at them for a

moment. “I can’t stay. But we shall talk of this again, mark my words, lad.” He poked Raven
in the chest. “I’m not done yelling at you.”

Raven neglected telling him he hadn’t yelled much at all.

~*~

It was hard knowing how much Raven should tell Myche of what Chatrina had said. He

feared it might make the man do something rash. But in the end he deserved to know, who
was Raven to withhold such important things about his master?

Myche sank down on the stone bench and buried his face in his hands when Raven retold

the whole scene, even Chatrina’s words about the wolf getting old. “I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it,”
he mumbled. “I’ve been wondering if she’s making it so to torment him.”

“She’s ageing him?” Raven asked, astonished and incredulous it could be done.
There were tears in Myche’s eyes when he raised his head. “She is more powerful and

more evil than you can imagine. It worries me that she’s finally getting bored with him. What
do I do?” He covered his face again, his body shaking.

Raven stared at his friend and didn’t know what to say. “If I… if I could….” No, she

would know he got into her rooms again, what with the wards. “But she said she’d let the
guards know to let me in at all times,” he said aloud, and sensed Myche was listening. “She
said ‘guards’ but what if she meant ‘wards’?”

Myche sat still for a long moment, then said, “You might be right. Sweet Meuri, what if

you’re right?” He got to his feet abruptly. “She never reacts to any of the other boys coming
and going, as if she included them in the wards. And you told her you’d be running up there
until the others were well again.” In the light of the waning moon it was difficult to see, but
Raven thought some colour had come into his friend’s cheeks.

“We have a few more days,” Raven interjected.
“This is still very dangerous, Raven,” Myche said, and fixed him with a steady gaze.

“There will hardly be any time to search very thoroughly. The key might not even be there.
She might not even need a key.”

Raven stood and took Myche’s hand. “If there is one I’ll find it, I promise.”
Myche smiled crookedly and didn’t say what had happened to his last promise. Raven

was glad he didn’t.

~*~

There were several things that needed to fall in place for Raven to be somewhat safe

going to Chatrina’s rooms. He needed an excuse, an order; it needed to be something he could
do by himself yet that would take time to finish; Chatrina needed to be otherwise occupied,
preferably away from the mansion.

But no such chance presented itself. The Mistress took one of her horses riding in the

afternoon but Raven was not sent to her wing. In fact, he hardly even left the laundry all day.
And two of the boys who had been ill were already sitting up and eating on their own. Raven
began to feel Myche’s despair. Time was running out.

~*~

The Mistress had been spending time at dinners with her peers, coming home late and

sleeping well into the next day all week now. With so many opportunities passing him by,
Raven was so frustrated he hardly knew what to do with himself.

The Chamberlain had his boys working late this evening, making sure all the chandeliers

throughout the mansion were properly lit and had new candles, and the lamps plenty of oil.

The late summer nights fell earlier by the day and it wouldn’t do to have the Mistress
stumbling around in the dark.

Raven was busy digging a burnt-down stump of candle out of a socket when he heard

voices in the hallway, approaching. He recognized the Mistress, Kierner, and the latest house
guest—a woman of some sharp wit and even sharper tongue. No few maids had left her
presence in tears.

Raven made sure to step well back when they passed him, bowing and murmuring,

“Mistress, Master, Madam,” and only receiving a scowl from Kierner for it. But as he looked
up he saw the most peculiar thing—a vine of some unknown quality that twined around
Chatrina’s right wrist, round and round. It trailed behind her and to the wolf’s neck.

Raven didn’t realize he was staring until the wolf looked back at him, as if cautioning

him, and Raven quickly turned away. He stood hardly breathing for the longest time, mind
awhirl with what he had seen.

Or thought he had seen? What if this was another trick of Chatrina’s, another glamour?
He caught his breath. Yes, what if it was!
In his haste he did a poor job with the chandelier, two of the flames going out as he

hurried away, but he couldn’t wait with this. Myche needed to know.

Myche had never told him where he slept, but considering he was well liked among both

staff and nobles, and held a position of some importance, Raven guessed he slept in a bed in
the larger, better appointed Chamberlain’s hall, which was much warmer in winter and cooler
in summer than the servants’ hall. Raven crept along the row of beds and soon spotted his
friend. In sleep he looked young and troubled, and the moustache seemed out of place on his
face. Raven gently shook him awake, whispering his name.

Myche frowned at him, blinking for a moment, then sat bolt upright. “What’s wrong?” he

whispered urgently, eyes wide.

But Raven wouldn’t answer. He couldn’t tell this without fearing he needed to shout in

excitement, and he beckoned Myche to follow him outside.

Myche paced him impatiently, clearly anxious, and no sooner had they reached the well

in the yard outside before he demanded to know what was the matter.

“The chain—” No, that was the wrong way to begin. “The Mistress came back just now,”

Raven started over. “I was still working with the chandeliers, and you’ve said starlight and
water disrupts her magic. The chain, Myche,” Raven hissed instead of shouted, “only there
was no chain!”

His friend frowned, opened his mouth, shook his head.
“What if it’s a glamour, like the dog?” Raven went on. “What if there is no key because

she never needed one?”

“Stop!” Myche grabbed him by the arms and only then did he realize he was bouncing on

his feet. “Slow down. You need to explain, what do you mean ‘no chain’?”

Raven pulled a breath and said really slowly, “She walked by, and I couldn’t see a chain.

Only a vine going from her wrist to the wolf.”

Myche was staring hard at him, not speaking, and his fingers were tight and trembling on

Raven’s arms.

“What if it’s a glamour? We could just cut it and he’d be free.”
“Stop. Wait. The glamour could be anything. The chain could be real and the vine the

glamour. You have no way of knowing until you try and if you’re wrong it would be too late
by then.”

“And what if I’m right?”
It was painful to see the spark of hope in Myche’s eyes.
“We will never know unless we try,” Raven said gently, and for this one moment he felt

like the adult.

Myche shut his eyes tightly. “I’ve wanted him free for so long I can’t…. Do you

understand how it would destroy us both if this fails?”

Raven reached up and covered one of Myche’s hands with his own. It was cold. “Maybe

it’s that religious thing you mentioned once. I understand what you meant now.”

Myche looked bewildered at him. “Religious rhetoric?”
“Yes.” Raven smiled. “Maybe I was meant to come here.”
Myche stepped back and leaned against the well. After a moment he said, “All right.

Let’s say you saw what you say. Can you describe the vine?”

Raven thought back, past the shock of discovery and the excitement. “It was thin and

pale, like from lack of sunlight. There were small, pointy leaves on it, yellow leaves. She had
one end wrapped several times around her wrist—the bracelet is such a misleading image—
and the other end around the wolf’s neck….” He trailed off and realized Myche had stopped
listening.

“Yellow leaves. It reminds me of a plant that used to grow on the side of my

grandmother’s cottage. Each year she had the gardener cut it down before winter, and each
spring it would grow back just as tall as before.”

“You know what it is?”
“I wouldn’t know for sure until I saw for myself, which I can’t. But if it is….” He shook

his head. “She is cruel, Chatrina. That vine could strangle you.”

And of course that was why the wolf was beginning to look so tired. Raven shuddered.

“So we find something to cut it with.”

“We still need to come close to her. She will not allow it, and she will know the vine is

cut the moment you do it.” He let out a frustrated growl and grabbed two handfuls of his hair.

“So we don’t, then?” Raven asked angrily, getting upset at the way Myche could only see

the problems. “We wait until your master dies?”

Myche looked like he had been slapped. “Meuri’s heart, no. I couldn’t live with myself!”
“I know. Which means we have to try. From what I’ve heard, your master seems like a

man who would rather die fighting.”

“Yes. Yes, he would,” Myche whispered hoarsely. “Thank you for reminding me.”

~*~

Raven didn’t know how to describe it to himself, but it was something like being

frustrated and nervous and terrified and eager all at once. Myche had wanted him to find a
way to get one more look at the vine, to make absolutely certain it looked the same—Chatrina
could have glamoured it that evening for some reason or other, and it would still be a chain.

But it wasn’t. Raven was certain. He saw it again the night he spent curled up at the

entrance to the Mistress’ wing, hidden by a heavy statue. She walked by alone with only the
wolf in tow, its paws dragging, and Raven stared until his eyes watered to make sure. It was
still a vine. When he saw her in the morning it was a chain again. Myche allowed himself to
be convinced.

“The autumn festival is soon,” Myche said as they sat eating their midday meal by the

paddock, water trough at their backs. “She will be out all day and all night. Her presence is in
high demand.”

Raven chewed his bread and nodded. The problem was to corner her when she was alone,

which was usually in her bedroom—she seldom took someone to bed with her. But they had
no ready excuse for Raven to be there at that hour, and the one he thought she might approve
of, he refused to even consider until he really had to.

“The physician gives her a remedy for the drinks, so she won’t be as sore in the

morning.”

Raven blinked at Myche. “Sore?”
He gave him a crooked smile. “Guess you’re too young to ever have been hung over, eh?

It’s most unpleasant, no matter how good the drinking the night before.”

“Yes, and?” He wondered where this was going.
“If we could add something to that remedy—and I know just the thing—she would sleep

well through the night. You could march all the horses through her room and she wouldn’t
wake up.” He seemed to like that idea.

“I could serve it to her,” Raven offered, but Myche shook his head.
“Only the physician gives it to her, and he’s no friend of mine.”
Raven raised his eyebrows at that, Myche seemed so friendly with everyone it was hard

to believe there was a person who could resist him. Well, Kierner, but Kierner wasn’t friendly
with anyone.

“We need horses,” Myche was saying, having moved on while Raven was musing on

other things. “I can see to those, obviously. But you’re the one with the hard part.” He looked
at Raven who shrugged.

“It’ll work, I know it will.”
“I hope so. By Meuri, I hope so.”

~*~

Myche let him know he had begun hiding stuff away, things they would need once they

escaped, and he had chosen two horses that could be relied upon to carry them safely and
without fuss.

Raven, for his part, had made it his business to be seen as much as possible at all manner

of hours in the Mistress’ wing. The guards hardly looked at him any more.

The physician too was seeing him quite a bit. Raven had developed a new and healthy

curiosity for all things concerning the body and mind. Treatments and herbs and medicines in
particular. He came running to the man, sometimes several times a day, with this plant or that
seed, asking what could be made of it. Raven hardly cared what the physician grumpily told
him about the things he brought, but that was not the point. The man was beginning to look
harried, and finally he cracked. He let Raven walk around his room, picking up skulls and
tools and books and bottles, until he had satisfied his curiosity.

“What are you doing?” Myche asked of him over their evening meal. “The man is

complaining to anyone who will listen about the boy who won’t stop following him around.”

“I figured the more he sees of me now the less surprised he will be when I ask to help

him. You know, climbing all those stairs every night for the Mistress’ remedy, can’t be easy
on an old man’s bones.”

Myche let out a bark of laughter at his mock-sympathetic tone. “You are sneakier than I

thought, lad.”

Raven smiled and shrugged.
But it wasn’t that easy. The physician was very protective of his work, making sure

Raven never saw what he mixed in his tonics or how he prepared the medicines. That didn’t
matter, but how to get him to let Raven be the one to deliver it? He needed a minute for the
powder Myche had found to dissolve and mix with the liquid, and the physician wouldn’t let
his bottles out of sight for more than a few seconds.

The Autumn festival lasted for ten days, opening with a grand parade and fireworks.

Mistress Chatrina participated of course, riding in a carriage draped in green and yellow
velvet. Raven watched the party leave in the mornings, wondering at the frivolous splendour
of the city, and the carriage often returned empty in the afternoons.

It was late on the fourth evening of the festival and Myche and Raven were sitting,

apparently at leisure, at the paddocks when there was a disturbance at the gates. The Mistress’
carriage came back, earlier than usual, and she seemed in a foul mood.

“Something’s wrong,” Myche murmured, craning his neck to see.
Chatrina fairly jumped from her carriage, gesturing wildly at Kierner, who followed

more sedately. She was upset about something, angry, and yanked on the chain—now in the
starlight a vine to Raven’s eyes—and the wolf stumbled down the steps.

Raven gasped, and Myche shot to his feet beside him. This was not the wolf he had seen

all those weeks ago. This was a greying, tired creature with hardly the energy to stand, let
alone walk. But Chatrina showed no mercy and forced the animal to follow as she headed at a
brisk pace for her wing.

Myche moved as if to follow and Raven had to put a hand on his arm to make him stay.

He turned desperate eyes on Raven. “He’s dying, I can feel it. We have to do it now, tonight.”

Raven stood, feeling strangely calm. “I’ll go see the physician, ask to help. You get the

powder, I’ll be back soon.”

He hurried, keeping out of the way of the guards in the yard who were muttering about

their Mistress’ mood. The physician was in his study as usual, but Raven was to be
disappointed.

“Mistress has no need for my remedy tonight, she said,” the man informed indifferently

when Raven asked. “I know you are eager to prove yourself, boy. You will just have to wait.”

Raven stared for a moment, then excused himself. What now? He had to get into

Chatrina’s rooms. As he walked back out to find Myche he noticed the men who had escorted
the Mistress standing together, passing a flask between them. They seemed more relaxed than
minutes before, and an idea came to him.

Myche frowned when he saw Raven return empty-handed, but he nodded agreement to

his new plan. “And you think you’ll get her to drink it?”

“Maybe. I think she has an eye for me.” He didn’t want to explain why this was so, and

fortunately Myche didn’t ask.

“I just bet she has. Fine, I’ll come with you to the kitchen, keep Cook distracted while

you steal a bottle.”

Cook was more than happy to be distracted, talking to Myche and offering him a plate of

leftovers, which he accepted not to arouse any suspicion. It turned out to be fortunate, now
Raven could offer the Mistress a tray of snacks with the wine, to help soothe her mood.

They hid in a corner of the small garden, not talking out of fear of being overheard and

simply because there was nothing to say. Raven watched as Myche poured out almost half the
bottle among the bushes and then tipped the powder into what was left, to make it more
potent, he whispered.

Knives and daggers were forbidden in the mansion, except for the guards’, but Raven had

stolen a pair of scissors from the physician. They were of sturdy metal where the edges were
lined with silver, for cutting the Mistress hair, he had found out, but couldn’t understand why
it had to be silver.

Myche had found it suitable. “They will work just fine for cutting him free from her.”
Raven settled the scissors on a leather thong at the small of his back, inside his trousers,

and his shirt was loose and long enough to hide the small form of it.

He realized he was squeezing his pouch when he felt the shape of the earrings against his

palm. It was not an idea, more an instinctive action, when he took them out and put them back
in his ears. There was a slight pinch at first, but the familiar and long lost weight was a
comfort.

Myche looked at him, tilted his head to the side. “You look somehow different,” he

murmured.

“I am different,” Raven answered. “Tonight we take back what is ours.”
Myche drew a sharp breath and clasped his shoulder. “Meuri is with you, I know it.”

Then he stood and gave Raven the bottle. “I’ll be waiting with the horses.”

Raven didn’t stay to watch him leave, he took the bottle and the plate, and headed for the

Mistress’ wing. Climbing the stairs was like climbing a hill, walking the hallway leading up
to the guarded entrance seemed endless. He paused at the top of the stairs, making sure his
hair covered the earrings. He was about to rebel but he wasn’t foolish. If anyone saw the
stones they would know right away something was afoot.

The guards barely eyed him as he passed and he continued down the hallway, breath fast

and shallow in his throat.

“Stop!”
Raven froze halfway to Chatrina’s doors, knowing that voice very well, and slowly

turned. Kierner was striding towards him, his narrow face set in harsh, unforgiving lines. He
stopped only feet away, crowding Raven and looking down at him along his nose. There was
a glint in his eyes that made Raven want to squirm. He forced himself not to move, not to
think about the suddenly cold metal of the scissors against his skin.

“What are you doing here?” Kierner demanded in a sharp tone. “Mistress has not sent for

you.”

“I thought—”
“We do not want our servants to think, boy!” the man interrupted with a slash of his

hand. “We only need you to run and fetch, and it seems you’ve misstepped this time.” He
smiled, showing all his teeth. “I’ll personally see—”

The door down the hall banged open. “What’s this ruckus?” Mistress Chatrina yelled.
Raven had never heard her raise her voice before and he didn’t know if he should be

afraid or amused. She sounded almost like a sulking little girl.

Kierner bowed his head, Raven hurrying to do the same, and the man said, “This boy

presumed to disturb you with a plate of food and a bottle—half a bottle of wine, Mistress,
when you had specifically asked to be left alone. I was merely setting him straight.”

Chatrina scowled, her hand grasping the door handle tightly. Finally she jerked her head.

“Send him in here.”

Kierner made a choked sound. “Mistress—”
She cut him short with a snarl. “Now you presume to lecture me, Kierner? Do I have to

set you straight as well?”

The man’s already pallid face paled even more, and he bowed and mumbled apologies.

He gave Raven a shove and a scowl, and sent him to Chatrina’s rooms. Raven could feel the
man’s eyes on him right up until the doors closed behind him.

Chatrina snorted and muttered under her breath, stalking past Raven to a vanity set

against the far wall. She picked up a brush only to toss it irritably away again. The chain
rattled—or rather, the vine made hissing noises where it trailed behind her, lengthening and
shortening as she required. The wolf laid still and breathing slowly on a rug by the windows,
apparently unaware of Raven’s arrival.

He kept his eyes down, waiting to be acknowledged. He couldn’t risk making her any

angrier. Finally she came over to him and only now did he realize she was wearing her
nightgown and a silk robe, and her hair was down around her shoulders.

“What is this you bring me, Evrin?” the Mistress asked, but it didn’t sound friendly or

even like she cared.

“A bottle of wine and some small snacks, Mistress,” he murmured. In the corner of his

eye he could see her purse her lips.

“So Kierner was correct? You presume to know my mind?” she said thinly.

Raven began babbling and it was only half an act. “No, Mistress. Please, I only—when I

saw you return, you seemed so upset, and I thought—I mean, I hoped, maybe something to
—” He stopped himself. A meek servant’s rambling was annoying enough, he hoped
whatever the interest she had in him might smooth it over.

The moments dragged by heavily before she spoke. “Evrin, Evrin. Such a good boy you

are.” She gestured gracefully at the cabinet where she kept her glasses, smiling like she hadn’t
been angry just moments before. “You may pour me a measure.”

Raven could hardly believe he was one step closer to succeeding. He took care not to

fumble and spill, surreptitiously swivelling the wine before he gave her the glass with a bow.

She studied him over the rim of the glass as she sipped, then sank into a plush chair.

“How about some of those morsels you brought?” Her voice was low and vibrant with
something Raven couldn’t identify, but it made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

She picked and chose among the pieces of sweetmeats and cheese, and nibbled delicately

on them. “I must say, when I first saw you I knew there was potential, but I could hardly
credit myself for how well you’ve turned out. Such forethought to bring me evening snacks.”
She paused, swallowed, a small wrinkle coming and going between her thin eyebrows. “I
think, if you continue to behave like this, I shall make you my personal servant, Evrin. Good
behaviour should be rewarded.”

Raven made sure to seem pleasantly surprised, but he could think of nothing worse. He

glanced up under his bangs when she delicately cleared her throat, and wondered how long it
would take before the powder took effect.

Not long, as it turned out. Chatrina suddenly lurched to her feet, clutching one hand to

her chest, the other trembling badly enough to drop her wine with a shattering of glass. “Wh-
what have you done!” she cried, her voice weakening. “Damn, foolish boy!” She reached
clawed fingers towards him, stumbling. She was stronger than he had thought for she got her
hands on him and yanked him off balance with a snarl.

Raven yelped as they stumbled over a foot stool and fell, her on top, and the air

whooshed out of him when they hit the floor. For a long, stunned moment he could only lie
there, trying to breathe and wishing fervently that nobody had heard the ruckus and would
come to investigate.

But all was silent outside, and he pushed her limp body off and struggled to sit. And

came face to face with the wolf. Its warm, moist breath washed across his skin. It was so close
he saw the striations in its eyes. They were the most wondrous green and yellow colour, and
held Raven in a gaze so intense he could hardly breathe.

Wide-eyed, Raven dared not move. What if the man had been trapped for so long he no

longer remembered what he truly was? Would the wolf attack if he tried to touch it?

“Please,” Raven whispered when he managed to find his voice. His lips were numb with

fear. “I’m here to help you.”

Still the wolf would not move. What if it had forgotten the thoughts and words of men?
“Myche,” he murmured, “he sent me. We’re taking you away from this place. Please, I

don’t know how long we have.”

The animal finally took a step back.
Raven could breathe again and shifted to his knees. There was no time to waste. With a

trembling hand he reached for the scissors in the back of his trousers and grabbed the vine.
The wolf stood silently by and watched as he went to cut the shackles that had held Myche’s
master prisoner for so long. Raven cut it a few feet from the wolf’s neck, keeping a wary eye
on the beast and woman alike, as the silver-lined edges sank with surprising ease through the
bark and sinew. He almost laughed in relief—and then yelped in shock when the vine began
to jerk and thrash, the severed ends squirming as if trying to find each other.

The wolf jumped away, fur bristling and tail coming up. It was the most animated Raven

had yet seen it. He tossed the end of Chatrina’s vine away, staring in revulsion as it wiggled
and yanked, making the woman’s limp hand twitch.

It was time to go. He hoped to sneak far down the hall before the guards were alerted to

what was happening. But opening the door just a crack he saw Kierner standing further down
the hallway, and the man saw him.

Raven slammed the door shut again, blood rushing in his ears, and palms damp. Too

late! Too late, they’ll take me and the wolf, and Myche will come and we’ll die and—

There was a body at his hip, breath and fur tickling his hand. The wolf was pressing up

against him as if to encourage him.

“Yes,” Raven murmured, staring at it. “Let’s go.” It was more than time.
He yanked the door open moments before Kierner reached it, making the man pause

between steps, and the wolf was in motion. It streaked past Raven and Kierner both, the heavy
body bumping the man and making him fall over. Raven was not late to follow and leapt past
Kierner, who was now drawing breath to scream.

They ran as fast as they could but the hall was long and gave the guards time to hear the

warning, if not fully grasp the situation. However, the element of surprise was on Raven’s
side. None of the others were prepared for the sight of a wolf to come running at them, and
Raven knew now the glamour of the dog was gone, for the guards shouted in fright and
scrambled out of the way of the snarling, teeth-baring beast.

Raven shot a look over his shoulder and saw Kierner had got back to his feet, yelling for

the guards and cursing their foolishness.

“Go, go!” Raven shouted to the wolf, and did his best to keep up.
The chaos in the Mistress’ wing had not gone unnoticed. Servants and guards were

appearing everywhere. Raven was winded by the impact of one of Chamberlain’s boys—
thankfully the smaller one—and he fought to keep his feet as the boy fell with a cry.

Then the wolf was at his side, its shoulders tall as his hip. It turned its massive head and

gave him a look. Raven blinked, then dug both his hands into the thick, warm fur. He could
feel the noose of the vine against his knuckles. It had loosened but not lost its grip. Raven
stifled a yelp and clung on not to be yanked off his feet when the beast took off again.

It was like flying. The faster they ran the longer his strides got. In a blink they were at the

end of the hallway; they took the stairs four, five at a time. With an exhilarating bubble of
laughter Raven saw the guards falling far behind.

They came to the tall front doors and Raven urged the wolf to the right just outside,

clinging on as they fairly leapt the path and entered the small garden where Raven had first
met Myche.

There he was, two horses in tow. Raven barely had time to let go before the wolf and the

man were greeting each other, a quick but heartfelt embrace and uttering of sobs and whines.
Then Myche grabbed for Raven, thrusting him at one of the horses.

“Get up,” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse.
“But I can’t ride. I’ve never—”
“No choice. Just hang on as best you can!” He boosted Raven into the saddle with little

care for proprieties—there simply was no time.

The mansion was coming alive, lights in all the windows, and voices nearing. Raven

hung on when the horse moved nervously, tossing its head, and then Myche was guiding them
both to the damaged garden wall. Raven wondered why he was not surprised to learn they
were to jump it.

The wolf sailed across it easily, then Myche’s horse jumped, its hind hoofs striking stone.

Raven dug his fingers into his horse’s mane, squeezed with his legs around its barrel, and
hardly dared look. It was a breathless moment during which he had many thoughts and none

at all. Then the horse landed with a teeth-jarring impact and Raven yelped and nearly lost his
seat.

Myche took the reins of Raven’s horse, making clicking noises at the animals to keep

them going, and turned to the right at the end of the backstreet. Raven had completely
forgotten it was Autumn Festival. The street they came to was crowded with celebrants,
forcing them to slow the horses to a walk. It astounded him the whole city seemed to have
come out to celebrate, as if hunger and starvation and war were a distant worry. He frowned
down at a beggar girl who lifted her cup of festival drink at him, a big lazy smile on her face.
Where would she be tomorrow, he wondered.

The wolf kept near to the horses, baring its teeth at anyone who came too close. But most

celebrants, Raven realized, were well and truly into their cups by now and thought the beast
was a well-made prank.

Another effect of the festival was that no gates were closed in any part of the city, and it

was Myche’s hope they could force their way through even at the city gates. They had only
avoided the gates at the mansion to throw the guards off, at least for a bit.

They cleared the worst of the crowds when they left the nobler quarters and the markets,

and Myche set the horses to a brisk trot. Raven could see the wolf ahead and wondered if it
would stay with them or keep running.

Then the city gates came into view. Myche gave Raven a grim look. “Hang on tight now

and don’t fall off.”

Wide-eyed, Raven nodded.
For one brief moment all was silent except for the sound of hoof beats. Then there was an

unholy snarl, and the guards all yelled and scrambled over each other to escape the beast that
leapt and lunged among them. One or two tried to draw their swords, but had to let go of the
hilts and jump aside, or risk being trampled by the galloping horses.

In a glimpse Raven saw the pale, angry faces of the guards, heard the ominous rattle of

the portcullis chain, but too late, as the riders burst through on the other side.

Myche let out a wordless yell, the wolf a deep, huffing sound of approval, and Raven

clung on as best he could when the horses lengthened their strides and headed for the far
forest.

~*~

He couldn’t say later for how long they had ridden or how far, but the horses were tired

and sweaty, and his own body ached and trembled with fatigue. Trees had appeared around
them some while ago and not long after Myche had steered them off the road.

Now, as Raven sat swaying in the saddle, he was surprised to realize they had stopped.

He raised his head and looked around at the dark forest. Myche was just getting out of the
saddle and sank to his knees as the great wolf came trotting over, its head held low and its tail
wagging with joy.

Though Raven had hardly met a wolf before, and only rarely spent any length of time

with dogs, he could tell by the body language how relieved and joyous the animal was to
finally be free. Myche was crying and clinging to the wolf’s neck, laughing when the big
tongue left wet licks across his face. Raven couldn’t bring himself to interrupt the wonderful
reunion.

Finally Myche wiped his eyes on his sleeve and rose, one hand still on the wolf’s head.

He turned to Raven still on his horse. “You have no idea how grateful I am.” Then he
gestured at Raven. “We’ll be stopping here for a few hours. Why don’t you get down?”

Raven bit his lip. “I don’t think I can,” he mumbled, too sore to move and the horse too

tall.

Myche smiled crookedly and reached up to catch him. No sooner had he put his feet on

the ground, knees nearly buckling, before there was a big tongue across his face. He coughed
and spluttered, and wiped at the wetness.

Myche laughed. “Oh, yes, let me introduce Raven, Master.”
Raven gave the wolf a hesitant look, then bowed his head. “Master,” he said, and it

seemed to him the wolf laughed.

“Master, I have clothes here if you wish to change.” Myche pulled a bundle from his

saddlebags, and Raven was abruptly reminded this was supposed to be a man.

“But… why hasn’t he changed back?” He’d thought the glamour on the man was

supposed to have stopped working outside the mansion, or at least this far away from
Chatrina. Surely her powers couldn’t reach this far?

Myche frowned, looking at the wolf. “I don’t know, he….” He trailed off, then grabbed

for the animal. “You didn’t cut the vine off?”

Raven shifted at the accusing tone in his voice. “I didn’t—didn’t think it—he’d let me

near with the scissors.”

Myche held his hand out. “Do you still have them?”
Raven grabbed at the back of his trousers, but of course they weren’t there. He had no

idea if he’d dropped the scissors, or just forgotten them in their haste to escape. “No,” he
whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Myche seemed about to yell at him, but the wolf stepped between them and gave Myche

a look that stopped him short. “I’ll try it with my knife,” he said after a moment.

The wolf submitted readily to his ministrations, like it would not have for Raven, and

Myche carefully put the knife between flesh and vine. He had to use some force. The sinew
withstood the metal of his knife like it had not the silver of the scissors, and would not yield
easily.

Then there was a startling snap and a blinding flash, and both Myche and the wolf yelped

with pain. Raven threw his hands up to shield his eyes and when he looked again, blinking at
the spots of colour, he saw the two had been thrown apart by the release of magic.

“Myche!” He hurried to his friend’s side.
“I’m fine, just knocked the breath out of me.” He groaned and rubbed at his chest. “Help

me sit. Master, he—help me up!” He grabbed at Raven’s sleeve.

Raven helped him sit and when they looked over they saw the wolf was on its feet,

trembling and panting. Then it yowled as if in pain, Myche jumping at the sound, and the
strangest thing happened.

Raven couldn’t tell if it was revolting or amazing, what happened next. The animal’s skin

began to move, like there were large worms crawling beneath it, or like the bones were
rearranging. He stared, slack-jawed, hardly aware of anything else.

He had known, somewhere, that the animal was not truly an animal, but a man. But he

had thought the wolf wouldn’t have substance, that it would be a glamour like the dog, and
that it would have transformed more gracefully, with fairy lights and a puff of silver dust. It
was not like that, it was painful and elemental—primal—and seemed to take much too long.

The man, when he finally appeared in full, panted heavily from the exertion, shivering

with a layer of cold sweat on his naked skin. He did not move from his crouch for some time.
Myche waited, pale and silent, and rose finally. He slowly moved around, pulling one of the
blankets from the packs, and with a soothing murmur laid it across his master’s shoulders.

~*~

Myche sent Raven away with the excuse of gathering wood for a fire. He understood

their need for privacy, which they hadn’t had for a very long time, and for the master to regain
his composure. Raven dutifully went.

He stayed away longer than it took to get an armful of sticks, sitting crouched by a tall

pine and keeping a wary eye on the forest. He had never been this far away from any
settlements at night, and the woods sounded and felt very different when he was alone. He
had a flash of memory, of human scavengers in the night creeping up on him, and he
scrambled to his feet, back pressed against the tree. Even old memories and frights became
renewed now in the dark.

Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. Gathering the sticks, he returned to find Myche’s

master had gotten dressed in borrowed and stolen clothes.

He sat at Myche’s side, slowly brushing out his hair with his fingers. And what hair it

was, Raven thought, waves of golds and reds and something like silver. Untied it reached well
below his shoulders. Raven tried not to stare, not wanting to make any of them
uncomfortable, but he was curious.

Myche set about making the fire, and once there was light Raven got his first good look

at the master’s face. He was handsome. Raven was surprised at himself for knowing that word
and what it embodied to him: prominent cheekbones and a good jaw line where the muscles
played as the man bit his teeth together. His nose had a notch halfway, and the brow was
smooth and wide. The man’s eyes were like the wolf’s, just as intense and direct in their
colourful gaze.

Raven blinked, realizing his perusal had been noticed only once their eyes met, and

hastily looked away with a blush heating his cheeks.

The master’s lips twitched and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m

pleased to meet you, Raven. I’m honoured that you would risk your life to save mine.”

Raven slid his eyes to the man again and saw him bow his head ever so slightly. “Oh, no,

Master. I mean—” he blurted, unused to be paid such respect. “If it were anyone in need I
would still have done it.” Then he blushed again, realizing how that could be interpreted. “Not
—not that you are anyone, Master,” he added hurriedly, and bit his lip when the two men
laughed.

“Still, thank you.”
Myche produced a pouch and a small kettle from one of the packs, and began to prepare

for some light food and tea. Raven was happy to let the silence fall, unsure what to say now
that the company had changed. Back at the mansion he and Myche had had a purpose,
something in common. Now Raven felt at a loss. He glanced at Myche and saw a sort of
rearranging of the lines around his eyes, the relief clear on his face, as he must surely feel to
have his master back and both their freedom.

But glancing at the master Raven wasn’t so sure he was as at ease. His captivity had not

been easy. Raven could only imagine and wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

They sat sharing their simple meal in silence, the fire crackling, when the master looked

at his hands holding the bowl. He opened and clenched the fingers of one hand, staring as if
he had never seen such a thing before. There was a strangled sound from deep in his throat
and he got abruptly to his feet, the bowl falling to the ground and spilling its contents, and
then he stalked out into the dark forest without a word to the others.

Myche let him go but after only a few moments he rose. “Wait here. We won’t be far.”

He left too and Raven was once again alone in the dark.

~*~

He woke up with a crick in his neck and a blanket over his shoulders. He sensed there

was someone sitting nearby and saw Myche across the fire. Myche acknowledged him with a
nod and a bowl of something that smelled wonderful.

“You have time. We’ll move on soon, though,” he said quietly.
Raven looked around for Myche’s master as he ate his potatoes and broth, but there was

only the two of them.

“He’s out there. He just….” Myche shrugged.
Raven didn’t know what to say so he kept quiet, patting Myche awkwardly on the knee.

His friend managed a small smile.

Birds began to chirp in the trees and small creatures rustled the bushes with the breaking

dawn. Myche seemed anxious to go. He put out the fire and packed all their things, even
saddled the horses while they waited.

The master came back, his face carefully composed, and with a curt nod at them,

mounted one of the horses. Raven frowned uncertainly, a bit disturbed by the man’s brusque
behaviour where he before had been quite amiable, but Myche seemed ready to forgive it. He
took the other horse and reached down a hand for Raven.

“We’ll ride double. You’re so skinny I don’t think the horse will realize it.”
Sitting across the horse’s rump with his arms around Myche’s waist, Raven felt more

confident and dared look around as they rode on into morning. This was an old forest where
the trees had grown tall and thick, soaking up all the sunlight and effectively keeping younger,
smaller plants from taking root. Not like the forest at home where the trees were periodically
cut down to build houses or clear land for farm patches.

They kept to deer trails and trappers’ paths. Raven sensed they were heading away from

all civilization. A wise move, he supposed, in the company of fugitives. Three of them.
Chatrina couldn’t very well order the guards to hunt down an old dog. Or a wolf. It bothered
Raven the glamour had broken to let the guards see the wolf, but he couldn’t say why that
was.

The silence between them kept well into early forenoon, but it was an easy silence and he

didn’t want to be the one to disturb it. Judging by Myche’s contentment, it was not unusual.

Raven took the chance to study Myche’s master too. There were lines around his eyes

and mouth, physical signs of his ordeal, no doubt. But he rode with a straight, confident
posture and a keen eye on the forest around them that felt reassuring.

Raven’s stomach had begun to growl by the time they stopped for a meal. No fire this

time, and the horses were kept saddled.

“So, Myche,” the master said after his first cup of cool tea, “a moustache now?”
Myche blushed to his hair and looked down at his hands. “I mean to shave it, Master. It

was… it felt like the right thing to have, for a time.”

The master seemed amused, but he nodded approvingly. Then he turned to Raven. “I

suppose I haven’t spoken to you since yesterday,” he said, a wry twist to his lips. “For that I
apologize. I’ve been… preoccupied.”

Raven shook his head. “No need, Master. I understand.”
The man gave him a brief, painful look. “I should introduce myself. My name is, well,

frankly it would be difficult for you to pronounce all of it, but you may call me Breyre. Or
Master Breyre, if you prefer, though I’m hardly your master.”

Raven nodded. “May I ask? Myche said the same thing about his name—where are you

from that your names are so different?”

Breyre raised his eyebrows and glanced at Myche who shrugged. “We’re from further

north. It surprises me that you don’t know….” He trailed off with a frown. “Where are you
from yourself?”

“Nowhere important, a small village some ways west of here.” He ducked his head under

the man’s intense gaze.

“Hmm, I’m not knowledgeable about the lands to the west. Do you fall under the rule of

the Queen?”

Raven shrugged, not truly knowing. He hadn’t been told a great many things about the

world when he still lived with his father, and had no way of finding out after he left. “I
suppose.”

“From what I understand the western lands are more autonomous,” Myche said. “But

they can ask for the aid of the Queen if necessary.”

Breyre nodded slowly. “I see you have earrings, young Raven,” he murmured. How

pleasant his voice sounded when he spoke quietly like that.

Self-conscious, Raven touched one ear. “They were my mother’s.”
“Ah. I’d say you look a bit young for such things.”
Puzzled by that remark, he hadn’t a chance to answer before Myche said with a cheerful

smile, “He’s soon to be eighteen.”

Raven suffered an even closer scrutiny by the master. “Hm, not so young then, more

innocent, perhaps.”

Truly flustered, Raven could only eat his food and keep quiet.

~*~

Breyre hardly spoke the rest of the day. He rode at the fore, only letting them know with

looks or gestures to change direction or stop for a while. Myche seemed able to interpret all
this correctly, a bond between master and manservant much deeper than Raven had first
thought, or else he couldn’t explain how easily they communicated through the silence.

Myche, however, made quiet small talk with Raven, asking questions about his

childhood and family which were hard to answer, and about his time after he had left this
home, which were not easy to answer either but not as intrusive. Myche was pleased to learn
Raven knew how to set traps and find water, and that he knew a few edible plants and roots.
“Good knowledge,” he said.

But Myche seemed to realize the limitations in conversation, and when Raven failed to

answer again, he went on telling Raven inconsequential things about himself, a hunt he’d
been on or a particularly good spot for fishing he had found by accident, what berries he liked,
or a pretty song he’d heard.

But it seemed his chatter had had a reason. As they sat around a small fire late that

evening Breyre addressed their common issue of destination. “We have a purpose, Myche and
I,” he said in that quiet voice of his. “We must arrive at our home, or as close to it as we can,
before the first frost.”

Myche looked at Raven. “I know you have nowhere to go, but we should tell you, as

grateful as we are for your help, we can’t take you with us.”

Even hearing the regret in Myche’s voice, Raven swallowed down something bitter. “I

see. I guess….” He paused to swallow again. “If you let me off somewhere, near a village
maybe, I could find employment and shelter for the winter.” They all knew he might not
survive the winter otherwise, not another one.

Breyre stared into the fire, his eyebrows drawn. “I must confess, it saddens me that I

can’t bring my saviour into my own home.”

And Raven had to ask, “Why not?” in a rare spike of resentment.
Breyre turned his gaze on him. “It would be unwise and unkind to repay you with the

danger my homecoming will bring.”

Raven snorted, noticing Myche’s eyebrows climb. “I spent weeks as Chatrina’s servant,

conspired against her, and helped free her prisoner. You were there. You know what we had
to run from. Now tell me about this danger you speak of.” He felt Myche’s eyes on him, but
could not look away from the master’s gaze. He wondered at his own bravado.

Finally Breyre smiled, showing teeth and his eyes narrowing. “Well spoken, young

Raven.” He turned to Myche. “What do you say?”

Myche shrugged, still staring at Raven. “He must know, Master. We can’t bring him

ignorant into our lands.”

Breyre nodded. “Yes. But how much do we tell him?”
It was like Raven wasn’t present at the fire any more, but he wouldn’t interrupt this

conversation out of fear they might decide not to bring him after all. He wondered why he
even wanted to go. He might find a village to live in before the winter, which seemed much
safer than what they had hinted at so far. And dull, and lonely. He wanted to know more about
these two men who spoke so differently and seemed so mysterious.

They had come to a decision. Myche turned to Raven and took off his leather cap,

releasing his auburn, wavy hair. “I don’t know how much you have heard about other lands,
but there are plenty in the world different than your own. Ours is one of those more different
than most.” He glanced quickly at Breyre, who nodded. “Our people come originally from
across the seas, but some generations ago our forefathers landed on the northern shores to
start a trading colony with your people, your forefathers. Our people fell in love with this
realm, and more and more of us came to stay, until finally we had claimed a land of our own.”
He gestured at Raven. “Your kingdom hardly had a name back then, but they were fine
traders and hunters and farmers. It was a good alliance.”

“But as your people began to realize just how different we are,” Breyre took over,

sounding bitter now, “they sought to destroy us.” He looked at Raven. “You must understand,
we kept in touch with the ones of our people who stayed across the sea, but as generations
passed we grew apart, different, and we could not, or would not, return to where we came
from. Not and be happy.”

“Not that a war is making us happy,” Myche added, and Breyre snorted. “We want to

stay. There is land and resources enough for all of us, and we were once allies. That’s why
we, my master and his company, went to negotiate with the Queen to stop the attacks on our
people.”

“Old, she is, and foolish,” Breyre muttered, eyes on the fire. “Not like she once was.”
Raven frowned, bewildered at the comment, and Myche cleared his throat, giving his

master a look that was dismissed. “But you were betrayed by Chatrina and the Queen,” Raven
prompted carefully, remembering what Myche had told him.

“Yes,” Breyre answered. “And here we are now. I have no way of knowing what has

happened in my absence, but last I was home we were badly harmed by the battles. You could
say I was our last hope, even though it sounds arrogant.”

“But true, Master,” Myche murmured. Breyre waved this away also.
“And now you’re going home to help again?” Raven wondered. It was what he would do,

if he had a home worthy of such devotion.

Breyre sighed deeply. “If only it were that simple.” He gave Raven a long, searching

look. “How much should I tell you?” he murmured, echoing Myche’s words from weeks
before, and Raven stiffened. “Too much and you would be a danger to all my kin should you
decide to turn against us, as well as the knowledge a danger to yourself if they found out you
have it. Can I trust you?”

Raven didn’t want that question. It was too big, too heavy.
Myche answered for him. “I think you can, Master.” Breyre looked at his man, who

couldn’t answer except with a shrug.

“Very well. First you must know about us as a people,” Breyre decided. “We are not

ruled by one Queen or King. We are divided by lineage and origin, though it’s a bit more
complicated than that, and there is often one man or woman appointed to rule each Hold and
its villages and farms.”

Raven nodded as if he understood.
Breyre looked sceptical but continued. “There are often squabbles between the Holds and

among the stronger lineages. But this war gave us common purpose, if not a common leader.
We have now a council of men and women representing every Hold and caste—”

“Almost every caste,” Myche muttered.
“Almost,” Breyre agreed with a sympathetic expression. “I’m not sure it would make a

difference, Myche. Anyway, this council decided to send an envoy to negotiate with the
Queen to end the war. We were quite ready to do what must be done, except leave.”

“She didn’t like that, but didn’t seem opposed to have us under her heel,” Myche said

acidly.

“Yes, quite.”
Raven felt rather overwhelmed by all this. “And this is why you are fighting? Because

you are… different?” he wondered, using the word Myche had.

“Master, perhaps….” Myche murmured hesitantly.
“Yes, my friend. Even that.” Breyre had decided.
Whatever it was Raven sensed it could mean danger to all of them for him to know. “I’ll

keep it a secret, Master. I swear.”

“Do not swear until you know it, Raven,” Breyre said sharply, and Raven leaned back in

alarm. “I don’t mean to frighten you, but oaths should not be made lightly, and certainly not
with my people. We are sensitive to the workings of fates.”

Equally intrigued and intimidated by this Raven nodded. “Yes, Master.”
“Master, please,” Myche said carefully.
“Fine,” Breyre said shortly. “You tell it.”
Myche shifted where he sat. “There is much that’s different between our peoples, Raven.

We have special abilities, magic, if you will. Part of it is a long lifespan. Although all of us
live longer than your people, some of us live longer than the rest.”

“How long?” Raven wanted to know. He had heard of witches living longer than normal

people, and as far as he had been taught, that way of life was not something to strive for.

Myche shrugged as if it was not important. “A few hundred years, by your way of

counting.” He chuckled at the look on Raven’s face. “That is unusual even among us. But this
is not the most distinctive element of our magic. What really set us apart is our ability to
change shape.” He paused for Raven’s reaction and looked disappointed when he didn’t get
one.

Frankly, Raven was too confused.
Breyre laughed unexpectedly. “I think you lost him, Myche.”
Myche smiled wryly. “Raven, the wolf you saw is my master’s animal shape, the one he

was born to call. It’s his chosen avatar.”

Raven blinked slowly. “You mean, he—you—can become a wolf… when you want to?

But Chatrina—the glamour?”

“The glamour was a dog to hide the true form of the wolf.”
“But why a wolf? Why not a man as Chatrina’s prisoner?”
“No,” Breyre interrupted. “You don’t get to ask that question and I will not answer it.”

There was something cold and hard in his face now, and Raven nodded quickly.

An uncomfortable moment followed, Myche giving his master a worried look, Breyre

glaring at the fire, and Raven carefully looked at no one.

“What can you become, Myche?” Raven finally dared ask.

Myche smiled, relieved to have the subject changed. “It’s not as noble or inspiring as my

master’s, but my avatar is rather useful.” His smile got wider and Raven thought that
whatever the animal was, Myche was proud to become it. “I’m a squirrel.” He laughed at
Raven’s expression. “I know, not something you’d choose, right?”

“It suits you, Myche. And you have a great value to me in either shape.”
Myche bowed where he sat, flushing with pleasure at his master’s praise. “That’s not

quite all, though,” he admitted. “There is one thing we have been hiding from you, or rather
from everyone.” He stroked back his hair from his ears and a moment later Raven saw small,
delicate points begin to grow at the top. It looked almost cute, but he thought it might cause
offence to say so.

He turned to Breyre and was met by his gaze, as if he had been waiting for Raven to

look. He let his ears grow points of their own and Raven saw they were some bit longer than
Myche’s.

“It’s part of my lineage,” Breyre said when he saw Raven had noticed. “And part of my

caste. Our ears can be a point of distinction, but never take it for granted.”

“It’s more complicated?” Raven asked.
Breyre laughed deep in his throat and Raven rather liked the sound of it. “Yes, quite.

Myche, you should show him your shape.”

“I need to shave this off first.” He tugged at the moustache. “I think I’d look quite

ridiculous wearing it. And I’d probably trip on it too.”

Raven couldn’t help but laugh at the image that painted in his mind, and both Myche and

Breyre seemed pleased.

~*~

If he had slept poorly the night before, this night was a lost cause. He supposed all he

now knew needed to sort itself out and go somewhere in his mind. He just wished it wouldn’t
take so long. Myche was asleep on the other side of the fire, rolled into one of the blankets,
while Breyre had taken the first watch, claiming to need some space and time alone.

Raven thought back to the conversation and the one question he had been denied. He

wondered how hard, even cruel, it had been for Breyre to be bound in his wolf shape during
his captivity. If he had chosen to be in animal shape, or been forced to be. He guessed it was
too private for Breyre to share and Raven had no right to ask it.

Eventually he must have slept. He woke to Myche gently shaking him by the shoulder. A

cold breakfast was waiting and dawn was not far away. He saw Breyre rolling out of his own
blanket and supposed the two had traded places some time during the night. He wondered
why they didn’t ask him to take a shift at watch.

Myche smiled as he answered later, when they were mounted and heading north again.

“Another benefit of our abilities is a better stamina than yours. I could keep watch all night if
need be and still go in the morning. With some practice I might be able to stay awake for a
few days in a row, but as it is that would be pushing it and right now we have no need for it.
But you,” he nudged Raven in the side with an elbow, “need all the sleep you can get. This
will not be an easy ride if we want to make it before the frost.”

Offended at having his skills questioned, Raven kept his silence.

~*~

Myche had been right, though—it was not easy on either of them. As they came further

north they rode into lands already in mid-autumn, the leaves turning red and yellow, and the

nights grew quickly colder. It was not such a problem for Breyre, as Raven soon found out.
The man would simply change shape and the wolf’s thick fur kept him warm, day or night.

Raven had been terrified almost out of his wits when he had stumbled sleep-drunk into

the trees in the dark one night to relieve his bladder, and come face to face with the large
wolf. His scream had brought Myche running, and it hadn’t gotten much better, compounding
fright with embarrassment, when Breyre had changed into man, naked as you please, to try
and calm Raven down. None of them could say who was more mortified.

Breyre soon decided they needed to make better time. It would likely be another week

before they came into their lands proper, or met any of their own. Breyre travelled in his wolf
shape for days on end, keeping just out of sight until they made camp for the evening. But as
they made their way north he soon took his horse back from Myche.

Raven wondered why he and Myche needed to ride double again when Breyre could

travel well as a wolf, or Myche even ride double in his avatar shape. He soon learned it was
not only rude, but potentially dangerous, to enter any camp or village in the north in the shape
of an animal. Caste and lineage marks must be visible or the intruder would be chased off, if
not killed.

“It wasn’t always so,” Myche said. “But the harsh reality of war has taught us many

things.”

As it was, Breyre and Myche had been gone so long their kin might not believe their

story or let them pass. Raven’s presence had to be explained too.

Raven admitted to being fairly sick of this journey, saddle sore, muscles stiff and

unaccustomed to being used in quite that way, when, close to noon one day, Breyre pulled his
horse to a halt without warning. The others had to stop too, or ride him down. Myche seemed
to quickly realize something was happening by simply looking at the way his master was
sitting his horse.

Raven carefully glanced around, well aware and properly warned just the night before

that they would enter the lands held by Breyre’s people at any time now. He was also aware
that unless Breyre and Myche’s words of honour were enough to vouch for him, he would be
driven off or worse. Looking small and harmless seemed a good idea. He just wondered if it
would help.

Breyre had been sitting still and silent for so long Raven wondered if there truly was

anything out there. But then, out of the cover of the trees, stepped four men with crossbows
cautiously aimed at them, and his heart leapt. He held more tightly to Myche’s waist.

“Travellers,” one of them said by way of greeting, looking the three of them over. “You

may not be aware, but you are about to cross the border of Eyrde. I advise you to go back.
You are not welcome here.”

He spoke like a noble, Raven thought. Even though it was clearly a threat, it was said in

such a pleasant manner he wouldn’t be surprised if trespassers and lost travellers all said,
“Thank you, kind sir,” and turned back with a smile.

Breyre, however, did not. “I’m well aware, Ranger. It is my intention to enter into the

lands of my kin.” He pulled the hair back behind one ear, then tugged down the collar of his
jacket and shirt to bare his chest, and the men stared with various expressions of surprise on
their faces.

“Yes, Master. By all means.” The man bowed his head. “But I must ask of the identities

of your companions.”

Myche readily bared his ears and got an approving nod. But Raven, when doing the

same, received angry exclamations and threatening steps.

Breyre raised his hand and carefully shifted his horse closer to Myche and Raven’s.

“These are my companions, my manservant and my guest. I assure you, they are both loyal to
me.”

Raven wondered how easily the words fell from Breyre’s lips, like he worried not at all

how this might end.

The ranger grimaced. “We’re not questioning your man, Master, but the Outlander boy.

You know what the Council says—”

“I know very well what they say!” Breyre snapped. “I’ve spent years in the Outlanders’

company and can vouch that every deed of cruelty the Council tell of is true. With this
knowledge, do you think I would bring one of them here if I did not trust him?” He fixed the
man with a hard stare.

“Master, I must—”
“Look at him!” Breyre’s finger was like the point of a spear aimed at Raven. The rangers

all turned and he wondered just what he looked like to them. One of them snorted softly and
lowered his crossbow ever so slightly. “His name is Raven,” Breyre murmured.

And suddenly the four rangers all stared at him, eyes wide. “My apologies, Master!” the

one of them cried, and bowed. “Back. Let them pass!” He waved at his men, unnecessarily.
They were already hurrying out of the way of the horses.

Breyre didn’t wait for them to clear a path. He kicked his horse forward and Myche

hurried to follow. Breyre didn’t slow down or stop for some distance, but when he did he
waited for Myche and Raven to ride up beside him. “I apologize. I should have warned you,”
Breyre said to Raven.

“What was that about?” Raven wondered, bewildered and out of breath from the hasty

ride.

Myche chuckled, shaking his head. He looked about to answer but quieted at a look from

his master.

“That will need some explaining and I’m afraid we don’t have the time.” He waved at

them to ride ahead, and Myche took point. “Rest assured, the next ones we meet will not be so
easily persuaded.”

Persuaded, Raven wondered. How?

~*~

They passed undisturbed, if not unnoticed, through the lands of Eyrde, as they were

apparently called. Raven saw no differences between this forest and the one they’d travelled
days before, but watching Breyre and Myche, the way they looked around with gentle smiles
and bright eyes, it might have been the garden of a grand palace and the trees majestic statues
of marble.

Myche made sure to shave off his moustache and he looked much younger without it,

closer to Raven’s age. Even knowing Breyre was not much older than his friend, he looked
aged, or weary with life, maybe. He had seen too much, Myche confided late one night when
Breyre stalked off into the woods again. And he was anxious to be home, as well as worried
what reception he might have.

As it turned out it wasn’t that bad. At least, not at first. A few of the guards on the

perimeter of the encampment they came upon recognized both Myche and Breyre, as if it had
been only days since last they had seen them. Breyre and Myche dismounted, grasping hands
with no few of the men who guided them into camp amid calls and cheers. Raven was ignored
in the growing press of bodies. His horse, less delighted, put its ears back, the bit between its
teeth, and took them both away from the crowd. Raven’s efforts to stop it went unheeded and
he could only go along with it.

Finally having stopped the horse and dismounted with little grace, he found himself lost

among the tall tents. Though the raised voices of the crowd could have guided him back, he
was not so eager to find himself among the unfamiliar soldiers. A guard soon found him to

bring him back, though, without the horse, and he was relieved to see both Breyre and Myche
safe. But Myche put a hand on his shoulder and drew him near. His friend looked concerned
and his posture was tense. Raven wondered what was going on.

The crowd parted and two men came forward, their position and status made clear by the

fine leather and suede clothes they wore. The man who seemed to lead them wore reds and
browns to match his auburn hair. He was the taller of the two and might have been considered
handsome if not for the cold, haughty look in his eyes. His companion wore dark blue colours
that made his pale blond and silver hair shine, and in comparison his gaze was friendly but
wary.

Breyre bowed stiffly, one hand to his chest, and introduced himself with what must be

his full name. Raven hardly caught half of it. The man in red gestured at Breyre with a flip of
his hand, and Breyre grasped the neck of his shirt and pulled it down. Whatever he showed
them made their eyes widen.

“So, in truth, the lost Esker returns.” The tall man’s voice was hard, like the look in his

grey eyes. He seemed little pleased to see Breyre, and Raven wondered if this was what he
had warned them about. “We thought you were captured by the Queen.”

“I was, in a manner of speaking, but I prefer to discuss the details in a less public

setting.” Breyre’s voice was flat and nothing of his thoughts showed on his face. He’d been
expecting this.

The man nodded. “And your manservant too, I see. How fortunate for you.”
“I value loyalty, and he has proven the most loyal of all,” Breyre said clearly, glancing at

Myche, who pulled himself taller under his master’s gaze.

There was a tense moment, as if Breyre’s words held a challenge, and Raven wished he

could have hidden away with his horse. Then he was the centre of attention.

“What have we here? An Outlander?” It sounded like a curse when the man said it;

Raven tried not to cower against Myche’s side.

“A respected ally,” Breyre corrected with a sharp tone. “He was vital in my escape and I

would honour him, as is his due.”

“I’m sure you would. I would throw him out,” the man growled, and several guards

shifted around them. Myche tensed again and Raven felt sweat prickling along his spine.

Then the other man stepped forward, one hand raised in a calming gesture. “I see we

have opposing wills, and I know you both have valid arguments. But I hope, for the sake of
the returning Esker, that we might put it to rest for now.” He looked imploringly at his angry
companion, then at Breyre. Breyre was the first to agree, nodding once. The other man did so
with a great show of reluctance.

“Good. Then I will invite you and your company to my pavilion, Esker. It has been too

long since we last shared bread.”

Breyre accepted with a half smile and a bow, and Myche was not slow to pull Raven with

him as they went. He didn’t look at the man they left behind. He didn’t have to. The frost in
his gaze followed them far into the camp.

What a camp it was. They must love colour, these Eyrders, Raven decided. The sides of

every large tent were patterned with it, the colours bright and plentiful, every pendant
splendidly dyed and adorned. The care for details was also evident in the cloths and drapes as
they entered the man’s pavilion, dark shades of blue and grey to match his clothes. It was
overwhelming, but also strangely comforting that someone liked this abode enough, however
temporary, to put such effort into decorating it.

Breyre was given a seat close to their host, while Myche and Raven were given low

stools by their feet. They were offered a glass of some dark liquid that Raven couldn’t
stomach. Myche quirked his mouth at him and shrugged discreetly.

“So, Esker,” their host finally said. “I assume you have a lot to tell, but first I would like

you to introduce us all properly.”

Breyre gestured to Myche and Raven. “Myche you know of, of course. He’s been with

me all this time and for his loyalty I’m more grateful than I can say.”

“As am I, then. A man is only as strong as those who support him. Some manservant

indeed, to have brought you home again.”

Myche flushed with the praise and Raven was amused to see him hide it in his glass.
“But I notice you speak of yourself with your informal names. I suppose that is easier for

our guest?” The man smiled at Raven.

“Yes. Although at the time it was as much for privacy and self-preservation as for

convenience. And he already knew Myche by that name.”

“Then finish the introductions and I shall do the same.”
“This is Raven,” Breyre continued, and their host raised his eyebrows at the name. Raven

bit his tongue. “He too helped me escape, and I dare say he had the more dangerous part.”
Breyre turned to their host. “Master, I must tell you—”

“Yes, but I must ask you to wait. I will tell you my name now that I have yours.”
Breyre nodded, although he seemed impatient.
“I am Reirandor,” he said, more to Raven and Myche than to Breyre, “one of two

Maresals in this camp.” He turned to Breyre. “We were devastated to hear of your capture,
Esker, and have been present here almost since.” He paused and raised a hand when Breyre
tensed, opening his mouth to speak. “Our Council was urged to take action but, well, quite a
few of your less than… friendly peers wanted to wait and see. I guess you can understand
what that meant,” Reirandor said dryly.

Breyre looked grim. “I have been gone long indeed if they’ve grown strong enough to

influence the Council so.”

“Ah, but your uncle still has a strong vote.”
“My uncle was rarely satisfied with me. It was never a secret he disagrees with my

beliefs. I’m surprised he sided with me in this matter even in the beginning.”

Reirandor tsked. “Now you’re being unfair.”
Breyre merely bowed his head.
“Now you will tell me what happened to you. I know the majority of your party came

back one after the other, but not why. Were you all not imprisoned?”

Raven got the rare chance and the doubtful privilege to hear it all, and to watch Breyre

struggle with himself as he told of unpleasant memories.

“We had agreed with the Queen on many aspects of the treaty presented by the Council.

It looked to be a success. One of her councillors took an interest in me and asked for my
company. Of course I was flattered and agreed to attend her many times. But it turned into
something more for her.” His hand curled into a fist on his thigh. “She asked for my bond—
marriage. I couldn’t. She needed little other reason to betray us and turned the Queen against
us.” He paused for a moment, lips thinning.

“The attack was swift, soldiers took out my most skilled warriors and surrounded my

company. We were outnumbered and I had to command my men not to fight back or they
would have all died.” He glanced at Reirandor, eyes bright. “I saw Beigh go down under their
blades.”

Reirandor bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I know. We got word,” he said quietly.
Raven wondered who this Beigh had been to the both of them, for his death to put such

looks of sadness on their faces.

After a moment Breyre cleared his throat and continued. “I had them flee in their avatar

shapes and I think we took them by surprise, doing it so openly, or it wouldn’t have
succeeded.”

“It was you they wanted, Master,” Myche broke in quietly, and his eyes met Breyre’s.

“They didn’t care for the less noble of your company. Had I not been of any interest to
Chatrina or the Queen, they would have either killed me or sent me off.” The two men held
each other’s eyes for a long moment, everything else forgotten.

“This councillor,” Reirandor said carefully.
“Chatrina.” Breyre clenched his jaws and turned to the Maresal again. “I became her

captive, on her request and the Queen’s orders. I tried to escape, I truly did, but she forced…
she held me with her magic and I was trapped in my avatar form.” Breyre had to stop, his
hands trembling and his face pale.

Reirandor paled too, but it seemed with anger, and he stared at Breyre who wouldn’t

meet his eyes. The Maresal waited while Breyre collected himself, and for this kindness
Raven was grateful on Breyre’s behalf. “Meuri’s heart, she is vile!” the Maresal burst out
finally.

“That she is, Master,” Myche said when Breyre remained silent. “She is cruel and

greedy. I saw this myself.”

Reirandor looked at him. “You were allowed to remain with your master?”
“No, not by his side, but she took me on as her staff. Out of spite, or to mock us, I don’t

know. It was a game to her.” His voice was strained and he broke off to take a deep swallow
of his drink.

“I will not ask,” Reirandor murmured, and reached to fill Myche’s glass. “But had we

known she trapped you thus, many more of us would have pressed for action.” He bowed his
head at Breyre. “For this ignorance, I apologize.”

Breyre nodded, but said nothing. Reirandor seemed to accept this as his due.
“And what of your escape? You say you want to honour this Outlander?”
Raven stiffened as the man looked at him.
“He came as if sent by Meuri himself,” Myche said, grasping Raven’s shoulder. “He

alone could see through Chatrina’s glamour and know my master for what he is.”

Raven ducked his head and kept still as Myche told of how they had met and grown

close, and later how they had plotted their escape. It sounded almost grand, fantastical how
they had made it free.

Reirandor nodded, his grey eyes intent on Raven as if he tried to see through him. Finally

he shook himself. “In the light of all this, I agree now with your own opinion. We need to take
more direct action, even if your methods may be a bit too absolute, Esker.”

“I hope the Council will be as easily swayed in our favour.”
Reirandor held up his hand, palm down. “Your uncle may speak for your cause. He still

has a strong vote and he knows how to handle them. I shall have word sent to him
immediately on your behalf.” He looked at all three of them. “I know your journey back to us
has been hard, Esker, and I’ve ordered a pavilion prepared for you in camp. Not quite up to
the standards of accommodation you are used to, I’m afraid.”

“Master, I’m home in Eyrde and among kin. I could sleep under the stars and be

content.”

Reirandor smiled and grasped Breyre’s shoulder. “Well, you won’t have to. I’ll have my

man bring you refreshments, and I suggest a bath and a change of clothes.”

“Yes, please!” Myche exclaimed, and even Breyre smiled at that.

~*~

Stepping into the pavilion set up for Breyre, Raven wondered how the man usually lived.

This tent was even larger than the Maresal’s, and the cloths and cushions more abundant. The
colours were deep and plentiful in the paints on the tent walls and the drapes between the

sitting area and what looked to be a large pallet in the back, covered in lush furs. Raven
carefully touched a chair that seemed carved out of one large piece of dark wood and adorned
with silver inlays and small white stones. A master craftsman had had his hands on this one
chair. It must cost a fortune, and Raven wondered who had parted with it in favour of Breyre.

Breyre seemed distracted though, wandering unseeing through the pavilion, touching this

and that. Myche kept back for now and Raven made sure to stay with him. He couldn’t quite
say what was going on, but he sensed this was quite an emotional homecoming for Breyre. He
had stopped in the opening to the sleeping quarters, one fist gripping the drapes. His back was
turned but Raven knew as certainly as if he could see it that the man was crying. It felt wrong
to witness it, an intrusion, and Raven looked away.

Finally Breyre discreetly wiped his face and turned around. “I’ll have Reirandor set up

another pallet for you, Myche. Seems they didn’t want to presume where I keep you. But you,
Raven,” he said carefully. “I wouldn’t want to impose and decide you sleep in here, but as the
host and indebted to you, I would be remiss not offering you quarters.”

This was such fancy speech, Raven wasn’t sure if he was welcome or not.
Myche saved him. “I think it would be unkind to leave him alone in camp, Master. He

has little knowledge of our ways.”

Breyre nodded at this. “Very well, I’ll have them bring a pallet for you too.” He bowed

his head at Raven. “It would be my honour to invite you to supper tonight, but for now you
must excuse me.” He left the tent without another word.

Raven blinked, both bemused and relieved. He’d never really learned to understand

Breyre on their journey here. The man was a noble and obviously raised as differently from
Raven as Raven was from a plant. He spoke and carried himself like a man of importance, and
judging by Reirandor, Breyre was important indeed. Or used to be, at least. It seemed his
recent experiences had changed not only the man, but his position as well. His arrival at the
camp had been far from the celebration Raven had thought it would be.

Myche didn’t stay idle. He went about setting their new home into an order to suit his

master, arranging chairs and tables, and piling the cushions into a corner. When he was done
he turned to Raven. “I think a bath would be a good idea, yes?” He smiled at Raven’s eager
acceptance.

Stepping outside again Raven noticed the day was already waning. He hadn’t realized

how much time had passed. It was strange, for all his life he had kept busy, but for the latter
part of this day he had done nothing but sit and listen to others talking. And now he was going
for a bath someone else had arranged.

He, and to some degree, Myche, drew both wary and curious looks from the Eyrders in

camp. Raven glanced around under his bangs and studied them back. They were all warriors,
tall and broad, with all shades of reds and russets, pale blonds and dark golds in their hair, like
Myche and Breyre, and their eyes were anything between grey and green and blue. Raven
realized how much he stood out, with his black hair and dark eyes, easily spotted for an
Outlander.

Myche led the way to a wide, unpainted tent at the edge of camp. Steam wound its way

through an opening in the ceiling and more hit them in the face as they entered. Two young
men wearing long, sleeveless tunics and precious little else, nodded at them as they entered
and let them know their bath was ready, then retreated out an opening in the back. They made
little secret of their interest in the newcomers. Even the servant boys had heard of them
already. Raven felt a prickle of unease down his spine.

Myche’s voice distracted him from continuing that line of thought. “Here.” He showed

Raven a bucket with soap and cloth, and pointed him to one of the four wooden tubs. “Cool
water if you need to temper it a bit.” He began to undress and Raven turned away. He was not
shy, he told himself, and it was impolite to stare. But he had never seen Myche naked and he

admitted to a bit of curiosity. He caught a glimpse of a scar low on Myche’s back, before his
friend stepped into his bath.

Myche sighed as he sank into the water and Raven hurried to do the same. The water was

just a bit too hot but not scalding, and he echoed Myche’s sentiment with a sigh of his own.
Warm water to bathe in, he thought, was a luxury he could get used to. The bath and the
moment of ease helped loosen tight, sore muscles.

One or another Eyrder came into the tent, but as they saw Myche and Raven, they kept to

the other side. Myche soon urged Raven to wash and be done, as if he was unwilling to
overstay his welcome.

On the way back to their pavilion Raven noticed the other Maresal who had met them at

their arrival. He stared at the two of them from between the shoulders of his men, and it was
not friendly. Raven hurried to keep up with Myche and breathed a sigh of relief when they
were once again behind cloth.

Myche gave him a crooked, humourless smile. “I guess you noticed, eh?”
“Yes. I thought Breyre returning was a good thing, but that man behaved as if it was, I

don’t know….”

His friend frowned and stroked his hand down the padded seat of what would be

Breyre’s chair. “His name—or rather his informal name is Kaonir. He’s part of the faction
that didn’t want the Council to take action when we were captured. I guess he was not happy
to see us.” He sat carefully in the chair. “I don’t know Reirandor personally, but of him.
Breyre’s uncle has only good things to say of the man and it’s fortunate he’s here to give less
weight to Kaonir’s words. I dare say our welcome would have been cool indeed if he hadn’t
stepped in, Esker or no.”

Raven tilted his head and asked, “Esker, you call Breyre that. What does it mean?”
“Oh.” Myche laughed. “It’s one of those complicated things of our culture that hardly

even us born to it wholly understands, not any more. It is almost similar to your ‘prince’, but
also not since we don’t have a king or queen. Breyre’s uncle is a man of high caste and old
lineage, and he wants Breyre as his heir. That’s part of what Esker means, but it’s also more
political than familial, and really an outdated way of addressing someone.” He shrugged.
“Just remember it’s tied in with honour and duty, and fairly powerful compared to other
titles.”

“Like Reirandor being a Maresal?”
Myche grimaced. “Not really. The two are positions of very different meaning and

power. The Maresals are more military while Esker is, well, not.”

Raven nodded. “But he wishes it to be?”
Myche looked away for a moment. “I guess,” he said hesitantly. “I know he’s frustrated

with how everything is—no one who listens or trusts in his words. He’s been imprisoned for
so long and now that he wants to take action—he did even back then, before all this, and
now….”

“They won’t.”
“No.” Myche turned to him, lines of weariness around his eyes. “I fear what that will do

to him.”

~*~

A man who was apparently Reirandor’s manservant brought their clothes, as well as

some light foodstuff and the pallets. They had to rearrange the drapes somewhat to make
room, one space for Myche and Raven, and the larger one for Breyre. The manservant eyed
Raven before he left, as if he suspected he would get up to mischief.

The food was as good as it looked, the pallets were drowning in blankets and furs, and

the clothes were fine if different from what he was used to. Someone had given Raven clothes
of wool and leather, simple but well made, and they fit almost too well. He had never worn
clothes that tight. The trousers made him quite self-conscious, and the snugness of the shirt
and jacket made it obvious how thin he was compared to Myche and Breyre. Even the older
Reirandor carried more muscle.

Raven’s eyes were beginning to close and Myche had gone quiet before Breyre came

back. His face was unreadable and he sat in his chair for a while before he even looked at the
other two. “I apologize,” he murmured. “I must confess I was consumed by issues I thought I
had no interest for. Seems I’m a changed man.” He grimaced and asked Myche for something
to drink.

Myche set supper out, it having arrived a while before, and uncovered meat, steaming

vegetables, and pieces of pie, bread, cheese, and creamy butter. The offerings seemed to tempt
even Breyre, and Myche nodded approval at his master’s appetite.

Watching Breyre, Raven saw the need in him for privacy, to speak to Myche who knew

him well and what they had been through. He wanted to excuse himself but the thought of
being out in the camp without either of the others made him balk. He did retreat into the
corner to his pallet, though, and tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. After a
while he could hear the others speaking in hushed voices. He couldn’t make out any words
and didn’t try.

~*~

The unfamiliar noises of a large camp woke him in the morning. Myche’s bed was

empty, and stepping past the drapes Raven realized he was alone. Unsure what to do, but
needing to heed to the calls of his body, Raven cautiously looked outside. Men going about
their tasks caught sight of him almost at once, and as he headed in the direction of the woods,
he knew he was being watched, if covertly. It made for a few embarrassing minutes until he
could head back.

Myche had returned and looked relieved when he saw Raven. “I wasn’t sure—” he broke

off, but said, “You shouldn’t go anywhere alone.”

“I’ll try not to,” Raven agreed readily. “I was wondering what I should do?”
“Do?” Myche looked up from the map he was rolling into a leather tube.
“I’m not used to sitting idle, I need to do something.”
“I see. Well, all the daily tasks are taken care of for my master, and there is camp staff to

aid all the men. But I guess I could show you what I do, let you carry and fetch,” he said with
a wink.

Not much needed to be done, but Myche showed him where the cooks had their mess

tent, the spring where all the camp took its water and where the lower ranking men bathed,
and the latrines. He brought him to the picket lines and said they would all get a horse each
once they continued on their way, and Raven had to ask where they were going.

“This camp will break up soon. It’s too large to maintain through winter and only a small

party will remain. We’ll continue on to Breyre’s uncle’s Hold, to spend the winter there.” He
looked around. “In fact, we were lucky to make it here before they left.” Then he grimaced.
“If you want to call it lucky.”

Raven thought he knew what he meant.
They saw Breyre together with both Maresals. They seemed involved in a serious

argument, but Breyre spotted them and gestured for them to wait.

“He’s had some trouble with Kaonir, the old goat,” Myche muttered.
“What trouble?”

“Just… well, I guess it’s both political and personal, but it’s for Breyre to explain if he

feels it’s needed.”

Breyre headed their way and he didn’t look happy. “Come,” he ordered, and they had to

lengthen their steps to keep up.

He brought them out among the trees, past pickets and guards, and for a while it seemed

he would keep going. “I have received word from Heiyerborn,” he said finally, slowing a little
but not stopping.

“His uncle’s Hold,” Myche explained to Raven.
Breyre shot him an impatient look that slipped by Myche like so much air. “He wants me

home shortly, and even though he doesn’t say it, it’s clear he thinks our current company is
unsafe.” He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “If not for Reirandor….”

“Then we should leave soon, Master. I can have us packed and provisioned before

morning.”

Breyre stopped finally and turned. “I know you can, but according to law Raven won’t be

allowed to come.”

“What?” Myche exclaimed. “What law?”
“A very new one,” Breyre growled.
Raven stared at them, knowing he would be lost without their sure guidance, and with

winter so close….

“I will fight them to let you through, Raven, I promise. But Kaonir is well informed even

for a man removed from the political games.”

“It’s he who proclaimed this law?” Myche’s hands were clenched into fists now.
“Rather, made me aware of it. He could just as well have let us ride through and had me

arrested on grounds of bringing an Outlander past the border. Not even Uncle could have
helped me.”

“Why didn’t he?”
“Who knows? Right now we must find a way to bring Raven with us.” Breyre frowned at

him. “Very few of your people have been into the heart of Eyrde, and only one or two are still
welcome in this time of war. Heiyerborn is not too far from here and not important
strategically, but I can understand my kinsmen’s reluctance to allow a stranger through.”

Myche snorted. “As if he could do any harm. They just have to look at him!”
“I assure you, they have. They don’t know if they should believe what the rangers did, if

there is something so potent, or if it’s just a coincidence.”

Raven shifted. “What?” Both men turned to him. “What is it they think of me that has

them so scared?” The thought of him scaring anyone almost made him want to laugh, but
judging by the look on Breyre’s face, it was no laughing matter.

“I told them of your part in my escape, all the details that Myche has been able to give

me. Your ability to see through Chatrina’s glamour is what intrigues them the most. And I
must confess, I’m curious about this myself.”

Raven shrugged, uncomfortable. “I don’t know how I did that. I’m not magical. Father

would have killed me if I were.”

Breyre frowned but didn’t seem convinced. “They want you to submit to our Merender—

our Truth Knower.”

Myche pulled in a sharp breath. “No. How can they?” He trailed off at Breyre’s sharp

glance.

“As you might understand it is not commonplace to ask such a thing, neither is it

pleasant. But it is entirely voluntary.”

“What happens if I say no?” Raven had to ask, although he could guess the answer.
“You will either have to stay here when we go on, or be escorted back to the border.

You’d be provisioned and given a good horse, but you wouldn’t be welcome.”

For a long moment all Raven could see was Breyre’s handsome face. He said nothing,

didn’t even blink, but somewhere underneath his grim façade Raven saw the need he
suppressed, wanting to ask Raven to accept. It was not an easy decision, but Raven knew why
he chose to agree.

“Fine then. Will it hurt?”
Breyre let out a slow breath, a furrow appearing and disappearing between his eyebrows.

“I can’t say for certain. I have never had it done to me. Are you sure?”

“Yes. What choice do I have? I can’t go back, I have nothing to return to. The only way

is forward, and I must admit I’m curious to see where it leads.”

Myche clasped his shoulder. “I knew you were brave, lad, but this…. Chatrina was a foe

worthy of your courage, in this you might not like what you face.”

“I have no understanding of your ways or what this Truth Knower does, but you have

been kind to me and brought me with you this far. If it is up to me this time, then I will do
what I can.”

Breyre nodded. “I’ll have one more talk with Reirandor, see if there isn’t another way. If

not, they want to see you on the morrow.”

~*~

Urged by Myche to rest properly that night, Raven tried to. But sleep was elusive and he

woke bleary-eyed to find Myche and Breyre both at the table.

“Eat,” Myche told him, and he could swallow some tea and bread with jam. “You’ll do

fine, Raven. I just know it.”

“I’ve decided,” Breyre said, “if this still will not allow Raven to come into Eyrde, I want

you to bring him back to a good village, Myche.” He cut his man’s protests short with a hand.
“You will carry out my duty as host and indebted party to him, and then return to me. Please.”

Myche had as much trouble arguing with that one word from Breyre’s lips as Raven

would have.

There was quite a gathering at the site of Reirandor’s pavilion, where the Merender

wanted to meet Raven. It seemed all men with leisure had found somewhere to sit or stand.
Breyre stepped up to the two Maresals and bowed his head, then turned to a third man and
bowed even deeper—the Truth Knower, Raven guessed, tall and thin with very long bright
blond hair, and dressed entirely in shades of blue. Silver hoops glinted in his ears as he
nodded back.

“I bring Raven to you, Maresals,” Breyre began. “You wish to know what lies in his

heart and I will tell you—he is brave and selfless, and aided me in thwarting a foe not of his
making, before he even knew my name. I am honoured to have him as my guest and I must
confess it shames me to have him questioned by my own kin. It shames my pride as an
Eyrder.” He looked at Raven and held out a hand to urge him forward. Raven did so, carefully
not looking at Kaonir’s thunderous expression. “When I look at him, I see someone worthy
of my trust. I have placed my life and my very freedom in his hands, and gladly will again.”

Raven was quite overwhelmed by this speech, and wished it had come about for some

other reason than the question of his character.

The Truth Knower stepped forward and nodded at Breyre. “Trust gained in adverse

situations is never questioned, Esker. But as our Maresals have seen, I too see something
more in this boy.” He turned to Raven. “Few Outlanders have ever needed my abilities, let
alone allowed themselves to be subjected to them. For this alone I bow to you. I can see why
you have agreed to this, but none the less, I must ask you—will you submit to me?”

Without hesitation, knowing this moment and the manner of his answer were important,

Raven stepped forward. “Yes, I will. I’m not afraid.” Even if that was not strictly true, no one
called him on it.

A stool was brought out for him but before he was allowed to sit, the Truth Knower said,

“Let me look at you, Raven. Seldom do we see a person of your colours, as you can imagine.”
He gestured at the men around them, the summer and autumn colours of their hair. “I can
guess your mother or father must come from the far western lands.”

“Yes, Mother’s family did. I never met them.”
“Ah, and your mother, did she tell you about them?”
“No. I don’t remember. She died when I was very young.”
The man pursed his lips, his brilliant, grey eyes sympathetic. “Only half your heritage is

known to you, then.” He reached out and placed a hand on Raven’s shoulder. “May I?”

Raven didn’t know what he was asking permission for, but nodded. The Merender

touched cool fingertips to his jaw, his cheek, a thumb to his brow. Then he pulled Raven’s
hair back behind an ear and looked at the earring. “A rare stone for an Outlander. Where did
you get it?” His gaze was sharper now.

“They were my mother’s. I didn’t take much when I left home but I couldn’t leave

these.”

“A wise choice in possession,” he murmured.
Raven glanced at the Truth Knower’s own earrings, who acknowledged the look with a

twitch of his lips. Raven hadn’t seen any jewellery or the like on any of the warriors in camp,
and wondered at the meaning of only the Merender wearing them.

The man turned to the Maresals. “May I begin?”
Reirandor nodded agreement, his expression serious. Raven wondered what Breyre and

Myche thought, but didn’t dare turn to look at them where they stood behind him.

He was asked to sit on the stool and the Merender gave him a reassuring smile before he

put his hands on Raven’s shoulders. At first he could sense nothing of what he had expected
of a magical touch, no tingle or fizz or light around them both.

Then images began to appear. Overlapping with the people watching were visions of his

mother and father, a few of the people from the village. He couldn’t say when or where most
of these had imprinted on his mind, except for one, and it was the one memory the Truth
Knower seemed most interested in.

Raven hadn’t known he remembered this, the last night his mother had lived. She was

sitting at the window looking out, then turning to him with a smile. There was such emotion
in her eyes, such depth he hadn’t known a five-year-old able to comprehend, and maybe he
hadn’t back then, but he did now. He was distantly aware tears began to roll down his cheeks.

She had known she was dying.
Perversely, the Merender replayed that moment over and over, wearing it thin and faint,

until Raven’s head was aching, and still he didn’t stop.

Please, no more, please! he begged in his mind, and yet it went on.
Then another image came almost sideways over the one of his mother, and this one he

didn’t know, for it wasn’t his own.

It was night and the sky was streaked with lights of colour and stars, there were voices he

didn’t recognize singing, and faces flashing by that he couldn’t place yet felt he should know.
He reached for one, a woman, but before he could see her properly, it ended.

He slumped and was supported by warm, strong hands. An arm came around him from

behind, and he knew Myche was there from the murmured words of comfort and assurance in
his ear. The Merender stepped back and Raven heard him speaking as if in a fog, flat and
without echo, but he didn’t know the words.

~*~

Waking up was a surprise because he hadn’t known he had fallen asleep. He was in his

bed and there was a lamp on a low table not far away. He lay there for a moment, trying to
recapture what had happened, but it was difficult. Maybe he didn’t want to see again what had
been shown to him.

Finally thirst and the need for company drove him up. Myche was there, waiting for him

with a covered tray of food. He said very little as Raven ate, only reassuring him all was well
for now. Raven was grateful for the reprieve.

Breyre, when he returned, brought an unexpected guest. The Merender stepped inside the

tent and gave Raven a small bow. “I hope you are well, Raven. I know what I do can be very
draining, but I can’t always predict how it affects a person.”

“I’m fine,” he answered. “Just a bit tired.”
The Merender smiled. “I have asked the Esker to accompany you for a meal, which I see

you have already finished.” He smiled again at Raven’s embarrassment. “Something to drink,
then?” he asked of Breyre, who gestured for Myche to see to it.

Taking a seat the Truth Knower didn’t wait for the drinks to be poured before he spoke.

“I must admit I have touched few Outlanders, Raven, so have little to compare with, but they
can’t all be as fascinating as you. I know you have few memories of your mother but seeing
into your mind I knew instantly hers was the image I had to concentrate on. Your colour and
your spirit come from her.”

Anxious to hear more Raven kept quiet, absently accepting a glass from Myche. He had

so few clear memories of his mother, every little bit was like a treasure.

“I dare say you know little about her background, and what I have to say might not help

you, but I feel she would have told you herself, had she lived. Few people in these lands have
magic, and none quite like ours, which is easily distinguished. Your mother, though probably
born as a second or third generation here, had a lineage stretching from the west of this
continent.” The Merender gestured at Raven’s earrings. “Those stones are old and a valuable
trade item for us Eyrders. If I’m not mistaken, your mother was given those from her mother
and so on, and somewhere they had traded for them with my kin.”

Raven blinked, not knowing how to interpret this.
“Your mother’s family must be old or wealthy indeed, to have such stones in their

possession. I believe her lineage was a strong one, and in her blood was a potential for a
magic as rare as my own.”

Raven stared. His father had never mentioned… but then, he wouldn’t. No few words to

his son had been harsh and short. Talk of his mother, whom the man still mourned, would
have been unthinkable.

“What are you saying?” Breyre asked when Raven couldn’t find the words.
The Merender blinked at him as if he had forgotten there were others present. “I can’t

properly describe it, what he would be able to do. My own magic is more of the spiritual and I
have no reference. But I feel he would have a close connection, if you will, to earth and what
grows from it. Maybe even to the elements.”

Raven let out a laugh that turned into a sob. How ironic. His father had thrown him out

accusing him of trickery with the plants in the garden, and here he was now, having it
confirmed by a stranger. Maybe his father had known all along. “I am a trickster,” he
whispered to his hands where they lay numbly in his lap. So aptly named.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he started. “This is no small matter, I know,” the

Merender said gently, and over his shoulder Raven saw Myche and Breyre leaving. “I myself
was quite shocked when I found out I too am different from my brothers.”

“Yes?” Raven sneered, sniffling. “Different how?”

“I can’t change shape. I have no avatar that calls to me. This has set me apart from my

family all my life, but what I have gained is recompense enough.”

“At least you know your family. You still have them to go home to.”
“Yes. And you have none of you own. But family can be different things, different

persons. Trust me when I say, this is not a bad thing, Raven.”

He didn’t know this was so, and said nothing.

~*~

The Merender, whose name was Elekin, offered to help Raven whenever he needed it,

with the understanding that their abilities were as far apart as sky and earth. Even so, it was a
comfort to know he had someone willing to listen to his concerns.

When the others returned a while after Elekin had left, they were quiet and careful

around him. Raven knew they didn’t want to pry, for which he was grateful, but also that this
changed how things were. He told them all he felt comfortable with.

“Elekin will go to your uncle’s Hold, if that is where I’m going,” Raven finished. “He

seemed confident they’ll let me through now that I have some strange magic.” He looked
away with a grimace, uncomfortable yet strangely resigned to the idea.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Breyre admitted quietly. “I know Kaonir is adept at turning

events to his own advantage. Maybe he’ll hope to take credit for this, which irks me, but it
will allow us to bring you to Heiyerborn.”

“Take credit for what?” Raven cried. “I know nothing of this magic. I can’t feel it in me.”

He thumped a fist against his chest. “Maybe it will never come out and what will I be then? A
trickster and a liar!”

Breyre, in a moment of understanding, leaned forward and took Raven’s fist in his hand

to stop him hurting himself. The gesture surprised both of them, Breyre’s hand warm against
Raven’s cold one. “You are no liar, Raven. I have only to look into your eyes to know this.
Whatever this turns out to be, I’ll do my best to keep you in my company, not least to repay
you for what you’ve done for me, for which alone I’m obliged to bring you to Heiyerborn, as
should be.”

“And I’ll always call you friend, lad. No matter what,” Myche added. “You saw me at

my worst, when I had no hope, and brought it back to me. I’ll be forever grateful.”

Raven couldn’t help the tears that blurred his vision, or the smile of relief. All his life he

had known magic to be wrong and ugly, been accused of having it when he hardly knew what
it might be. But now when he did, he was embraced and welcomed for who he was and what
he had done for others. It was a powerful feeling.

~*~

Two days later they set out for Heiyerborn in the company of the Merender, Reirandor,

and a troop fifty men strong. A proper escort, Myche had muttered, as if it was no more than
due the Esker, and Raven supposed this was so.

He was given a tall-legged horse which barely even flicked its ears as he mounted

clumsily. He suspected Myche or Breyre had had a hand in the choice of horse for him,
knowing his lack of skills with the animals.

Riding in the company of so many was different from how it had been with just the three

of them. There was always someone watching him, and he noticed their looks were different
now from what they had been. Elekin more often than not rode next to Raven, speaking or not
as the mood took him, and Raven was content to listen. He saw little of Breyre or Myche the
first day, the Esker being in demand with the Maresal and his captains.

The Eyrders were a people of great skill and knowledge, and the company made good

time. They had brought little provisions and added what they needed from the forest, on
several occasions having men change shape and hunt as falcons or wolves, or even a bear. It
was a mighty view, and a terrifying one. Suddenly Raven could understand why his people
had wanted to kill these men.

He saw Breyre once as the hunters left, saw the look he sent after them, part longing and

part fear. He wondered what the Esker had gone through to hesitate changing shape among
his kin.

Myche found him that evening as they made camp and brought him to their fire.

Reirandor sat with Breyre, sharing a cup of that dark liquid, and looking content. Raven
wondered what animal the Maresal could change into.

“Ah, Raven,” Reirandor greeted him. “How fare you after such a long ride? I heard you

are not yet a horseman.”

Raven grimaced and rubbed his bottom. “I don’t think I’ll ever be, but I manage.”
Reirandor chuckled. “I remember my father forcing me up on horseback when I was very

young, telling me to learn to like it, or I was no son of his. He is a quite well-known horse
breeder, you see. I like horses, but wouldn’t miss them if I went without one for more than a
week.”

Raven could sympathise with that.
Reirandor’s manservant came for his master to let him know his camp was ready, and the

man rose with a groan. “Not as easy as it used to be,” he muttered. “When this is all over I
think I’ll retire.”

“You have many good years yet, Master,” Breyre said earnestly.
“Tsk. Such flattery will get you nowhere with me. I know my limits, boy. My mind may

be sharp yet, it’s my body that’s falling behind. Not like this young one here.” He winked at
Raven, who smiled back. He liked this man more and more. Reirandor bid them goodnight
and left.

Myche had already brought their supper, warming the fish against the hot stones, and

Raven ate with a hearty appetite.

“It’ll be nearly a week before we arrive at Heiyerborn if the weather holds,” Breyre said.

“We’ll come into steeper terrain tomorrow, so let the horses have their heads if you feel
unsure of the way.”

“Don’t worry, lad,” Myche said. “I’ll stay close to make sure you’re all right.”
“Thank you. Elekin rode with me today.”
“Yes, we heard. Quite an interesting man, yes? You can learn a lot from him if you want

to.”

“I think you should,” Breyre said. “Having a good relationship with a Merender is never

wrong. I’d be calmer knowing you had someone to turn to in case I’m not able to help you.”

“Master?” Myche frowned. “What are you worried about? You’ve worn that face for

days now.”

Breyre glanced around. “Ask yourself, if you wanted to get rid of me, and your first plan

failed—what would you do next?”

Raven had no idea, not being of a vindictive mind, but Myche could apparently imagine.

“The pass? But there’s so many of us, it would have to be a pretty large force to ambush us.”

“How many in this company are loyal to me? How many are Reirandor’s men, or

Kaonir’s?”

The calculations weren’t hard. Few enough of the men in this camp had come from

Heiyerborn, more following the Maresals from their own Holds. While all Eyrders were
currently united, there were always those who would grasp an opportunity if they were
presented with one.

“So we are careful and vigilant.”
“Yes, and that is important for you too, Raven.” Breyre gave him a sharp look. “An

Outlander and now one rumoured to have some sort of magic, you would be a prize for
anyone. But they won’t hesitate to kill you if they can’t catch you alive. We’ll be fine once we
reach my uncle’s Hold, but until then….”

Raven wondered that he even dared close his eyes at night.

~*~

Even knowing the dangers, Raven was reluctant to think of these men as his potential

enemies. All he ever got were looks, curious if not exactly friendly. But there was a good
reason for this, as it turned out. As if the Merender had overheard their conversation last
night, he took to riding next to Raven from then on. Breyre kept an eye on him too, as well as
he could from the company of the Maresal, a man valued in his own right. Raven was
heartened by the Esker’s concern.

As promised, the landscape became more difficult as they rode on, and Raven let his

horse find its own way, reassured to see Elekin doing the same. The ride was hard on both
horses and men, and one of them took a bad fall when his horse misstepped and threw him.
When camp had been raised that evening Elekin was called upon and Raven went with him,
curious to see what the Merender would do. The man had bruised his shoulder and was
generally sore, and Elekin showed Raven another side of his knowledge.

“You see, the body is a masterpiece of function, a collaboration between muscles and

sinews and bones.” He made the man take off his shirt and lie down on his front. “To treat the
body, you must know the mind,” he said as if reciting an old lesson. “And to know the mind
you must know the body.” He showed Raven the muscles that were bruised and the effected
joints. “Without this arm functioning properly he won’t be able to draw his bow in a hunt, and
I dare say he’ll be sulking then.”

The man chuckled and made noises of agreement, then quieted as Elekin began to spread

a strong-smelling oil over his back and shoulder.

Raven watched with interest how muscles were gently kneaded and prodded, joints

relieved of pressure, and it seemed the bruise was draining of blood even as Elekin worked. It
was obvious the man was relieved of pain when they left him to his rest.

“A few more treatments until we reach Heiyerborn, and then he can have some proper

rest to let his body recover,” he said confidently, putting the flask of oil back in his pack and
wiping his hands on a cloth.

“Teach me how to do that?” Raven asked of Elekin.
The Merender looked him over. “I suppose I could. But you must understand, learning

this is as much learning about yourself as about another body. It will not be easy.”

“I understand. But if my magic never shows I still want to be able to do something

useful.”

Elekin smiled and clasped his shoulder. “You are doing something useful—you just

don’t know it yet. But very well, I can see your point.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “I’ll
teach you the very basics for now and then we’ll start with the proper training when we reach
Heiyerborn. But you must understand, I might be called away at any time, and being an
Outlander you won’t be going with me.”

“I know. I still want to do this. A little knowledge is better than none at all.”
“Quite right, quite right.”
News spread quickly that Elekin had taken Raven under his wing, and no one dared harm

the Merender or what was his. Breyre said this was a good thing since it guaranteed Raven’s
safety. Elekin told him as much as possible while riding during the day, lamenting the lack of

books and diagrams, and used whatever willing body in need of his clever hands in the
evening. Muscles began to fascinate Raven like he had never thought they would.

Learning had opened his mind. He came to Myche and Breyre’s camp at night smiling

and sometimes even chattering about the Merender and all he was learning, until Myche had
to tell him to go to sleep. Breyre just watched with an amused expression.

~*~

Spending so much time with Elekin made Raven forget where they were going, until he

noticed Breyre’s expression late one night.

“We’ll arrive in Heiyerborn at noon tomorrow. We’ve made good time,” the Esker said.

“I need you to ride with us, and Elekin too, when we come closer. I wouldn’t want you to get
lost and mistaken for an intruder.”

Raven agreed readily. He’d had quite enough of such treatment. He knew he was an

outsider, but they didn’t have to be impolite about it. He promised to stay close to Breyre.

Raven was riding next to Myche when they came down the hills and saw Heiyerborn

Hold for the first time. It was a mass of stones and walls and towers, a giant squatting across
two knobby hillsides and still managing to look graceful. The autumn-coloured forest was
kept at bay a mile from the walls, circling the Hold like a lush, wistful lover. Raven couldn’t
say if he liked the place or not, but it was certainly different from anything he had seen
before.

Breyre and Reirandor led the company along the road and up to the massive gates. They

were open at this time of day but the guards on duty were suspicious, until they realized who
it was finally coming home.

Word flew through the streets and soon every man, woman, and child cheered as they

passed at a trot. Raven didn’t know if he should watch the Hold or Breyre, but the expressions
on the returning Esker’s face were much too intriguing. Breyre had missed his home, that was
obvious, though it seemed to pain him to be back. Or maybe it was the manner of his return.

As they rode into the Hold proper a man came sweeping down the wide steps and into

the courtyard—Breyre’s uncle, Raven guessed, even if the short-trimmed blond beard made it
difficult to see the immediate resemblance. The man hurried up to Breyre and barely let him
dismount before he had his nephew’s arms in a firm clasp.

“Meuri has been merciful,” he said, smiling even as there were tears on his lashes. “I

prayed for this day.”

“Uncle, I’m glad to be home.”
They didn’t hug but Raven could see the need for it, even suppressed.
“Please, Breyre, bring your men inside and I’ll have a feast set out for you. You arrived

sooner than I expected.”

“Good horses and skilled men, Uncle. Makes for speedy travelling.”
Reirandor and Elekin stepped forward and were greeted by Breyre’s uncle, the Maresal

with a clasp of his arms, and the Merender with a deep bow and a welcome back. “It’s an
honour to have you both in my Hold again. Please, join us. I’ll have rooms readied for you
all.”

Stable hands came to take the horses and Hold staff their packs, and Raven and Myche

were free to follow the masters inside. Despite how dour Heiyerborn had looked on the
outside, inside it was as colourful and rich in details as the pavilions in camp had been. Even
built for strength and protection, it was as if the Eyrders couldn’t help themselves adorning
their home. It was different and yet not from Chatrina’s mansion—where she had filled her
home with paintings and statues and cloth to show her wealth, the Eyrders filled their home
with the like simply because they had an affinity for beauty. The more it was cherished, the

more richly they adorned it. Raven looked around at all the richness and wondered if he’d
ever get used to it.

There was of course an awkward moment when Raven was finally introduced, but

Breyre’s uncle seemed more inclined to give his nephew credit for knowing his men,
including Raven.

“I am Aiendor,” the Master of the Hold introduced himself. “I welcome you to my home

and am grateful to you for bringing my nephew back to me.” He inclined his head somewhat.

Raven bowed deeper, sensing it was the right thing to do. “Thank you, Master.”
Friend or no, Aiendor seemed uncomfortable around him, smoothing his hair back with a

hand, and drew his nephew and the others with him into the dining hall. Breyre gave Raven a
small nod over his shoulder.

“Come,” Myche murmured. “Let’s sit over here.” He showed Raven to a couple of seats

halfway down the table and Raven was relieved he could lean back and avoid being seen
much.

The conversation at the other end of the table never reached them, but he supposed it was

about the Esker’s ordeal and the duplicity of Chatrina. They talked well after the plates were
empty, and even though Breyre looked drawn and tired Raven suspected he would not rest
just yet. Raven himself was drooping, a week’s swift riding finally catching up to him, and
Myche soon took him away from the table. Many of the men had already left.

“Do you want to find your bed?” Myche asked once they were out of the hall.
“No, I think I’ll be fine if I just move around a bit.”
Myche smiled. “I’ll show you the Hold if you want. It’s quite impressive.”
Raven was soon lost in the warren of corridors and stairs and halls. Heiyerborn was very

old, Myche explained, and had been added to through the generations. In the years he had
lived here he had discovered stairs that ended at walls, and corridors that turned in a large
circle and led you back to where you had started. He found this very amusing. Raven wasn’t
so sure.

They came finally to a long hall where tall paintings covered the walls, and Raven

slowed. “What are these?” They looked different from the other paintings he had seen along
the way.

“Family portraits,” Myche explained. “As far back as anyone can remember, I think,

maybe even back to the first settlers.” He stepped up to one of the first paintings and squinted
at a small plaque by the frame. “‘Osein nom edem’,” he read slowly.

“What does it mean?”
He shrugged. “Old language. I’m not very good at it, but I think it means ‘the wanderer’

or ‘the far-travelling’ something. ‘Edem’ means path or journey, at least.” He began walking
again and Raven slowly followed.

“So these are all Breyre’s family?” He could see some resemblance, the colour of the hair

and eyes, the broad shoulders of the men.

“Yes, in one constellation or another, anyway. Our families aren’t quite like yours,

remember?” Myche stopped by a tall painting of a man and woman, looking up at it with
some expression around his mouth that Raven couldn’t read. “These are his mother and
father.”

Raven looked up and saw Breyre’s face looking back at him, both a female and a male

version, and stifled a gasp. The woman was beautiful, her smooth face and proud bearing
telling him where her son had gotten his courage from. Her eyes, even in paint, were brilliant.

But Breyre clearly got most of his looks from his father. The man was tall and broad, and

his posture one of strength. His hair was darker than Breyre’s, but his mouth and nose and
cheeks were those of his son’s.

“Breyre and Aiendor both were devastated when they died, I guess you can imagine.

Aiendor… he was left with only a nephew.”

“She was his sister?” Raven asked, thinking Aiendor certainly looked nothing like

Breyre’s father.

“Yes. He had hoped to have children of his own, or her to have more than one, but it

didn’t turn out that way.” He turned away slightly and cleared his throat. “How about some
air?”

They found a relatively quiet bench in a corner of a garden, and Raven was reminded of

how this had all started. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He saw Myche felt the same and they
shared a brief moment of memory.

They hadn’t sat there long when Elekin found them. “Ah, young Myche,” he said with a

smile. “The Esker asks for you.”

“You were demoted to messenger, Merender?” Myche asked with a smile of his own.
“No, no, I came to find Raven. I tried to have our rooms closer together, but it seems as

the Esker’s saviour, Raven is to have a room in one of the towers. More important than you
being my pupil, you see.” He winked at Raven.

Myche chuckled. “Always one for propriety is Aiendor. I’m sure you’ll like your rooms,

lad. Let’s go see what Breyre wants.”

Breyre wanted to show Raven to his rooms himself. He greeted the three of them with a

murmured word and a small nod. Elekin excused himself and promised to come find Raven
when he was all settled in.

The three of them walked in silence for a while, Breyre leading the way to the east tower

and up two flights of stairs. Raven was partly relieved—it was a fairly easy route to his rooms
—and partly disappointed that he seemed to be one of very few who lived there. Breyre’s
rooms were in the large central tower of the Hold, Myche had said.

Breyre opened the heavy door and stepped in ahead of Raven. “These rooms are always

kept ready for important visitors. Not that we’ve had that many in recent years.” He walked
aimlessly around the large sitting room before coming to a halt in front of Raven. “I don’t
know the proper way to repay you now that I’m home. If you were a noble or of high caste,
I’d give you jewels or a string of fine horses, but I think your needs are a bit more ordinary
than that.”

“I already have your thanks, Master. I hope I can stay here for the winter. It’s all I need,”

Raven said, a bit uncomfortable under the Esker’s gaze.

Breyre glanced away for a moment. “You have Elekin’s tutelage. He is a knowledgeable

man. You’ll do well, I think.” He seemed unsure of what to say next and even Myche shifted
behind them. “Well, I’ll leave you to settle in,” Breyre murmured, and left rather hastily,
confusing Raven with his abrupt behaviour. Myche promised to come see him later, and then,
for the first time in months, Raven was properly alone.

It was a strange feeling. He had been alone before when his father had been working, or

when he had wandered the roads after he left home. But now it was as if the rooms echoed
with his every breath. Nothing but air stirred up at his short investigation of the sitting room
and bedroom. He’d gotten used to having another person near at all times, and now that there
wasn’t, he realized what it was to be lonely.

This feeling drove him out of the rooms and down the tower steps, just to make sure he

could leave if he wanted to. A servant he passed was carrying his meagre belongings, and
Raven waved him away, barely pausing, when asked where he wanted them brought. He had
no desire to go back to his rooms. The need to move was too great.

Eventually he came into the high-ceilinged hall where they had entered the Hold, and

from there he found his way to the courtyard. Fresh air and the late day sun greeted him, and
he took a few deep breaths.

Only a few of the inhabitants looked at him where he stood on the steps, pausing in their

tasks, and he felt misplaced there, at a loss for purpose. He was about to go back inside when
he caught sight of Elekin heading his way across the yard and smiled in relief at the
Merender.

“There you are. How were your rooms?”
Raven shrugged. “Big.”
Elekin laughed. “Not like mine then—they’re snug and comfortable. But I’ve stayed here

before and finally was allowed to pick out my own rooms just a few years back, across the
yard there.” He pointed at a tower with a small, squat building added at the bottom, a few
bushes under the one widow and a worn stone step by the door. “Maybe they’ll let you do the
same, eventually.”

Raven shrugged, not sure he would be there that long, or be welcomed back if he left.
The Merender narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you ready to start your training properly,

or do you wish to rest after the journey?”

“Training!” Raven jumped on the suggestion, the thought of remaining idle not very

appealing. “Please.”

Elekin smiled. “Very well. This way, then.”

~*~

During the next few days Raven saw very little of either his friends or the Hold, except at

supper. Elekin had him busily studying very detailed drawings of the human body and what it
looked like underneath the skin. The pictures were fascinating but also vaguely nauseating in
their depiction of exactly everything. Once Elekin found out Raven could neither read nor
write, he had him studying the common letters too.

When he next saw Breyre and Myche it was on his way from Elekin’s rooms. He’d been

sent away for the day as the Merender was called on to treat one of the Hold staff. The two
men were obviously going somewhere, their usual rich clothes changed in favour of sturdy
leather and cloth, jackets and gloves over their arms.

Raven hurried to catch up and Myche greeted him with a smile. “We’ve been wondering

where you’d gotten off to. Elekin hasn’t run you down just yet, I see.”

“Yes, I mean, no. He has me learning writing and reading now too.”
Breyre glanced over. “I’m glad you have found something to do. Winters here can get

quite boring.”

Raven frowned, slightly offended Breyre apparently hadn’t realized just how much

Elekin was teaching him.

Myche cleared his throat. “We’re headed into the woods. Master needs a break from his

own letters and books,” he let Raven know, ignoring the look Breyre shot him. “Do you want
to come with us?”

Breyre fairly scowled at his man, but Raven ignored this too as he agreed, grateful for the

offer even if only half the company was willing.

There was a slight delay as servants were sent for a warm jacket and boots for Raven, but

soon enough their horses were saddled and they were trotting out the gates. Some people
waved at Breyre and he waved back, but there was no joy in his actions. Raven wondered
what they had been up to, to make the man’s normally sombre mood even worse.

The woods enfolded them and Breyre let his horse have its head. Raven had no way of

keeping up and Myche stayed behind with him, keeping a good trot as the Esker and horse
vanished among the trees. Myche slowed and Raven heard him sigh.

“He’s been troubled for some time now,” Myche said eventually. “I know part of the

reason is all he’s been through, and part is all the politics he’s had heaped on him since we

returned. But he’s miserable in a way I can’t explain.” He turned worried eyes to Raven.
“Even though it was harder on the road when it was just the three of us, I think he was
more… not happy, but content, and with a goal set for him. Now it all seems so out of reach.”

Raven didn’t know how to answer. He had felt lost on occasion, like after his mother

died or when on the road. But he had always had a goal—making his father proud, or at least
not angry with him, and then after his father threw him out, to find shelter and food to keep
him alive. Small goals compared to what Breyre wanted to achieve. He couldn’t imagine how
the Esker must feel for being thwarted so.

They came upon Breyre’s horse without its rider and Raven experienced a moment of

panic, thinking he had fallen off and hurt himself. But Myche sighed again and pointed.

“He’s changed shape. Look, there are his clothes.”
Strewn around at the foot of a tree were Breyre’s clothes, boots and jacket tossed away as

if in anger. Of Breyre there was no sign, wolf or man.

Myche dismounted and began sorting it all. “We might as well find somewhere to sit.

This could take a while.” He took his master’s horse by the reins and led them a ways off the
road.

There was no need to start a fire. It was still a few hours to dark and the day was fair.

Autumn was growing colder and within weeks the first snow would fall. Elekin had told
Raven that part of what he might be able to do was read the weather. It could be useful, he
supposed, but so far nothing had happened after all his lessons except that he had finally
learned to write his name.

“Elekin is quite happy with you, I hear,” Myche said as if he knew what Raven was

thinking. “He seldom shares his knowledge, but you must’ve made an impression.”

“I guess. I’m learning to read and write, and how to treat the body. But he says he can’t

help me with my magic since it’s so different from his own.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sure you’ll have lots more to learn from him, magic or no.”
“But what if it never shows?” Raven said, emotions rising. “Wasn’t it the reason I was

allowed here in the first place?”

“No, lad. You came here because of what you did for us.”
“But having some sort of magic helped, didn’t it? And don’t call me lad. I’m eighteen in

a few weeks!”

Myche chuckled, much to Raven’s irritation. “Boy, then. I’m older than you are, so I’ll

call you whatever I please.”

“Yes? Sometimes I wonder just how old you are.”
Myche sobered. “Old enough to be your father. And you have no need to be snappish

with me. Seems everyone I care for is bad-tempered these days.”

Raven ducked his head, ashamed. None of it was Myche’s fault. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, I guess. A lot has happened in a short time, it takes a while to adjust.”
They sat in silence after that, sharing water and some rolls of thin bread with jam Myche

had brought. It was nice, just doing nothing but being for a while, and Raven began to relax,
letting his mind wander. Elekin was patient with him, so why shouldn’t he give himself the
same leniency. There’s time, as Elekin had said only that morning.

“Ah,” Myche murmured then, and nodded at the trees.
The large, golden wolf came padding towards them, its head low and the tail wagging

slowly. It went straight up to Myche and nuzzled his chest, begging for a rub.

“Better now?” Myche asked, and obliged, digging his fingers into the thick fur. The wolf

groaned in answer, large paws splayed and claws digging into the dirt to push its wide
forehead against Myche’s chest. Such an amazing sight, the large predator and the defenceless
man made equals.

“He’s beautiful like this,” Raven said without thinking. Two pairs of eyes turned to him

and he blushed, but felt he had to go on, stuttering a little. “A-at Chatrina’s—I couldn’t
understand why everyone didn’t stare at you, until Myche told me of the glamour. Then it was
hard not to look.” He felt his cheeks heating at his own words.

“I’m glad you could see him, or we’d still be there.”
The wolf came up to Raven and carefully put its heavy head on his knee. Raven stared at

it, unable not to, the brilliantly green eyes, the lush fur. He reached out a hand, wanting to
touch this miracle, but not sure if it would be welcome. He glanced at Myche and was
encouraged by a smile and a wink.

The wolf’s large body shuddered under his hand and Raven was intrigued as the wolf’s

eyes slowly closed. The fur on the forehead was softer than around the neck, he discovered,
and the ears were smooth and pliable.

“Well, now. If you continue much longer we’ll have a sleeping wolf to wrestle onto the

horse. Seems your touch was just what he needed, Raven,” Myche laughed.

Suddenly the wolf pulled back with a snort and changed shape.
Raven stared disappointed at the man now crouching not far away, his hair as lush as the

fur had been, but Raven’s touch unwelcome. Then he realized that it was Breyre, and that the
man was very naked and slowly rising to his feet. All the drawings Elekin had him study were
unexpectedly made flesh, and even though he blushed, he couldn’t stop looking. Breyre was
perfect, even down to his feet.

Raven raised his eyes and got swept away in a gaze so intense he nearly lost his breath.

Moments went by when the rest of the world disappeared and neither of them moved.

Then Myche said, “Master?” in a perplexed tone, and Breyre abruptly reached for his

clothes and went to get dressed in private.

Raven swallowed and blinked, looking down at his hands. The palms were damp and his

fingers unsteady. He felt Myche’s eyes on him but couldn’t explain what had happened. He
couldn’t explain it even to himself.

Breyre returned before Raven had completely recovered, and ate his share of the meal in

silence. At long last he finally said, “Uncle and Reirandor have sent word to the Council
about my return and what has happened, but there won’t be a reply soon.”

Raven glanced at him, but Breyre didn’t return his look.
“Winter’s coming and nothing much will happen until spring. We’re preparing to take on

half of the camp at the border. Kaonir will take the rest back to his Hold at Laopnir until
midyear at least.”

“So they think we are safe?” Myche asked. This was obviously news to him too.
“For now. The Queen would be foolish to send her soldiers out at this time of year.

Heiyerborn is too inaccessible unless you know the lands. They’d strike at Laopnir or Seirk
first, or maybe Erionnir.”

Not knowing the Holds they spoke of, or even having seen a map, Raven was properly

lost, but he didn’t interrupt to ask. If he needed to know, they’d surely tell him.

Breyre barely looked at him as they rode back, confusing and frustrating Raven with his

dismissive behaviour. He might have found the courage to ask what had happened if he’d
been slightly angrier about Breyre’s manners and less confused about his own reactions, but
Myche was there and he didn’t need or deserve what would undoubtedly come from such a
discussion.

However, judging by the way Myche looked more relaxed, their little outing had been a

success as far as easing his master’s mind was concerned.

For Raven, troubled now, some things had woken up.

~*~

Raven sat in the chair by the hearth, watching as Elekin packed his things with

meticulous care. “Do you really have to go?”

Elekin wrapped a small wooden bowl in a piece of cloth. “Yes. I’m the Merender closest

to Erionnir and they need me there as soon as possible.” He paused and turned to look at
Raven. “Are you worried?”

Raven shrugged, non-committal. “Not really.” Not about Elekin.
The Merender looked at him a moment longer before returning to his packing. “It won’t

be more than two weeks or so, I should think. It’s most unfortunate I have to leave at this
time, I had hoped to teach you uninterrupted for a while yet.”

Raven shrugged again, even though his friend didn’t see it. “I’ll be fine, I guess. I could

ask Myche for some chores, or Aiendor.”

“Or Breyre,” Elekin said, plucking something from a shelf.
Raven bit his lip and didn’t answer.
Elekin turned slowly, eyeing him with curiosity. “Has something happened that’s made

you this quiet?”

Raven looked up sharply, wishing fervently to steer the Merender away from this subject.

“No. Why do you ask?”

The Merender squinted at him but only said, “I will leave a few papers that I want you to

study while I’m away. See that you learn them.”

Raven quietly breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve, but was in no way convinced

Elekin wouldn’t ask again if he truly wanted to know.

The sun was not even up above the horizon yet and Raven was the only one in the

courtyard to see Elekin and his two escorts off. Only once they were out of sight did he turn
back into the Hold, chafing his arms against the cold. The halls were nearly empty still, only
one or two maids and servants hurrying to their breakfast before their day started.

Perhaps this was why Raven caught sight of Breyre before being seen himself, the Esker

apparently deep in thought, if judging by the distant look on his face. Raven hid quickly
behind a corner, holding his breath as the Esker’s quiet footfalls neared, then passed. Palms
damp, Raven glanced cautiously around to see Breyre’s back disappear down the steps to the
baths.

He stood indecisive for a moment, biting his lip and staring at nothing. But then his body

moved as if of its own accord, and he followed where Breyre went.

Raven kept well back, only stepping into a corridor when he was certain Breyre had left

it, and fairly crept up to the door to the baths. He waited for long minutes, then silently
slipped inside.

The antechamber was warm and humid, and Raven saw where Breyre had put his

clothes, a shirt and trousers, and a house robe and slippers. He would reach out to touch them
but a splash of water from the next room startled him. He stood breathing for a moment,
fearing Breyre had forgotten something and would come back out and see him. But he didn’t.

Taking a deep breath to calm his wildly pounding heart, Raven sidled up to the archway.

He barely had to lean around the stones to see. Breyre had chosen the tub nearest the door,
and as Raven watched, he poured a bucket of water across his chest, cascades of it running
along his body and down the drains in the floor. The Esker stood with his back half turned
and Raven couldn’t help but admire the long legs and tight swell of buttocks. From Elekin’s
teachings Raven knew how strong those muscles would be on a man of Breyre’s age and
fitness, and he felt a flush start in his face and edge down his neck.

Then Breyre reached up and gathered all his hair in his hands, tying it into a knot at the

back of his head. Raven stared, mesmerized at how surprisingly vulnerable Breyre seemed,
naked and baring his neck.

He must have made a sound, a whimper or the scuff of his shoes on the floor, for Breyre

spun sharply around, falling into a ready stance and not looking so vulnerable any more.

Raven gasped, shocked and dismayed at having been caught.
“Raven?” Breyre said, his voice wondering even as his eyebrows rose, then drew into a

frown. He took a step, muscles shifting. Raven whirled and fled.

He wasn’t sure how he found his way back to his rooms, but he must have run all the

way since his heart was beating wildly. He leaned against the door, one hand to his chest and
the other at the front of his trousers, cursing his stupidity, his clumsiness, and his unruly body.

~*~

Myche, of course, could tell something was wrong. Especially when Raven began to

stutter and blush more than usual around Breyre.

“What is the matter?” Myche finally exclaimed, throwing his hands up as Raven once

again balked at having breakfast in the hall where Breyre was sitting with Aiendor.

“Nothing!” Raven said, a bit too sharply, and turned away to hide his embarrassment. He

was being foolish, he knew, hurting Myche and possibly the Esker too, with his behaviour,
but he couldn’t help it.

Myche sighed “I’m not asking you to tell me, lad, but Meuri’s beard, I wish we could all

go back to how things were.”

Raven nodded, looking at his feet. “I wish Elekin was back.”
“I know, so do I. He would help sort out whatever is wrong with you.”
Raven frowned, not liking the tone of his friend’s voice.
“See? That’s what I want to see on your face. Some expression other than this confusion

and blushing.”

Raven bit his lip and looked away.
Sighing, Myche clasped his shoulder and led him away. “Come. Let’s see if Cook can’t

make us a tray to bring to your rooms. At least I’ll see you fed, if not happy. I’ll let Elekin
deal with that.”

~*~

While the autumn harvest was being safely stored and the livestock herded to pastures

just outside the walls, life in the Hold began to slow down with the coming of winter. At least
for some.

Elekin returned from his trip just before the wind began to feel truly chilled. Only a day

since he had come back, the Merender decided now was the time for Raven to learn to
meditate and explore his own mind. He was glad for the extra lessons. He’d rather not spend
any time in his empty rooms where chaotic thoughts and disturbing needs could ambush him,
or the lonely bed where all that visited him were dreams from which he woke sweaty and
aching.

While Elekin claimed more of his time, Breyre seemed to have taken to avoiding him

completely—or maybe Raven was now more aware of his absence—only joining him and
Myche for supper when he didn’t have a ready excuse or was otherwise engaged. Maybe it
was Raven’s continued incapability to speak coherently around him that did it. When the
Esker did speak to Raven it was oddly formal and distancing, and it made Raven even more
frustrated and at the same time anxious. He didn’t want to alienate Breyre, the man was the
very reason Raven was even here. He found refuge, if not relief, in Elekin’s rooms and in his
teachings.

“Remember, to know the mind you must know the body,” Elekin said, as he went about

his workroom lighting thick candles. “Compose yourself, relax and breathe deeply. Feel your
body letting go, allowing you to rise above the mundane.” He sat down opposite Raven on the
thick rug. “You know what I expect of you, Raven. It’s easy if you make it so.”

Raven wanted to snort at that, but didn’t. Not much had been easy lately.
“Clear your mind,” Elekin murmured before the thoughts could take hold again. “Think

of the babbling of water, the song of the wind, the birds. See only yourself, bared of needs and
tasks, bared of concerns.” He began to breathe in that hissing, deep-throated way Raven
hadn’t mastered yet, and Raven fell into rhythm with the older man.

Sometimes he thought he almost had it, other times it was so far away, so difficult, he left

Elekin’s rooms in tears, hearing the Merender’s comforting words mixing with the scornful
voice in his head that sounded very much like his father. He wished nothing more than to be
rid of the man. He had found a place where he was welcomed and accepted for who he was
and didn’t want the memory of his father to ruin that. He wanted so much to do well by
Elekin, to learn his magic and make him proud.

There’s time, the Merender would say, but Raven felt like there wasn’t.
Today, despite the turmoil inside, he must have done something right, for a golden glow

appeared in his mind, beginning as a point of light and slowly expanding to encompass
everything. Raven let it come of its own accord rather than chase it. He had learned he was
often more successful this way. Shapes began to appear in the light, shadows and silhouettes
of people and animals and trees, all passing by in a speeding blur.

Wait! he wanted to tell them, and as if they had heard, they stopped, one last image

coming to him before everything went dark.

Raven blinked and his eyes focused on Elekin’s face, who was watching intently, leaning

forward. “I saw….”

“Yes? I know there was something, I could feel it.”
Raven didn’t know if he was disappointed or not. “I saw a great oak tree.”
Elekin blinked, then cackled. “Splendid!”
“Why? Why an oak?” Raven shifted and groaned at the stiffness of his limbs. “I can’t

move.”

“I should think so, it’s been nearly an hour.” He rose easily and helped Raven stand.

“Here, sit in the chair. We’ll have something to drink while we discuss this.” He seemed so
pleased Raven couldn’t sulk for long. He sat in the padded chair by the hearth as the
Merender prepared their cups of tea and a plate of the sweetmeats the man was so fond of.

“Well then, my boy. An oak.” He took a sip of his tea and continued. “Firstly, in our lore

the oak is the father of all trees—old, wise, gentle, and also the source of much of my own
magic. I could spend hours telling you how I use the oak, as a symbol and as an ingredient in
my treatments, but I suspect this would do you no good.” He offered Raven the plate and he
obediently took a piece.

“So what does it mean for me? If we’re so different, why do I see your symbols?”
“Well, symbols are universal, all encompassing. I think, at least partly, you see them

because I’m more or less consciously teaching you my own lore since it’s all I know.” He
shrugged, glancing around the room at the books and scrolls and diagrams. “I suppose this is
wrong of me, but we have little choice, your magic being so different.”

Raven sighed. “Non-existent, you mean.”
“Now, now, none of that, lad. You can’t be impatient with yourself.”
“I’m not,” Raven insisted, fighting down a surge of frustration that threatened in the pit

of his stomach. It seemed all his emotions were located just below his navel, churning and too
easy to rile these days. “It’s more like….” He couldn’t find the correct word, there was too
much to describe.

Elekin waited patiently but when Raven didn’t continue he said, “I’ve noticed something

is troubling you. Something other than your magic.”

Raven shifted in his seat and didn’t look up.
“I think I know what it is, Raven, and I have an easy remedy for it. Come.” He stood

abruptly and Raven gaped for a moment, then hurried to catch up as the Merender stepped
outside.

Elekin steered into the Hold with long strides, heading for the central tower, and Raven

began to sweat. “Ah!” the Merender exclaimed, catching sight of Breyre and Myche, and
headed over with a purpose.

Raven wanted to stop him, but couldn’t. He wanted to hide, but saw no dark corners.

Breyre and Myche smiled as Elekin reached them, Raven hovering nervously behind. Oh,
sweet fates! The man would say something awful, something horrible and telling, like—

“Esker, my pupil needs new rooms.”
Raven blinked, gaped.
Breyre blinked too but looked less shocked. “Merender,” he murmured. “Of course, I’ll

see to it. May I ask why?” He glanced at Raven, who snapped his mouth shut and tried to look
for all the world like he had known all along this was what Elekin was about.

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s too far away from my own rooms. What if I need him suddenly?

Besides, honour or no, the lad is uncomfortable and lonely in such opulence. He has more
simple needs, like me.” Elekin seemed satisfied with this explanation.

Breyre was not. “Raven, is this true? You should have said so.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” he muttered, chagrined and relieved and offended all at

once.

“It’s no bother. The comfort of our guests is a point of pride in Heiyerborn. I’ll have your

new rooms set up at once.” Breyre nodded at them and left, Myche smiling before he
followed.

Raven stood staring after them, not really sure how he felt about the abrupt dismissal.

The churning in his stomach became heavier.

“There, now that’s taken care of.” Elekin sounded pleased, like after a hard day’s work.

Raven imagined him dusting his hands off. He turned and noticed Raven’s expression. “Is this
not what you wanted?”

Raven started, quickly looking away from Breyre’s retreating form. “Yes. You were right

to ask them—him. I’m—I just—” He stopped himself.

Elekin smiled gently. “Not what you were expecting?” He clasped Raven’s shoulder and

steered him around. “All in good time, lad. All in good time.”

~*~

Raven’s birthday passed rather unnoticed, except for Elekin giving him a small wooden

box decorated with beautiful pale wood inlays.

“We hardly care about our birthdays,” he explained as Raven sat carefully touching his

gift, stunned and silent. “We live too long, I guess, for it to truly matter. We wouldn’t do
anything but celebrate birthdays for everyone in the Hold.” He grinned as if this was funny.

“Thank you so much, Elekin.” Raven finally found his voice. “You shouldn’t have—I

mean, going to such trouble and…. You already do so much for me,” he ended weakly,
looking shyly up into his friend’s smiling face.

“It’s no trouble, my boy. In fact, it was quite fun picking it out for you. The craftsmen in

Erionnir are well known for their skills.” He got up and began preparing the customary
afternoon tea, a pleased smile still on his lips.

Raven looked at the box again, the beautiful pattern on the lid and the small lock. He had

never gotten gifts before. His father had only marked his birthday by getting drunk and
cursing incoherently at him. Raven felt an ache in his chest at the thought of what he had
missed. Looking at Elekin now he wondered if this was how it was supposed to be to have a
father. A father who cared.

“Thank you,” he said, noticing how tight his voice sounded, and Elekin turned around to

look at him.

His eyes softened slightly at what he saw in Raven’s face. “You’re welcome,” he said

gently.

~*~

The promised half of the troops from the border camp arrived not long after, just in time

to settle in before the snow began to fall for real. Raven had seen snow before, just not this
much or so fast. In two days every part of Heiyerborn was powdered white. The dour giant
was now a sleeping maiden.

With the addition of the troops the Hold was for once properly occupied, but not so

crowded as to make it uncomfortable. It was just that whenever Raven went about on his own,
he felt watched. He had become familiar with the men that had escorted the Esker here in the
autumn. But these new warriors didn’t know him, hadn’t heard about his relationship with the
Merender, or seen him wander all around Heiyerborn on his duties.

A few of the masters from the outlying villages arrived, too, with their families and

companies, in good time for the midwinter feast. Aiendor greeted them and offered Raven’s
old rooms to one of them. They too soon found out about his presence and went to some
trouble to introduce themselves when he had rather not talked to them, or their staff and
company. He noticed many of them seemed to place themselves where he was sure to pass
during the day, whispering behind their hands and quickly turning away when he looked. In a
strange way it felt like being back home, the men and women of his old village had done
much the same thing.

In comparison it was easier with the new warriors. They made no secret of watching him,

and their looks ranged from hostile and suspicious, to curious and polite. The most
disconcerting, though, were the blatantly direct ones. Raven thought he knew what those
meant, but didn’t stick around long enough to find out. Things didn’t need to be any more
complicated.

More often than not his studies kept him busy well into the evening, and it was full dark

when he made his way back to his new rooms. These were half as big as the first ones and
much more to his taste—the bed for one thing, was not big enough to fit five bodies. Just the
one, or two in a pinch.

As he crossed the dark courtyard, only guided by the braziers on the steps by the doors, a

noise in the dark by the sheds caught his attention—a low voice, the rustling of clothes, a
chuckle. Obviously they weren’t in danger or in pain, but Raven couldn’t just walk by. He felt
drawn to it, like to a fire in the cold.

Quietly he crept closer, keeping to the shadows and away from the mouth of the alley. He

heard sounds that only two bodies together could make, and he bit his lip, hesitating. Then
slowly peered around the corner.

He had a brief memory of another dark alley months back, coming upon a whore doing

her business with a man pressing her into the wall of a less than respectable inn. He
remembered her tired eyes and bored expression even when she had seen him staring in mute
shock.

But these were two men, hands stroking bared flesh and muscles. They were kissing,

like the whore had not, and murmuring to each other in intimate voices. Raven knew this was
not for him—he was an intruder—but he saw something he hadn’t known he wanted, or had
been too afraid to acknowledge. Resentment flared in him, that these two could do this while
Raven….

A deep groan from one of the men had the hairs on his arms stand on end, and he quickly

ducked back into hiding. He shouldn’t watch this. As carefully as he had arrived, he left.

Well in his rooms he stood for a long while, looking at nothing and feeling confused—

anxious—frustrated—lonely. Again. He had felt like this before, but it had been better for a
while, and now…. Elekin surely had an answer for this too, but it felt too private a matter to
address even with the Merender.

Strong, confident hands touching. Raven groaned and covered his mouth with one hand,

the other going to the front of his trousers. There was only one way to relieve this ache, but
lately it had not been nearly enough to satisfy him.

~*~

They flew in on a snow-blown northern wind, a small company of men and women.

Raven stood at the well, fetching water for Elekin, when he saw all the birds landing in the
courtyard. Amid a flutter of feathers and strange noises, they gracefully changed shape before
Raven could look his fill of the newcomers. Of all the shapes the Eyrders could take, the bird
avatars seemed the most astonishing to him.

Hold staff came hurrying out with robes for the men and women, and guiding them all

inside out of the cold. He hadn’t heard Myche say anything about expecting company, so
maybe this was a surprise visit for the midwinter feast.

Elekin waited in the door to his rooms as Raven came back with the water. “New

arrivals, I see,” he said, letting Raven inside. “I think the Esker will be pleased.”

Raven put the bucket down by the hearth and turned, absently wiping his hands on his

trousers. “You know who they are?”

“Mm. The young Eskeri of Oleonborn, our Esker’s cousin, and her usual company I

presume.”

“He has a cousin?” Raven was doubly curious now, wanting to catch sight of this woman

again.

“Yes, of course, although two generations removed, I believe.”
Raven blinked, not quite following how that worked. “Eskeri?” he asked.
“Ah yes, the female equivalent to Breyre’s ‘Esker’. She carries the title instead of her

cousin, Breyre’s brother,” he said as he scooped water from the bucket to the kettle over the
fire, and didn’t notice Raven blinking stupidly.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled, thoughts racing. “Breyre has a brother?”
Elekin straightened and turned, blinking as if he hadn’t realized Raven couldn’t know.

“Oh. No, not as such. Let me show you.” He took down a thick tome from a tall shelf and
began carefully flipping through the pages, muttering names under his breath as his fingertip
traced the lines between them, “Evennir, Sainnir, Aureyre, Aiendor—ah, here—Breyre.” He
laid the book down and folded both pages out to twice their lengths. There were lines
spanning the aged paper, and names, Raven realized, recognizing a few simply because he
could read them now, Breyre’s among them.

There were symbols drawn next to each of the names, and he carefully touched the one

by Breyre’s name. “What are these?”

“Caste marks. Symbols created by a Merender for each of the members of a high caste

family. I’m proud to say I created our Esker’s own mark.”

“What is it for?” Raven asked, puzzled by this symbol he had never seen before.
“Ah, I suppose you don’t know. We all have them, given to us at a young age. They are

branded into our skin, here.” Elekin tugged down the collar of his shirt and showed Raven an
intricate scar right under his collarbone.

“Branded?” Raven stared, remembering Breyre had made a similar gesture back in the

border camp, to prove his identity to the Maresals.

“Yes, a rather old tradition. Now, look here,” Elekin called for Raven’s attention again.

“This is the Esker’s family line. His mother and father.” Elekin pointed at the names—Sainnir
and Aureyre—and Raven thought back to the portraits he had seen in the gallery. “These are
his grandparents and their siblings,” Elekin pointed at more names, but Raven couldn’t quite
read the older, somewhat faded script. “And here, this line by Breyre’s grandfather’s brother,
leads to Oleanir, and here Breyre’s brother, Eckien.

“They are cousins, as you can see,” the Merender said as if this was obvious, “but Breyre

and Eckien name each other brothers since, as men, they follow the line of their fathers to
name their kin. Women follow the line along their mothers to name theirs.” Elekin looked at
Raven with a smile that slowly faded at his blank look. “Yes, well, it is a bit complicated.” He
was about to close the book when Raven spotted a new name connected to Breyre’s by a
straight line, though it had been slashed in two by a red stroke.

“Who is this? Ta-tava….”
Elekin looked but didn’t immediately answer. “That is Tavanir,” he said finally, an odd

note in his voice. “She and the Esker were promised to each other, a long time ago, before we
all thought Breyre had died in Kemer.”

Raven felt something tightening in his chest. Breyre would have married? “Tavanir,” he

murmured. “She lived here?”

“For a time. Aiendor had such hopes for those two. Even had her portrait made and hung

in the gallery.” Elekin carefully traced the names and the lines between them.

“What happened to her?” Raven needed to know.
“She returned to her own Hold shortly after Breyre was thought lost. I wasn’t here at the

time but they say she cried many bitter tears for him, her sorrow ageing her.” His finger
stopped at Breyre’s name. “I wonder if she’ll return now that he is back.”

Raven followed Elekin’s finger where it started moving again, slowly coming across

Aureyre and Sainnir. “How… how did they die?” he asked quietly.

Elekin turned his eyes from the page to look intently at Raven for a long moment. Raven

wanted to squirm and look away, feeling as if he had asked to be told something he had no
business knowing. But this was about Breyre, too.

Finally Elekin sighed slowly, eyes back on the names written on the page. “I suppose

you’d find out eventually, as such things are hardly a secret, but I’d rather you heard it
without all the tall tales.” He went back to his chair, glancing at his empty teacup, as he
gathered his thoughts. “They were a tightly woven couple, strong politically, and sought by all
for their fair advice in every matter. The Esker inherited more than his good looks from them
both.” He gestured at the book. “If you turn the pages back you’ll see where the Holds are
written down on the map. You’ll see all the other Holds are spread throughout Eyrde. We
have a saying: ‘Edemo nom a’r Eyrir’.”

At Raven’s puzzled look the Merender smiled faintly and explained. “It means something

like ‘To journey to our people’. It’s a journey many of the high caste would undertake if they
aspire to a council position or are as well thought of as Aureyre and Sainnir were, or indeed,
the Esker is.”

“But I’ve heard Breyre doesn’t want any of that,” Raven said.

“No, he wouldn’t any more.” Elekin rubbed at his forehead. “But his parents did. His

father would have sat on the council if they had lived. If the Kemerans had not crossed their
path.”

Raven stiffened at the mention of his people. There was no recrimination in Elekin’s

voice, no anger or resentment, but there was a deep sadness.

“The Kemerans were much bolder then, crossing the border at a whim. They would

ambush our travellers, attack villages and farmsteads, killing and looting. They came across
Sainnir and Aureyre’s party as they were riding back from Laopnir.”

Raven gasped. “Laopnir?”
Elekin nodded slowly as he saw realization dawn in Raven’s eyes. “Yes. Kaonir was the

Hold Master of Laopnir even then. So you can see, this… feud between them goes back many
years.”

“But Kaonir… what if—?”
Elekin help up his hand before Raven could shape his question. “Kaonir swears he had

nothing to do with their deaths, and I as a Merender am inclined to believe him. There would
have been no need for him to get involved, the roads were dangerous enough. No, the bad
blood, as it were, lies in Kaonir’s refusal to take responsibility for the deaths.”

“And since they were coming back from his Hold….” Raven said slowly, beginning to

understand a small bit of it.

“Yes, it was his responsibility as Hold Master and Maresal to see to the safety of the

roads.”

Raven looked down at the map. Somewhere in the forests between the two Holds

Breyre’s parents had died, both of them killed in cold blood. Were their bodies buried out
there, he wondered. Or had they been brought back here for Breyre and Aiendor to witness
the cruelty?

Raven felt hollow and his mouth dry. He barely noticed Elekin moving before the

Merender put a hand on his shoulder. Raven blinked up as his friend.

“What’s the matter, lad?” he asked kindly.
Raven fumbled for words and said, “I’ve never know what it’s like to have a family.”
Elekin looked into his eyes for a moment. “I guess not. Your father… he never…?”
It was odd seeing Elekin at a loss for words, as if he didn’t wish to say something that

might hurt. It gave Raven a strange sort of courage. “He never treated me as a son.”

“Would it have been different if your mother had lived?”
He shrugged, dislodging Elekin’s hand and feeling the loss of its warmth. “I don’t know.

Maybe. I barely remember but Father wasn’t…. He was never really kind to me even before,
but after she died he was so….” He stopped to swallow, his eyes prickling disconcertingly.

Giving no sign of having noticed Raven’s embarrassment, Elekin carefully folded the

pages of the book and closed it, hand lingering on the worn leather cover as he put it away. He
steered Raven to a chair and gave him time to collect himself as he made tea from the now hot
water. Raven numbly accepted a cup. “Did you ever think to go back?”

Raven looked up sharply. “No.” He had to swallow again. “How could I? He threw me

out, I—” He shrugged with one shoulder, uncomfortable with just the thought. “I don’t even
know if he’s still alive.”

Elekin hummed and sipped his tea as he let moments pass, his gaze still on Raven. “I

guess all these emotions are confusing,” he said eventually. “Clouding your relationships with
the men and women here in Heiyerborn.”

Now Raven frowned. “What makes you say that?”
A smile twitched on Elekin’s lips for a moment. “I have seen how you are avoiding the

Esker, and even Myche, who suffers more visibly, I think.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” he mumbled, staring intently into his cup.

The Merender clearly stifled a chuckle. “Ah, well, you’re both still young. Such

behaviour can’t be helped.”

“Young?” Raven snorted. “I’m not as young—how old is Breyre?” he found himself

asking as the thought came to him.

“Oh, let’s see.” Elekin counted on his fingers. “Just past seventy, which equals… well,

thirty-five or thereabouts. It’s difficult to say, we age differently during our youth.”

“That’s not young,” Raven said, indignant to have been compared to Breyre’s years.
“It is to an Eyrder. We age differently than you, what with our longer lifespan. I’m

holding out hope that the Esker will learn patience and manners in the next fifty years or so.
By your counting.” He hid a smile behind his cup.

Fifty years. It was so far into the future Raven didn’t even think he would still be alive by

then, or still be learning, let alone have all his wits about him. He barely touched his tea,
staring into the fire as his thoughts whirled around in his head. Finally Elekin sent him on his
way with a pat and a gentle admonition to go to bed early tonight—he looked tired.

Raven headed back into the Hold, not quite sure where he was headed, not tired enough

yet to seek his bed. As he entered the main hall he saw the Esker, Myche, and the woman,
Oleanir. The two cousins were chattering, walking arm in arm with Myche a step behind and
still included in the conversation. She was short and slender, her movements graceful, and her
hair was a startling shade of red in the lamplights.

Raven wasn’t sure if he wanted to meet her or not, not when he was already distracted

and troubled after his conversation with Elekin. But now he realized where he needed to go,
and stood waiting until the three had disappeared down a corridor.

It took him a few tries to find his way back to the gallery, but he finally stood at the far

end, looking along the wall of Breyre’s ancestors, his family. Raven slowly walked on,
glancing up at the faces as he passed to see if he could recognize Breyre in any of them, a
wistful feeling inside him.

He finally came to the portrait of Breyre’s parents and paused to look at them. Reading

the plaque by the frame he murmured their names, “Sainnir and Aureyre.” The plaque said
more, numbers and words, but they weren’t important. “Mother and father.” As he stared up
he tried to remember his own mother, her face and voice, but it was like trying to catch mist in
his hands. The pain of her death had been dulled by the years and his youth at the time of her
passing. He could only recall fragments of it now. He had no wish to think of his father, but
more clearly than his mother he remembered how he’d been treated in the years since she
died. He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing it all back down.

Raven opened his eyes again and turned, hoping to see Breyre’s portrait next, but there

was only Aiendor as he had looked in earlier years. Raven frowned and walked past the
Master’s portrait. Next came a couple who bore features of both Aiendor and Aureyre—their
parents perhaps. Then he stood staring up at Breyre, albeit a younger version. Raven didn’t
know he held his breath until his chest ached with the need for air.

Breyre had been beautiful even in his youth, leaner, his chest and shoulders not yet as

broad or his face as sharply angled. There was an air of amusement about his eyes and a
small, almost secretive smile on his lips. How he must have changed as Chatrina’s prisoner,
Raven thought.

Just next to the Esker’s portrait was a smaller one of a woman. The plaque said

“Tavanir”. Raven bit his lip as he looked closer. She sat on a chaise, the skirt of her rich green
velvet gown smoothed over her knees where her hands rested. She wore pearl jewellery at her
throat and wrists that was rivalled only by the light in her eyes and the lush cascade of her
blond hair.

Tavanir was stunning, Raven acknowledged reluctantly, stepping closer to look at her

face. There was a slight blush on her cheeks, as if she was looking at something that pleased
her, or amused her. Or someone.

He abruptly stepped back again. Of course Breyre would love her, and she him. What if

she would return now that the Esker was back?

~*~

During the week before the midwinter feast all the Hold seemed to start preparing for it

all at once. The staff began adorning the Hold with wreaths of pine and winter leafs strung up
around every doorway and window of the halls and laid out on the tables. Colourful ribbons
were wrapped around chairs and stools and benches, and small bells hung from the ceilings in
places you least expected it. Raven was not tall enough to disturb many of these, but Elekin
and Breyre—who was a lot more visible now with his cousin in attendance—both set the bells
chiming before they learned where to duck.

Now that the feast was upon them the staff and occupants of the Hold—women and men

both—dressed in clothes less suitable for the outdoors, and more suitable for long, warm
evenings of dancing and feasting indoors. It provided Raven with many opportunities to see
more naked skin than he was prepared for and hours at night in which he couldn’t sleep.

Dawn was an hour or more away when he first woke and he lay there, just staring at the

dark ceiling until his eyes watered. When he heard the Hold begin to stir he finally gave up
hope of falling back asleep. Barely awake and bleary-eyed he stepped into the dining hall for
breakfast. Too late did he realize Breyre was already there, his cousin at his side, and that
Myche was waving him over. He hesitated for a moment, spine stiff with conflicting
emotions. But he would look foolish if he ran, wouldn’t he? More so than he already did just
standing there, and it would only make so much worse what was already embarrassing
enough.

Slowly he walked over to where they sat. Myche greeted him with a smile, obviously

willing to forgive and forget what he didn’t quite understand. Raven carefully sat down next
to him, Breyre and the Eskeri Oleanir across the table.

While Breyre barely glanced at him—Raven didn’t want to guess what the Esker was

thinking—Oleanir was not so subtle about her curiosity.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice pleasant and carrying a hint of amusement.
“Good morning,” Raven mumbled back, grateful for the excuse to look away when one

of Cook’s staff put a small tray down in front of him.

Oleanir studied him as he picked at his food, and he could feel Myche’s eyes on him too.

She elbowed Breyre in the side hard enough to make him grunt. “Introduce me, Cousin,” she
demanded.

Raven swallowed thickly and looked up at them under his bangs. He didn’t want this

attention, not now.

Breyre put his tea down, giving his cousin a look that she dismissed. “Oleanir, this is

Raven, the young man who helped save me and Myche. Raven, this is Oleanir, my cousin out
of Oleonborn.”

Her smile was really pretty, a dimple appearing in her left cheek, even as she huffed at

Breyre for the sparse introduction. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said to Raven, ignoring the
way Breyre blew a breath through his nose into his tea. “I must confess, I’ve heard about you
and they were right, you are quite lovely.”

Raven couldn’t say who was more surprised, him or Breyre. “M-mistress…?” he blurted,

blushing. He wasn’t sure if it was embarrassing or not to be called lovely by a lady.

Oleanir’s smile widened. “Rumours spread even among warriors. Our troop from the

border camp returned, full of tales.”

Face heating, Raven glanced up and got caught in the green gaze of the Esker, something

flickering past behind it too fast to read. He pulled a breath and ducked his head again, unsure
of what to say.

Myche clasped his shoulder, startling him. “You’ve made yourself a few admirers, it

seems.” His smile was gently teasing but Raven still shrugged off his hand.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, and fled. He heard Oleanir asking Breyre if she had said

something wrong, but stepped out of the hall before he heard what the Esker answered. He
was halfway down the hallway when Myche caught up with him.

“Raven, wait.”
He slowed and stopped, holding his shoulders tightly. Myche’s expression was

concerned, and maybe a little annoyed at his behaviour. He had no wish to be like this, but
right then he didn’t know what else to do.

“Did you sleep well?” Myche asked.
Raven blinked. “Why?”
“Just, you look tired, and you are being very quiet and… awkward. Has something

happened?”

Raven shrugged. “No, nothing, I—” He couldn’t tell Myche, it was too private. And he

didn’t know how Myche would react. “I guess Elekin’s lessons—I mean, it’s getting harder to
learn,” he said, fumbling, “and it’s frustrating when my magic won’t wake either.”

His friend nodded. “So take it slow. Ask Elekin to go easy on you. He’ll understand, I’m

sure.”

“Maybe.” Raven didn’t want to say anything to him either.
“Can I come see you later today? I have something for you, for the feast.”
This if nothing else interested him and he didn’t want to make Myche worry any more if

he could help it. “Yes, sure. What is it?”

Myche winked. “You’ll find out. Yes? See you then.” With that he turned and walked

back into the dining hall.

~*~

That evening Myche presented him with a light cotton shirt that didn’t lace all the way

up, black trousers, and a short jacket of a very soft cloth that he hardly felt when he wore
them. “Feast garb worthy of an honoured guest,” he said, and smiled widely at Raven’s
reflection in the mirror.

Raven looked at himself and hardly knew what to say. “I look….”
“Handsome? Beautiful? Lovely?” Myche supplied.
Raven grimaced. “Different. How can I show myself in this?” He looked down at

himself. “They show so much!” he exclaimed self-consciously. The jacket wouldn’t even
close all the way.

Myche laughed. “That’s the whole idea, lad. The winter feast is all about showing

yourself off, to find potential mates and lovers. You look good enough to eat.” He leaned a bit
over Raven’s shoulder and waggled his eyebrows at him in the mirror.

Raven tried smiling, but the uneasy turning of his stomach made the expression sour. He

plucked at the half-open shirt, goose bumps rising as the air touched his bared chest, and
Myche dutifully produced a scarf from his bundle of clothes.

“This will go nicely with those earrings of yours.” And it did, the blue of it matched

almost to a hue.

Raven wondered what the rest of the Hold would see when they looked at him.

~*~

If Raven had thought the Hold was crowded enough with the additional warriors, the

nobles, Oleanir, and their companies, four days before the feast a small troupe of entertainers
arrived. Singers, musicians, and dancers of such character you couldn’t avoid looking at them
and being swept away by their charm.

Raven noticed one of them in particular. Rurien, the dancer and leader of the troupe,

slim, lithe and young, with rich tawny hair that reached below his waist even while braided.
He moved about the Hold with the grace of the born dancer, and used his smile and lovely
manners to charm even the Esker. He seemed successful in his venture, and this caught
Raven’s attention, especially the way Breyre seemed to respond to him. He hadn’t known
Breyre to look at men that way. He also didn’t know if this realization made it better or worse
for him.

The entertainers quickly let it be known they had come for the sake of the Esker of

Heiyerborn, to celebrate his return. Raven didn’t like the attention they paid Breyre, but it was
not his place to say. Rurien promised a show like no other, smiling beautifully at Breyre. The
Esker smiled back and nodded in thanks.

~*~

The morning was bright and crisp, the snow sparkling in the cold, as Raven hurried from

the central tower across the courtyard towards Elekin’s rooms. Chin tucked into his scarf
against the chill wind he nearly collided with two bodies outside the Merender’s door, and
began to apologize before he had even regained his balance.

“It’s quite all right, young man. No harm done.”
Raven looked up into eyes as blue as the sky and had to swallow before he could speak.

Still he could only say, “I-I’m sorry.”

Rurien and his female companion nodded and smiled. “I’ve seen you around,” he said. “I

hear you aid the Merender. Perhaps you can tell us where he is?”

Raven blinked. “He’s not here?” This was a first.
“No, the door is locked and no one answers our call,” the woman said, her voice a rich

alto.

Raven frowned. “If it’s locked, he’s not here. But I don’t know where he is, he didn’t tell

me he was going anywhere.”

“Ah.” The two entertainers glanced at each other. “We’ll have to come back, then.” They

looked at Raven as if they expected something of him, and he finally understood.
Embarrassed, he turned and led the way back to the Hold proper, like a servant should.

To make matters worse, Breyre was in the main hall, for once without Oleanir, and

spotted them as they entered. Raven groaned under his breath. The frown that came and went
on the Esker’s face was quick, but Raven saw it.

“Rurien, Heiu,” Breyre greeted the two as they met. “Raven,” he murmured, nodding.
Raven saw the looks the other two gave him at this respectful greeting, and he nodded

back. “Esker.”

Breyre’s eyebrows rose and dipped at the title but he turned to the entertainers. “We are

looking forward to your performance tonight. I remember hearing about you from a friend in
Erionnir.”

Rurien smiled, his blue eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Esker. We’re honoured to be here

and will do our very best for you tonight.”

“I’m sure you will,” Breyre murmured agreeably. “If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed his

head again and left.

Raven glowered after the man and his habitual abrupt dismissals, but caught himself as

he felt the other two turn to him. Before they could ask any questions, he excused himself and
hurried away.

~*~

Back home midwinter had usually come and gone in the dreary darkness of the season,

and little celebration had been had in his father’s house. The jubilant mood of Heiyerborn
came almost as a shock to Raven, but it was easy to fall into. Myche was like a flock of
spring-eager birds all in his own right, pulling Raven with him into the great hall where rows
and rows of tables had been set up.

Raven glanced up towards the high table where Aiendor sat with Reirandor on his right

side, and Breyre and Oleanir to his left. Even the previously missing Merender was enjoying a
seat next to the Hold Master. Elekin gave Raven a bright smile and raised his cup. Raven
smiled and did the same.

But his eyes drifted back to the Esker. Breyre was talking with his cousin, their heads

together. He looked splendid in rich russet and green, while she was dressed in a purple gown
that made her hair glow where it coiled elaborately around her head, a few loose strands
touching her bare shoulders. She was showing entirely too much skin, Raven thought, and
tried not to stare.

Just in front of the high table was a large space left empty for the entertainers, and later

for the free dancing, in clear view of all who would want to watch. But first it was time to eat.

Food was plentiful and everyone shared equally. Even the servants and Hold staff took

turns eating around a table of their own in the hall, and none of the residents or guests
complained when there was a lull between courses.

“Here, you must try these,” Myche urged well into the fourth or fifth tray of offerings.

Raven had lost count.

“Be merciful!” he begged. “I have no more room.”
“Yes, you do. You need it too, if you’re to grow any taller,” he teased.
Raven was of a mind to smear his friend’s face with the creamy pastry, absently thinking

that drink Myche had pushed into his hands at the start of the meal might not have been the
best idea. He was distracted from such thoughts by the sweet, twinkling tones of an
instrument he had never heard before.

“Oh, here they are!” Myche made himself comfortable and sat back to watch as the

entertainers made their entrance.

Rurien led them, of course, his beautiful hair spilling down his back in waves as he

moved gracefully onto the floor. During the next hour the troupe performed acrobatics that
made Raven wonder if the men and women’s bodies were jointed differently from the rest of
them, played music of such cheer the audience could hardly sit still, and sung songs in which
Heiu’s beautiful alto brought tears to every eye in the hall.

Rurien came back onto the floor as the singer’s last notes drifted off, and he picked up

his rhythm from the flute and harp still playing. His dance was song turned into motion. So
beautiful and graceful was he, Raven was almost certain he was more fairy than Eyrder. And
he was dancing for no other than the Esker, that much was clear.

Raven saw the looks Rurien gave Breyre between moves, as no doubt everyone in the

hall did, and the way Breyre returned them. But of course he would. Not even Raven felt
unaffected by the performance and it wasn’t even for him.

As the dance ended Rurien stood with his hands thrown over his head, chest heaving

visibly through the thin layer of his sleeveless shirt.

Even Oleanir looked a bit flushed as she raised her glass in salute of the dancer, her

words of praise lost in the applause and cheers that went up around them. But Breyre sat
silent, unmoving.

Raven hadn’t been prepared for how blatant the invitation was, had underestimated how

forthright such offerings were among this people. He saw only admiration and benignly
jealous smiles on the faces around him, as if they didn’t begrudge their Esker this magnificent
gift, but wouldn’t decline a piece of it for themselves. How could they? Rurien was beautiful.

Myche grinned behind his cup, obviously pleased for his master.
The moment stretched thin as the applause died out and Rurien lowered his hands slowly,

eyes still on Breyre. Breyre looked at the man before him, admiring his body and what it
offered. But without a word he slowly turned his head to the side.

A ripple went through the hall, a wave of whispers and murmurs. Myche choked on his

drink, then stared hard at his master as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Rurien, it seemed, couldn’t believe it either. He stared at Breyre, a flush spreading across

his cheeks, then spun around and left the hall much less gracefully than he had entered. A few
of his companions hurried after him, hands fluttering as if they didn’t know what to do.

Voices began to rise around them, but Raven only had eyes for Breyre. Aiendor leaned

close to speak to him, Oleanir on his other side and a hand on his arm, and Breyre nodded
once before he quietly left the table and the hall, thin-lipped and frowning. Myche hastily rose
and hurried after him, not even glancing at Raven.

Raven for his part was stunned by what had just happened. He had thought Breyre would

accept Rurien’s offer, up until now he had been very open to the dancer’s advances. So what
had changed? He glanced towards the high table and was caught in the gaze of Oleanir. She
was looking intently at him, lips pressed together.

Raven stiffened where he sat, unable to look away for a long moment. Why was she

looking at him like that? His palms grew damp and the scarf itched against his neck. A
servant passed between them, the tension snapped, and he quickly cast his eyes to the table,
taking an unsteady breath. Eyes firmly on his plate, he made sure not to look her way again.

Raven saw neither Myche nor Breyre for the rest of the night, or Rurien, but the other

entertainers reappeared for the free dance and joined in happily with the men and women of
the Hold. Raven kept away from the dancing, content to watch, not least because Oleanir
made frequent appearances on the floor, skirts twirling around her legs as she was led through
a series of complicated moves.

Elekin quietly joined Raven at his table, having made his way along the wall and out of

everyone’s immediate reach. “Quite interesting, yes?” the Merender said, as he sat down.

“I’ve never heard music like this before, or seen so many dancing together.”
Elekin chuckled into his cup. “That’s not quite what I meant, but yes, it’s a good feast.”
Raven frowned at him. “What did you mean, then?” He could guess, but was less sure he

wanted to speak about it right then.

“Ah, it’s not important, my boy,” Elekin said as if he knew. “How about those

sweetmeats, eh?”

Raven breathed a quiet sigh of relief, glad Elekin had let it pass.

~*~

The feast continued three more days with daily rides and games in the snow, impromptu

dances in the smaller halls, and much good food and wine. Rurien’s troupe was much in

demand in more ways than one, if judging by the way Heiu smiled as Raven passed her in the
corridors early one morning. The residents of the Hold were enjoying themselves.

Not so the Esker. Raven saw Myche the last morning of the feast, and he seemed low in

spirits. The rumours that could be heard among the staff and the guests probably weren’t
helping. One said the Esker had invited Rurien to his rooms later that night for a proper
apology, another said the two men had had a fight and now couldn’t bear the sight of each
other. Raven put little credit to either rumour. He would believe whatever Myche told him,
nothing else. He said little of how Breyre was, though, or himself for that matter, but it wasn’t
difficult to tell something was wrong.

“I wish winter was over already,” Myche muttered over his breakfast tea. “This snow is

keeping us here, crowded together for no good reason.”

“Nothing will happen until spring.”
“Exactly! He’s waited years to be free and able to take action, and now the squabbling of

old men and women is holding him back. That and this damned season.” He tore a piece of
bread apart. “It’s like a fire in him, burning him from the inside.”

“If anyone can help it’s you, Myche. You know him better than anyone here. You can

sort it out.”

His friend grimaced at his vote of confidence. “I’m not so sure I can fix this. He’s had

letters from… an old friend. They used to be very close but I’m not sure where they stand
with each other these days. It’s making him sad, I think.”

Raven wondered if this “friend” was Tavanir and what they were saying to each other.

He hadn’t realized Breyre would keep in touch with her. But of course he would. “Then
distract him from it,” he said, grimacing when he realized what he’d said. “Make him think of
something else.”

“Elekin teaches you that?”
Raven managed a smile. “Actually, yes. He says when you know the treatment will be

painful, distract them. It usually works quite well.”

“I’ll take your advice under consideration, Master Raven,” Myche said, and bowed.

Raven tossed a piece of bread at him.

~*~

Raven and the Oak

~*~

The Hold returned to normal with the end of the feast. Rurien’s troupe left for work

elsewhere, between one heavy snowfall and the next. Reirandor left too, accompanied by
twenty of his best warriors, and made for his own Hold to wait out the winter there.

Oleanir debated whether she should stay a while longer, but in the end Breyre convinced

her she needed to go back to her own Hold. She flew out much like she had flown in, with her
company in tow, and Raven was relieved to see her go. She unnerved him with her sharp gaze
and eager curiosity.

Breyre walked the halls alone now, and Raven saw for himself what Myche had meant.

The man was pale and quieter than usual, his eyes weary with the wait for winter to end.
Raven ached for him, wanting to help but having no idea how. Every time he thought of
speaking to the Esker his stomach clenched and his palms grew damp.

Elekin had no immediate answers either, except, “To treat the body you must know the

mind, to know the mind you must know the body. If you wish to help the Esker you must first
know what he needs, and in what way you are able to offer that help.”

So his schooling continued, learning his letters, meditation, and treatment of all physical

ills. Such as what a man might suffer when he had been too rough with his lover. Raven
immediately knew this warrior for one of the two he’d come upon that night at the beginning
of winter. The timbre of his voice was unmistakable. Raven fought down a blush as the man
unlaced his trousers without as much as blinking, and helped Elekin treat the sore anus. The
warrior just chuckled and winked at Raven as he limped away.

Elekin muttered something about impatient warriors and lack of oils. Raven didn’t ask.

He didn’t need to. The Merender decided this was the time to start teaching him about matters
of the very intimate sort. Raven had troubling dreams for days afterwards.

With the passing of the winter solstice the dark days of the season slowly grew lighter,

snows not falling as heavily over Heiyerborn, and the troops began to practice for battle again.
Raven was kept busy helping to treat bruises and sprains, concussions, and even bleeding
cuts, as winter-bored warriors laid into each other with growing zest. Elekin made the
comparison of spring-eager calves. Raven had to bite his lip not to laugh out loud and offend
the warrior glowering at the Merender, as he got his wrist tended to. It amazed him how some
of them never seemed to learn how to duck.

Then one day Breyre was the one waiting on the doorstep to be tended. Elekin was busy

stitching up a badly cut cheek, having the injured warrior sit with his dripping face over a
bucket, when a shadow darkened the doorway. Raven nearly told them to come back later,
busy mixing herbs for Elekin, when he looked up and was caught in the green gaze of the
Esker. He hadn’t known he’d missed seeing him until just then.

“Esker,” he said, bowing.
“I’ve this bruise,” Breyre muttered, as if he was embarrassed to have gained it, gesturing

at his left side. “I heard the Merender has some ointment to ease the swelling.”

Raven hadn’t known Breyre participated in the training, and wondered how skilled he

was. “Yes, of course. Sit and I’ll fetch him.”

But when asked Elekin just raised his eyebrows at him and said, “You wish to learn

healing. This is a good day for it. I can’t deal with every air-headed brute that comes in here,”
at which Raven wondered if the Merender knew who this particular one was. “You share the
burden now, my boy. Consider it part of your training.”

Raven stared a moment, then went to find the herbal oil he needed. If he looked at this as

any body that came here it would be fine, he told himself. He would be fine. Just smear it on
and send the man away.

But it seemed far more difficult than that once Breyre took off his leather jerkin and

unbuckled his belt, unlacing the padded tunic and shirt next. Raven tensed and forgot to
breathe for a moment. Of course, Breyre had been holding his arm stiffly along his ribs, and
to tend to it he needed to be rid of his clothes. Breyre unselfconsciously let his shirt fall and
sat down on the padded long bench Elekin used for his injured visitors.

The bruise was quite nasty, big and turning an offensive shade of purple. It marred the

fine-looking skin of Breyre’s side, right across the ribs, and Raven did his best to concentrate
on the task at hand, as it were. Putting his hands on another’s body was part of the job, he
knew that. Just not this body. He called up every lesson in massage and bruises that Elekin
had given him, distractedly noting his hands were trembling just a bit as he poured oil into his
cupped palm.

“I’ll do my best to make sure this doesn’t hurt, Esker,” he said, glancing up at the profile

of Breyre’s face. The man just grunted and kept still as Raven began.

He carefully didn’t pull a breath of the heady smell of Breyre’s sweat as he lifted his arm

for Raven’s ministrations, carefully didn’t think about what it felt like to touch the tight
muscles, or how close to the Esker’s nipple he had to slide his hands to cover the bruise
properly. He did think about how Breyre being hurt seemed such a crime. He had suffered
enough. This being more or less self-inflicted made no difference. Breyre hissed as Raven
prodded at the bruise to see how much it had swelled and would yet do so, and to make sure
the injury hadn’t gone bone deep.

“It only hurts when I wield my sword,” Breyre muttered wryly.
“Then don’t wield it,” Raven said automatically. He bit his lip, belatedly. He had dealt

with too many warriors lately.

The Esker turned his head and gave him an arched eyebrow. “Quite right.” He stood,

carefully rolling his shoulder to test the injury, then reached for his shirt. “How does your
training go?” he asked as he put his clothes back on.

Raven blinked, hesitated, then shrugged. “I try my best but some days nothing works out

the way I would like.” He washed and wiped his hands at the washbasin, and when he turned
around again, Breyre was watching him with an unreadable expression.

At Raven’s surprised look he seemed to catch himself. “Well,” he said, cinching his belt,

“I’m sure the Merender will help sort it out for you.”

Raven tried smiling as if he too felt so assured, but it was wobbly at best. He poured

some of the oil into a small bottle. “Have this massaged onto the bruise once or twice a day,
and the swelling won’t be so bad.” He held it out for the Esker, who took it carefully. Breyre
pulled his hand back much slower than seemed proper and Raven held his breath. He dared
glance up, wondering, but Breyre turned his eyes away.

“Thank you for your help,” he said, nodding a little. Then he left, arm held not as tightly

to his side as when he had first stepped through the door.

Raven sank down on the bench, staring at his hands. It seemed his palms and fingertips

still tingled from the touch of the Esker’s skin. He knew it was the oil doing it, the ingredients
chosen for their soothing and numbing properties, but Breyre’s lingering fingers had sent a
thrill all the way up to the back of his neck. He didn’t think the oil did that.

Raven was out of sorts for some time after Breyre left, and Elekin, out of pity, finally

dismissed him for the day.

~*~

Learning meditation was still not the relief Elekin had hoped it would be. Raven more

often than not came out of it even more confused and frustrated than before, and one day he
finally burst into tears.

Elekin hugged him close and rubbed his back until he calmed. Raven gratefully pressed

his face against Elekin’s slim shoulder. “I can see there is something troubling you, something
of great importance.”

Raven sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I keep seeing the oak tree in my mind

but nothing more. It never changes and there are no other images that go with it.” He thumped
his fist into the rug where he sat. “What does it mean?”

Elekin sighed. “I honestly can’t say. If it was my vision I’d say I needed to go find the

oak, visit it and see if my own magic picked something up. But I’m not sure your magic
works that way.” He rose and went rummaging in several small boxes, then returned with a
dried and oiled leaf. “This is an oak leaf. Carry it with you and just keep an open mind, let it
come to you. Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way, but it’s worth one more try,
wouldn’t you say?”

So Raven left for the day and went to hide in his own rooms, feeling weary and

miserable, and wanting nothing more than for this to work, but having the distinct feeling it
wouldn’t. Later he couldn’t say how long he sat on the rug in his room, staring at the leaf on
the floor in front of him, but anger and disappointment finally got the better of him.

“Useless!” he shouted, hurling the leaf away with all his might, but it only swivelled

around in the air and settled under the chair. Tears sprang from Raven’s eyes and he bent over
his knees, intent on never getting up again.

A chirp had him pull a hitching breath, startled to realize he was not alone. Another

chattering sound and he raised his head to see two beady, black eyes looking back at him, and
curving above its spine was one fluffy, red tail.

Raven blinked. “M-Myche?”
The squirrel squeaked and suddenly leapt to the side, bounded up the table and made a

crazy flying leap to the bookshelf. Raven stared half in amazement, half growing amusement
at the crazy antics, wondering how something so small could make so much noise. The animal
lunged from the shelf to the bed, then made a quick dash across the floor amid much chatter
and loud chirps.

The squirrel finally located the leaf and came back with it, presenting it to Raven with its

deft little paws. When he didn’t take it fast enough, the animal dropped it into his lap and
jumped after it. Raven stared, then laughed as the squirrel squirmed around, pushing all its
paws against Raven’s thighs, and then proceeded to rub its face and back and furry little butt
against trousers and leaf alike, as if anointing itself with its smell.

Despite his smile Raven felt tears rising again and he had no idea why. He heard an

enquiring little chirp and then warm, strong arms came around his shoulders. Myche held him
as he tried to choke down his sobs.

It was comforting, safe, and he felt less fraught by the moment. Myche’s cheek pressed

against his forehead, his breaths stirring Raven’s hair. Raven held his breath for a moment as
he took in the closeness of his friend, then let one hand trail up a bare arm, to the shoulder. He
felt Myche’s whole body go still.

He couldn’t say for certain what he was about, only that it felt like something he wanted.

During one breathless moment his and Myche’s lips met, before Myche pulled away.

“Sweet Raven,” he murmured, stroking his hair. “I’m flattered, but you’re not for me.

Nor am I for you.” He leaned back a little and looked into Raven’s eyes. “I’m not who you
want.”

Raven bit his lip, then burst out, “How can you know?” with all the turmoil he felt. “I

don’t even—” He cut himself off abruptly.

Myche sighed. “Let me get dressed and then we’ll talk about this.”
Raven hadn’t even considered his friend was naked, so distraught was he, but now he

turned his eyes away as embarrassment flushed through him.

Myche came back after a few minutes and helped him into a chair. He gave Raven a cup

of water and sat down in the other chair. “The Merender told me you were troubled and I
came here to cheer you up, but it seems I made it worse. I’m sorry.”

Raven shook his head. “No, it’s not your fault. I snap at Elekin too these days. I can’t

seem to do anything right.”

“What’s troubling you?”
After a slight hesitation Raven told him about the meditations, the failure to find and

wake his magic, and the bloody oak tree. To his surprise Myche laughed, then raised his hand
when he saw Raven’s hurt look.

“I’m not making fun of you, lad. But I think I know what that oak must be. You see,

Heiyerborn was built around a grove of oaks long ago, or at least so the historians will tell
you. ‘Heiyer’ is the old form. In the language of our forefathers it means ‘oak’.”

Raven stared. “You mean I have been seeing the symbol of the Hold all this time? But

why?”

“I’m no Truth Knower so I can’t answer that, but if I were to guess, it’s fates or your

instincts telling you you’re in the right place.”

Raven thought about this. “Maybe… maybe you’re right.”
“Do you want to see it?”
“See what?”
“The oak, of course.” Myche looked very pleased with himself as he said it.
The oak turned out to be an enormous carving spanning the back wall of the great

audience hall that Aiendor never used these days. Myche said it hadn’t seen a proper audience
for nearly fifty years.

“The high castes and nobles seldom come to Heiyerborn. They go to Seirk instead, where

the Council is.”

Raven stared at the carving while his friend spoke. It was almost life-size of what looked

to be a very old oak tree, the carving itself shaped from the same wood. “It’s beautiful.”

“They say there used to be one or two oaks in the gardens, but I think they were cut down

a long time ago. Sad, really.”

“Are there none left?”
Myche shrugged. “Not here, but maybe somewhere in the forest, I wouldn’t know. I

don’t spend that much time in these woods. Easy to get lost when you’re as small as me,” he
said with a wink, and Raven smiled, thinking that wasn’t wholly true. “But I bet Breyre would
know.”

Raven wasn’t sure he wanted to ask the Esker, their last meeting had been painful

enough, but there was no stopping Myche.

They found Breyre in a small, stuffy library off the west tower, nose-deep in books and

scrolls. He was reading by the flickering flame of a well-guarded lamp and the dubious
daylight from one lone window high up the wall. Raven’s nose itched as they entered and he
wondered how the Esker could spend so much time in there.

“Master,” Myche announced their presence.
Breyre looked up with an expression of surprise that someone had found him and

annoyance at having been disturbed. “Myche?” he said. Then, “Raven…?” Clearly he had not
expected to see him.

Raven bowed his head in greeting, and noticed the discreet shuffling of papers to hide a

small book of some kind.

“What brings you here?” the Esker wondered.
“Any luck in your research?” Myche answered the question with one of his own.
Breyre frowned but prodded at his papers. “Not much so far. But it is interesting. Seems

some of our forefathers had issues not unlike what we are dealing with now.”

“Really? Does it say how they solved it?” Myche leaned over the table to look at his

master’s notes. Breyre moved an elbow a bit.

“Ah, not in so many words.” He looked at them again, his eyes lingering on Raven for a

moment as a furrow came and went between his eyebrows. “Was there something you
wanted?”

“Oh! Yes. Raven’s had a vision lately and we thought you could help solve the problem.”
“Vision? Does this mean your magic is beginning to wake?”
Raven grimaced and shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the Esker’s attention. “I’m

not sure. Elekin says it could be a first step.”

“And why do you need my help?”
“Because he sees an oak. Isn’t that interesting?” Myche grinned at him.

Breyre was quiet for a long moment. “That is interesting. I trust you’ve already shown

him the wall?”

“Yes. But we were wondering if you know of any live oaks around here? I think I

remember hearing about one or two that used to stand in the gardens, but can’t say I
remember having actually seen them.”

“No, those were cut down during the great winter storms, sadly. Why?”
“I need to see an oak,” Raven blurted, then bit the inside of his cheek as both men looked

at him. He wondered why he was even there in the first place, when it felt like his whole body
prickled at the Esker’s gaze. But it was his vision and Breyre wouldn’t bite him if he spoke to
him, surely? He pulled a breath. “Elekin thinks it might hold answers for me, like it does with
his own magic.”

Breyre nodded. “I ask again—why come to me?”
Raven looked to Myche to answer that.
“Because you’ve spent days and weeks and months in these woods. You, if anyone,

would know if there are any oaks still there.”

Breyre frowned, thinking, but he seemed intrigued. “It’s been quite some time since last,

but I remember the scent of it.” He got up and flipped through a pile of leather scrolls on a
low shelf. “Uncle once told me of a cave not far from here and I had to go investigate. Ah,
here it is.” He held up a map of some years. “Northeast, across the valley.” He traced a path
with a finger. “Somewhere around here.”

Myche leaned closer. “How long did it take you to get there?”
“Well, I was in wolf shape and it was early spring, so about half a day. You mean to go

now?”

Myche shrugged and looked at Raven. “Why not?” he said, and Raven felt excitement

bubbling up in his chest. “If we pack only the most necessary and leave with the early light
tomorrow, we might even make it back before full dark.”

Breyre seemed less than happy with this. “That is a bit optimistic. Midwinter travel is

never a good idea, Myche. You know the risks as well as I do.”

“I need to go,” Raven added his voice to the debate. “If this oak is still there, if Elekin is

right that it can help me and I’m to be of any help at all once spring returns, then I need to go
now.”

Breyre’s eyes reflected the lamp light for a moment as he looked at Raven. “I can’t in

good conscience let you go alone.”

“I’ll be with him,” Myche said with a confident smile.
“Or you, Myche! I remember last time you got stuck out there in winter.”
Myche ducked his head. “That horse was mad. The horse master had to put it down

later.”

“Still, it was a close call. If I hadn’t found you….”
“I know.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish my avatar was an eagle or something. I’d have

flown home.”

“Well, it’s not, and I think I’ll be going with you to make sure you return in one piece.”

Breyre began putting books away on the shelves, and didn’t see Myche’s big grin and wink at
Raven.

Despite the need in him Raven wished he could feel as confident.

~*~

Myche began sorting the necessary things right away, provisions and clothing, and

bundles of warm fur, and Raven had quickly decided to leave him to it. His chest filled with a
strange sort of flutter at the thought of leaving Heiyerborn in the company of the Esker and

Myche. Especially the Esker. He had a restless night and came to the stables still uneasy for a
reason he didn’t want to look too closely at.

He took one look at the horses and wondered how they were even supposed to move, so

burdened with gear were they. But Myche patted the shaggy neck of his mount and assured
him they could move very well, and most of their provisions looked heavier than they were.

They were riding three of the mountain-bred horses that Aiendor had traded into the

Hold. They were sure-footed and wilful, and could travel all day at a reasonable pace.

“All suited up?” Breyre asked, as he joined them in the yard.
Raven nodded, darting a glance at the Esker. He looked eager to go and checked his

horse with sure, efficient hands, before he pulled his thick gloves back on.

They rode out even as the sun was still abed, wanting to reach unknown territory with as

much daylight to spare as possible. Breyre led the way, holding a lantern up on a long rod, the
light showing the way beneath the arcs of snow-heavy boughs.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been out this way,” Breyre said quietly, as if not to

disturb the slumbering woods.

“Then it was about time we got you away from those old books,” Myche replied

cheerfully. He was in high spirits, and not even the dirty look Breyre sent him could dim his
smile.

Raven was glad for the warm cap and thick, fur-lined clothes he’d been given. But even

so, an hour into their journey when the bleary sunlight finally touched the trees, his toes and
fingers had begun to freeze.

“Cold?” Myche asked. “Wiggle your fingers and toes, and keep doing it.” He held up a

hand to show Raven he had pulled his own fingers into the palm of the glove. “Only way to
keep warm is to keep moving.”

“Good advice,” Breyre agreed, drawing Raven’s eyes. “If you feel cold all over you can

even jump down and walk for a while. If you hold on to your horse’s tail, it will make a path
for you.”

Raven didn’t feel like trying that. He’d heard horses would not only bite you if you

weren’t careful, but they had a powerful kick too. “I’m fine for now.”

They stopped shortly for a cold lunch, stomping their feet and rubbing their hands along

their arms.

“Is it always this cold in winter?” Raven felt compelled to ask. He hadn’t truly

appreciated how cold it got when so far the longest he’d had to spend outdoors at the Hold
were a few minutes at a time.

“Usually, yes.” Breyre stuffed the gear back in his pack. He seemed practically

unaffected.

“I want to have a wolf for an avatar too,” Myche muttered, bouncing up and down on his

feet. “It’s unfair.”

“If you spent more time outdoors in your animal shape, you wouldn’t be so affected

either,” Breyre informed.

Myche sent him a disgusted look.
“Your animal forms give you special abilities as men too?” Raven had to ask, his

curiosity piqued.

“Well, in a way. Mostly it depends on how often you use it. Like any other ability you

have to practice.” Breyre hoisted the bundle up behind his saddle. “If you never change shape,
you might even forget how to as you grow older.”

“And when in animal form, you keep some of your human traits as well?”
“We do. The only thing that truly changes is the way we look to others.”
“And the way we act,” Myche interjected. “You behave sillier in wolf shape than you

usually do.”

Breyre narrowed his eyes at his helpful manservant. “Do I?” he said darkly.
“You do too, Myche,” Raven added. “You as a squirrel are quite the sight.”
Myche grinned. “Well, I was trying to cheer you up. In my animal shape I feel

comfortable showing that side of me. You have no idea what I can get away with.”

“We might be able to imagine. Of course, you’re not silly at all in man-shape,” Breyre

said solemnly as he turned to check his horse’s tack.

“Of course not!” Myche exclaimed, offended.
Raven thought he heard Breyre cough, and smiled at the way Myche looked suspiciously

at his master’s back.

They arrived at the valley late in the afternoon and spent almost an hour looking for an

oak. Breyre sniffed the air sometimes, Raven watching with interest, and the Esker seemed
almost embarrassed when he noticed.

It was Myche who finally found it, calling them over to see him standing under its

widespread, winter-bare crown, and smiling widely. “Isn’t it grand?”

Raven hurried off his horse, nearly falling over in the knee-deep snow. “It is! So big,” he

said wondrously, turning slowly with his eyes overhead.

“I imagine it will look even grander in spring or summer when it has its leaves.” Breyre

was still mounted, sitting easily astride his horse. He had left much of his troubles behind him
on the ride here.

Looking at him now, hair loose, rimmed with frost from his breath, and the fur-lined

hood back, he looked like a mountain king, the oak branches the ceiling of his Hall. Raven
blinked and shook his head at his fancy.

“So, Raven. Do you feel anything?” Myche came to stand by his shoulder.
“I don’t know.” He walked up to the wide trunk, pulling off a glove to put his palm

against it. The bark was cold and rough, and gave nothing away. Raven sighed and looked up
the tree. “Maybe it’s asleep,” he murmured.

“I should think so,” Breyre said, dismounting and coming forward. “Strange indeed

would be the tree that was awake in winter.”

“The winter-greens are,” Myche said helpfully.
“Is this one of those times when you are not being silly?” Breyre wanted to know, hands

on his hips.

Myche grinned. “Want me to take a look?”
Raven blinked. “What?”
His friend gave a mock-suffering sigh. “I’m a squirrel. I know trees.”
“Ah.” Raven muffled a laugh behind his glove. “Yes, please?”
Myche began unlacing his coat. “I will be so cold,” he muttered.
“You did offer.” Breyre was unconcerned.
Myche was quick in disrobing and even quicker changing shape. It was unlike Breyre’s

change into wolf where most of his size merely transformed. The greater part of Myche’s
body simply vanished and then a red squirrel was bounding up the tree, clawed fingers and
toes finding purchase where a man would be lost. He chattered at them and disappeared
among the branches.

Raven stared up, awed at the little creature’s swiftness, and hardly thinking about the fact

that he was momentarily alone with the Esker. He smiled at the occasional chirp that drifted
down to them from above. “Despite his griping I think he loves his avatar.”

“That he does,” Breyre agreed. “It suits him quite well.”
“And he is silly,” Raven dared add.
“That too.” Breyre smiled, and gave him a quick glance that warmed him down to his

toes.

The squirrel appeared at one of the lower branches, trilling and chirping at them, and then

threw a dark nut with stunning precision at Breyre’s head.

“Hey! Watch it!”
The squirrel chirped cheekily and dashed off again.
“Is he making fun of us?” Raven wondered, trying not to laugh at the Esker’s expression.
“Rather, he is having fun at us.” Breyre picked up the nut where it had made a hole in the

snow a foot away. “Sometimes, when I’m really hungry, the wolf in me thinks he’d make a
lovely morsel.”

“Really?” Raven laughed.
“No, not really.” A smile made Breyre’s lips twitch.
Right then a furry ball came hurtling down the tree, complaining loudly, and bounded the

few feet across the snow to Breyre.

“Cold?” the Esker asked. “And what should I do about it?”
A loud whining meep was his answer.
“Fine, then.” Breyre held his coat open at the neck and the squirrel quickly disappeared

down it. “Just don’t bite me.”

“Does he always do that?” Raven asked, watching in amusement at the squirming going

on across Breyre’s chest.

“I think he’s just being a wimp. It’s not that cold.”
They both chuckled at the indignant squeak from Breyre’s coat. Their eyes met and

Raven suddenly realized this was the first time they had talked like this since…. He couldn’t
even remember. Breyre’s smile slowly vanished as he looked at Raven, then he went for his
horse. Raven wanted to say something, but he had no idea what, and Breyre’s turned back
didn’t invite more conversation.

Breyre cleared his throat and declared it was too late to turn back to the Hold. They

wouldn’t make it before nightfall. He took Myche’s horse by the reins and led the way further
up the valley, claiming to know of a cave where they could stay overnight. “I remember it
being just large enough for a man to stand up once you crawl past the opening. I think it will
suit us for tonight.”

Raven was set to collecting what firewood he could dig up under the snow, feeling both

peeved and frustrated at the way things were. One moment the Esker seemed so at ease
around him, and the next he was distant and stiffly polite again. He sent so many mixed
signals Raven was ready to shout. Then he stopped to wonder at his interest in the man.
Maybe…. He shook his head. No, that would be foolish. Wouldn’t it?

Breyre, still carrying Myche under his coat, had seen to their horses and prepared the

cave and their bedding. He had cut fir branches and made two quite good beds, as well as set
out their supper, by the time Raven returned. He dropped his armful of firewood and dug out
a shallow pit just inside the cave mouth, carefully not looking at Breyre.

“Will the horses be all right out there?” he wondered, having passed the animals huddled

together under the low branches of an old fir.

“Yes, they’re mountain bred and used to much worse weather than this. They’ll let the

snow fall on them and we’ll probably have to dig them out in the morning.”

“When will Myche come out to help, do you think?”
Breyre chuckled as he set their packs aside. “Right now it feels like he’s asleep. I’ll set

him out once we get the fire going and his clothes are warm, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Good idea.” Despite all, Raven was quite pleased and rather surprised at the wink he

received.

~*~

“Thanks for warming my clothes,” Myche said once he had gotten them all on again, and

Raven could look at him without blushing or remembering that one embarrassing kiss.

“You’re welcome. Have a good nap?”
Myche pouted at his master. “I was not asleep.”
“Really? I didn’t know you could be that quiet and not be struck unconscious.”
Myche muttered something Raven didn’t quite catch. He liked this banter between them,

realized he’d missed their company despite all the awkwardness. Breyre seemed a changed
man compared to how he had been at the Hold, serious and quiet. Now he even smiled. He
supposed the Esker was weighed down by responsibilities pressed on him by his uncle who
wanted him as his heir, as well as by the need to act on behalf of his kin, who were most
unwilling to acknowledge his experiences at the hands of Chatrina, or what he could offer
them if they only agreed to his plan of action.

“Master,” Myche said quietly, as they sat warming themselves by the fire after supper. “I

have to ask, and know there’s no good time.”

Breyre looked up from his contemplation of the flames. “This sounds serious.”
Myche glanced quickly at Raven. “It is. In spring, if the Council hasn’t decided, what

will you do?”

It seemed their thoughts ran the same path, Raven reflected. But of course Myche too

would have seen how relaxed Breyre was and would grasp the opportunity.

“I know you’re unhappy with the way things are, and that you’re eager to do something.”

Myche fiddled with the stump of a stick. “I just want to be prepared. I won’t leave anything to
chance. If you plan on leaving then I want to know in time.”

Breyre sighed, looking at his hands. “I hear what you’re saying, my friend. Right now

it’s difficult to know. Uncle sees my point and is prepared to argue for me with the Council,
but as you said, they’ve yet to decide anything. I’m only waiting for word to arrive when they
finally do.” He sucked on the inside of his lower lip for a moment. “If the Council decides
against it, and if Uncle decides to heed them…. I suspect my messenger will arrive alone.” He
frowned for a moment, staring into the fire.

Myche and Raven both waited for what the Esker would say next.
“I know of warriors, both in Heiyerborn and other Holds, who want nothing more than to

strike back at the Queen. If given enough incentive I could have five hundred men assembled
and ready at the border in a week.”

“Five hundred?” Myche said, his expression dubious.
Breyre nodded. “Yes. Won’t be much of a battle if they catch us before we’re ready, but

at least we wouldn’t go down without a good fight.”

Raven stifled a gasp. He was serious. Breyre noticed his reaction.
“I know you have never seen true war in your lifetime, Raven, and I hope you never will.

But if the Queen persists, there would be little choice on my part. The Council is a bunch of
old generation high castes and nobles. They would keep squabbling even as Seirk burned
down around them. We have suffered enough hurt and indignity, and if the Council will not
act, then I will.”

“Five hundred men,” Raven said. “Against how many?”
Breyre grimaced. “Plenty enough, but we wouldn’t meet them in battle. Even formidable

as Eyrde warriors are, it would be a slaughter. I’ve yet to come up with a proper plan, but I
know my warriors would fight to the end for me.”

Raven felt a chill run down his spine at the finality in the Esker’s voice.

~*~

He had trouble falling asleep, and not just because of the cold seeping past the hide

Myche had pinned across the cave opening. He thought of Breyre and Myche in battle, of all
the Eyrde warriors he had met in Heiyerborn, and blinked at the stinging in his eyes at the
thought of them all dead, or imprisoned like Breyre had been. He didn’t want to imagine all
the men in animal shape that would spend years and years in chains. The warriors would
rather take their own lives first, as he knew Breyre would do.

As if summoned by his thoughts the man appeared at his shoulder, making Raven start in

his bedding. “Can’t sleep?” he whispered, as not to disturb Myche.

“Cold,” Raven answered, not really meeting his eyes, and realized just how cold when

his teeth clicked together.

Breyre grunted. “You and Myche both, you’d have frozen to ice had I not been here.” He

put another few pieces of wood on the fire, then began to take off his clothes.

Raven stared in alarm. “W-what—?” he squeaked. His heart beat a staccato rhythm

against his ribs as Breyre’s skin was bared, inch by inch.

“Hush.” Breyre calmly put his clothes away and added his own bed fur to Raven’s, then

pressed up to Raven’s back, snug between the two furs and naked as the day he was born.
“Don’t be alarmed now.”

Too late for that, Raven pulled breath to ask why, when he felt the shifting of bones and

muscles behind him. There came a low gruff at his shoulder and he glanced back cautiously.
The big, golden wolf gave him quite a smug look, as if it had managed a feat.

“Umm….” What did you say to a wolf? He remembered the last time Breyre’s avatar had

been this close, and all the awkward things that had happened since. Then Raven squeaked
again, as a cold nose pressed to his cheek. “Don’t!” he yelped, yanking the covers up to
protect himself. He heard another throaty sound and let out a startled laughed. “Myche was
right. You are sillier as a wolf.”

“Hey!” came an indignant voice from the other bed. “Are you having fun without me?”
Raven yanked the furs down, wide-eyed and shaking his head. “No. We’re not doing

anything!” He felt the blush on his face, suddenly not so cold anymore.

Myche gave him a narrow look. “There you two are, and here I am, freezing my butt off.

Not fair.”

There was really only one solution to it. What else could he do? How much more

embarrassing could it get? Raven sighed and said, “Fine, take off your clothes and come over
here, then.” He swore the wolf laughed. “Shut up,” he muttered at it.

A bundle of red fur shot in under the covers and pressed to his front, even going so far as

to pull open Raven’s coat and squeezing in. Raven giggled and squirmed, nearly pressing his
hands to his chest before he remembered this was a small animal, not like the wolf against his
back. The squirrel chirped a few times, then settled down, the tip of its thick tail sticking out
and tickling Raven’s chin.

“Just don’t complain when I roll on you in my sleep,” he told the little creature. “And

I’m not getting up in the night to feed the fire.”

The wolf distinctly told him to be quiet and go to sleep. Now he could.

~*~

He woke to voices and raised his head in time to see the wolf disappear past the hide

door.

“He’s gone out to hunt for breakfast,” Myche told him when he saw he was awake. “We

might as well take advantage.” He crouched and fed the fire back to life. “Did you sleep
well?”

Raven yawned and sat up. “I did. I’m warm.”

Myche smiled. “I should hope so.”
“I didn’t squish you, did I?”
“Not at all. You hardly moved all night.” He put bread and cheese out to warm by the

fire. “You realize you spent the night in bed with two other men, right?”

Raven knew he was being teased but blushed anyway. “No, I didn’t.”
Myche chuckled. “No, not really,” he agreed. “Thanks, by the way. I really was cold.

And thank you on behalf of him, as well. He needed that.”

Raven didn’t quite know what he had done for Breyre, besides stuttering and making

stupid noises at the sight of him. He shrugged it away. “You’re welcome.” He pushed back
the furs and saw a few golden strands caught where the wolf had slept. “He doesn’t do that
very often, does he?”

Myche sobered. “No, not since we came back.”
“He doesn’t change in front of his kin either, except you.”
Myche frowned. “You noticed. I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s like he’s ashamed. Or

afraid. He won’t say.”

“Maybe….” He trailed off, and Myche looked expectantly at him. “It’s not for me to say,

but maybe it’ll just take time. Let him set his own pace. At least he changes in front of you.”

“Yes. I suppose that’s something. I know his uncle is worried. I think—” He broke off as

the wolf reappeared past the hide, a winter-lean rabbit in its jaws. “Good boy!” Myche praised
with a plastered-on grin, and the wolf snorted loudly, giving up its catch.

Breyre had no shame, Raven decided, and quickly turned away as the wolf began to

change to man. One look at that naked body was quite enough. Suddenly he understood what
Myche had teased him about. He scrambled out of the cave, muttering about the call of his
body, and carefully didn’t acknowledge the raised eyebrows or the smiles he noticed on their
faces.

~*~

Even though it had yielded nothing the day before, Raven wanted to see the oak once

more before they headed back. He was more prepared for the disappointment now but it was
still sour. Myche said they could try again closer to spring, but they all knew they might not
have the opportunity.

Sometime during the night more snow had fallen and it was slow going, but the horses

plodded on diligently. Breyre stopped them once to point out the tracks of a mountain cougar
and Raven spent the next hour glancing anxiously around.

Heiyerborn appeared just before dark and the horses, sensing home and feed, picked up

the pace of their own accord. Raven was just as pleased to come into the stable yard and be
welcomed by the warm torchlight and helpful stable boys. Breyre was less happy to be
greeted by his uncle on the steps.

“I expected you to be back yesterday,” the man said sternly.
“The snow was deeper than we had anticipated, and more fell in the night. It was safer to

come back in daylight.”

“I wish you wouldn’t have gone at all.” Aiendor sounded truly upset.
Raven stepped closer before it got any worse. “Please, Master. I was the one wanting to

go. I needed the Esker’s help. I ask you, don’t blame him for my selfishness.”

Aiendor’s eyebrows rose and it took a moment for him to collect himself. “Naturally,

Raven. I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said, but his back was oddly stiff. “I was merely
concerned for your wellbeing.”

“Thank you, we’re all fine. Your nephew is quite skilled at woodcraft.” He sensed Myche

shifting behind him.

Aiendor bowed his head somewhat. “Well, it’s good you’re back safely. If you’ll excuse

me.”

He has the same abrupt dismissal as Breyre, Raven thought, looking after the retreating

man. He started when Myche slapped him on the back.

“A very well executed diversion, if I ever saw one. Did the Merender teach you that too,

in addition to the distraction technique?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“No, it’s quite all right.” Breyre nodded at him. “He’s rather overprotective of me

sometimes. Forgets I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“It’s understandable, considering,” Myche said, sobering a little.
“Yes. Well…. He needs to let me go some time, the old goat.”
“Goat?” Raven asked, trying to imagine Aiendor in the animal’s shape.
Breyre smiled. “Actually, his avatar is an owl, but you know what I mean.”
“I guess,” Raven murmured, but he didn’t.

~*~

Elekin wanted to know how things had gone with the oak and when Raven told him, all

the advice he could give was to keep trying. So everything returned to how it had been as the
winter kept its grip on Heiyerborn for a while yet.

But one morning on his way across the yard to Elekin’s rooms, Raven caught sight of a

large eagle sitting patiently on the top of the parapets by the gates. He stared for a moment, in
a strange way knowing what this was. Breyre’s uncle had argued with the Council all winter,
the messengers going back and forth in groups of twos and threes. But lately the trips had
been few, and now it seemed that they had stopped completely. Breyre had said his messenger
would come alone. Raven hurried back into the Hold, looking for Myche or Breyre, and found
them both at their breakfast.

Breyre seemed to know immediately something was amiss. “Show me,” he said quietly,

abandoning tea and bread.

The eagle stretched its wings as it caught sight of Breyre descending the steps, and came

circling down to land on his outstretched arm. Raven could hardly take his eyes off the
magnificent bird, its gold-tipped feathers catching the light of the early sun, and didn’t realize
it was carrying a message until Breyre untied it from its leg.

“Thank you,” the Esker said. “I might have a reply, will you wait?”
The eagle fluffed its feathers once and flew back to its perch on the wall. The guards kept

an eye on it but neither party made any advances.

“What does it say?” Myche asked.
“Not here.” Breyre curled his fingers around the small roll of paper and turned back into

the Hold, heading for the library in the west tower. It seemed he had made it his private study.
Raven was unsure if he should come but Myche waved him on.

The message was not a welcome one. The Council had decided not to go to war. They

wanted to send another company to negotiate, and hoped with time and patience the Queen
would see reason.

“She’ll die of old age first, and then we’ll have to start all over again with her daughter!”

Breyre raged, the letter crumpled in his fist.

“Don’t they realize the madness in sending another envoy?” Myche exclaimed, equally

upset. “They know what happened to you. Can’t they see the danger?”

“Old, rusted fools,” Breyre growled. “They squabble and their kin die in vain.” He sat

down heavily in his chair, scowling at the far wall, and said nothing more.

Raven didn’t know what he could do to help. The politics were far beyond his

understanding. “Why won’t they fight?”

Breyre looked as if he had forgotten Raven was there. “Cowards—no, that’s not true.”

He sighed and rubbed at his face. “We’re an old people, but in our early days we were not
unlike the animals we call, and what battles there were, were short, brutal, and bloody. We’d
have all died if we hadn’t seen reason.” He pulled a breath and flipped open a book on the
desk at random. “It wasn’t until we stopped fighting amongst ourselves that we became truly
strong, what you see in us today. It’s the memory of those pointless feuds that have the
Council, and many with it, still wanting to try and reason with the Queen. They don’t realize
that chance has come and gone.”

“It was an act of war when Chatrina imprisoned us, and they know it,” Myche continued

when Breyre did not. “I think they’re afraid of what will happen if we decide to fight.” Breyre
looked ready to speak but Myche held up a hand. “Yes, they are,” he insisted. “They’re afraid
of people like Chatrina responding with magic, because then we will have to do the same.”

“And that’s when we’ll truly know how far we’ve come,” the Esker murmured.
Raven looked at the two men staring at each other, something deeply understood passing

between them that he couldn’t comprehend.

“Fine, then,” Breyre said eventually, having made his final decision contrary to the

Council’s orders. He would go into battle not only with the Kemeran Queen, but with the laws
and fears of his own people. “I’ll send a message back.”

Raven knew what it would say, and feared for the future of the Eyrders.

~*~

Messengers began to come and go to Heiyerborn again, but few of them were Aiendor’s

and most of them came in the cover of night. Raven knew what to look for and as Elekin had
decided to have him sit in one of the gardens during his meditations, in the hope that nature
itself might lend a hand in waking his magic, Raven was often the first to know when a
messenger arrived. Soon the birds themselves took to looking for him first.

He saw less and less of Breyre, and for more than a week not at all. Myche was also kept

busy but made sure to join Raven for meals as often as he could, claiming his master was no
good company these days. “His head is all full of plans and strategies, and still this lingering
sadness.”

He also told Raven of what was happening in Kemer. It seemed the Queen had agreed to

receive another envoy and the company would leave for the border as soon as the snow
allowed. None of them were surprised to learn this new envoy was Kaonir’s own son. Raven
didn’t wholly understand the implications, but Aiendor looked dark in the face when he got
the message. Breyre stayed well out of his uncle’s way, and Raven made sure to do the same.

As this went on Breyre received messages that the Queen’s soldiers were beginning to

gather in camps close to the Eyrde border. It was still too early in the year to march but
Breyre stepped up his own preparations just the same.

Bundled up against the cold Raven sat trying to meditate in the garden late one evening,

but in truth doing more of staring unseeingly at nothing. He had seen Breyre not long before
and the Esker’s face had seemed etched with some unreadable expression that made his eyes
hard and his lips thin. Raven hadn’t liked that look on him.

A voice from the shadows had him jumping almost out of his skin. “Good evening.”
Raven shot to his feet, casting wildly about. Surely this wasn’t how his magic was

supposed to come to him, when he was distracted and distressed, and not focusing at all.
Elekin had never said what to expect, but he hardly thought a voice was the usual way.

“I mean you no harm, boy. No need for alarm.”

“Who’s there?” Raven demanded, his voice trembling, and let his hand drop to his belt

and the house dagger there. “I’m armed.”

The answer was a quiet chuckle at his no doubt unimpressive threat. “So I can see. I, in

turn, am not and quite naked besides. Would I dare ask you for something to cover myself
with so I may state my business to your face?”

Raven hesitated, squinting at the spot where he heard the voice. If he was naked then he

would be a man, and recently changed from avatar shape. “How do I know you are friendly?”

“I see now what they mean,” came a low murmur, quite amused still.
“What?”
“I’m here to see Esker Breyre, boy, and while I’m not too concerned to show myself

naked, the gravity of my visit would lessen if I do so.” When Raven still hesitated, the man
said impatiently, “Meuri’s blood, toss me that blanket and I’ll show you my face. We’ll see
then if you’re not inclined to trust me.”

That, Raven could do, and within moments he stood face to face with the Esker himself.

Or rather the Esker as he would be years from now, tall and still broad across the shoulders,
his chest filled out and his face rugged with living. And still so handsome.

The man smiled at Raven’s reaction. “Now will you take me to him?”
Raven nodded, stunned into silence, and quickly led the way.
Breyre was happily surprised to see the new arrival and they greeted with a strong clasp

around each other’s arms.

“Brother,” the stranger said warmly, making Raven blink and suddenly remember

Elekin’s brief lesson on the Esker’s family. “I was prepared to bargain for my passage all
night with this little Outlander of yours. Quite the fierce protector.”

Breyre grinned and glanced at Raven still by the door. “Yes, loyal to the bone, I’m

pleased to say. Sit, I’ll have clothes and tea sent for.”

Raven tried to melt into the wall but the stranger caught him with his eyes. They were

bluer than Breyre’s and his hair had more red in it, Raven saw now in the lamplight, but their
similarities were still obvious.

“I see you’re wondering who I am,” the man said. “I’m Eckien, blood relative of Breyre,

and I know you can see it.” He grinned at Raven, the expression wider than but not as sweet
to see as Breyre’s rare smiles. “Hmm, I have questions for you, Brother, but I suppose they
will have to wait until we’re alone.”

Breyre frowned, his eyes shifting from Eckien to Raven and back again. “Raven,” he

said, “go find Myche, have him bring clothes for my brother, will you?”

Raven hurried to obey, not liking the feel of Eckien’s gaze on him, or the way Breyre had

dismissed him because of it.

~*~

Eckien had come in secrecy, but a man of such character was hard to miss and soon

enough Aiendor became aware of his presence. It resulted in a heated argument between uncle
and nephew that all in the Hold were wise to.

“Why is he so angry?” Raven asked of Myche, watching from the protection of a

doorway as Aiendor once again stalked away from Breyre’s study.

“Eckien is here to be second in command to Breyre when they march. Aiendor is furious

his own nephew has gone behind his back this way.” He cautiously looked down the hall, but
no one stirred as they hurried across the hallway. “He’s scared too, I think. Breyre is all he’s
got left of his sister.” He knocked on the door and they were told to enter, greeted by two grim
faces. “Not good, I take it?” Myche asked, coming to his master’s side.

“No.” Breyre sighed. “He wants nothing to do with it—threatened to have me out if I

don’t come to my senses.”

“Which is unlikely,” Eckien said with a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Aiendor having Breyre out, or Breyre coming to his senses, Raven wondered as he

stepped forward. “I want to help.” All eyes turned to him and he had to wonder what he was
doing. “I-I don’t know how, yet,” he stuttered, only certain he wanted to smooth the furrows
on Breyre’s brow, “but I’m sure my magic will wake soon. And then I can help.”

Breyre stared long and hard but Raven didn’t back down. He couldn’t.
Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he took a startled step back as

Eckien walked up close to him. The heat off the man’s body touched Raven right through his
clothes.

“Loyal and brave,” he murmured, ignoring Raven’s stunned expression, and traced his

jaw with a calloused fingertip. Eckien touched the earring and made it swing. “I wonder….”
He trailed off as Breyre pushed his chair back and stood, slowly and deliberately.

The two men locked gazes, and Raven felt the challenge that passed between them. He

didn’t know why or how—it was beyond his understanding—but the outcome of this moment
was more important than the next breath.

And then it was over, the tension snapping as abruptly as a string pulled too taut.

Eckien’s eyes flicked down and away, Breyre stood a bit straighter, and Raven could breathe
again.

“Very well,” Eckien said shortly, stepping away. “But you better do something about it

soon, or I’ll take my chances.” He threw one last glance at Raven before he left.

Raven blinked at the empty space before him, thoroughly bewildered. He drew breath but

hadn’t a moment to ask Breyre what that had been about, before Myche dragged him away
from the Esker’s study. “Myche? W-wait. What happened?” he cried, stumbling along.

“I’m not sure I have the right to tell you, or even if I should. But this is about to get

interesting!”

Raven grew increasingly concerned about the way his friend was grinning.

~*~

From hardly having seen Breyre at all, he now showed up where he was the least

expected, and always with a strange look on his face. Raven blinked in surprise the first few
times it happened—in the morning between the steps and Elekin’s door, in the hall after the
midday meal, as he fetched water to wash used bandages for the Merender. Raven finally
stopped being surprised and soon became annoyed.

Breyre never stayed long enough for Raven to ask why he was there, just a moment to

share a look, or a nod, or a brief touch. One time he bumped into him as the Esker came out
from the Merender’s rooms. He merely murmured Raven’s name by way of greeting, an
unreadable look on his face, and left Raven standing there in puzzled confusion as he headed
back into the Hold.

Myche was the grinning, highly amused audience to the whole thing, and he wouldn’t

answer Raven’s questions either. It seemed even Eckien kept an eye on them. But he didn’t
interfere as Raven sometimes wished, and sometimes feared he would, just to put an end to it
all.

It began to make him twitchy, the way he could never predict where he would next run

into Breyre. His breath would catch and his heart trip when he thought they would meet—
because they had once already, right there—and then it would all plummet when the Esker
wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

He even began having dreams to disturb his sleep where Breyre reached out to him, only

to pull his hands back at the last moment. Or dreams where the Esker’s body was pressed
close to Raven’s back or side or front, but when he tried to touch him he would wake with a
tortured gasp and an ache in his loins that his own hands could only ease for a few moments.

The balance they seemed to have found again after the trip to the oak was gone, replaced

by this growing distress and frustration on Raven’s part, and a strange uncertainty and
confusion that had no place on Breyre’s face.

Elekin noticed, of course, since Raven’s lessons were suffering from his distractions, and

finally it was the Merender who got an earful when enough was enough. “What is happening?
What is he doing? Following me around? It is driving me mad! I can’t concentrate on my
letters or meditation or anything because I know he’ll be there when I turn around—but he
isn’t—and then he is! Next time I’ll scream.”

Elekin watched him pace the room in faint amusement. “You should calm down, lad. It’s

not as bad as it seems.”

“Yes? How bad is it, then?” Raven snapped back.
Elekin’s answer was to offer him a cup of tea. Raven frowned but flopped into a chair

and held the steaming cup between his palms. “How is your meditation going?”

Raven couldn’t believe the nerve. “I just told you, I can’t do it right now.”
“I see.” The Merender nodded sagely. “I dare say he is as bothered by all this as you, and

him the one going to all the trouble of finding you day and night.”

Raven nearly choked on his tea. Breyre was stealing around his rooms at night? And it

was making him troubled? “Why is he, then?”

“Because he’s courting you.”
Noise rushed in his ears and the world faded out for a moment. “What?” He wasn’t sure

he said it out loud, but Elekin answered as if he had.

“Yes. I’ve been waiting for this for some time, and I’m pleased he’s finally getting to it.”
“What?”
“It was only to be expected, my boy. Have you not seen the way he looks at you?”
“Looks at me?” Raven cried. “He’s been avoiding me all winter—except now of course

—I haven’t….” He trailed off, seeing brief flashes of memory of when they had been
together.

Elekin hummed as if he agreed, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. He took the cup from

Raven’s numb hands. “I feel it would be best for both of you to finally just accept it. What has
been troubling you, keeping you back, is not the sleep of your magic, but the waking of
something much greater.” Elekin gave him a gentle pat on the cheek. “I know you’ll feel
much better soon. And that’s the truth.”

~*~

It all made some sort of sense, Raven reflected later when he had found his way to his

own rooms. Something had woken in him, had made him out of sorts, unfocused, ever since
that autumn ride into the woods when Breyre had changed from wolf to man, and Raven had
gotten a closer look at him than he’d perhaps wished for. And that one time, when he had
followed him to the baths. Sweet fates, he blushed just remembering it. But it had grown
better for a while and he couldn’t remember when it had turned for the worse again.

And then he did remember—coming upon two bodies in the dark, men being intimate

with each other in ways Raven had no reference for. His mind raced, his heart did. Was that
what he wanted of Breyre? What Breyre wanted of him? He wasn’t—he couldn’t…. Could
he?

The men he had seen had awoken some need in him, but he didn’t know what he was

supposed to do about it. The Eyrders were easy about such matters, not afraid to smile or
touch or ask, but Raven had never been invited to such acts before. He had seen them happen,
of course. It was hard not to stumble onto a working girl and her patron when forced to sleep
on the streets, or sharing a room with five others who had had just enough to drink. But he
had never been part of it.

Breyre was courting him? He almost laughed but it came out like some sort of strangled

sob.

A quiet knock on the door had him jumping up, staring at it in bewilderment. He knew

who it would be. Without opening the door, he knew. If he was quiet long enough, would he
give up and go away?

“Raven, please. I know you’re there.” Breyre’s voice was muffled through the door but

recognizable enough.

Raven hesitated, then yanked the door open before he had even decided he was going to.

Breyre looked as surprised as Raven felt.

The Esker collected himself first and asked, “May I come in?”
Raven stepped aside and closed the door behind him. He stood watching as Breyre went

around the room, looking at all the little knick-knacks that had gathered since Raven moved
in, and carefully not touching anything.

“I guess you’re wondering,” Breyre began quietly, not looking at Raven, “why I’m here.”
“Not really.” It just came out, his voice steadier than he had thought it would be. “And

yet I do. Wonder.”

Breyre finally turned. His posture was confident, his hands still, but his eyes were

worried, unsure. “I suppose I should give you an explanation.”

“You should. Or just tell me why now? And why me?”
Breyre looked away for a moment. “Why now…. I guess, there is no proper time for this,

except in peace, which we won’t have yet, and by then, who knows if either of us will still be
alive.” He met Raven’s eyes with a sad look. “When you were still staying in the eastern
tower rooms, you were my uncle’s guest. You were safe, inviolable at the risk of
dishonouring myself and the Hold if I did something—and then you were not any longer,
when Elekin asked for new rooms for you. That’s when I knew. if I didn’t keep away we’d
end up here.”

Raven frowned. “So why did you come? I know you have better resolve than that. I’ve

been in these rooms for months.” And then he remembered something else. “Eckien. That’s
what that was about.”

Breyre cleared his throat and Raven was fascinated to see a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Yes. My brother has always had quite an appetite. I… I felt threatened, like he would steal
you away. I suppose it was instinct, at least partly.”

Raven took a step closer and Breyre’s head came up. “And the other part?”
“Possessiveness,” Breyre murmured. “Protectiveness. I could not let him have you. I’ve

kept you close too long to let you go on a whim of his.”

“Why?” Raven asked again, and Breyre looked bewildered for a moment.
“Why? I—I fought it—you—for so long,” he said haltingly, as if looking for the words.

Raven waited, tension growing in his limbs. “I knew you had never felt such feelings before,
or known an intimate touch, and I was afraid of scaring you. It seemed so important not to
scare you. And as Elekin’s pupil I couldn’t risk offending him if I made a mistake with you.”
Breyre glanced away for a moment. “I want you to feel safe, and like you belong here.” He
met Raven’s eyes again. “If there is one place you want to call home, then I want it to be
Heiyerborn.”

“Because of what I did for you?” Raven wondered, feeling something turn over in his

chest, and he curled his fingers to press his nails into his palms.

“Yes. And… more. Because of how much I’ve come to care for you. I….” Breyre trailed

off again.

That would do for now, Raven decided. “And why me?” He took another step, feeling

like he had the control of this conversation and wondering how he knew.

Breyre’s intense eyes caught his and for the longest moment he didn’t speak. Then he

smiled wryly. “Why anyone? I can’t answer that in words because I don’t know why you. I
just… know.”

That made some sort of sense too, because even in all his confusion and frustration,

Raven also just… knew.

Breyre reached out slowly, his fingers trembling slightly as they touched Raven’s cheek,

his hair. “You’ve done so much for me, set me free from a fate worse than death, and it would
be poor payment if you thought that’s why I’m doing this. I assure you, it’s not.”

“I know, now. I’ve been thinking, of this….” Breyre canted his head to the side as he

waited for Raven to continue. “Of what we would… do. I saw, once… two men together. I
think I understand what—”

And then Breyre pulled him close by the arms and kissed him. Raven gasped, surprised.

His ears filled with the pounding of his heartbeat and his legs grew weak, but he slowly
relaxed under the gentle pressure of Breyre’s mouth. He felt clumsy and awkward, bumping
his nose against Breyre’s, but Breyre held him and murmured encouragement.

For endless moments Raven knew nothing except the sensation of Breyre’s lips against

his own, the tickle of the tip of Breyre’s tongue, and then the fullness of it as he opened up to
let it in. Breath was coming short and he grasped hold of Breyre’s jacket to keep his balance
when he felt suddenly dizzy.

His chest ached when they broke apart, and he stood dazed and panting as Breyre

nuzzled his ear and the stones there.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you wearing them,” Breyre murmured, his voice

sending a tingle down Raven’s sensitized body.

“Do what?” he managed to ask, his voice a mere whisper, and the tip of Breyre’s tongue

stabbed and teased at his earlobe where the silver rod pierced it. Raven felt positively faint
with the sensation. A moan passed his lips, and Breyre dared chuckle against his ear.

“Did it hurt?” Breyre asked.
Raven thought he knew what he was asking. “Yes. But not any more. Not now.”
Breyre leaned back and looked at him, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.
“What now?” Raven finally had to ask when the strongest fervour of the moment had

ebbed.

“Elekin spoke to me, told me he’s taught you some of the things you’d need to know,

some of the things we could do together. I want those things from you, but I’m not so
inconsiderate a lover as to demand it of you here and now. We have time to see if this is truly
right for both of us.”

Raven was aching and Breyre dared suggest they’d wait? Yet at the same time he was

relieved. But how much time did they have? “When will you be marching?” War was
approaching with the inevitable arrival of spring.

“A few weeks, a month at the most.” Breyre stepped away reluctantly, the mention of

war a sobering thought. Hesitating, he finally said, “At the equinox I have this private
tradition. I haven’t been able to fulfil it lately, for obvious reasons, but this spring I’ll let
nothing keep me from it.”

Raven’s curiosity was piqued. “Yes? What is it?”

“I leave here, bringing nothing, and spend a few days out in the forest, no company but

my own. It’s my way of welcoming the spring, celebrating that winter has gone again.
Obviously, you’d need a horse and provisions, but…. Would you care to join me?”

“Yes.” There was no need to hesitate or think it over.
“I’d take good care of you. I won’t ask anything of you that you don’t want to give me.”
“But I—I don’t know where to start,” Raven said earnestly, blushing as the words left his

mouth.

Breyre smiled slowly. “I know, and it’s too soon for that. We’ll go slowly, Raven.

There’s time yet.”

Raven smiled at the Merender’s words from Breyre’s lips, however unknowingly, and let

Breyre take him in his arms again.

~*~

Raven slept that night, though he hadn’t thought he would, after Breyre left with a last,

lingering kiss. He woke and felt strangely light inside, like his head wasn’t properly
connected to his body, or his feet to the ground. He did his best not to grin like a fool all day
but he shouldn’t have bothered.

Of course, Myche knew immediately something had happened when he saw them both at

breakfast. He smirked and gloated, and slapped Breyre on the back until the Esker snapped at
him to stop. Then he began winking at Raven instead, until it seemed he was in danger of it
becoming a permanent twitch. Elekin knew the moment Raven stepped inside his door. The
Merender smiled widely and gave Raven unasked for advice on a great many things that had
him blushing and fidgeting for hours. Even Breyre’s brother figured it out. Eckien gave Raven
a mournful look, then winked and told him to come seek him out when he got bored, which
had Breyre scowling fiercely.

Aiendor, on the other hand, fairly exploded as he caught up with them in the hall. “An

Outlander!” he raged, his beard appearing even paler against the angry flush of his face. “A
young slip of a boy. I don’t care how grateful you are for your freedom, this is not the way!”

“You have no right to decide for me, Uncle,” Breyre replied, his eyebrows drawn so deep

his eyes glowed in the shadows.

“No? What of Tavanir? Have you asked her of her right in all those letters you sent her?”
Raven blinked in shock. He hadn’t known Breyre still kept in touch with her. Breyre had

never uttered her name to him.

Breyre straightened stiffly, his hands clenched at his sides. “She left Heiyerborn.”
“In mourning of you!” Aiendor stabbed a finger at him. “You could have sent for her the

moment you returned, but I suspect you were already then consoling yourself with—”

“Don’t!” Breyre cut him off with a growl.
Raven saw the anger rising between them and he was of a mind to let Breyre curse his

uncle out, but their relationship was too important to let fall apart like this. He stepped
forward to stop them before the rift became irreparable. “Please, Breyre,” he said quietly.
Looking at Breyre’s angry face he placed a careful hand on his arm. “Don’t do this.” After a
moment longer Breyre glanced at him, blinked, then let the tension out on a breath. Raven felt
the muscles loosen under his hand.

Aiendor made a startled sound and Raven looked uncertainly at him. “Trickster words.

You have spun your magic around him.”

Something flared in Raven at the tone and the accusation. He clenched his fingers in

Breyre’s sleeve. “I have not. I have no magic—it’s not awake. But I wouldn’t want Breyre to
throw his family away, even for me. The Merender has taught me a great many things, the
value of kin not the least. Master,” he choked out, a lump growing heavy in his throat. He

walked away, finding no more to say. He felt Aiendor’s piercing stare on his back until he left
the hall.

He stopped on the stairs winding up the west tower and just breathed. Breyre caught up

to him and the steady hand on his shoulder brought a twist to his lips.

“I’m not sure I should ask where you find the courage to give me up for my uncle’s

sake,” Breyre murmured, and Raven turned to him.

“He’s afraid,” he said without preamble. “Of losing you, of losing what he sees as the

future of Heiyerborn. What claim do I have compared to Aiendor? It is a very real threat,
especially with this war you’re so intent on fighting.” He wrapped his arms around Breyre’s
waist and leaned into him. “I think… maybe I found the courage because I know how he
feels.”

“My campaign has him on edge, certainly. The Council will demand an answer of him

soon, and he doesn’t want to choose a side, but he can’t not choose.” Breyre lowered his head
and urged Raven to look at him. “You needn’t be afraid. I’ll be careful, and I’ll have Eckien
and a dozen of our best warriors with me at all times. I’ll live through this.”

“I know, because I’ll be there to make sure you do.”
“No,” Breyre said firmly.
“No?” He pulled away against the hands holding him. “What gives you the right to tell

me that?”

“This is not your war, Raven.”
“It’s not?” He glared at Breyre, that something flaring inside him again. “I think it

became my war too when I came here, when I first saw you for what you are, when I set you
free!” He turned but didn’t get more than two steps before he was seized by the arms and
pulled back against a strong body.

“I’m sorry,” Breyre whispered fiercely in his ear. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think what you

have to lose in this, now.”

He let out a shuddery breath and pressed back against Breyre, relieved at the way his

arms wound around him. Was this how Tavanir had felt before Breyre left last time? Had they
had moments where he reassured her he’d come back, only to see his vow broken and her
grieving his death? “As long as it’s not you. Please, don’t have me leave Heiyerborn in
mourning too.”

Breyre let out a rasping breath and spun him around. Raven had a moment to see the

anguish on his face before Breyre dove for his mouth. He grunted as he was pushed roughly
against the wall, but quickly reciprocated. There was no finesse in this kiss, only a desperate
longing, Raven searching Breyre’s touch for that promise and not sure he wanted to find it or
not. The chance of it being broken was too sharp.

“Oh! Oops. Um….”
Breyre pulled back with a wolf-like snarl. “Please, do explain this interruption, Myche.”
Myche looked chagrined, almost bowing as he let them know, “Aiendor has gone to see

the Merender. He didn’t seem happy.”

Raven pushed out from the shelter of Breyre’s body. “What?”
“Good,” Breyre said, one hand pressing against Raven’s back.
“Good? How is that good?”
Breyre turned to him. “Elekin’s abilities and his knowledge are more extensive than what

he’s teaching you. If anyone can give my uncle any advice, it’s the Merender.”

“But what if Aiendor wants Elekin to leave? What if he blames him for my coming here,

tricking you into it and… what if he wants me to leave?”

Breyre and Myche both smiled. “No one tells the Merender what to do. He’s one of the

magic folk, and you’re here more on his say so than anyone else’s. Even mine.” He grimaced
slightly and Raven couldn’t quite tell what it meant.

“Well,” Myche said, “Elekin will set him right.” He hesitated a moment, glancing at

them. “I heard what he said.”

Breyre’s frown was back. “I regret he said any of it.” Raven slid his hand down the

Esker’s arm and pulled a relieved breath when their fingers laced together. “I had a future
planned with Tavanir, but it was spoiled beyond recognition when Chatrina…. I did ask her to
come back in my letters.” He gave Raven an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you
then.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, not sure if that was completely true, but there was no

use adding to the hurt.

“She said she didn’t need to come back here,” Breyre continued. “She did mourn me, but

told me she’s happy where she is now. Apparently she has a new lover.” He looked away
down the hall and said no more.

Myche looked at his master, seeing something Raven couldn’t. “Knowing her, she

wouldn’t lie even if she thought it benefited you,” he said, at which Breyre snorted softly.
“She would see you happy as well, you know this.”

Breyre sighed slowly. “I do. She was forthright in telling me so.” He looked at Raven.

“She will be a big part of my past, but that’s where she’ll remain. Can you share your future
with me, knowing this, that Tavanir and I were that close and might have been again?”

Raven tilted his head to the side, wondering what was really being asked. “I think… yes.

There is no use dwelling on what could have happened, is there? I could have starved, or
frozen to death in the winter, if I hadn’t found my way to Chatrina’s, but that didn’t happen
either.”

Breyre’s hand tightened around his. “It didn’t. I’m proud to have you at my side, Raven.”
“And I you,” he answered, and wondered at the wobble in his voice.

~*~

Raven stole away to the galleries when he had a moment between lessons and seeing

Breyre for long, sweet kisses. He walked along the portraits, quietly as if not to draw their
gazes. He stopped in front of Tavanir’s painting and looked at her. Of course it wasn’t any
different than the last time he had seen it, but he imagined her eyes looked a bit… sad. Or
angry.

“You are not here,” Raven whispered at her, feeling slightly foolish but having to say it

anyway. “I can’t say no to him. I—I feel….” He couldn’t say those words, though.

He leaned a bit closer, saw the gleam in the pearls of her jewellery. “If you’ve known

him for so long, and loved him so much, why didn’t you come back?” Of course she didn’t
answer. “He would have chosen you. I think he still loves you.” There, he’d said that at least.
But he was out of words now.

As he stepped back from Tavanir Breyre’s parents’ portrait caught his eye. He felt

ridiculously shy as he stepped in front of them. He didn’t know what to say. Aureyre’s eyes
looked so much like Aiendor’s accusing ones in that moment that Raven almost stepped back.
He automatically bowed his head at the man, then grimaced at his own foolishness. Sainnir’s
gaze was as kind and gentle as he wanted to remember his own mother’s to have been. It was
easier finding words for her.

“I’ll do my best for him, Lady. I promise.”
That was all. He bowed at her too, then left.

~*~

Raven woke to the sound of someone knocking on his door. Blearily he fumbled his way

out of bed, only finding one of the slippers in the dark—the fire had gone out during the night.
He was nearly at the door when the knock came again and he opened it with a muttered
“What is it?” that was less than polite.

Breyre smiled at him, reaching with one hand to cup Raven’s face before he had hardly

even realized who it was. “I take it this is too early for you?”

Raven wanted to mutter some more impolite phrases, but Breyre’s hand was like a balm

on his mood, warm and steady. “Umm….” He pulled awkwardly on the nightshirt he wore,
eyeing the Esker’s house robe and warm slippers.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to accompany me to the baths,” Breyre continued,

“but perhaps I should let you sleep longer.”

That woke Raven up. “The baths?”
Breyre’s smile was gentle, his eyes searching Raven’s face. “Yes. I remember the last

time we were both there. I thought I’d extend a proper invitation now.”

Raven ducked his head, cursing the heat in his cheeks. “I-I apologize, Esker,” he

mumbled. “I didn’t mean….”

A hand landed on his shoulder, urging him inside the room, and Breyre closed the door

behind them. “No, Raven, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I forget sometimes how
innocent you are, how unlike us Eyrders your people are. We are much freer with such
intimate business.”

Raven looked up at the contrite tone in Breyre’s voice, but didn’t know what to say.

Except, “I’ll go with you to the baths.”

A smile spread on Breyre’s face and Raven didn’t so much mind the blush this time.

Breyre helped him gather a change of clothes, comb and tie for his hair, then led him out into
the quiet Hold. Raven hadn’t quite realized how early it still was. Not even the maids were
about yet.

Breyre noticed his look. “I like to wander the halls at this time of the morning, the feel

and the silence of it,” he explained quietly. “As if the Hold’s secrets haven’t yet been chased
away by all who walk through here.”

“I didn’t know you had such a liking for adventure, Esker,” Raven said, his voice

lowered to match Breyre’s. He looked down the dimly lit corridor and tried to see what
Breyre saw.

Breyre’s lips twitched. “A part of me will never quite grow up, I’m afraid. Uncle still

calls me ‘my young boy’ when he feels he can get away with it.”

Raven had to stifle a giggle at this. “Young?”
Breyre sent him a rueful look. “Yes. Did the Merender not explain to you about how we

Eyrders age?”

“He did, but I’m not sure I truly understand.” He stepped through the door to the corridor

Breyre held open for him.

“Ah, I shall have to ask him to draw you a picture next.”
Raven snorted and looked up at him. “You seem in a good mood, Esker. Why is that?”
Breyre stopped at another door, his eyes glinting in the semi-dark. “I’m about to take a

bath with you. I think that would put any man in a good mood.”

Raven blinked and realized they had arrived. His stomach tightened.
Breyre took him by the hand and urged him inside the antechamber. “You can put your

clothes here.” He indicated the bench along the wall.

Breyre began undressing unabashedly, demonstrating just how easy he was concerning

his body. If he noticed how Raven swallowed and stared before he caught himself and looked
away, then he didn’t show it.

But when he was done, clothes neatly folded, and Raven still hadn’t moved, Breyre came

to him and put gentle hands on his arms. “There is no need to be shy, Raven,” he murmured.
“Here, let me help you.” He took the bundle from Raven’s hands and set it aside.

Raven wanted to protest and say he wasn’t shy, that what was coursing through him was

another kind of powerful feeling at the sight of Breyre’s body, but he wasn’t sure he should
say it. He didn’t think he could.

He held his breath as Breyre tugged at his nightshirt and drew it up over his head, then

folded it and put it away, before turning to look at him. Raven met his eyes at first so he saw
the slight widening of Breyre’s pupils, the flare of his nostrils. When Breyre’s lips parted and
he reached out to stroke back a strand of Raven’s hair, he looked away past Breyre’s shoulder.

“I didn’t think a person’s skin could be so pale and still hold such lustre,” Breyre

murmured.

Raven’s eyebrows rose at the compliment. He had never really cared for how pale he

was, for how easy his skin showed every surge of heat in his face.

Breyre’s fingers traced the curve of Raven’s cheek, down his throat and along a

collarbone. “Will you look at me?” he asked.

Raven shifted on his feet and made himself meet Breyre’s gaze. It was difficult at first,

with the way those green eyes seemed to drink him in, and the hand curving over his shoulder
as if to draw him closer. But Raven looked and saw Breyre hadn’t yet shaved this morning,
the lamplight catching the faint gleam of stubble along his jaw line. He saw the way his throat
worked as he swallowed and his chest rose when he breathed.

The raised, white scar of his caste mark below his left collarbone caught Raven’s

attention, and before he knew it he had reached out to touch it with his fingertips.

Breyre let out a long, slow breath, the muscles in his chest bunching as if Raven’s touch

tickled. “You haven’t seen it before,” he said, “the mark of my line and my caste?”

Raven was about to take his hand away, but Breyre caught it and held it to his chest. “No

—I mean, yes, Elekin showed it to me once, in one of his books.” He couldn’t remember
which one right then. Breyre’s heart beat a heavy rhythm under his palm. “Did it hurt?” he felt
compelled to ask.

“Yes,” Breyre said. “I remember it vividly.” He said nothing more for a long moment

and Raven bit his lip uncertainly. Breyre seemed to shake himself finally. “Shall we see about
that bath?” he asked, and still holding Raven’s hand he led them through to the other room.

Raven wasn’t sure what he had expected when Breyre invited him here. The thought of

them sharing a bath was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. He studied Breyre from the corner
of his eye, as he began to fill a bucket of water from the hot spring for their personal use.

They were so different, he concluded. Where Raven was still thin and lacking the bulk of

trained muscles, Breyre was wide and sharply sculpted. Raven was not short but the top of his
head barely reached Breyre’s nose, even when he stretched.

Their hands were different too, he thought, Breyre’s hardened by sword-work and riding,

while his own were merely roughened from harsh living.

He was staring at his own hands when Breyre straightened, and brought the bucket and

soap over. “Is there something on your mind?” he wondered.

Raven looked up at him, not quite sure what it was he felt, but that he had to be honest

about it. “We are so different,” he said, because that’s what he had seen, and was dismayed at
how weak his voice sounded. “You—you’re so… tall and strong, and I’m neither.” He
gestured at Breyre. “You have hair on your chest and I don’t even have to sha—” He stopped
himself, biting his lip, embarrassed. No need to draw attention to his obvious lack of
manhood. And why was it all spilling out now? Had he not already known Breyre was more
of a man compared to himself?

Breyre stepped forward and cupped his face with a palm. “This is what I didn’t want to

frighten you with,” he whispered. Then in a stronger, gentle voice, “Yes, we are different, and
this is good. It will allow us to fit together so much better.”

Raven blinked, thinking quite the opposite, thinking of the two warriors from the alley by

the shed, how they were quite alike and had fitted together perfectly. He opened his mouth to
say as much when Breyre slowly but insistently pulled their bodies together.

Raven stiffened at the heat that pushed against his groin, staring up at Breyre’s face, the

lowered eyelids, the parted lips.

“I like that you are not like me, Raven,” he murmured, his voice a vibration where

Raven’s nipples touched his chest. He let one callused hand carefully slide lower and stop at
the small of Raven’s back. “What good would it do me to desire a man like myself?”

Raven swallowed, tried to find his voice, but he couldn’t. The interest of Breyre’s body

stirred his own, and of course Breyre noticed. He smiled and murmured, “What’s this now?”
as Raven felt his own cock slowly lengthen and fill. He blushed, ducking his head, heart
thumping in his chest.

Breyre made him look up again. “I think we will fit together nicely.” There was no

arguing when both their bodies seemed so certain. He let Raven go slowly, one hand lingering
on his hip as if he was afraid Raven would step away if they lost contact. He grabbed soap
and a drenched sponge from the bucket, and with a smile and an arching of his eyebrows,
began to wash Raven.

He stood still at first, tense and anxious, and not knowing if anything was expected of

him. Breyre seemed to realize this and made it only about getting clean, his hands brisk and
efficient but gentle. Raven turned when asked, shuddering only slightly when Breyre lifted his
hair out of the way.

“There,” Breyre said finally, pressing a quick kiss to Raven’s shoulder. “You’re all done.

Find a tub and I’ll wash myself.”

His first impulse was to protest, that he wanted to reciprocate, but one look down had

him gasping for breath and blushing furiously. Breyre only grinned, a decidedly wicked
expression that sent Raven stumbling to a tub and nearly falling over the rim of it.

He sank down, much too fast if the prickling of his skin in the warm water was anything

to judge by, but he hardly felt it; the heat in his face was so much worse. And he couldn’t
look. Not at first, but as he heard the sounds of washing and Breyre sputtering under the water
he poured over himself, he glanced over.

Breyre made no secret of his body’s reactions, that much was clear. He saw Raven

looking when he was done and as he walked over to take the tub across from Raven’s, he held
his eyes with his own, willing and inviting Raven to look his fill. Raven did, heat lapping at
his chest and groin, his fingers searching the side of the tub for a steady grip.

“Yes,” Breyre murmured, as he sank into his bath. “I know we will fit nicely together.”

~*~

“Will I see you at breakfast?” Breyre asked, standing close to Raven outside his rooms.

They had lingered in the antechamber to the baths afterwards, Breyre insisting on combing
Raven’s hair until it lay dry and smooth down his back, before he let them both get dressed.
Raven was fairly sure he would have made a mess of the Esker’s hair if he’d have to untangle
it for him. By the end his hands shook bad enough to make lacing his trousers difficult.

Breyre’s hand was curled gently around his shoulder now, the thumb stroking back and

forth close to Raven’s neck. It was distracting and he had to swallow before he could speak.
“I-I don’t know… if Elekin needs me… I….”

Breyre nodded. “Then if the Merender doesn’t need you, I may have the pleasure of

seeing you again this morning.” He leaned down slowly and pressed a light kiss to Raven’s
lips, a touch barely there, before he straightened again with a smile. “Until then.”

Raven was glad for the door that closed between them, hiding both his insistent blush and

the straining of his body. It was becoming uncomfortable and he needed to see to it before
anything else.

He wondered distractedly if this was how the Esker always behaved when in control of

his actions and the emotions he caused in others—if this was how a courtship was supposed to
go. And just what had Breyre had in mind when he’d said they would fit together? His body
thought it knew, and would welcome it gladly.

~*~

The warriors of the Hold increased their weapons practice under the watchful eye of the

Esker. Aiendor didn’t comment but it was commonly known he was not happy with his
nephew. Yet he did nothing. Perhaps he realized that if the Queen decided to disregard the
new envoy, it would lead to war whether the Council wanted it or not. The warriors’
preparations would benefit them either way.

Raven spent as much time with Elekin as possible, learning basic treatment of wounds

and bone injuries, asking for anything and everything that might help Breyre in his endeavour.
He felt time was running out, and waiting for his magic to waken was no use, to Breyre or
himself.

Breyre sought him out each morning and evening for brief, whispered words and gentle

but hungry kisses that left Raven aching and warm. The promise Breyre had made him in the
baths weighed heavily on his mind and body, stoking the need that curled in his gut, and made
him restless as well as nervous. And when he thought he couldn’t bear it any longer, the
equinox arrived.

Breyre had seen to the preparations, having Myche pack all the things they would need

and choose a well-mannered horse that Raven could handle. Myche had made a few
comments on the contents of the packs that had brought colour to Raven’s cheeks and a flutter
in his stomach.

The morning was still early now as he hurried down the hall, pulling the coat on as he

went. Myche had gone ahead to ready the horse and Raven saw him as he came out onto the
steps. He stopped for a moment, breathing in. The spring air was still crisp with lingering
winter, but it promised to be a fine day.

Myche smiled at him as he came closer. “Are you ready?”
“I think I am. It’s all gone by so fast.” He pulled on his gloves and couldn’t quite meet

his friend’s eyes.

Myche clasped his shoulder gently. “Let him guide you, Raven. You’ll be fine.”
“Do you know where we’ll be going?”
“No, he hasn’t told me. He’s waiting for you by the gates. Now, go.”
Raven hoisted himself into the saddle and smiled at him. “Thank you. We’ll be back

soon.”

Myche laughed. “Not too soon, I hope, or I’ll put thistles in his bed!”
Raven laughed and urged his horse forward. Myche would, too. He saw Elekin outside

his door and waved. The Merender raised his hand and made a sign of approval.

Reaching the gates Raven looked around for Breyre and was startled to see the big wolf

step out of the shadows of the wall. Of course, Breyre would travel as his avatar, in keeping
with his tradition. But he hadn’t known Breyre would change shape in front of his kin. He’d
been reluctant to do so before and Raven wondered at the reason for this change.

The guards gave the animal appreciative looks, and one of them said, “It’s been a long

time since we saw the Esker in animal form.”

“I know,” Raven murmured, watching as the beast came padding closer. “Shall we go?”

he asked it, and received a throaty sound in return. More than time, then.

He kept the horse to a leisurely trot, the wolf keeping near and in sight. He saw its large

paw prints in the stubbornly lingering drifts of snow and smiled at the size of them. There was
a streak of golden fur at the corner of his eye, then some ways ahead. Then he would have to
look around to spot it again, and without warning the wolf appeared close to the horse,
making it snort in annoyance.

Raven blinked, realizing. “Are you playing?”
The wolf’s tongue lolled, the tail wagging happily. Then it set off among the trees again.
“Myche was right,” he called after it. “You are sillier in wolf shape!” The woods

answered him with a loud bark. Raven smiled. It surprised him how well he understood
Breyre in his avatar form. Maybe it was because he had spent so much time with him lately,
Breyre was the same no matter the shape he took.

They continued through the day, Raven taking his meal cold while still in the saddle. At

one point he thought he’d be so stiff once they stopped he wouldn’t be able to get off the
horse. Breyre would have to carry him, which wouldn’t be so bad.

It wasn’t until they crossed a small brook and he caught sight of the slopes up ahead that

he realized where Breyre was taking him. He laughed out loud and the wolf came trotting
over.

“You’re taking us to the oak.” He smiled at the surprisingly wily expression on the

wolf’s face. “And the cave, I suppose. You’re taking me back to where you slept beside me
for the first time. Is this what they call romantic?”

The wolf snorted loudly, causing the horse to toss its head, and loped off again.
The oak had sprung back to life since last he saw it, its thick boughs sprinkled with

small, green nubs of leafs. He wondered if he’d sense anything this time but didn’t want to
spoil the day by trying, just in case nothing happened. “There’s time,” he muttered to himself.

The cave had been well used and occupied by forest creatures during the winter. The

wolf gave a cautioning growl when Raven went inside to chase out critters and pull the
remnants of their old bedding outside with all the other rubbish.

“You wouldn’t care to lend a hand?” Raven asked the wolf once as he shook a spider out

of his hair. The beast had the nerve to yawn widely and lay down with its head on its paws.
Raven pouted at it, but that didn’t work either. “I could say you only get to sleep in the bed if
you help make it, but I would be depriving myself too.”

The animal grinned and came over to give him a wet lick as reassurance.
“I make the bed, you bring wood for the fire? No?” He gave a mock-suffering sigh and

set about his tasks. Nightfall would be here soon enough.

The wolf followed him as he went to gather firewood. He had a decent armful by the

time the animal tilted its head, scenting the wind. Raven stopped, watching the large body
shifting subtly, muscles readying for the hunt, and with hardly a glance at Raven the wolf set
off through the trees.

“Bring back something good,” he called after it. “I’m starving!”
He had a fire going at the mouth of the cave by the time the wolf came back, two rabbits

in its teeth. “Well done, Master Wolf,” Raven teased. “Do you want yours bloody or rare?”
He could have sworn the animal rolled its eyes at him.

With so many practical things to do Raven hadn’t had the time to think much of the

reason for them being there, but as evening fell and he sat comfortably by the fire, digesting
the meal, it came back to him. A flutter began in his stomach, a tingle in his groin. He glanced
at the wolf where it lay not far away, head resting on its paws and the ears lazily tracking the

forest sounds. He looked peaceful, the wolf, as if this moment of solitude was the sole reason
for their journey.

Raven knew Breyre had wanted to get away from Heiyerborn and all the responsibilities,

a brief reprieve from reality before reality became more than he had bargained for. But Raven
also thought Breyre had wanted to take this away from the already frayed and churning
emotions of the Hold, to let it take what shape it would, and become something strong and
pure, undisturbed by other influences.

Raven stood slowly, staring at the wolf for a moment, before he turned and crawled

further into the cave. He thought he knew when the wolf followed him, even if its paws gave
no sound against the floor. He took off his boots and jacket, leaving only shirt and trousers to
protect him from the chill in the air, and laid down on the bedding he had arranged earlier. It
still smelled a bit musty, but the new fir branches he had cut mostly overwhelmed the old
ones, as did the Tiep leafs he had put under the furs, a fresh and cheery smell. Elekin had
given him those.

He stretched and made himself comfortable, waiting. If Breyre decided now was not the

time, Raven wouldn’t be disappointed. Well, not much. Just being out here alone with him
was a treat, to see him so at ease and carefree.

A cold nose poked him on the side of the throat, and Raven squeaked and laughed.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

The wolf gave him an innocent look. Then proceeded to find all the places that made him

yelp or yell the loudest. Raven was panting and utterly limp by the time he realized there was
a warm, wet tongue licking his chest where the shirt had come undone, and he pulled a slow
breath in surprise. Long, soothing licks to calm him again.

“It still tickles,” he whispered, lifting his hand to pet the thick fur around the wolf’s neck.
Then suddenly it wasn’t fur he was holding, and the tongue was a different one, and

Breyre was crouching above him on hands and knees. Raven amazed at the swift, seamless
changing. He had barely felt the bones and skin shift before it was done.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured at Breyre, who raised his head and smiled.
He crawled slowly over Raven, bracing his hands by his shoulders, then gently rested

their hips together. Raven was shocked almost, to feel the bulge in his trousers as it was
pressed against another body. He hadn’t realized.

Breyre nuzzled his throat, warm breath tickling Raven’s skin, and tugged at his shirt.

“Off,” he said with a note of impatience in his voice.

Raven helped as best he could, trapped between bedding and Breyre, but it was a

delightful, thrilling feeling.

Breyre was satisfied finally, as their bodies touched with no clothes between them, and

he continued to carefully caress and nuzzle at Raven’s skin. “How I’ve longed for this,” he
murmured.

Raven could only moan in response. He was being swept away, or rolled under, in a haze

of heat and touch, and a sensation deeper in his gut. It was growing slowly, teasing at his
bones and joints and hairs, and he tried desperately not to rush it.

“I should tell you,” Breyre said, and Raven had to concentrate to listen. “If you become

my lover, I’ll want you to wear something of mine, to let everyone know of this.”

“Yes?” Raven smiled, goose bumps rising on his arms from the way Breyre said the

word “lover”. “And what would ‘this’ be?”

“As good and as everlasting as I can possibly make it. For the rest of our lives,

hopefully.”

“For the rest of mine, you mean. I’m not Eyrder.” A sobering thought, but soothed by the

joy that the Esker would want him for that long.

Breyre stroked his cheek, his eyes serious. “I’m not so sure. With the magic in you, you

might well outlive me.”

A pang in his chest made him pull Breyre closer and he couldn’t explain what it was,

even to himself. Breyre probably understood anyway.

Breyre leaned down to kiss him, pressed his smaller body into the furs, and Raven

gasped at this sudden show of strength. Gasped again when the tightness that had formed in
his chest was pushed further down his body, deepening and becoming something else. He was
barely aware of the way he arched and undulated against the man over him, only knowing it
was good and the right thing to do. Breyre groaned at the slide of skin against skin, his body
hard and unyielding, and just what Raven needed to relieve his own.

“Please? Breyre.” Raven was not sure what he asked for—only that anything was better

than this growing agony.

“I know, my little bird,” Breyre answered. “Be patient, I’ll help you.” He reached

unerringly for the pot of oil Raven had put by their bed, and soon there were fingers stroking
and teasing at his most sensitive flesh, cupping his sack, caressing his erection.

“Maybe another earring,” Breyre said against the side of Raven’s cheek. “I like that you

have your ears pierced.”

“What?” Raven had the presence of mind to ask. “W-where?
“Here,” Breyre said in his left ear. “This is where I want you to wear my earring.” Sharp

teeth closed delicately around the lobe, carefully biting and the tip of the tongue flicking to
ease it.

A tingle went through Raven, his scalp prickling, and he gasped, “Yes.”
The fingers had moved, stroking behind his balls now, and lower, and Raven squirmed,

intrigued and nervous and aching. Breyre murmured senseless, soothing words in his ear but
he could only register what his body demanded.

When the first finger slipped in it was as startling as a bucket of water on his skin, or a

slap of the birch switch across his buttocks, but before he could truly acknowledge the strange
discomfort Breyre’s mouth seized his in a demanding kiss. Raven gasped and writhed to the
twisting of the finger inside him, and then there was something—something ecstatic!

He heard the tail end of his shout ringing off the ceiling and felt more than saw the wide

smile on Breyre’s lips against his cheek. “Now. Now. Please!” There was no asking left in
him, just telling, demanding, and not even Breyre’s “Hush, little bird,” as he added another
finger, could soothe him.

But he finally got his wish. Breyre nudged his thighs apart, holding them to his waist as

he settled close. The warmth between their bodies was charged with anticipation so heady
Raven was almost dizzy with it, and he wanted Breyre closer still.

In was an unfamiliar feeling, something so big intent on entering him where he was the

most vulnerable, and yet he couldn’t wait, couldn’t stop his body from dancing and urging
Breyre to fulfil his promise. It was slow and difficult when he did, pressing in only so much
as Raven’s body would allow between breaths, despite how much he begged for it.

Then finally, when they were both sweating and panting, Breyre was fully seated inside.

His hips were pressed tight to Raven’s buttocks, and Raven let out a long, trembling moan at
the sensations. He was full and stretched, and this was right and good, and, “Please, do
something,” because now his body was aching with a different indescribable need.

Breyre chuckled against his cheek, and began a dance so ageless Raven didn’t understand

how he himself could follow the steps, but he did.

It was endless motion, agonizingly slow at first, Breyre setting him on fire inside and out,

and triggering a growing pressure in his balls and behind his eyes. His spine tingled and his
fingers felt numb where he had wound them through Breyre’s hair. Raven’s soft cries echoed
through the cave, their moans and gasps weaving thick in the air around them, their entire

world comprised of the other’s body and the spiralling sensations it wrought. Raven felt it, in
his knees and elbows and at the nape of his neck, and a moment later he found his release.

Breyre was still rocking into him when he could see again, his face a beautiful mask of

agony and passion. Raven touched the trembling lips with his fingertips, and Breyre shouted
hoarsely when he came.

~*~

They lay in a tangle of sweaty limbs, listening to their bodies calming, slowing down.

Breyre had reversed their position so Raven was resting on his chest, ear right over the
rhythmic thump-thump of Breyre’s heart. Raven inhaled slowly. Breyre smelled now of the
forest, and sweat, and the heady scent of their lovemaking.

“Are you asleep, little bird?” The low murmur was a slow roll of thunder in the Esker’s

chest.

“Mmm,” was all he could manage. “Bird?”
“Yes, you are a bird, in name and deeds.”
Raven lifted his head and looked into the green eyes. “Yes? How do you mean? Apart

from my name.”

Breyre smiled. “In our lore birds are messengers and the heralds of change. I was there

when you first met Chatrina. I scented you, pine woods and fresh rain. It was too sweet to
think of, too cruel of the fates to taunt me with it. And then you showed up in her rooms,
flapping your wings and cawing boldly at her, as if to say freedom was yours to give and she
couldn’t stop you.”

A smile stretched Raven’s kiss-swollen lips, he’d said all that? “I did not caw at her.”
“You might as well have, she looked so outraged. At the time I couldn’t truly appreciate

it, but I can now. It was beautiful.” He held Raven tighter. “I remember Myche telling me
how you feel about your name, that you think it a mark of shame. It’s not. I know in your
lands the raven is a bird of trickery and deceit, but to us the tricks it performs are good and
helpful. And you performed a truly remarkable trick.” He cupped Raven’s head and urged
him closer. “You’ve set me free in so many ways.”

The kiss was gentle compared to the previous ones, but Raven savoured it for all the

emotion Breyre put in it.

“Hmm,” Breyre murmured against his lips. “What’s this?” He rolled his hips and Raven

bit his lip at the slide of his waking erection against Breyre’s.

“I can’t help it. Are you complaining?”
“I most certainly am not. Do you want it?”
“Yes. Breyre, my wolf.”
Breyre bared his teeth at the words and surged up to take Raven’s mouth in a kiss that

demanded a response. He rolled them over, hands sliding down Raven’s ribs and hips to his
buttocks, lifting him and teasing at where he’d already been once. “Are you sore?” he
whispered.

“No. Please, I want it.”
Breyre was happy to give it to him. Their bodies were tired and sated already, but Breyre

patiently made it last even when Raven had thought he would fall over the edge again and
again. Finally there was no helping it, and his nails left crescent marks on Breyre’s shoulders
that made him hiss, then bite in retaliation. But that was right too, now both of them wore the
marks of their mating.

~*~

Raven woke in the morning before Breyre did, lying sated and limp in Breyre’s arms. He

thought back to the night before, the caresses and looks and the words Breyre had given him.
Lover, he had said. It was a big, wonderful word that filled him with warmth just thinking it,
but he was also aware that he was not that. Not yet. It was slightly scary to imagine him
becoming it, more so when he wondered if he would truly be all that the Esker needed. Breyre
had wanted him to wear an earring of his. Maybe then….

He shifted carefully and looked at Breyre’s sleeping face. There were a few lines at the

corners of his eyes, a small dip at the left of his mouth. He’d seen scars on Breyre’s body in
the night and wondered at the shape of some of them.

The raised, white mark of his caste had received a fair bit of attention, much to Breyre’s

obvious enjoyment. Raven fancied he had soothed the ache of all the other scars by lavishing
this one with kisses and licks and nibbles.

Breyre sighed. “I can feel you looking at me,” he murmured without opening his eyes.
Raven smiled. “I’ll keep looking yet.” He reached up and drew a fingertip carefully along

the edge of Breyre’s ear. “Pretty,” he mumbled.

Breyre laughed, opening his eyes. “Pretty? I’ve never had my ears called that.”
“They are,” Raven insisted, offended on the ears’ behalf. “I’ve never seen such before.

Why are mine not alike, do you think?”

It was a rhetorical question but Breyre seemed to give it serious thought. “I don’t know.

Maybe our two peoples weren’t shaped from the same seed when the world was born, or if we
were your people perhaps grew out of theirs.”

“Or never grew into them?” Then he snorted a laugh against Breyre’s chest. “Such fancy

thoughts. Are we drunk, perhaps?”

“Maybe. Or delirious with thirst.” He stretched and groaned, displaying all of his fine

body to Raven’s eyes and very aware of what reaction it caused. “I’ll see about breakfast,
yes?” He rolled out from under the furs, shaking his hair into place, then changed shape. The
wolf gave Raven a gruff before it padded out of sight.

Raven stoked the fire in anticipation of Breyre’s return, preparing the kettle and water for

tea, when he felt as if someone was watching him. He glanced about furtively but could see
no one, only the horse some ways off among the trees. Settling back down it took only
moments before the feeling returned and he looked around more sharply.

This was not what it felt like being watched by Breyre or Elekin, or even the messenger

birds. This was more persistent, like someone calling for his attention but not knowing his
name. He stepped slowly away from the cave, one hand hovering close to the knife at his belt.
The feeling became sharper further down the slope and he was intrigued enough now to want
to find the silent observer.

The surprise when he did was enough to leave him standing stunned and wide-eyed. He

had found his way back to the oak and now he was so near, it felt like his body was tingling
all over.

“Do you hear me?” he whispered, scared yet anxious to have an answer. He got no

particularly unusual feeling in response. “Or is it that I finally hear you?” That would make
more sense.

But why now? He stepped carefully up to the large tree and placed his palms against the

trunk. A jolt went up his arms that receded to a tickling sensation in his fingertips. He felt his
face split in a big smile. Never had he thought to finally have his magic wake up. It was
overwhelming and exhilarating and frightening in its possibilities.

“I can feel you, old Father,” he said, gently sliding his hands along the bark.
“First Eyrders, now trees?” Breyre asked, clearly amused, as he came up behind him.

“Where will you go next, I wonder.”

“I can feel it!” Raven exclaimed. “My magic must be waking up!” In his joy he pressed

his cheek to the tree and thought he heard its heartbeat, like a gigantic, slow drum deep
within. “No wonder I couldn’t feel anything in winter if its beat is this slow even now.”

Breyre chuckled. “I don’t know what you speak of, but I’m sure it makes some sort of

sense.” He slid his arms around Raven’s waist. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. But why now? What is different?”
Breyre gave him a look. “You don’t know?”
Raven blinked. “Oh.” And blushed. “I mean… but, why?”
Breyre shrugged. “Why not? Elekin said you had been distracted, overwhelmed by the

tension between us. And now you’re not.”

Raven thought about this. “Sounds right. I’ll have to talk to him.” He looked up at the

oak. “Thank you, Old Father, for revealing yourself to me.”

Breyre pressed closer and murmured in his ear, “Maybe you should show your

appreciation properly?”

“Show…?”
“I can help you.” He rolled his hips against Raven’s backside and he remembered Breyre

was utterly naked. And then it dawned on him just what Breyre might have in mind.

“Here? But, what if someone sees?” He was concerned yet oddly thrilled by the idea.
“Your ‘old father’ would see, of course, but I’ve heard the forest spirits like offerings of

the more primal nature.”

“Umm,” was all Raven managed when two strong hands slipped down his front to cup

him through his trousers. Breyre, with his affinity for the forest, would surely know the truth
of such claims? Raven felt no repulsive sensation from the oak, so maybe this was all right?

And he couldn’t resist when Breyre untied his clothes and pressed their naked bodies

together. He had quickly learned to adore the feeling of Breyre’s skin against his own. The
tease of pebbled nipples and coarse hair and hot, eager flesh so tight against his backside, was
something worthy of his adoration indeed. He offered himself up to Breyre and to the forest,
and was gratefully received.

Breyre stroked his flesh and brought out the cries Raven thought he’d depleted in the

night. He undulated and danced to Breyre’s will, trembling on the edge for long, drawn-out
moments. Breyre was sliding his own erection along the crevice of Raven’s buttocks, grinding
as close as he could get without entering, and the juices of his lust slicked the way. He
groaned deep in his throat close to Raven’s ear, and his passion was as much an offering to
Raven, as to the forest.

Soon Raven felt his release come over him in a blinding rush, the strong hands urging

him to surrender as much of himself as possible. Breyre pressed his face to Raven’s hair,
muffling his own groans. Raven braced against the oak and felt Breyre thrust one more time
against his buttocks, and come. The hot gush hitting his back made him gasp. He’d felt the
essence of Breyre inside him, but the brand of it on his skin, the evidence of their passion
where anyone could see, made him blush to think of it.

Then he looked down and saw the white spatters of his own seed on the bark of the oak.

He made a noise of dismay and reached to wipe it away.

“No,” Breyre murmured, his voice hoarse. “It’s all right.” He gathered his own and

smeared it with Raven’s. “A proper offering.”

Raven stared at Breyre’s glistening fingers, feeling hot all over, then reached out his own

trembling hand. Breyre hummed in approval and twined their fingers together.

“Now our lovemaking will be remembered forever.” Breyre sounded very pleased. “The

trees have very long memories.”

Raven turned in his embrace and kissed him, thinking this was only what Breyre

deserved, to be remembered for all time.

~*~

Breyre took every opportunity to hunt and run. Raven didn’t begrudge him the freedom.

It would soon be over and fates knew when he might get another chance.

As for Raven, he sat by the foot of the oak and tried to sort out what he sensed and heard

and saw. At first it was such a jumble of impressions, but as he realized they were all meant
for different senses, he began to understand. The message itself was still a riddle, if there even
was one. Raven was just happy to finally be able to do something.

They didn’t stay long—they couldn’t—and set off for the Hold in the early morning.

Raven was sad to go. He felt hardly sated and had barely scratched the surface of what Breyre
could teach him. Like Breyre had predicted, they had discovered over the past two days just
how well they fit together. Raven smiled at the thought of many more nights to come.

Breyre spent the return journey loping close by. Raven sensed the tension returning to the

large wolf with every mile they travelled. Heiyerborn came into view in the afternoon light,
and Raven slowed and stopped when the wolf hesitated. It changed shape and Breyre stood
beside the horse.

“Breyre?” he wondered.
“Just… one more moment,” Breyre said quietly, staring at the Hold. “We’ll be there soon

enough.” He stood still so long Raven wondered if he’d ever move again.

“Whatever lies ahead,” Raven said, trying to find words of comfort, and Breyre looked

up at him. “Wherever this leads, know I’ll always cherish this, what we have.” He reached out
a hand and Breyre took it, allowing himself to be pulled closer. Raven leaned down and
touched their lips together. “My wolf. We’ll stand here again and return to Heiyerborn in
peace.”

“I hope so, Raven. I truly hope so.” Then he changed back and Raven followed him into

the Hold.

Myche stood on the steps, a robe over his arm, and greeted them as they came closer. He

held out the robe for Breyre, who changed and put it on.

“You knew we were coming?”
“Yes, Eckien spotted you a couple of miles out.”
“Ah. And where is my insufferable brother?”
“He said he’d come find you when you’d washed off the—ah, well.” He stopped himself

and glanced at Raven.

“I see.” Breyre looked both amused and exasperated upon hearing his brother’s

comment. “Well, better go visit the baths, then. Raven, care to join me?”

Raven felt his cheeks colour even though he knew Myche knew what they had been up

to. Or maybe because of it and the easy attitude the Eyrders had to all things sexual. He had
been daring back in the forest, but bringing it here where the men and women of the Hold
would see—he wasn’t so sure he was ready for that. “Um, I think I’ll take care of our gear and
go see Elekin. I have so much to tell him.”

“We have staff to see to that,” Breyre said, gesturing vaguely at Myche.
Raven noticed Myche take a step back, as if suddenly remembering his position, and

frowned. Myche was not his servant. “I’ll not have a friend wait on me. I’ve never had anyone
here run my errands and I’ll not start now.”

Breyre stepped close. “You’re with me now. How would it look if I didn’t afford you the

same status as myself? Myche can see to our things.”

Raven drew a breath to argue, but Myche put a hand on his shoulder. “I agree with

Raven, Master,” for which he got a hurt look from the Esker. “Maybe it’s best not to seem
like favouring a person?”

Breyre frowned and drew breath to ask, but Myche interrupted him.
“But for now, Raven, you’ve had a long journey. Let me take care of your things and you

go see Elekin. I know he’s been waiting.”

“Very well,” Breyre said, still looking at his man. “You were always sensible, Myche.”

He brushed Myche’s hand away from Raven’s shoulder and pulled him close. “I want your
things brought to my rooms before nightfall.”

Raven blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because I want to fall asleep with you, and wake up with you. If we can’t have the days

together then at least we’ll have the nights.” Then he kissed Raven, long and thoroughly, right
there on the steps of the Hold where everyone could see.

Raven felt eyes on him as he hurried to his rooms to wash and change, searching and

intent like they had not been since he first came here. As if the ambience of the Hold had
changed since he and Breyre had left. He noticed a couple of the noble women pausing on
their walk as he passed them, and when he glanced back they were whispering, their heads
together. He let out a breath when he’d closed the door to his rooms. At least he hadn’t run
into Aiendor. He wasn’t sure he had the Master’s approval.

He wondered what Myche had meant when he’d asked Breyre not to “favour a person”.

Did Aiendor really despise him that much? Or was it that Breyre had chosen an Outlander
over one of their own? Probably both, Raven thought sadly. Myche had asked Breyre to be
careful in staking his claim, and then the Esker went and told him to bring all his belongings
to the Esker’s own rooms, as if that were any less discreet.

Looking around, he realized there was quite the collection of belongings—all manner of

things pertaining to his training with Elekin, little things Myche had found for him from
around the Hold, all brought for no other reason than they might be interesting or amusing.
There was a lot of packing to be done, but he’d do it later.

Elekin was waiting outside his door, sitting on an upturned bucket and chewing on some

long straw.

“Merender,” Raven greeted, slightly breathless after hurrying to get there. “We’re back.”
“That I can see, lad. How was your trip?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“It was—was um….” What was there to say?
Elekin laughed merrily. “Ah, that satisfying, eh?” He rose and led Raven inside. “I’ve

heard the Esker is rather good at such things.” He looked unbearably gleeful even as he said,
“Sadly, I’ve not had the chance to find out for myself. From the look of him he would stretch
me very well, and I think, touch all the right places.”

“He… um, I….” Raven just couldn’t speak that way. He fiddled with the end of his belt.
Elekin watched him for a moment, then apparently took pity on him. “So, is there

anything else you’d like to tell me?”

Spotting safer ground Raven told him of the oak—except for his and Breyre’s offering—

and Elekin turned thoughtful. “I think you were right,” Raven finished. “That I was too
distracted to sense my own magic. And now I’m not any longer.”

Elekin shot him a sly look. “Well, not as distracted, at least. I’m happy for you. Now I

feel we’ll get somewhere with your training.”

They didn’t waste time. Raven spent until supper either in meditation or listening to the

Merender talk of all manner of simpler things he could start practising.

By the time Myche knocked on the door Raven was both hungry and tired. Elekin let him

go with a rueful pat on the back and made him promise to rest for now. Raven was quite
certain he’d fall asleep the moment he laid down.

And then he saw Breyre waiting for him on the steps and remembered he was to sleep in

his rooms tonight. Sleep seemed less important by the minute.

Breyre pulled him close with an arm around the waist. “Elekin was kind, I hope?”

“Yes, we discussed how I might practice my magic. It’s exciting and a bit frightening

too.”

“Oh?” Breyre wanted to know, and drew him into the hallway, Myche following behind.
Raven shrugged. “What am I able to do and how? Elekin has no idea and can’t do what

he usually does to see how he can help me either. I’ll have no warning when it surfaces.”

“I see. But you are doing something?”
“Of course, I’m practising control of the mind—my mind,” he added quickly when

Breyre shot him a look, “and meditation, and channelling, and…. All we can think of, really.”

“Then that’s all anyone could ask of you.” He glanced back at Myche. “Can you have

supper brought to my room?”

“Of course. Four?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Breyre smiled and Myche broke off to see about supper.
“Four?” Raven asked.
“Yes. Eckien and I have things we still need to discuss. I want you two to get better

acquainted since we’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

Raven tried to hide the grimace but must have failed, for Breyre chuckled. “I’m sorry,”

Raven mumbled, contrite.

“No need. I know full well how annoying he can be, but he’s very skilled and the

warriors respect him.” Breyre steered them down a corridor and Raven blinked.

“Are we going to my rooms?”
Breyre glanced wryly at him. “I thought to help carry your belongings since I am the one

asking you to move them.” He held open the door to Raven’s rooms—now his old ones.

“I don’t know what to bring,” Raven said, looking around.
Breyre shrugged unhelpfully and began gathering a few of the books on the table.

“Anything you like. There’s more than enough space for it in my rooms.”

Raven folded a few of his clothes and put them next to the books, added a few of the

things Myche had brought him along with the small box Elekin had given him for his
birthday. He was surprised at how few things he wanted to take with him. “I guess if there’s
something I miss I can just come get it.”

Breyre pulled him close. “Or I’ll see to it that you get new ones.” He leaned down and

pressed his mouth to Raven’s, gently nipping and teasing at his lips.

“You’ll spoil me, Esker.”
“Of course I will. It’s my right and my duty to see to your needs. What lover would I be

if I didn’t?”

There was that word again. “One that’s a very good kisser,” Raven decided, and reached

up for one more.

Both Eckien and Myche were waiting when they arrived at Breyre’s rooms, Eckien

raising an eyebrow at their late arrival, but refrained from commenting. Myche simply shook
his head in mock-disapproval and began setting out their supper. The table was large enough
to seat eight, but Raven took a chair opposite Eckien as not to be too near him. Looking at the
man was easier, at least until he looked back. Raven ducked his head and fingered his plate.

Breyre came back from changing into less formal wear and sat down at the head of the

table. “I’m afraid this meal will not be a social one, Brother,” he said, catching the man’s
attention.

“Oh? I will not hear of your trip?” He had the nerve to sound and even look disappointed.
Breyre frowned at him. “No. Even if I wanted to tell you I wouldn’t, out of respect for

Raven. He’s not comfortable yet in all our ways.”

Eckien grinned slyly at Raven. “No, I know he’s not, which would make it all the more

fun. Have you told him yet about when we—”

“Enough,” Breyre said sharply, and much to Raven’s amazement, Eckien quieted.

Raven was torn between wanting to know what Eckien would have said, and relieved he

wouldn’t have to find out what he might be competing with.

Myche had kept quietly in the background but now set a plate down in front of Breyre.

“One more messenger came while you were away, Master,” he said, skilfully edging around
the chairs without spilling. “The envoy’s company has left for the border.”

Breyre bit back a curse. “Fools,” he muttered.
“I’m wondering if the Council is trying to keep ahead of you, Brother, sending the envoy

out so soon. If they can sway the Queen to their way of thinking they might be able to mark
you the rogue party.”

“What are you saying? They would unite against me?”
Eckien looked grim. “I’m saying they wish you out of their way and would build new

relations with the Kemeran Queen over your grave. We all know the Council has not favoured
you. Anyone loyal to you is very careful in declaring their stance and even more so now.
Making you the common enemy would give them a reason to unite, as well as undermining
you.”

This was all new to Raven. “What do you mean? Enemy?” Even Raven could understand

that Breyre would not survive with two such forces against him.

“Ah,” Eckien said ruefully. “It’s easy to forget you’re not one of us and unaccustomed to

such intrigues, what with that pretty face of yours.”

“Eckien,” Breyre said warningly.
“What you don’t know,” the man continued as if Breyre hadn’t spoken, “is that our Esker

was quite prominent on the political scene, and liked for his values, long before you were
even born.” He chuckled, and Breyre rolled his eyes. “Breyre still would be, and even
supported as a strong contender for a council position, if this debacle with Chatrina hadn’t
happened.”

“Which we’re not sure wasn’t a ‘debacle’ as much as a way of getting him out of the

way,” Myche added, ignoring the look from the Esker as he poured his wine.

Raven frowned, not quite understanding. “But you said Chatrina was the one to betray

you when he wouldn’t marry—” He broke off and glanced at Breyre when he shifted uneasily
in his chair.

“Yes,” Myche agreed. “And that was true then, of her. But now we’ve had reason to

believe she had some… encouragement from our own side of the border.”

“What? You know who?”
“Maybe,” Eckien said carefully, eyeing his scowling brother. “But it’s dangerous

accusing someone without proof.”

Memories of old conversations began to surface. “If they didn’t succeed in taking you

down then, they’ll try again. And anyone is at the risk of dying in a battle.” A chill passed
through Raven. “Then why fight and give them the opportunity?”

“Because they are wrong!” Breyre snapped, not really angry at Raven but his frustration

was too strong to temper. “We can’t change or hide who we are. Our ways are not wrong or
even something to be ashamed of, but the way they’re trying to suppress it makes us all seem
weak, and the Queen is taking advantage of that.”

There was more to it, Raven felt, but he needn’t know right then, and Myche and Eckien

both looked uncomfortable.

“We’re getting off course,” Breyre muttered, having vented the worst of it. “We’re here

to discuss how best to deal them a crippling blow. Considering our numbers compared to
theirs, it won’t be easy.”

“I agree. Small troops would be best suited, I think,” Eckien said, ignoring the food on

his plate for now. “Strike their forces going out, as far away from reinforcements and supplies

as possible. Those who aren’t killed in the initial attacks will die on the way back or can be
picked off as they go.”

Raven swallowed and could only stare at his food. Eckien was talking about killing men

so matter-of-factly.

Myche laid a gentle hand on Raven’s shoulder, and he gave his friend a grateful if

wobbly smile.

“That’s all well and good if we make our stand at the border,” Breyre said. “But I mean

to take the city.”

Now all of them looked at the Esker in shock.
“What?” Eckien exclaimed. “Have you gone mad? I thought you were clever, but youth

has its follies I see. I will not allow you to kill our men this way!” He pushed his plate away.
“Take the city, indeed,” he growled, leaning towards Breyre. “Are you so eager to prove
yourself you can’t see—”

“I do,” Breyre interrupted. “I truly see everything, Brother. Please, hear me out.”
A moment stretched between them. Raven dared not move for fear of tipping some

invisible scale. Finally Eckien sat back.

Breyre nodded and took a sip of his wine, the slight quiver of the red liquid’s surface

betraying how rattled he was by his brother’s words. He couldn’t afford to lose Eckien’s
support. “I’ve spent years as Chatrina’s prisoner. I’ve heard and seen things she wouldn’t
have let happen near me if she thought I would ever escape.” He sat forward a bit and lowered
his voice. “The Queen is not as strong a ruler as it may seem. Chatrina holds a lot of power
and influence over all the Queen’s dealings, and very few decisions are made without her
knowing.”

“The power behind the throne?” Eckien wondered. “But when and how did this happen?”
Breyre shrugged and put his glass down. “Does it matter? In the end we’re still sitting

here.” He tapped the tabletop with a finger. “When I say take the city, I do not mean a siege or
a direct attack.” He gave Eckien a wry look.

“You mean Chatrina’s mansion,” Myche murmured quietly. “You mean to go back

there.”

Breyre turned to his friend. “Yes. I know this comes as a shock to you, Myche, which is

why I’ve kept it from you until now, but—”

“You should have said! Given me time to prepare.”
“No, Myche. You won’t be going.”
Myche stared for a moment then shot out of his chair. “You have no right to decide that!

I was as much a prisoner as you. I want revenge just as badly.”

Breyre seemed stunned at his friend’s vehemence, as was Raven. “I told you to go with

the others and leave me!” Breyre was getting as upset as Myche, at his hurt and anger.

“As if I could! And you’re not leaving me behind this time either.”
“Or me,” Raven said, and stood, sensing it was time to press the issue and regretting the

need to hurt Breyre to achieve it.

Breyre looked bewildered at them both, mouth open. “I can’t….”
“Calm, Brother,” Eckien said, surprisingly gentle even with the amusement on his face.

“Loyalty has its price, it seems. Can you blame them for wanting to protect you?”

Breyre turned his head away, the gesture seeming to mollify Myche a bit. “I guess not,”

he whispered.

“Well, then.” Eckien took a bite of his food. “I say we have two more men with us for the

camp.” He held up a hand as Myche drew breath to speak. “No, I agree that you both can
come if you’re willing. We’ll need every capable hand in camp to help prepare. But that’s as
far as I’m willing to let you. Neither of you are combatants and you’d be a liability.” He

paused and then grinned. “Unless Raven decides to charm the soldiers into submission. I think
a kiss would do the trick.” He chuckled at his own wit and at Breyre’s threatening growl.

“Go find yourself a willing stable boy, you cat!”
Eckien affected an offended expression but the laughter in his voice gave him away. “A

stable boy? Not even one of the Hold staff? You wound me, Brother. Maybe I have my eyes
set on your man, eh?”

Raven saw Myche’s cheeks colour, which made Breyre growl again.
“We’re getting off the issue,” the Esker ground out.
“We are,” Eckien agreed amiably, gesturing for Myche and Raven to sit. “Have any idea

how we enter the city and go to this mansion? I suppose we won’t be allowed much time
before the city guard is upon us.”

Breyre nodded, shooting his brother a suspicious glance at this change in mood. “Yes,

and from what I understand they are among the best of all the Queen’s soldiers.” He sat quiet
for a moment. “Entering the city won’t be difficult. We can send a force across the walls in
avatar shape, open the gates from within for the rest of us. But keeping the soldiers off our
backs is another matter.”

“A distraction,” Myche supplied. “A fire in another part of town, or a large enough force

visible from the walls, to keep them interested.”

Eckien nodded. “Not a bad idea.” He gave Myche a thoughtful look. “We’ll chisel out

the details later. How do you plan to deal with Chatrina herself? If she’s as powerful as you
say, and has magic besides, how can we beat her?”

Breyre shifted uncomfortably, not looking at either of them for a moment. Myche

reached out to touch his hand and prompted Breyre to speak. “What you don’t know is that
Chatrina had a greater hold over me than what you saw.” He glanced at Myche. “She had me
imprisoned, yes, but by more than that vine. Her magic stopped me from changing into man
once she had made me….” He trailed off, then continued in a strained voice. “Some magic of
hers prevented my own. She chained me to my wolf form and I couldn’t leave the mansion
without her permission.”

“What are you saying?” Eckien asked, a deep frown on his face.
“That she kept me in one form no matter how hard I tried. If we go in there in avatar

shape we might all be trapped.”

Eckien sat back, staring. Myche looked nauseous. “No wonder you’ve been reluctant,”

Eckien murmured. “And no small wonder you’ve been out there now, running your paws
ragged, no doubt.” He picked up his glass and drained it in one go. Myche got up to refill it.

Raven didn’t fully understand but didn’t need to, seeing all three Eyrders were upset.

Chatrina had found a way to harm them deeply.

Eckien was the first to collect himself, his face grim. “So we have to attack in armour.

Are there any vulnerabilities in the defences?”

“There’s a garden,” Raven said, drawing all eyes. “Where we jumped with the horses,

remember?” he said to Myche.

“Yes. A small garden, hardly proper for a full assault, but you could sneak in a few men

and have them open the gates from the inside. I can draw a map of the entire outside of the
mansion, and Raven knows many of the indoor halls that I’ve never seen.”

Eckien smiled grimly. “Very good. How come you manage to surround yourself with

such brave men, Brother? Will you not share?”

Breyre scowled. “Stable boy, Brother.”
Eckien laughed.
They sat long into the evening discussing all manner of military and strategic issues,

things Raven had no idea even had to be taken care of to run a campaign like this. The Esker
and his brother seemed tireless, but Raven began to droop as it neared midnight.

Finally Myche cleared his throat and gave Breyre a meaningful look.
“Ah.” Breyre rose, Eckien doing the same, and Raven blinked at them. “Perhaps this is

enough for now.”

“Yes. I can see your lover is rather weary,” Eckien murmured, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll

leave you to it.”

Raven was too tired to blush much, but shot the man a disgruntled look as he left.
Myche collected the plates and what was left of their supper on a tray. “I’m not happy

with being left in camp, you know,” he told Breyre. “But I suppose that’s better than sitting
here, not knowing anything.”

Breyre clasped his shoulder. “And I’m not happy with you in camp, where you’re at risk

if this goes badly. But I’m glad for the undeniable support I’ll have when Eckien starts
arguing with me.”

Myche smiled. “Loyalty really does have its price, yes?” He glanced at Raven. “Best get

a good night’s sleep, Master.”

“Yes. You too.”
Breyre stood staring at the tabletop long after Myche had left. Raven wondered what was

going through his mind, if he should ask and risk stirring up something best left alone.

Breyre looked at him when he stood. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Raven blinked. “For what?”
“For agreeing to sleep here tonight. I know I’ll be easier for your presence.” He came

around the table and pulled Raven close for a gentle kiss. “You are tired.”

“Yes,” Raven admitted regretfully. “Riding since early morning, and wrangling Elekin

and Eckien, and discussing war. It takes the strength out of me.”

Breyre smiled, combing his fingers through Raven’s hair. “We should go to bed then.

We’ll sort out your things in the morning.”

Raven was grateful for that. Breyre helped him wash and undress, and find a good spot in

the very large bed. Raven made pleased sounds as Breyre spooned up behind him under the
covers. “Why do you have such a large bed? I don’t think we’ll take up even half of it.”

“Ah, it’s a relic from earlier days. It was not uncommon for a man of caste to have

several members of his household share his bed, especially in winter. His rooms were usually
the best in the Hold and the warmest.”

Raven turned his head to look at him, eyes wide. “Several members?”
It took a moment, then Breyre laughed as he realized what Raven was thinking. “Not for

lovemaking, but for warmth and comfort, even safety. We may be free with intimate matters
but none of us would take the unwilling, and not of our own staff.”

“Or honoured guests.”
“No. Unless the guest himself came asking for it.” Breyre’s eyes twinkled as he leaned

closer.

“I think Elekin knew,” Raven murmured as it suddenly dawned on him. “I had no notion

of your customs, but he did—does—and helped, even though I didn’t understand at the time.”

Breyre nuzzled his nose around Raven’s ear. “Elekin very likely knew, and long before

either of us did. Damned Merender,” he muttered, but fondly.

“You don’t like him meddling?”
“I can hardly complain, can I? But I guess it’s just what a Truth Knower does.” He held

Raven closer, hips and chest tight to Raven’s backside, warm breath stirring his hair.

Raven shifted experimentally. “Do you—I mean…. Will you? Tonight?”
Breyre lay still for a moment, then rose up on an elbow. “I would like nothing more, but I

can tell you’re tired, Raven. And in truth, so am I. Just let me hold you tonight?”

“Yes, of cour—” He was interrupted by a large yawn.

“See?” Breyre smiled. “Don’t worry, my little bird. We’ll make up for it in the morning.”

He lay down and snuggled close again.

And now Raven was supposed to sleep?

~*~

But he did, surprisingly well, and Breyre made good on his promise. Raven woke to the

feeling of a hand languidly sliding up and down his chest and ribs, and a mouth teasing his ear
and neck. The moment Breyre noticed he was awake, he pressed up against Raven’s buttocks
and let him feel the need of his body. Raven’s own sprang eagerly to life.

Breyre teased and tempted, and finally took him that way, front to back, and rocked their

bodies lazily towards completion. Raven could only pant and moan, and let Breyre know of
his desire by pushing back and squeezing tighter around the length sliding in and out of him.

Breyre groaned and reached down to stroke Raven’s erection, and Raven did it again. It

seemed to set Breyre on fire. His thrusts grew harder, his hand demanding of Raven that he
come, and at a not so gentle bite to his neck, Raven did. Breyre followed only moments after,
trembling and whispering his appreciation. Raven hummed in response, quite sated and well
pleasured.

“It’s one of my favourite pastimes,” Breyre murmured eventually, gently cupping

Raven’s softening sex. “Lovemaking in the morning.”

“I think it’s one of mine too.” He rolled his hips a bit to feel Breyre still inside. “I like

this feeling of you. Like you belong there. I’d have you inside always if I could.”

Breyre leaned up and almost squished Raven with his embrace. “Do not say such things

when we have little time left of our morning solitude, or I might be tempted to lock the doors
around us.”

“You mean they’re not locked now?” Raven stared at him.
“Of course not. How else would Myche get in here if they were?”
As if summoned to demonstrate, they heard Myche come into the sitting room. “Morning

has arrived, Master,” he called. “As has breakfast.” They heard the clinking of a tray and
cutlery, then Myche poked his head past the bedroom door. “Oh! Ah. I came at a bad time?”
But he didn’t leave, as Raven fervently wished he would.

“Myche,” Breyre said by way of warning and greeting, pulling the covers up a bit more

when Raven shifted, trying to hide.

Myche grinned. “Did you tell him yet why your bed is so large?”
“Myche.” Breyre’s tone was a bit sharper now. “Don’t go spoiling a perfectly good

morning. Or make him doubt my explanation of the bed either.”

Myche laughed. “I’ll wager you were much too kind in your words, Master. But I’ll keep

quiet for now,” he said quickly as Breyre began to growl, making Raven bite his lip at the
sensations it provoked lower where their bodies were still joined. Myche’s laugh lingered in
the room as he retreated.

Breyre sighed deeply into Raven’s hair. “I apologize. I didn’t consider your ways are so

unlike ours. I’d have asked Myche to respect your need for privacy.”

“It-it’s all right,” Raven said, squirming a bit. Breyre didn’t seem inclined to pull out just

yet.

“I have to admit Myche was right. I didn’t tell you all the truth last night. Though hardly

regular, with so many bodies in one bed, it was not uncommon for lovemaking to happen,
sometimes even between more than a couple. I must tell you Myche has shared my bed many
a cold night.”

“You and Myche?”

“No, not that way. We’ve known each other since we were quite young. It wouldn’t feel

right.”

“Ah, but you and others?” Raven was a bit breathless now, trying not to think of the flesh

stiffening again inside him.

“A few, though I had to be careful not to offend Uncle.” He leaned down for a kiss. “You

on the other hand….” He let his voice trail off, low and husky, and rolled his hips.

Raven gasped, slowly growing more than willing to let Breyre have his way again, but

Myche had other ideas.

“Breakfast!” he shouted from the other room, clanging some metals together.
Raven jumped, not having realized the man was still there, and blushed fiercely, pushing

and pulling at Breyre’s hands. “Sweet fates. Not when he’s here!” he hissed.

Breyre groaned, stilling, then gently disentangled himself from Raven’s body. “I can see

your sensibilities will become a nuisance if I want you in camp.”

Raven blanched, still held close in Breyre’s arms. “In camp?”
The Esker gave him a wicked-looking smile. “Oh yes.”
“Breakfast!” Myche yelled again, and the stomp of his boots had Raven scrambling out

of bed, safe for now.

~*~

Myche found Raven at Elekin’s later that day and asked them to share the midday meal

with him. Breyre and Eckien were meeting with the higher-ranking warriors and hadn’t been
seen since the morning.

His two friends were chatting quietly and Raven was content to listen, letting his mind

drift, when there was a commotion in the yard. Stepping outside they immediately recognized
the Maresals Reirandor and Kaonir. They had come with a small company each, and judging
by the expressions on their faces, it was not a social visit.

“I best find Breyre,” Myche said, and hurried away.
“You stay with me, lad,” Elekin said when Raven rose to go with him. “No need to make

this any more complicated.”

Raven frowned, not comfortable with what that might imply, but stayed.
Aiendor soon appeared at the doors to the main hall, Breyre and Eckien a few steps

behind. The Master of the Hold seemed unhappy to receive the new guests and quite surprised
to have them, which was in a way a comfort. Men all over the courtyard had stopped to watch
their exchange. Raven noticed one or other straightening, eyes on the Esker, as if waiting for
an order.

“Maresals,” Aiendor greeted them from where he stood. “What brings you here? Had you

sent word of your arrival, I would have rooms prepared and refreshments set out for you.”
Ever the proper host.

“No need, Aiendor,” Reirandor replied, coming closer. “I’ll announce our business, but I

think you might want us to talk a bit more privately.”

“Oh?” Aiendor’s eyebrows drew ever so slightly. “My hall, then.” He gestured for

Breyre and Eckien to follow. They might be at odds, uncle and nephew, but they would never
show the rift to outsiders. “Elekin,” Aiendor called. “May I ask you to join us?”

“Of course. I’ll be just a moment.” The Merender turned to Raven. “I think you should

wait here. Myche will come find you if you’re needed.”

“Is it bad, do you think?” The presence of a Merender meant business of a serious nature.
Elekin clasped his shoulder. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it.” Then he hurried

inside.

Raven had meant to stay put, but pacing back and forth in front of Elekin’s door earned

him the attention of the Maresals’ warriors, and they were not as easy with him as the men
and women in Heiyerborn had become. He hesitated only a moment longer, then headed for
the steps in search of Myche.

But Myche found him first. He came towards him in the hallway and grabbed his arm,

pulling him quickly into a side corridor leading in the direction of Aiendor’s hall.

“What’s happening?” Raven asked, worried by his friend’s grim expression.
“It’s not good, Raven, not good at all.” He pushed open a tall door and they entered the

antechamber, but Myche went to the wall on the left and pushed aside one of the tapestries,
revealing a small door. “Servant’s passage. Come on.”

It was dark and musty, but stumbling along in Myche’s steps Raven soon heard the

voices, and Myche pulled him to a stop at a wooden section of the wall. There were small,
star-shaped patterns cut out of the panel, and they could both see and hear Aiendor and his
guests gathered around the end of a long table. Elekin stood a few steps back, carefully taking
a position away from the men, unobtrusive but watching intently. Aiendor stood at the head of
the table, talking.

“…surely they must see that,” he was saying.
“Oh, they do indeed, Aiendor,” Reirandor replied. “But they are more concerned with

how the Queen will see it. A force, of any size, camped at her border at a crucial time such as
this could—and will—be taken for aggression. The Council will not accept that.”

“Then what will they accept?” Breyre asked, his voice level, before his uncle could

speak. “They know what happened to me, Reirandor. Are they willing to sacrifice yet another
envoy to the cruelty of Chatrina? Are you willing to sacrifice your son, Kaonir?”

The man sneered. “My son will not fall for the trickery you did. He will see this through

the way it was meant to the first time. He will succeed where you failed.”

Eckien half rose but Breyre stopped him with a gesture. Kaonir only snorted at the

implied threat.

“I will not have violence or insult in my hall,” Aiendor said sharply. “To my guests or

my nephew.”

At least the man was fair. Raven breathed thanks.
Reirandor glanced between Aiendor, Breyre and Kaonir, then continued. “The Council

demands that you disband your men, Esker. This rallying of troops is a poor way for a man of
your position to behave. We all thought you had better manners than that. There are other
means of achieving your aims.”

Breyre’s hand on the arm of his chair curled into a fist. “And what do they propose

instead? More discussions at the table in Seirk? More waiting and tea-drinking while our
warriors are pushed back and our kin ambushed? While your son,” he stabbed a finger at
Kaonir, voice tight with tension, “is beaten and forced and chained, because believe me, he
will have no choice.”

Kaonir’s lips were pressed thin and his cheeks blotched with colour.
Raven shifted where he stood. Had this happened to Breyre? How many of the scars on

his body had Chatrina put there?

The Maresals changed tactic when threatening the Esker didn’t work. “Aiendor, as the

Master of this Hold the Council is disappointed that you can’t lead in the way you were
thought capable of. You have always been respected and trusted, but this puts you in a bad
position.” Reirandor’s hand laid palm flat against the table as he continued. “How many of the
Esker’s actions are your own wishes? We all know what befell your sister.”

Breyre gasped at the words, Eckien tensed, and Raven felt a spike of anger and

resentment at Reirandor for saying it. Raven remembered what Elekin had told him of how

Breyre’s parents died and looked at Kaonir. He was pale with anger, but his eyes flashed with
something unsettling. The Merender shifted where he stood, his opinion unspoken.

Aiendor raised his head, a haunted look in his eyes. “None of those old memories have

any bearing on this day,” he said, his voice strained. “I have argued for Breyre in his own
right, as is my duty as the Master of Heiyerborn to all who live here. But my duty only lets me
go so far, and in the light of your words, that is a fact I’m beginning to regret.”

Kaonir leaned forward. “You are siding with the Esker?” He sounded almost eager as he

said it.

Aiendor, slight as he was, gave the Maresal a look that would have even the brazen

Eckien retreating. “Do not interpret into my words what you wish, Kaonir. I was merely
stating my displeasure of this matter and how it’s been handled.”

“Duly noted,” Reirandor said, curbing what could so easily become a very disastrous

situation.

Kaonir sat back again with a disgusted look. “I’ve had enough of this farce.” He stood,

chair scraping against the floor. “We are obliged to tell you that the Council has given you
until dusk two days from now for a messenger to arrive in Seirk with your decision. After
that, it will be seen as an act of aggression.” He bared his teeth at Breyre. “I dare you to act on
it.” Then he swept from the hall, coat billowing out behind him.

Reirandor sighed and rose too. “I regret this, Aiendor, I truly do.” He looked at Breyre.

“Perhaps, if you could delay just a little?” he asked hesitantly.

“I can’t, Maresal. Every day that passes leaves the envoy in danger and our borders open.

I know Kaonir doesn’t believe it, but I know it. I can’t sit idle any longer.”

Reirandor nodded slowly. “Then I bid you farewell. Hopefully, next time we meet it will

be under more pleasant circumstances.” He glanced briefly straight at the wall where Myche
and Raven stood listening. “And tell your Outlander his scent has turned most fascinating.”

Raven stumbled back from the panel, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the gasp.
“I will,” he heard Breyre say. After a moment the doors to the hall opened and closed,

and Breyre spoke up. “Raven. Myche! Come out here.”

Raven slapped Myche’s arm and hissed, “He smelled me!”
Myche looked chagrined. “Sorry.”
Elekin had come forward to stand by Aiendor when they came into the hall. Raven

glanced at him but the Merender said nothing, only looking quietly at the Master of the Hold.

Aiendor sat down heavily, his face in his hands, and as if by a trick of the poor light, his

hair seemed more grey than blond. “I have seen this Hold through more years, more births
and deaths, than my father did in his time. He, and his father before, had never one quarrel
with our kin that couldn’t be solved.” He looked up at Breyre. “And now? Will this lead to
Heiyerborn’s demise? What will we be without our kin, Nephew?”

“I’m sorry it must be this way, Uncle. I have no choice in my actions. But you do. You

know there is only one message you can send to Seirk if you want Heiyerborn to live.” He
stood and gave a slight bow. “For all my years of peace here, and for your love, I thank you,
Uncle.” Then he turned and walked out of the hall.

Eckien rose hastily and bowed as well, gesturing for Raven and Myche to follow as he

left the hall. “Of all the stupid ways…,” he muttered, but didn’t elaborate.

Raven glanced back and saw Elekin sit by Aiendor. He hoped the Merender could ease

some of the man’s troubles.

They found the Esker standing in the entrance hall, staring out the open doors to the

courtyard. Raven could only guess what he must be feeling at this moment. He walked
hesitantly up to him when the other two stopped. “Breyre?” he said quietly. Then whispered
“My wolf?” when he didn’t get an answer.

Breyre frowned but didn’t turn, his lashes damp. “I have lived here all my life,” he

murmured. “Played and loved and cried. To think this will be my final day….” He turned
finally. “I am not sorry, Raven. I am proud that I will ride to see this through from a Hold of
such strength and legacy as Heiyerborn.” He looked at Eckien. “Uncle will have no other
choice than to have me out. I never expected otherwise. Are you still with me?”

Eckien bared all his teeth. “Brother, you couldn’t keep me away even with the threat of

death.”

“Thank you.” Breyre’s face turned grim. “Spend this night well, my friends. On the

morrow we ride for the Queen’s city.”

~*~

Having never taken part in a campaign such as this before, Raven wasn’t sure what to

expect, but it wasn’t this. After a night of little sleep, Breyre tossing and turning restlessly in
their bed, Raven came bleary-eyed and cranky to the courtyard, and saw what was probably
the largest gathering of warriors yet. He wondered where they had all spent their time until
now. Women and children and the old stood along the edges of the crowd, a few still saying
goodbye to the warriors they knew. But no one cried or asked them not to go. Such pride and
courage. Maybe they all felt the same way their Esker did. Breyre was certainly not the only
one having lost dear ones at the hands of the Kemerans.

Breyre himself was dressed head to toe in the leather and scale armour that was so typical

for the Eyrders, a green cloak thrown back over his shoulders to show the sword at his hip.
Raven had never seen him armed in such a blatant way before and wasn’t sure how he felt
about it.

Raven, given armour of his own and a very uncomfortable helm—Breyre had been most

adamant—stood at his shoulder as Aiendor came up to them.

“I have few words for you this morning, Nephew. I had hoped we wouldn’t have to part,

and certainly not in this manner.”

“Yes, Uncle. It is my regret I have to soil Heiyerborn like this.”
“No.” Aiendor clasped Breyre’s arms. “No, not soil. No matter what the Council says,

you ride out of here with pride, an honourable goal set before you. Remember that.”

Breyre blinked a few times, finding no words. Raven let them have their privacy, looking

away and aching for Breyre.

“So,” Aiendor cleared his throat. “Are you leaving any of my warriors to stay?”
Breyre let out a small laugh. “Yes, there will be a hundred still after we’ve gone. Eckien

says you only have to call on Oleonborn and they will send what reinforcements they can.”

Aiendor nodded, his mouth quirking. “Your brother is too much like you,” he mumbled,

and Breyre smiled faintly. “It seems there is no man who won’t follow you. Even the
Merender has already left to do your bidding.”

Raven started at this bit of news. He hadn’t known. Then again, after the Maresals left

yesterday Raven hadn’t had a chance to seek Elekin out, and he’d thought the Merender too
deep in conversation with Aiendor to come find him either.

“And you, young Outlander,” the Master of the Hold said in a tone of voice that made

Raven tense uneasily. “I know I have not been fair to you, and in truth, it has made me
uncomfortable having you here.”

“Uncle—”
Aiendor raised his hand, cutting his nephew short without taking his eyes off Raven. “I

apologize.”

“No, Master,” Raven said quickly, stunned at the man’s words.
“Please, let me finish, lad.”

Raven glanced uncertainly at Breyre’s frown, then nodded.
“I’m fairly sure the Esker or the Merender have already told you of our lore and what

birds mean to us.” He smiled faintly at Raven’s nod. “Then you might understand, perhaps,
why I reacted the way I did when you began disturbing the order of my Hold. I should have
known from the moment I heard your name, but I hoped to the last.” He studied Raven for a
moment. “Ravens are heralds of change, but maybe they don’t cause it on their own? Maybe
man does that, only alerted to it by their arrival.”

Raven didn’t know what to say. Breyre answered for him. “Not all change is for the

worst, Uncle. Our people have long denied the whole of their being. I feel this will help them
understand what it means to be Eyrder again.”

“I hope so.” He looked out over the crowd of men and horses. “Now go, Nephew. The

sooner you leave the sooner I can have you back.”

Breyre said no more, just bowed and descended the steps, Raven following quietly.
Eckien and Myche stood waiting with their horses. “Hard to say goodbye, eh?” Eckien

murmured.

“Everything ready?” Breyre asked, as he took his reins from Myche and mounted.
“Yes, Esker. All the men are waiting for your word.”
Breyre met his brother’s gaze. “Then give it.”
“Men, hear me!” Eckien bellowed without warning, his voice echoing around the walls

and startling Raven along with the horses. “The Esker commands, move out!”

Riders mounted and footmen straightened their lines, weapons, tack and armours making

a noise to scare the birds on the wall into flight. The horses sensed the mood, and here and
there stomped their hooves or tossed their heads. Breyre and Eckien took the lead, Myche and
Raven falling in behind them, as did every other warrior. The yard slowly emptied in a
rumbling of feet and clatter of hoof beats.

Raven looked back as they cleared the tall gates of the massive outer wall, the early sun

casting the Hold’s tallest towers in pink and yellow light.

“Don’t look back, Raven,” Breyre murmured. “Don’t look back, and the next time you

see it will be when you return.”

Raven met his eyes, saw the lines at the corners and the weariness in their depths. “Yes,

Esker.”

But as they crested a hill a mile down the road, Raven noticed Breyre taking one last look

over his shoulder.

~*~

Raven and the Stone Pillars

~*~

The long column of riders and warriors on foot wound its way through the land of Eyrde,

heading south and east, and keeping away from the Eyrder border camps. As they went their
numbers changed. On the second day Eckien came riding up to Breyre, a smug look on his
face. “The third troop has left, Esker.”

“Good. When will you leave?”
Raven turned from his conversation with Myche. “You are leaving?” he asked in

surprise.

Eckien looked at him. “Are you concerned for me, little Outlander?” His grin widened as

he steered his horse closer. “Don’t worry, I’ll be amply protected.”

Raven frowned at the man. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You will miss me, then? Ah, I’m flattered.” He laughed at Raven’s dark look, then

leaned closer and added quietly, “We’ll meet again.” He straightened and turned back to
Breyre. “Tomorrow will be early enough, Esker. I’ll arrive before most of the men anyway.”

“Show-off,” Myche muttered.
Eckien threw him a blinding smile. “Ask prettily enough and I’ll take you for a ride.

You’re just the right size.”

Myche seemed unable to decide if this was a welcome offer or not, but the blush on his

cheeks was an interesting reaction.

As they made camp that evening Raven noticed many of the horses were carrying

bundles of gear instead of riders. He remembered Eckien had said a troop had left, but if so,
why leave their horses?

He helped Myche pitch their tents and start a small fire, and they had supper ready by the

time Breyre and Eckien walked into the light of the flames.

“Esker, may I ask?” Raven said over their meal.
Breyre looked up at him, blinking as if his thoughts had been elsewhere. “Of course,

what is it?”

“The men who left? How will they catch up if they’re going on foot?”
Eckien interrupted with a laugh before Breyre could answer. “I can’t seem to keep in

mind how little you know of us, Outlander. It’s delightful to still confound someone.”

Breyre sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. “You do not get to make fun of Raven, Eckien.

Now answer properly.”

Eckien gave his brother an amused look, but nodded. “Many of the men who left did so

in animal shape. We can scout more ground, carry fewer provisions. We have some ways to
go yet and too large a troop would attract unwanted attention. We have split up the main party
as well. Did you count the men leaving Heiyerborn? I sent one troop off with our main
provisions two days before we left Heiyerborn, carrying gear for the ones who would change
shape.”

Raven blinked. He hadn’t noticed. “You—but, you hadn’t yet decided…?”
“No,” Eckien agreed. “But it never hurts to be prepared.” His smile was disconcertingly

grim.

“It’s partly for our security,” Breyre added. “Our rangers can cover our tracks more

easily if there are fewer of us travelling by horse.”

“And Aiendor won’t be able to tell the Council anything useful if he can’t track all of us

through his lands.” Eckien met Breyre’s sharp gaze. “It’s true, Brother. That’s why we
decided to do it this way, rather than travel openly, for his protection as well as ours.”

“Is he in danger?” Raven wondered.
Breyre shook his head. “Not as such. But if the Council decides to question him he won’t

be able to tell them much. Better for him if he knows as little as possible.”

“It’s starting to make sense now,” Myche murmured, “why you spent so much time in

that library. You never were one for books, but you’ve been studying the old tactics, haven’t
you?”

Breyre looked almost embarrassed at having been found out.
“And a good thing too!” Eckien slapped him on the back. “If it were up to me I would’ve

barged in there head on.” He laughed as Breyre sighed again.

“I had to study the books. There was none of proper age or rank that would discuss it

with me.”

“Why not?” Raven asked.

The three Eyrders exchanged glances, and Eckien answered. “Many of our ageing

generation have rejected the old ways, heeding the Council’s wishes in doing so, and would
never condone a course of action where we use our avatars so freely.”

Raven glanced between them. “But, why? You’re not… animals.”
Eckien chuckled, flashing his teeth. “No, we’re not. But some would say using our

animal shapes this way would make our people less than we are, and turn us back into what
we have tried to evolve beyond all these years. The Esker was not in favour in Seirk because
he thought this was wrong thinking, and wanted our avatars to be honoured, like they were in
the old days.”

Raven looked between them, thinking of the beautiful animals they could transform into.

“This is why the Council wanted you gone? Why the Queen and Chatrina betrayed you?”

Breyre’s eyes were shadowed when he looked up. “My own people betrayed me.

Chatrina merely saw an opportunity of someone else’s making and took it. They saw their
chance to finally defeat us. The Council was already in discord, squabbling about the very
nature of our people. If my own kin don’t believe in themselves, why should others?”

Raven didn’t know what to say. He hoped Breyre’s sacrifice would bring hope to his

people, and peace with the Kemerans, but he suspected Breyre himself would never find the
peace he was looking for. Even if Chatrina was defeated, Breyre might never be able to go
home again.

~*~

That night, curled up close to Breyre’s side, Raven wondered at a lot of things. Like

Eckien had said, he truly knew very little of the Eyrder ways, and this went back so much
farther than he could even imagine. He knew even less of warfare and political games than the
history of the people he had come to admire, while his companions had had years to hone
their skills. What use did he really have?

“Don’t fret,” Breyre murmured quietly into the dark of their tent, catching the fingers

tapping restlessly against his chest. Raven hadn’t realized he did it.

He shifted to look at Breyre’s face. “How can I not? I have no idea of all the things

you’re fighting for. Most of them happened before I ever met you, before I was born. You
were right—this isn’t my war.”

Breyre’s arm tightened around his shoulders, the other hand coming up to cup his cheek.

“No, maybe it’s not. But for all your ignorance I’m glad you’re here, Raven. You remind me
why I’m doing this, remind me of all the innocent faces we protect and fight for, and not only
of my own people.” He urged Raven closer. “If not for you, I wouldn’t have the courage.”

Raven’s heart thudded once, heavily. “So you’re going to war because of me?” It

sounded so arrogant when he said it.

Breyre’s teeth flashed white in the dark. “No, my little bird. Because of you I have the

courage to win it.” He pulled Raven the last inch up his chest and kissed him.

Raven felt Breyre’s body begin to wake, heating, and pulled back.
“Will you think me crass for wanting your lovemaking tonight?” Breyre whispered. He

must have felt Raven tense, for his hands began gently caressing his back. “We can be quiet.
I’ll swallow all your cries so no one will hear them but me.”

The tickle of breath against Raven’s skin from Breyre’s words, the slide of his hardening

length against Raven’s hip, brought all his senses into sharpness. It was difficult to resist. And
he hadn’t felt Breyre since before they left Heiyerborn. “Yes. Please.”

Raven quickly discovered that trying to keep silent was not only difficult, but thrilling in

its own right among all the sharp-eared Eyrders. He was aware of Myche’s and Eckien’s tents
not far away, of the men on guard at the edge of camp, of all the rest sleeping around them.

Breyre was true to his word, setting Raven’s body aflame with his clever hands, and

taking all his moans and passionate cries down his throat. He gave pleased hums in return that
had Raven’s lips tingling. When he finally came, Breyre’s whole body urging him on, his
shout of release was drowned out only by Breyre’s cry of passion.

Raven was too sated, and finally too drowsy, to take much care that someone might have

heard, lulled into sleep by Breyre’s gentle hands and lips. But morning saw him blushing
hotly at Eckien’s words of approval, and Myche’s wink, and the knowing smiles on all the
warriors’ faces. Breyre was of course unrepentant.

Eckien made ready to leave before the camp had been taken down. He packed his gear

and secured it on his horse, then, to Raven’s dismay, began to undress right there. He had
already seen the man half naked once and that was quite enough, he decided, turning his back.
He bit his lip at the amused chuckle, but refused to give in.

“If you don’t look, Outlander, you’ll miss it.”
“What is there to see?” he shot back, stiffly keeping his back turned.
Breyre laid a hand on his shoulder. “You have seen both me and Myche change, why not

him?”

Raven leaned closer and hissed, “Because he’s naked.” And Breyre and Myche hadn’t

made such a show of it.

Now even the Esker laughed. “We’ll have to cure you of such sensibilities very soon. But

his change is truly remarkable. I promise not to be offended at your awe.”

At such teasing, how could he resist?
Eckien stood in all his glory, hands on hips, waiting. He had earned the right for his

arrogance, Raven admitted reluctantly. He truly was handsome. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Raven muttered, eyes fixed on the man’s chest.
With a wide smile Eckien threw his arms wide and leapt into the air. For a split moment

Raven thought he was about to be jumped, then with a foof of air and a startling flutter of
feathers, Eckien changed shape.

The large eagle settled lightly on the leather gauntlet on Breyre’s outstretched arm,

shaking its gold-tipped wings into place. “Magnificent, yes?” Breyre said.

Raven stared, wanting to reach out and touch the sleek feathers of its chest, but didn’t

dare. “He’s the eagle from that day, who came with the first message?”

“Ah, yes. I could always trust my brother to keep me informed of important matters.” He

stroked his knuckles gently along one wing. “Fly safe. I have a need of your skills.”

The eagle let out a screech of agreement, then spread its wings, casting a large shadow

over them, and was thrust into the air by Breyre. It circled once, flapping its wings at Myche
and screeching, as if teasing him.

“Shoo, you overgrown sparrow,” Myche said, waving his hand at it. “It’ll be a relief to be

rid of you for a while.”

The eagle lifted higher again and took off with something that sounded very much like a

laugh.

Raven noticed the way Breyre looked at his man, and the way Myche carefully didn’t

meet his eyes.

~*~

Several more warriors with bird avatars had taken flight that morning, leaving the rest of

them with one or two horses each on lead reins. It was strange, and Raven hardly wanted to
admit it, but Eckien leaving had him feeling uneasy, some indefinable worry, looking over his
shoulder as if someone would creep up on him if he wasn’t vigilant. Eckien would give that
annoying smirk and chuckle of his if he ever found out he had managed this effect on Raven.

The land changed from the rock-strewn highland forests of Heiyerborn to the pine and

leaf of Kemer, and his feeling of unease seemed to slowly spread through the company. They
had moved past the enemy borders. But the Eyrders were nothing if not skilled at woodcraft,
moving silently through, guarded by warriors and avatars alike. A few times Raven glimpsed
a wolf or bear, deer or fox, that loped too close to them to be anything truly wild.

“That’s one of the captains,” Myche said when Raven stared at the deer gracefully

leaping past them not far into the trees, pronged antlers held high.

“How do you know? To me it looks like any other deer.”
“We can tell each other apart from wild animals,” Myche assured. “Usually by smell if

not by sight. It’s easiest if you make eye contact, though. And we have signals to make certain
that we are recognized.”

“And rules,” Breyre added where he rode in front of them, two horses on lead. “For

instance, if you recall, never enter a camp in avatar form unless you know for certain you’re
expected or received on friendly terms.”

“And show your ears?” Raven added. A look passed between the other two that he would

have called troubled. “What?”

Breyre slowed his horses until they were knee to knee and looked at him. “Actually,

showing your ears is not only to identify ourselves, but a way to reassure that we’re not…
well, an Outlander.” He gave Raven an apologetic look. “We’ve had too many instances
where men and women have been hurt or killed because they weren’t careful.”

“Because of how we can look like you, like Eckien said. Except for our ears.” This new

revelation made him nauseous.

“He says it in jest, Raven. He bears you no ill will, and neither do any of my warriors.

They know who you are.”

“Should I tie my hair back? Let everyone see I’m not Eyrder?”
“You don’t have to,” Breyre assured.
“But you braid your hair back, and Myche tucks his ears out of the cap, and many of the

warriors make sure theirs are visible. Not showing my ears sets me apart as well.”

“But not the way it would if you were easily marked for an Outlander. Elekin’s patronage

keeps you safe as well.”

“He’s right,” Myche said. “You are among friends and will not be harmed, or we’ll all

suffer the Merender’s wrath.” He poked Raven in the side with a smile, but Raven couldn’t
quite match it.

“Maybe you should take up your practice again,” Breyre said, clearly changing the

subject. “Elekin will meet us in camp, and I’m pretty sure he’ll put you right back to work.”

With all that had happened the past week Raven had forgotten his lessons. He

remembered the book Elekin had given him just a few weeks before with the instructions to
keep at his studies. He hadn’t thought it meant he’d have to do it alone. Well, now was as
good a time as any to pick it up again.

They made a cold camp that night, and the two following, and between days of riding

and as much meditation as he could manage or pouring over the illustrated book of
treatments, there was little energy—or willingness, on Raven’s part, given the lack of privacy
—for more than kisses and caresses between him and Breyre. Breyre didn’t seem annoyed,
only resigned, but the looks he sent Raven at times had him shifting in his saddle. He wanted
to, but couldn’t, and Breyre respected that.

The forest finally gave way to a deep valley rimmed with tall rocks and old, gnarly trees,

where shades lingered even with the sun bright overhead. Breyre resolutely led his men down
the north end when Raven would have balked.

“Where are we?” he whispered to Myche, feeling something, like a tingle in the soles of

his feet.

“Would you believe the irony if I told you it’s called Ravensborn Pass?” He gave Raven

a wry look. “It’s been known to us for generations and we have a few stories about it, but the
true use lies in its location, defensibility, and the caves.” He nodded at the south-facing side of
the valley and Raven noticed the dark mouths of small caves and crevices.

“But it’s in enemy territory. What if they come looking for us?”
Myche shrugged. “They might. But they have stories about this place too, a lot less

pleasant ones.” His teeth-baring grin was explanation enough.

They rode for nearly half an hour before Raven saw them, men appearing behind trees

and rocks, nodding in greeting at the Esker. Warriors from the troops that had gone on ahead,
he guessed. A ranger fell in step with Breyre’s horses and guided them along.

The camp was already set up in a hollow in the hillside. Trees and outcroppings overhead

gave protection from sun and rain, and the tents would be well camouflaged.

“If they ever come this far we can lose them in the caves and come out behind them. It’s

a death-trap if you don’t know your way around, but if you do….” Myche trailed off
meaningfully.

“You know these caves, then?”
“A fair part of them. Breyre and I spent a lot of time here when we were young and

adventurous.”

“Young and foolish, is more like it,” Breyre commented, pulling his horses to a halt and

dismounting. “We were lucky not to get lost in there.”

“With your nose? You who can track down a single squirrel in a blizzard?”
“Fine. Captured by Outlanders and killed, then. We were lucky either way.” Breyre left

the horses to them and followed the ranger to a cave some ways up the rock face.

“Grumpy,” Myche muttered. “You should let him have his way, Raven. I’ve had his

sulky treatment before and it’s not funny.”

Raven felt his cheeks heat. “Really. Maybe you should get some yourself!”
Myche turned, wide-eyed at his comment. The next moment he laughed so hard he nearly

fell off his horse.

An hour later, when they had the Esker’s camp set up and a late midday meal heating,

Breyre returned. He looked grim but pleased. “The caves are well in order and provisions
stored safely. If we have to make a stand here we’ll be good for some time.”

Raven frowned at him. “How long have you planned this?”
Breyre shrugged. “Not much are truly my own plans. I found details in a book about

warfare, an old captain’s journal, I think. It was more a matter of turning it into practice.”

“Which takes some planning as well. The logistics are considerable,” Myche added.

“Take some credit, Master. You’ve been at it since we came home.”

Raven blinked. “Since autumn? But that’s months.”
“Planning a war doesn’t happen overnight, lad. We’re lucky our Esker has a good head.”
Raven shot to his feet at the familiar voice. “Elekin!”
“Yes, quite,” Breyre said with a wry smile, eyeing the Merender as he crouched at their

fire. “I found him in one of the caves, doing whatever arcane things a Merender usually does.”

Elekin gave the Esker a serene smile. “And guess what the ‘arcane things’ showed me?”
Such a question couldn’t be left unanswered. He led them back into the caves, heading

deeper and down where the air was moist and thick, and the torches fluttered in some fickle
draft. They stepped out into a cave wide enough to leave its farther walls in darkness.

What caught their attention was not the cave, but the great, spear-like protrusion that

hung from its ceiling. Raven admitted willingly he had never seen such a thing before, and
stared along with the others.

“What is it?” Breyre breathed, slowly circling the wide, upside-down tip of it. Breyre was

a tall man and yet, despite the thing’s own immense size, he still couldn’t reach the end of it if
he stretched.

“It’s called the Father’s Root.” Elekin looked pleased with himself. “The ‘Father’ in this

case is an oak tree that grows at the top of these hills.” He caught Raven’s eye.

“I’ve never known trees of any kind to dig this deep or have roots of that size,” Myche

exclaimed.

“Yes. And no. It’s not an actual root, but stone, created by the cave itself over the ages.

In time it will either break off and fall, or grow to touch the floor.”

“But why call it a root if it isn’t one?”
“Our lore has to come from somewhere, Myche, and I suspect our forefathers weren’t

as… ah, educated as we are? I imagine they wondered what could grow beneath the earth but
the root of a great tree, and thus….” He gestured at the stone, as if naming it a root was the
only logical answer.

Breyre came back around. “Whichever the case, why is this such an important find?”
Elekin blinked at him. “Well, for you, Esker, perhaps not so much. However, for me and

young Raven, very much so. I dare say it holds some great power.”

“It does?” Raven hadn’t felt a thing so far, but then neither had he with the oak tree at

first.

“Like I said, our lore has to be based on something substantial.”
“Which means you don’t know yet.” Breyre raised an eyebrow at the Merender.
“Quite. I can sense something, but my powers lie in the abstract and the spiritual. Raven,

on the other hand, might find something I can’t.”

Breyre sighed. “You’re stealing him away from me, Merender.”
Elekin nodded. “You’ve had him for a week, Esker. What you haven’t managed in that

time will have to wait.”

Raven ducked his head to hide his blush, but Myche’s laugh was not so easily ignored.

~*~

Breyre and Myche went to see about the order of the mundane things, while Raven

stayed with Elekin and the “root”. They sat cross-legged below the tip of it and Raven eyed it
with some trepidation. In the flickering light of the torches it looked both solid and much too
heavy for the ceiling far above that was holding it. What if it decided to fall this very
moment?

“Have you practiced your lessons?”
He turned to the Merender. “Ah, not so much as, maybe, I should have.”
“Kept you busy, has he?”
“No!” Sweet fates, could the man not think of other things? “But we’ve ridden far and

I’ve not had much time to myself, and I’ve been tired in the evenings.”

Now Elekin frowned. “So the Esker hasn’t taken care of you properly?”
Raven shook his head, bewildered. “Yes, he has, considering. Wait, weren’t you the one

who just told him to wait his turn?”

Elekin chuckled. “Delicate is the balance of a content lover.” He patted Raven’s

shoulder. “I’m teasing. I’ve missed you, lad. Forgive me?”

How could he not when looking into those gentle, grey eyes. “Fine. Now tell me

something useful instead, would you?”

“Ah, yes. As I’ve discovered there are remnants of old magic throughout the caves,

paintings on the walls and shards of coloured stones in the floors. I knew our forefathers
visited here and maybe even made some sort of offerings. Whatever the case, what they did

left a mark that I can sense but not identify. Which leads me to believe it’s more earthly in
nature than my own magic.” He gestured at the stone root. “A lot of it is centred here.”

“But I don’t feel a thing,” Raven admitted. Some of the old frustration seeped back. What

if his achievement with the oak was the extent of his magic?

“And maybe you never will,” Elekin said, making him pause before he could get too

upset. “Remember you said the oak’s beat was very slow. Now imagine the vastness of the
earth around us and think how its beat must be. We don’t have lives long enough to hear
two.”

Raven nodded slowly. It made sense. “But you want me to try.”
“Yes. Think back to how you managed it with the oak and go from there.”
Elekin’s words made him remember his and Breyre’s time in the cave, and their offering

to the forest, and of course he blushed.

Elekin raised an eyebrow and said, “I’ll spare you this time and not ask. But you best be

prepared for questions when we have the leisure.”

Raven hoped that would be a long time in coming.

~*~

They didn’t find much of anything with the “root”, and decided to end it for the day as

the sun was setting, leaving the valley in cool darkness. Raven gratefully sat down by the fire
and took the cup of tea Myche offered him. Elekin crouched down for a minute, exchanging
pleasantries with Myche, but said he had a camp of his own near one of the caves.

“I’ll come find you tomorrow, lad,” he said, and stood. “I want to make sure you’ve not

forgotten how to treat a wounded warrior, so prepare yourself.” He bid them a good night and
left.

“How did it go?” Myche asked.
Raven sighed. “Not so well. I think this will be much harder than it was with the oak.”
“Maybe you should try what you did then?” Myche suggested helpfully.
“I don’t think it will be the same,” Raven muttered into his cup. Now if only he could

stop blushing. “Where’s the Esker?” he asked to distract both of them.

“Eckien came back a while ago. They’re with the ranger captain.” He stirred the pot over

the fire carefully, eyes firmly on the ladle.

“And how was Eckien?” Raven asked innocently.
“Um, fine, I suppose,” Myche mumbled. “We didn’t really talk.”
“Uh-huh.”
They both looked up at the sound of boots in the dirt, and Breyre walked into the camp,

smiling as he saw Raven. “How did it go with Elekin?” he asked, and sat down with the cup
Myche gave him.

Raven shrugged. “No better or worse than anything else I’ve done. No answer yet

either.”

All Breyre said was “Ah,” and Raven was grateful.
“What did the ranger say?” Myche asked.
“They’ve spotted two large Kemeran camps just south of the Eyrde border, one a few

miles west of here. So far we seem to have slipped by unnoticed.”

“A few miles? How close are we to the city, then?” Raven wanted to know.
The other two exchanged a look. “You go show him,” Myche said. “I’ll keep supper

warm.”

Breyre rose and held out a hand to Raven. “I hope you don’t mind climbing?”
Puzzled, Raven followed him some ways further down the valley, past the edge of camp,

to where a brook had once dug its way through the earth. Breyre led the way along the dry

stream bed, up and up, climbing and scrabbling at rock and earth. Raven was panting heavily
by the time they reached the top. As he straightened he could see for miles even in the falling
dusk.

“To the north the land rises and falls like it does around Heiyerborn,” Breyre said, hardly

sounding out of breath at all. “South and east it is flat and covered by forest.” He pointed.
“There, you see the towers? That’s the Queen’s city.”

Against the slowly darkening southern sky, above the treetops and the fall of the land,

Raven could see the tall towers of the castle, too thick and symmetrical to be anything but
man-built. “But that’s… it’s so close.”

“Yes. We’re right at her doorstep. It’s dangerous but it’s a great advantage. A day or two

at the most, and all our men will have arrived and had a chance to rest.”

Raven turned to him. “And then you will take the mansion?”
Breyre met his eyes. “Yes.” He reached out and pulled Raven close. “I need you to tell

me again everything you can remember about the mansion, every room and hallway, every
servant’s passage. The quicker we can find her, the quicker we can leave, give the city guard
less chance to attack.”

Raven nodded and slid his arms around Breyre’s waist. “I can do that.” He pressed his

face to the front of Breyre’s shirt and breathed deeply. “How long? How long did she hold
you there?” he asked carefully.

Breyre’s breath was warm against the top of his head. “Long. Don’t trouble yourself with

that burden, Raven. It’s mine to bear.”

Not for much longer, Raven thought, and reached up to kiss him.

~*~

“That’s the strangest thing,” Raven murmured.
“What is?” Elekin asked.
Raven began circling the stone, slowly, which was also strange since his feet weren’t

moving. “That’s just it. The question is ‘what’?”

Elekin gave him a funny look, only his eyes weren’t open. But this didn’t bother Raven.

He began to circle faster.

“The question is ‘what’ because there’s nothing here.” He reached out to touch the

stone and scraped his fingertips as the speed increased. “It’s empty; the stone is only a shell,
as if it is dead.”

“How can that be? Something as vast and eternal as the very rock can’t die.”
“I know. Either way, there’s nothing here.” He spun so fast now that he couldn’t hear

what Elekin said over the rush of air in his ears. Faster still, until the cave was a blur and the
ceiling came rushing towards him.

Raven woke with a start and a gasp. The tent was dark, Breyre’s body warm beside him.

He took a moment to breathe and try to capture the dream. Why would the stone be empty?
He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, noticing his fingertips felt sore. Elekin would need
to know of this dream, he was quite good at interpreting them.

“Raven?” Breyre mumbled, voice sleep-rough, reaching out and capturing his wrist in a

gentle grasp. “Everything all right?”

“Yes. No… I don’t know. Just a dream,” he said hastily, as Breyre sat up in concern. “I

need to tell Elekin.”

“Now?” Breyre was more alert now. “Dawn is a few hours away yet.”
“I know, but…. No. I can’t wait.” He scooted out of the bed furs and found his clothes

and boots.

“I’ll come too.” Breyre reached for his clothes.

“There’s no need.”
“Yes. If you feel a dream is important enough to wake the Merender, then I need to go

with you.”

Raven hesitated, then nodded.
As it turned out Elekin was already up, sitting by a small fire outside his tent. “I’ve been

spending a lot of time here meditating. Too many energies intruding and keeping me awake.”

“I had a dream.” Raven told him about it, of the emptiness of the stone, Elekin’s closed

eyes, Raven’s scraped fingers, and the Merender pursed his lips in thought.

“My closed eyes are obviously my inability to see clearly, or to see at all. More

interesting is this emptiness you felt and you getting hurt when you tried to touch it.” He rose
from his rug and began to pace.

“Raven hurt is never interesting,” Breyre declared.
“Of course not, Esker, but this was symbolic. In dreams symbols are very important.”
“Why is it empty?” Raven wondered, reminding them of the matter at hand. “Is it my

failure to sense anything expressing itself this way?”

“Maybe,” Elekin admitted slowly. “But I feel there’s something else. If we had more

time I would start a deep meditation with you. As it is, we’ll have to make do with an ordinary
one. Come.”

Not the time to argue, Raven and Breyre followed him back into the caves. The torches

seemed unable to lift the dark now, as if it had weight, and Elekin muttered as they went. He
had Breyre set their torches around the stone to spread as much light as possible, and gestured
at Raven to sit close under the tip of it. He eyed it warily. Even if it was empty of magic it
was still heavy.

“Now, lad. I will help you get started, then try to anchor myself to you to get an

impression of what you sense.”

“Anchor?” Breyre took a step closer.
Elekin waved him back impatiently. “Nothing I do will hurt him, Esker. Now be quiet.”

He reached for Raven’s hands. “Just do as in an ordinary meditation, like I have taught you.”

Raven nodded and closed his eyes. Even as he knew he was not alone in flesh, in spirit

there was no one else there. Like before, when he had discovered the oak in his visions, there
was at first only darkness, but this darkness did not lift. It continued on and on, and echoed
eerily with his breaths. He turned, trying to see Elekin, but there was nothing.

Then suddenly he was lying on his back, and looking up he saw the tip of the stone just

above him. As he watched in horror, somewhere overhead in the dark, the ceiling began to
tremble, raining dust and pebbles. The stone shook and he heard it crack. Raven cried out,
tried to scramble away, but his limbs were tied—no, held—down, and he couldn’t move. It
broke apart. With a last desperate thrash and a scream that ripped at his throat, he felt the
stone spear his body, the ever-widening tip stretching him, destroying his flesh as it fell, until
there was nothing left.

“Raven!”
Someone slapped his face and he gasped at the sting.
“Sweet Meuri!”
“You said nothing could hurt him!” Breyre cried at the Merender.
“Nothing I do. This was not me.” His face appeared in Raven’s vision, pale and tense.

“Do you hear me now?”

“Yes,” Raven whispered, vaguely feeling arms around him, holding him tightly. Too

tightly.

“How do you feel?”
Hollow, broken. “I’m fine. Just….” Weak. Empty. He rolled over on his side and retched.

Breyre held him when it was over, strong, warm hands on his body, his back to Breyre’s

chest, and slowly he began to feel solid again, whole. “What happened, Raven?”

He glanced at the stone and quickly looked away. “It fell on me,” he said in a faint voice.

“There was nothing there at first, not even you,” he said to Elekin. “Then it was above me. I
couldn’t move, and it fell.”

Elekin’s frown deepened. “I’ve never heard of a meditation passing this way.”
“But you said his magic is different,” Breyre interrupted. “How can you know what is

right or not for him?”

Seeing where this might go and unwilling for his friends to start arguing, Raven

interrupted. “What else can we do, Breyre? If anything he teaches me can help you, then I
want to learn it.”

“Ah, lad,” Elekin said quietly, something sad in his eyes. “But not at the cost of your

health. Esker, I suggest you take him back to your tent and let him rest.”

“And you?”
“I’ll stay and meditate for a while. Don’t worry,” he added when Raven drew breath,

“this can’t hurt me.”

Breyre more or less carried Raven outside, his legs were still a bit unsteady.
“It wasn’t his fault, you realize,” Raven murmured when Breyre sat him down on the rug

outside their tent. He didn’t wish to lie inside, the canvas feeling too close at the moment.

Breyre sighed. “I know. It still scared me out of my wits.” As he fed the embers of last

night’s fire back to life, Raven could see the lines around his eyes in the flickering light.

“I’m sorry.” He reached out and took one of his hands between his own. Breyre managed

a faint smile.

~*~

Made comfortable with furs and the fire, and feeling safe with Breyre holding him,

Raven slept for a few hours, and woke to the sound of Myche laughing. Breyre was gone, but
Raven looked up and saw Myche and Eckien standing not far away. Even newly awake he
sensed this moment to have some importance, and feigned sleep until he heard Eckien leave.
Myche came back and sat down, stirring a pot over the fire.

Raven waited a moment before he stretched and opened his eyes. “Where’s Breyre?” He

hadn’t been disturbed by his leaving. Maybe the meditation had drained him more than he
thought.

“He’s with the captains up top. How are you feeling? I heard what happened.”
Raven sat up and took stock of himself. “I feel fine now, but not so much before.” He

shuddered thinking about it. Looking around he noticed the activity in camp, men moving
with a purpose. “What is going on?”

Myche bared his teeth in a grim expression. “It seems the Queen has sent a good half of

her soldiers out to the camp west of here.”

“What?”
“Yes. Either that makes her foolish in thinking she’s safe in the city with so many men at

her border, or the fates have decided to play on our side. It looks like we crossed here just in
time, though. A day or two later and we would’ve been caught.”

“What now?” Raven asked, but he could guess the answer.
“Breyre has decided there is no reason to wait. He’s sending the warriors out.”
Throughout the day Raven saw how the camp and the men around him slowly changed.

Tents were coming down everywhere, fire pits filled up again, and anything not useful in a
fight was moved into the caves.

Most startling was the number of weapons he saw the warriors sharpening one last time,

blades of all shapes, bows and spears and heavy, spiked balls on chains, and many more he
could hardly describe.

Breyre, when he came down from the top with his captains, changed into armour,

strapping the sword to his hip and a heavy metal rod tipped with spikes in a sheath across his
back.

“You’re leaving already?”
“Yes. We decided to begin our attack a few hours before dawn and will leave here just

after nightfall. We’ll be best hidden if we travel in the cover of darkness. Myche and you will
stay here with a troop and see to—”

“I most certainly will not.”
Breyre’s mouth snapped shut at Raven’s words. “And why not,” he asked slowly.

“You’re not a warrior.”

“I know I’m not. You don’t need to remind me of our differences. But perhaps I need to

remind you,” Raven snapped, stung by Breyre’s words and tone. “I’m the one who saw
through Chatrina’s glamour and if you decide to fight her—which I know you will—how
would you defend yourself against her magic?”

“He’s right, Master,” Myche said before Breyre could answer.
Breyre stared at them silently for a long moment. “What if you get hurt, Raven? Men die

in battle even when they are prepared.”

Raven stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm. “Then I die,” he whispered, temper

dulled by the flash of pain in Breyre’s eyes. “But for a good cause.”

Breyre growled and pulled him tight. The edges of his chest plate poked Raven, but he

didn’t care. “If you die, I have no more reason.”

“Yes you do. Your people need you, Esker. Myche and Eckien do. Aiendor and the

whole of Heiyerborn. Don’t give up on them.”

“Don’t you dare, Raven,” Breyre said fiercely into his hair. “Don’t you dare.”
“What’s going on?” Eckien asked, walking into their camp. He too was dressed for

battle, two axes sheathed across his wide back.

“Raven is going with you,” Myche informed helpfully, before Breyre or Raven could.
Eckien frowned but didn’t seem surprised. “A bad time you chose to start arguing about

it.”

“They’re not arguing. It’s decided.”
Eckien and Breyre both gave Myche a look that shut him up. “I’m not sure we have

armour small enough,” Eckien muttered.

Raven gave him an annoyed look. “The one I wore on the way here will be fine.”
“That was to protect you from arrows. A direct hit with a heavy blade will still cut you in

half or at least break your bones.”

Raven hadn’t needed to know that. “I’ll be fine,” he bit out, wishing the man to keep

quiet lest he gave Breyre ample reason to order Raven to stay behind. He wasn’t sure he could
argue much more without causing the Esker great harm.

Breyre was tense and silent for the rest of the day, hardly looking at either Raven or

Myche. “He’s not happy with me,” Raven said.

“No. But you were right to insist. You are the only one who can see through Chatrina’s

glamour. Perhaps you can pay her back from me too while you’re at it.”

Myche’s confidence in him was little comfort, and no protection whatsoever when Elekin

emerged from the caves and learned what he was about. Raven had never seen such a look on
the Merender’s face.

“I have no words, Raven,” the man began, and Raven noticed the other three backing

discreetly away at his suspiciously level tone. “You mean to put yourself in harm’s way,

without proper sword skills or even knowing if your magic will protect you. How can you do
such a thing? Think what you’re robbing the world of if you die and your magic is lost!”

“So you want me to stay safe here while the Esker goes to fight, for the sake of my

magic?” Raven shot back, incredulous and upset at his friend’s words. “That goes against all
you’ve taught me. Even if my magic will do no good, then my skills to treat a wound will at
least be useful.”

Elekin bit back what he was about to say. “Of course. You’re right.” He took a step back,

much to Raven’s surprise. “If my teachings didn’t forbid me to fight, I too would be arming
myself now. But I am obliged to heal the injured, so I will go with you,” he said, his eyes
briefly on Breyre.

Breyre came carefully closer. “You will?”
“Yes.” Elekin sighed, the tension in his shoulders loosening. “I’ve truly much to learn yet

if a boy of such few years can show me the truth of my own words. And I the Merender.” He
chuckled wryly but there was little joy in it. “I’ll go see about my camp and join you as we
leave.” He bowed slightly and left.

Raven was stunned enough to start at the heavy hand that clasped his shoulder. “I think I

was wrong,” Eckien said, amused. “You have more spine than many of us. You’ll do well
tomorrow.” His laugh rang in Raven’s ears even after the man had left.

Breyre insisted he wear his armour from then on until they marched, to get used to it, he

said. With how uncomfortable the thing was, Raven rather thought it was more to show him
the error of his ways. But he regretted that notion when next he saw Breyre looking at him.
His face was pale and drawn, and Raven was a breath away from agreeing to stay, before he
remembered why he couldn’t.

Myche was less troubled by his own orders to stay in camp. “I can’t stomach any of it.

Besides, someone needs to see about things here while you’re gone, make sure everything is
ready for your return.”

Nightfall came sooner than Raven had wanted and with it their departure. The

preparations were minimal. Few provisions were brought, only the necessary water and dried
meat for each man, and bandages and herbs added to Raven’s pack. Like Elekin’s, only not as
heavy or as much. The Merender had a warrior at his side to help carry his supplies, and four
more to protect him.

All men dug out handfuls of ash from the dead fires and smeared it on their armour and

faces. Some with light-coloured hair had fellows help them mask it. Raven grimaced as
Myche helped him do the same to his own armour and face. His hair had little need.

“Think of leafs falling and shadows moving,” Myche whispered. “Think of the breeze

and move as silently.”

Raven listened to the strange words, like a well-wishing of sorts, and turned to hug him.
But Myche held up his ash-smeared hands. “Best not ruin it. Be safe.”
At some signal the warriors began to gather around Breyre, some of them adding another

weapon to their arsenal, and Raven wondered that they didn’t jingle when they moved. They
were all silent but impatient, eagerness to get started visible in their eyes and the lines of their
bodies. They had prepared for a moment like this all their lives, practiced and learned, and all
of them already blooded in the skirmishes of past years. Standing among them Raven realized
how small and foolish he must look.

There were no encouraging words from the Esker. He merely looked his men over, eyes

startlingly green in his ash-black face, and seeming satisfied with what he saw he nodded at
Eckien.

“Move out.”

Raven noticed a few large birds lift from the trees as they marched out of camp, one or

two silent beasts loping past in the shadows. He looked and saw Myche, waved and tried to
smile reassuringly, but Myche didn’t lift a hand in farewell.

Raven soon found himself surrounded by a few men who seemed inclined to stay close.

He didn’t recognize any faces and frowned at them in question, but they wouldn’t speak to
him. Eckien showed his face once or twice, looking Raven over, but evaded him when he
opened his mouth to ask.

The woods were easily traversed. The old, tall trees with their thick foliage had kept

younger saplings from catching root and there was not much underbrush. Rocks and roots that
would trip you, and sticks that would snap underfoot, were avoided with only a glance. Raven
hadn’t had the chance to count or ask Breyre how many warriors there were, but remembered
he had mentioned five hundred once. He hadn’t known so many could be so quiet.

Both Breyre and Eckien appeared as the rangers brought back word that the watch fires

on the city wall were visible between the trees up ahead. Raven’s heart skipped a beat and his
palms grew damp. They were almost there.

“Raven, I want you to stay here,” Breyre said quietly.
“What? No! You agreed—”
“I did not, never into the city. Plenty of my men will remain, as reinforcements and to

cover our retreat, and any wounded will return here. You and Elekin both will have plenty to
do.”

He had known there would be injuries, maybe even deaths, but hearing Breyre mention it

as if in passing made his stomach clench.

“He’s right, lad,” Eckien added. “You know a battle is not the place for you.”
Raven’s face burned with anger and hurt, having thought Eckien at least would recognize

the need for him to go. He ducked his head to hide his turmoil from the warriors around him.
He wanted to argue, but the grim faces around him made him bite his tongue. He didn’t want
to embarrass Breyre this way.

The Esker began giving out orders, sending captains with their men to the flanks and

telling those in avatar form to get ready. Raven heard them all leave to do the Esker’s bidding,
and when all was silent, a hand bared of leather touched his face gently.

“Do not be angry with me, little bird,” Breyre murmured. His eyes were worried when

Raven looked into them. “I only wish to protect you. You’re in a war no one asked you to
fight. No one can question your courage.”

Raven wanted to nod and agree, to smile and say he was fine. Wanted to argue and say it

wasn’t a matter of courage but that he had a right, too—to protect Breyre. But his throat was
knotted with anger and disappointment, so tight he could hardly breathe.

A line appeared between Breyre’s eyebrows and he lowered his hand. “I will not say

farewell for it gives us a reason to see each other again.” He waited a beat, then whispered,
“Will you not speak to me?”

Raven’s eyes blurred and he stepped forward to hold him close. “If I don’t speak to you

now you’ll have to come back to hear me be angry with you.”

Breyre’s breath was sharp and shuddery into Raven’s hair. He only nodded as if this

made sense. For a moment they clung to each other, then let go, and Breyre didn’t look back
as he left.

~*~

Sitting snugly in a thicket of bushes, Raven tried not to worry when the warriors left. He

saw a few shed their armour and clothes unabashedly, and change to animal shape, a choice

he could understand when he saw the sharp fangs and claws and talons of the predator avatars.
Their comrades gathered up the armour as they went.

Elekin was out there, not far away, with a few warriors to protect him and the injured

when they arrived, for that was one thing he was sure would happen. Raven wondered if he
would be able to help once they did, but pushed such thoughts away. Best not think of it, or he
would start fretting and giving himself away.

Raven sat alone in his hideout, but there were at least four men hidden around him,

weapons ready. He wondered why they had bared their blades already since it would be a
while yet before Breyre’s men broke into the city, a while more until they reached the
mansion. The fighting might not even make it out here. Hopefully the city guard wouldn’t
take notice until the Eyrders were retreating. Wishful thinking, Raven well knew, and shook
his head.

His thoughts had fallen quiet with the drawn-out waiting, and his limbs were stiff from

sitting still so long. He thought he heard another of the men shift as well, and sympathized.

For a moment so brief he didn’t realize it until afterwards, the forest fell silent enough to

hurt his ears, as if the very trees stopped breathing. Then the shriek of a bird broke the
stillness and the shadows behind him burst into life.

He was too shocked to cry out, and it saved him from immediate discovery. A man in the

ringed chain mail and red tunic of the Kemeran Queen thundered past within inches of Raven,
clashing with the warrior that appeared out of nowhere ahead. Raven stared wide-eyed and
mute at the short, brutal fight, and not until the Eyrder lowered his blade and turned to him,
did he realize what was happening.

“Come, boy!” the warrior said urgently, the ash on his face and armour smeared with

fluids. Cries and the sounds of fighting erupted all around them.

Raven scrambled to his feet, ignoring the prickle of his numb muscles, and followed the

man at a run. More warriors joined them, and he wondered frantically where they were going.
But it didn’t matter. Their way was suddenly cut off by a group of the Queen’s men, and the
Eyrders were outnumbered.

Raven was pushed to the ground in the protection of a thick pine, two warriors standing

over him. He wanted to shout at them to fight and not think about him, but he didn’t get the
chance. A crack of leather had them all turning in time to see more enemies closing in behind
them.

“It’s a trap!” someone shouted, then charged with a harsh yell.
Raven yelped and curled as small as possible when the Eyrders braced for battle. For a

long, stretched-out moment he heard and saw everything in terrifying clarity—the anger and
determination of the warriors; the malicious glee of the Queen’s men; the clear-ringing sound
of metal against metal. It quickly became a bloodbath and Raven’s instincts told him to Run!

Heedless of direction he bolted out among the trees, saw the blur of fighting all around

him but didn’t pause to see who fought or who won. He didn’t stop until he was right at the
edge of the forest and the fires of the watchtowers were visible across the field. He stood
breathless and lost, mind awhirl with panic. Nowhere to go! Nowhere to hide!

Shouting close behind him made him drop to the ground and hide in the grass like a

rabbit, and once again they ran past him.

As his breathing slowed and the panic loosened its hold he heard the soft rustling of grass

just ahead. He pressed to the dirt, listening. A man moaned in pain. Raven squeezed his eyes
shut and held his breath. If he moved they would see him. If it was an enemy they would kill
him.

“Please,” came a quiet, strained voice. “I can smell you, Outlander.”

Raven gasped, eyes snapping open. None of the Queen’s men would be able to do that.

He carefully looked around but it seemed the thick of fighting had moved further into the
forest. He made a quick decision and belly-crawled in the direction of the voice.

It was an Eyrder, his armour gashed open at his ribs, and blood was trickling out under

the hand clamped to his side.

Raven swallowed and crawled closer. “Can you stand?” he whispered, trying not to look

at the wound or smell the blood. Elekin’s books hadn’t prepared him for this.

“I don’t know,” the warrior answered, hissing in pain as he moved a little. “Probably not

for long. I just need to get in among the trees.”

Raven looked down the man’s tall body and wondered how he could ever help him.

“Right.” Best way to find out was to try.

They got to standing, the man bent over and swaying on his feet, and Raven had to take

much of his weight to make it into the trees. Finally there the warrior collapsed, almost
pulling Raven with him, and he did his best to haul the heavy body into a stand of bushes.

Raven sat catching his breath for a moment, wondering what he should do now. Pulling

off his helm he dug into his satchel and pulled out a roll of bandages and a small pot of
numbing, herbal cream. He had no tools to sew the wound with, and if it was too severe the
man would die without Elekin’s skills, but at least he could give him a chance.

He tried to pry the chest plate away, yanking on the leather straps, and finally had to

settle for cutting the padded tunic and undershirt open enough to get at the wound. Blood
stained the man’s clothes and made the skin around the wound seem dark and slick. With a
shudder and a grimace Raven set to work. His hands were covered with blood by the time he
had treated the wound as well as he was able, but he didn’t think Elekin would find any fault
with his first ever treatment of such an injury.

He was busy wiping his hands on his cloak, grimacing, when, too late, he heard the

tromp of boots. But the cackle of malicious intent was unmistakable. With a gasp he spun and
stared in horror at the soldier who would run him through.

A throaty snarl that had the hairs on his arms stand on end and his spine stiffen, made the

soldier pause, and in the next moment Raven was knocked over as a large cougar leapt past
his shoulder. The soldier yelled, trying to fend it off, but it was too agile, too quick, and sank
its fangs and claws into its prey. The man gave a shrill scream that was abruptly cut off with
the wet noise of a throat torn out, and then it was over.

Raven clapped a hand over his mouth to hold down the bile rising. Then he nearly fainted

with fright when a hand touched his shoulder.

“By all hells, lad! What are you doing out here without your guard!” Eckien sounded

outraged and strangely relieved at the same time.

Raven blinked and looked up. “Eckien?” The large cougar was gone and the man

crouched naked at Raven’s side, his chest damp with sweat and darker fluids.

“Yes. What are you doing?” He looked Raven over, and seemed satisfied that he wasn’t

hurt and none of the blood was his.

He gestured at the wounded warrior. “He—I heard him in the grass. He’s hurt.”
“I can see that. He’ll live,” Eckien said shortly.
Raven blinked, both at the abrupt answer and the now silent surroundings. “W-why are

you—the cougar…?”

“Never mind that. Why aren’t you with Elekin?”
Raven blinked, was he supposed to be? “There were soldiers…,” he began, but of course

Eckien knew that. “Where is he?”

“Busy chopping off heads,” Eckien muttered, scanning the trees around them when

shouts went up nearby.

“What?”

The man looked back at him. “Doesn’t matter. We need to get you to safety.” He

signalled to two of his men still in armour, appearing silently and without warning out of the
darkness, as the cougar had.

“Wait. What are you doing here?”
“Breyre sent me back to lead you out once we realized what was happening.” He had one

eye on the trees again.

The wounded man stirred, moaning as his comrades prepared to carry him away, but

Raven ignored them to glare at Eckien. “You left Breyre back there? You were supposed to
stay with him!”

“I’m supposed to follow his orders, boy! We don’t have time for this.”
“You’re right.” With no more thought than for his next breath, Raven rose and set off

towards the city. He heard Eckien curse and shout at him, but didn’t stop.

Well out of the shelter of the trees, it took him until he was halfway across the field

before he realized the sun was slowly rising and that any man on the walls would be able to
see him. He slowed only for a step or two, then ran faster.

Rustling in the grass made him glance over his shoulder, breath in his throat, to see the

cougar come rushing at him. Not entirely sure Eckien wasn’t angry enough to take him down
and drag him back, Raven put on a burst of speed and made it into the shadow of the wall just
as the animal caught up.

Panting heavily it took him a moment to say, “You will not stop me.”
In that strangely eloquent way that Breyre also had, Eckien gave him an exasperated

look.

Then Raven had to pause. “Which way?” He felt the fool for not knowing.
The cougar snorted and padded ahead.
Only the postern gate was open, the wood cracked and its hinges bent out of shape and

wedged with iron bolts to keep from closing. The guards were all dead, their chests torn open
or throats cut, and they lay facing away from the gate. Breathing shallowly, Raven carefully
didn’t look as he stepped past the bodies.

Eckien snuck into an alley not far beyond the walls and changed shaped. “I have my

armour hidden here. You will wait while I put it on,” he said, mimicking Raven’s tone from
minutes before.

Raven frowned but obeyed, conscious of his chances alone. “And you will tell me why

you have two avatars.”

Eckien shot him an annoyed look. “Later,” he muttered, hefting his twin axes.
It took too long and still only minutes later Eckien lead the way by a series of smaller

streets and alleys back to the mansion. The city was eerily quiet around them.

Eckien noticed him looking. “The folks are all hiding. I can smell them behind their

doors and windows. Not even the beggars are out.”

“They knew we were coming?” Raven whispered as they crouched behind a corner.
Eckien’s grim look was answer enough for now.
From the outside Chatrina’s mansion looked calm, too calm, but they saw the bent shape

of the iron gates and the bodies of her guards, and knew the fight was far from over. Where
was the city guard?

Eckien would have gone slower but Raven couldn’t wait for him to scout every corner.

Knowing the way, he hurried across the disturbingly empty yard and through the servant’s
door. He took a right, Eckien for once not arguing, and broke into a run down the corridor
towards the entrance hall.

He heard the fight before he saw it, even so he almost ran straight into the chaos. With a

curse Eckien caught him by the arm and yanked him back against the wall. Raven was too
stunned to take much notice. He stared at the carnage. Chatrina’s men had gotten

reinforcements from the city guard, outnumbering the Eyrders, but the warriors were well on
their way to winning despite that. Driven by revenge and retribution, the Eyrders were
relentless.

But of Chatrina or Breyre there was no sign.
Raven was about to ask Eckien where to go when he was forcefully pushed away, flailing

to keep his balance. Eckien had saved him from a sword slash just in time and took on the
guard wielding it. Raven’s graceless stumble had brought him out onto the floor of the hall
and he stood stunned for a moment, his whole body tingling with—with—

“Magic!” He spun and shouted, “Eckien! There’s magic here!”
But the man had no time to answer, blocking a thrust with his axes and growling in anger

at the city guard slashing at him.

Raven looked wildly around. Where did the magic come from? He took a few more steps

and the sensation cleared away, and then came back a few steps later. He tried again in
another direction with the same result. It was so strange, as if only some spots held magic.

Even knowing the danger, he closed his eyes and tried to feel it. A hand yanked him

back, nearly making him fall, but he had sensed enough. “It’s below us,” he said breathlessly
to Eckien, absently noting the blood on the man’s axes.

“The cellars.”
“Breyre….” Raven was torn, the need to go to the Esker’s aid warring with the urge to

find this new threat.

“I could never find it, Raven. Only you can do that. Destroying it will help him, believe

me.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what Eckien meant, but he didn’t. He led the way to

a corridor off the hall, attracting the attention of a few Eyrders as they went, who joined them
on Eckien’s order. Nearly at the kitchens Raven remembered the flight of stairs in a nook off
the corridor that led down to the store rooms, with the cellars further down, and he had Eckien
shoulder the door open. It was quiet beyond and Eckien sent two men ahead.

Despite the lack of lamps or torches, the further they went the easier it was to see, like

moonlight reflected off a mirror. Raven sensed the Eyrders’ unease at the unnatural light, but
he knew they were going the right way. He felt the pull of it through his feet. Ignoring the
door to the storeroom halfway down the stairs, he pushed past the warriors and hurried the last
few steps.

He came into a vast, open space carved out of the very rock beneath the mansion. The

source of the light was a number of tall iron braziers. They didn’t burn embers, but what
looked to be strings of twined cloth in shallow pools of oil, and the light was more blue than
yellow.

Raven stood staring a moment, absently hearing the muttered curses of the others. “This

is the place.”

There was no doubt. Throughout the length of the cavern there were pillars of stone

supporting the ceiling above. They were crude and flimsy looking, some only halfway done,
as if the stonecutter had lost interest and moved on. But Raven was more interested in what he
felt than what he saw. He walked closer, carefully reaching out to touch a pillar, and pulled
his hand back with a startled yelp.

Eckien came hurrying up. “You’re bleeding. What is this trickery?”
“Like my dream,” Raven murmured, distracted by what he began to realize. He reached

out again, ignoring Eckien’s protest, and put both hands to the pillar. Pain shot up his arms
and he felt the skin of his palms cut open and bleed, but didn’t pull back. “Sweet fates, this is
the stone root!” he exclaimed. “The Father’s Roots. It’s trapped!” It was coursing under his
hands, anxious to be free, and hurting from its unnatural prison.

Eckien looked bewildered. “What can we do? I know nothing of such magic.”

A warning cry interrupted Raven as he was about to answer, and they turned to see one

of the warriors overtaken by a man he had never thought could move swiftly or strongly
enough to best an Eyrder. Kierner yanked his blade out from the fallen warrior’s body and
sneered at the rest of them. Three of Chatrina’s guards came down the steps at his back,
blades held ready and eyes full of anger.

“Filthy devils,” Kierner spat, his face twisted. “My mistress will make you all slaves for

eternity.” He raised his sword and pointed it at Raven. “Do not touch the pillars or you will
die first.”

Raven spun to Eckien. “Destroy them!”
“How?” He stood braced and ready for a fight with Kierner, not of a mind to think of

much else.

“Knock them down. Smash them. Anything!”
“Antouen!” Eckien shouted, and a man as wide as he was tall broke from the barrier of

warriors set to protect them. “Destroy the pillars.”

Antouen, like every Eyrder about to change shape, quickly and with little care yanked off

his armour and as many layers of clothes as he had time for, then changed.

Raven jumped back when the huge, grey bull demanded more space than he had

anticipated, pulled safely further away by Eckien as the beast snorted and lowered its heavy
head. Muscles bunched and dust rained down as the bull laid all its weight behind its neck.

“Keep away, lad,” Eckien said in his ear.
Another Eyrder in the shape of a bear reared on its hind legs and added its muscles to the

bull’s. The first pillar shattered at the top and fell.

Kierner let out a scream like he’d gone mad, the guards yelling in response, and Raven

gasped when the men charged. The remaining three Eyrders held them back for now, but it
was clear they were unprepared for the ferocity of their enemies.

“Go,” Raven said to Eckien. “I’ll follow the avatars, show them which ones to hit.”
Eckien hesitated for only a moment, his eyes darting to Raven’s still bleeding hands, then

joined the fray.

Raven hurried out among the pillars. There were so many of them, but guided by the pain

in his hands when he touched them, he chose and pointed at only a few. The bull was strong
and heavy enough, or perhaps angry enough, to take down one or two by itself before it
stopped, breathing heavily and tongue lolling. Raven wanted to urge it on but didn’t dare.
Another few pillars fell to rubble before the bear suddenly roared in pain and dropped. Raven
spun and saw Kierner, his teeth bared in a humourless grin as he pulled the sword out of the
animal’s flank.

Looking desperately around Raven saw Eckien among the pillars but he was too far away

still. The bull and the bear were no good either.

“You treacherous cur,” Kierner spat, advancing, his eyes white-rimmed in anger. “She

took you in, cared for you. I’ll cut your heart out and bring it to her for a feast!”

Blanching, Raven stumbled backwards until his back hit a pillar and he held out a hand,

as if that would ward off the man. “No, don’t.”

The same pain that had cut Raven’s palms open suddenly shot along his back at the

contact with the stone pillar. He felt the wetness of blood under his shirt. Shocked and scared,
he tried to push away and found he couldn’t. He was held tightly to the pillar by a power
much stronger than himself.

Kierner laughed hoarsely when he saw Raven could not move, and raised his sword to

strike.

Raven whimpered, his knees buckling. The stone at his back began to break with the

release of magic. Energies he had no control over crackled around his ears, and he saw the
gleam of them reflected in the edge of Kierner’s sword as it came down.

He came to a moment or an hour later, he had no notion, but Eckien was hurrying

towards him, one of the warriors limping behind him. Raven blinked the blur in his eyes away
and had managed to sit when Eckien reached him.

“By the fates and all hells, lad! What did you do?” He was pale and his voice trembled.
“I don’t know….” He looked down at his palms. They were whole and unmarked, and

his back gave no twinge of injury as he shifted. “I’m not sure I did anything.”

The big man let out a sharp laugh. “Well, whatever it was, he’s dead now.” He pulled

Raven to his feet and showed him.

All that was left of Kierner’s body was a dried husk of skin over his unstrung bones.

Raven shuddered and looked away.

“Do we need to take down any more pillars?” Antouen had changed back to man, and

Raven’s face heated even now at the sight of his naked, and very large, body.

“I-I’m not sure,” he stuttered. But looking out across the cavern he could tell the magic

that had been trapped was there no more. “I think… it’s gone.”

Eckien let out a deep breath and clasped Raven’s shoulder. “I’d say you’ve done your

part, lad. But we haven’t. I need to see to my men.”

Raven gasped, remembering. “Breyre!” Panic and guilt gripped him tightly, and he

would have run off again if Eckien hadn’t been prepared.

“No,” he said, his hands unyielding on Raven’s arms. “This time I go first. Antouen, see

to Perindor and get back out. Have a perimeter set up around the mansion and bar the gates.”

“Elekin and the others?” Raven asked, with yet another stab of guilt.
“They are still in the woods. We have no way of knowing how they’ve fared. I need to

see to the men I know I can protect for now.”

They left Antouen to his tasks and hurried up the cellar stairs, back along the corridor to

the hall. Raven knew before they reached it that something was wrong.

Or very right. He and Eckien both came to a halt at the scene in the entrance hall. Many

of the Eyrders were injured but alive, sitting along the walls or walking around among the
fallen, seeming as bewildered as Raven felt. Warriors with their weapons drawn kept a
watchful eye on the city guards, sitting in abject submission seemingly where they had
stopped. More lay dead around the hall. Of Chatrina’s men there were more dead than alive.
Raven didn’t look too closely but some of the faces he saw looked like Kierner’s shrivelled
body.

Eckien called one of his men over. “What happened here?”
The man shrugged, a bewildered expression on his bruised face. “A few minutes ago they

suddenly stopped fighting, some fell down and just—dried up like rotten fruit. The rest laid
down their weapons when they realized they were outnumbered.”

Eckien glanced at Raven but didn’t say what they were both thinking.
“Please,” Raven whispered. “I need to find him.”
Eckien nodded. “Keep them under guard. Antouen will be up shortly with further

orders.”

Raven directed Eckien to the grand staircase leading to Chatrina’s wing. The bodies of

her guards were scattered along the way, some killed or badly wounded by weapons, a few
even here only dried husks. Raven wondered what he had unleashed.

But all thoughts vanished when Eckien pushed open the door to Chatrina’s rooms and he

saw Breyre’s body fallen inside. With a cry of fear he ran over, heedless of Eckien’s shouted
warning, and fell to his knees at Breyre’s side. He lay face down, limbs sprawled awkwardly
and his sword out of reach.

“Sweet fates, please, please, please,” Raven breathed, and struggled to turn him over.

Breyre’s face was pale and his braid frayed. His armour was a hideous mix of ash and

blood, the metal scorched and gashed, as if someone had pried at it with a blade set aflame.
Raven cupped his cool cheek and whispered his name, but Breyre didn’t stir.

“This one is either dead or struck unconscious,” Eckien said, and Raven tore his eyes

away from Breyre’s face.

“That’s Chatrina,” he said, his voice coming out tight and thin. Her body looked like it

had been flung aside against the wall where she lay, precious clothing torn and hair tangled.
One of her shoes was missing.

Eckien growled and raised his axe. “I could kill her now and we’d be free of her for all

time.”

“No,” came a weak, raspy voice, and Raven looked down in teary-eyed relief. “No

killing.” Breyre stirred, his eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded as he turned his head,
searching for Eckien.

“Brother!” Eckien came quickly to his side and took his hand in a firm grip. “It could be

swiftly done.”

“No.” He struggled to sit and Raven helped him. “She has too much to answer for. Death

is too merciful.”

Eckien, clearly as surprised as Raven at the tightly-held anger in Breyre’s voice, blinked

and nodded. “May I bind her, then?”

Breyre agreed and deliberately didn’t watch. “Help me into a chair,” he asked.
Raven couldn’t find words. He was reeling from all that had happened, all he had done

and seen, and all of it compounded by the overwhelming relief to find Breyre alive.

Breyre had no such trouble. “What are you doing here?” He frowned at Raven. “I told

you to stay in the forest. And you!” he snapped at Eckien when the man came over.

“And me,” his brother replied calmly, but the argument seemed to end there. Breyre

sighed and rubbed at his forehead. Eckien waited a moment, then said, “You came here alone,
didn’t you?”

Breyre glanced at him. “Yes, I sent my men away, and for once they did as they were

told.” His words held censure but his voice was flat, tired. “I had to, I couldn’t let them come
here or she would have taken them all, as she nearly did me.”

Raven reached out and took Breyre’s hand between his own, had to hang on to make sure

he wouldn’t fall apart, or scream, or….

“Whatever you did, Raven, you saved me,” Breyre whispered, and they were the last

words he had expected to hear.

“The lad did all right,” Eckien agreed, a grin in his voice, but Raven didn’t look to make

sure. Breyre held his gaze firmly.

“I’ll hear about it later. Eckien, see to the men and send a few up here to take care of…

her.” He grimaced and gestured at Chatrina’s still body.

Eckien nodded and left.
Raven couldn’t say for how long they sat simply looking at each other. The arrival of one

of the captains and his men to carry Chatrina away was only a slight disturbance that went on
behind them. Breyre’s eyes were on Raven, yet at times they would grow distant with
memories. Raven suspected Breyre was reliving a number of days and nights in these rooms
other than just this last one.

Eckien finally came back and after only a look at his brother, took charge and led him out

of there, strong shoulder thrust under Breyre’s arm for support.

The warriors had been busy, clearing the hall of bodies if not other evidence of the fight,

and the mansion’s gates were chained together and barricaded with two of Chatrina’s own
carriages. The sun was nearly an hour over the horizon by now and the rest of the city was

stirring cautiously. City guards on horses raced back and forth outside the mansion walls,
bringing word to their Queen no doubt.

Eckien sat Breyre down on the steps of the entrance. “Fresh air and something to drink,

perhaps,” he murmured.

A man nearby offered a bottle of wine to Breyre, and Raven recognized it for one of

Chatrina’s favourites. Someone had raided the stores already. Breyre drank without comment.

“We have the mansion and the surrounding walls and gardens secured, Esker,” Eckien

said. “Most of the staff fled but those we found are all in bonds or dead, like the guards.”

Breyre nodded and smoothed back his hair. It needed re-braiding. “And the Queen? Any

word?” They were all just waiting for her soldiers to attack now while they were tired and
vulnerable.

“Nothing yet, but I think that has more to do with whom you have captured than with

anything else. Perhaps they mean to ransom her.”

“They can’t have her,” Breyre muttered darkly, taking another swallow from the bottle.
“Esker!” A warrior came through the doors behind them and saluted briefly. “We’ve

found the envoy.”

That had Breyre on his feet. “Is he alive? Bring him here.”
Eckien grasped Breyre’s arm. “Calm, Brother.”
He met Eckien’s gaze with a frown. “I wouldn’t kill him either, Brother. No need to

worry.”

It was a sad group of men and women who stumbled out through the doors, blinking at

the light, one or two in tears of relief. The envoy, clearly his father’s son in looks,
straightened when he recognized the Esker. He bowed his head slightly.

“I’m glad to see you’ve fared pretty well, considering,” Breyre said, not unkindly.
The man didn’t answer at first, perhaps surprised to be spoken to in a civilized manner

when he’d expected something else. “We have—well, except for my warriors.” He broke off
to swallow. “I suppose I have you to thank for our freedom.”

Breyre could so easily have shown the man the error of his ways, but he merely looked at

him. “Eckien, see to it that they have water and something to eat. I’m sure they haven’t had
anything decent in a while.”

At his words the envoy slumped and his eyes glittered with tears. “How foolish we

were,” he said, his voice trembling.

Breyre’s jaw tightened, then he turned and went down the steps.

~*~

Raven, as the Merender’s pupil, found himself caring for the wounded together with a

few warriors who were knowledgeable in basic healing. It was a messy job, but he rather liked
the feeling of accomplishment when he could ease the pain of the men, treating wounds and
setting bones. He had sent a few warriors to search the physician’s rooms for anything useful,
and now had the tools to sew and wrap a bleeding gash that would have otherwise drawn foul
spirits, sapping the man’s strength.

The wounded were taken to a room off the hall while the dead had been brought to a

room off the cellars, separate from the dead Kemeran guards. Breyre was concerned they
would have to burn the bodies before they started to smell, risking disease and vermin. But he
would wait, hoping for a way to bring the fallen home for a proper burial. He wanted to give
them that honour. Raven stayed away, keeping busy with the living.

He washed his hands and face in a bucket, watching the water turn red and black with

blood and ash. If he stayed still a moment longer the enormity of what they had just done
would all come over him, he knew. But he didn’t dare wait for it. Breyre still needed him.

He went to see to the envoy’s company, what was left of it. The man was grateful beyond

words and gave Raven his name in thanks—Heliendor. He sipped his water slowly and gave
his food to the two women in his company, but spoke very little. Raven suspected he had been
a fine sight upon his arrival in the city, but now his clothes were torn and dirty, and his hair a
tangled, lank mess of what had probably been beautiful, bright auburn curls.

A call from a warrior on guard had them all looking up, and Raven saw a large hawk

landing and changing shape in front of the Esker. He excused himself and hurried into the
yard to hear the word.

“We are regrouping a bit further east but can be here quickly if needed,” the man was

saying as Raven reached them.

“What about Elekin?” he asked, unable to stop himself.
The messenger blinked at the interruption, glancing between Breyre and Raven. “The

Merender is alive and well, considering. He assures that he can come here if he’s called.”

Breyre nodded. “Not at this time. Stand by for now, but be prepared to advance on the

city if I send word.”

The messenger nodded and took flight again.
Breyre stood a moment in thought. “We are inside the city and vulnerable if they decide

to retaliate. What could possibly be holding them back?”

“Esker, if I may?” Heliendor said, having followed Raven into the yard, and they all

turned to him. Eckien laid a cautioning hand on the axe in his belt to advise the man to choose
his words well. Heliendor’s eyes flickered briefly to Eckien in acknowledgement. “I believe
they are waiting for you. The Queen must know by now that Chatrina is your prisoner. She
can’t make a move without endangering her most trusted confidante.”

“Her puppeteer, you mean,” Breyre sneered.
“That too,” Heliendor murmured. “But she is not completely without will or power,” he

added meaningfully. “With this as leverage I think now would be the time to start your own
negotiations.”

Breyre clearly considered this. “What do you propose?” he said slowly.
“A man sent to the Queen with word that nothing will befall Chatrina, nor will she be

released, until the Queen has agreed to your demands.”

“My demands?” Breyre asked with a broken-off laugh. Eckien shifted beside him. “I

hardly think the old woman will agree to have herself hanged off the nearest wall, or see
Chatrina lose her head to my sword.”

Heliendor licked his lips, unsure now. “That’s not what I had in mind. But you could

demand the Queen open negotiations for a truce, the withdrawal of their soldiers from the
Eyrde border, with the end goal being to reopen trade.” He looked earnestly at the Esker.

“The very same things our Council wanted in the first place,” Breyre growled.
Heliendor nodded. “You have the power at this moment to have many of your wishes

met.”

“The safe return of my men beyond the border.”
“And that. I dare say she would be relieved to see you go.”
Eckien snorted and even Breyre’s lips twitched. “Esker,” Eckien said. “She can’t know

how many of us are in the city, or outside her walls. The man’s right. You have the
advantage.”

Breyre pursed his lips. “We need to discuss this, and other questions besides,” he

admitted. “Bring refreshments to the sitting room off the hall.”

Eckien sent a man off and showed Heliendor inside.
Breyre turned to Raven before he followed, and his gaze held both longing and

weariness. Raven wished there was time to ease both.

~*~

He didn’t know what they talked about, but he saw the effects of it as men came and

went through the doors of Chatrina’s mansion all day. Two men rode off at a gallop towards
the castle, and two more took wing and flew out of the city. The midday meal came and went,
and Raven waited anxiously for the outcome.

It arrived in the afternoon in the shape of one of the Queen’s men. Breyre was summoned

and he came into the yard flanked by Eckien and Heliendor, as well as three of the captains,
the large Antouen among them. The Esker was out to make an impression. They had all
cleaned up during the long day, and Heliendor given new clothes and a clasp for his hair.

The man dismounted and eyed the Eyrders warily. “The Queen sends word, my lords,”

he said, and bowed stiffly at the waist. He held out a scroll of paper and Eckien reached to
take it, startling the man.

Breyre ignored the paper. “And what does she say?” he asked mock-pleasantly.
The messenger fidgeted with a button of his jacket, then caught himself. “You are invited

to an audience at the castle. The Queen is most graciously awaiting your arrival.” He made a
sweeping gesture towards the gates.

“I’m sure.” Breyre looked down his nose at the man, then turned to go back inside.
“M-my lord?” the messenger stuttered.
Breyre paused. “Tell the woman she’ll have to wait. I’m not done here yet.”
Eckien smirked while Heliendor was more tactful in his reaction.
“But, she—the—” The man stopped himself abruptly and bowed again. Without another

word he mounted and was let out by the warriors at the gates.

Eckien snorted out a laugh. “Very amusing, Esker.”
“But perhaps not very wise,” Heliendor said. “Are you sure you should play games at

this point?”

Breyre scowled at the envoy. “Games were all they played when I came to negotiate all

those years ago. They held me prisoner while they killed my kin. They can damn well wait for
me now.” He stalked back inside.

Raven wanted to go after him but was unsure what he could do. He’d never seen Breyre

in such a temper before. “I wish Myche was here.”

“Give him some time, lad,” Eckien murmured. “He’s having a difficult time of it, being

back here.”

“So tell him to leave.”
The big man frowned at Raven. “I won’t. And he can’t, not yet. It’s still too precarious a

situation.” He grimaced. “I’ll have a room set up for you two tonight and you go to him,
Raven. He has a need of your comfort.”

Eckien had to convince Breyre to rest. Even offered the comforts of a warm meal and a

small but soft bed, he still protested—his men had no such luxury, so why should he—until
Eckien pushed Raven towards him, and told him in no uncertain terms to shut up and enjoy it
while it lasted. Breyre relented with a sigh.

He sat now in a chair at the room’s small table, elbows on his knees and head in his

hands. Raven quietly put their supper out and waited for Breyre to look up. And waited and
began to worry that the fight with Chatrina had done something to him after all.

“Breyre,” he said, and gently touched his shoulder.
“Ah, Raven,” Breyre mumbled behind his hands. “I’m so tired.”
Relieved it was nothing worse, Raven urged him to sit back. “Then eat and get some rest.

Eckien is right. You can’t play these games if you’re asleep on your feet.”

Breyre looked up finally, scrutinizing Raven’s face. “You’re running his errands now?”

he asked with a twist to his lips.

“No, I’m agreeing to the wisdom of his words, and seeing to the welfare of the Esker.”

Raven pushed the plate a bit closer. “This time they happen to be the same.”

Breyre sighed, pulling at the lacings of his jacket. “I’m surrounded by people thinking for

me,” he muttered. “I wish Myche was here.”

Raven smiled. “Funny, I said the same thing before.”
Breyre stilled. “I know they are well, but I feel like I won’t be sure until I see it for

myself.”

“I know. But you can’t leave yet, Eckien said, and Myche is better kept out there for

now.” He pulled up his chair and sat down, but supper didn’t look very tempting. “I think I’m
too tired to eat.”

“Then let’s go to bed.” Breyre stood and took off his jacket. “There’s nothing here that

won’t keep ‘til morning.”

Raven agreed and laid the food back in the pot and jars. He made use of the washbasin

someone had thought to put in there, but it was hardly enough to clean off more than a day’s
worth of sweat and grime. Washing up in the trough in the yard earlier hadn’t helped as much
as he would have liked.

Breyre was already under the covers and pulled him close when he lay down.
“I still smell, I’m sorry.”
“No need,” Breyre murmured, rubbing his nose in Raven’s hair. “I’ll make sure you can

use the baths in the morning. Just let me hold you tonight.”

Raven was quite happy to be held and soon enough he was drifting off to sleep.
And woke some time later to Breyre moving restlessly in a nightmare. Raven carefully

reached out and whispered his name. Breyre came awake instantly, his eyes wide and stark in
the poor light of the lamp.

“Breyre,” Raven murmured. “You’re safe. I’m here.”
Breyre let out a shuddering breath and rubbed both hands over his face. “So was she,” he

said hoarsely, and Raven didn’t need to ask who.

But now was the time to ask, “What happened today?”
Breyre stilled, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. At first it seemed he wouldn’t answer, but

then he did. “I went to confront her. I sent the men away at the stairs and fought on, because I
knew she would be able to capture them like she had me once.” He showed a brief flash of
teeth. “She was… she laughed at me, welcomed me back like a lost pup. If I could have I
would’ve run her through with my sword. I tried, but within feet of her I couldn’t move. Like
my muscles and joints had frozen.”

He lapsed into silence. Raven flexed his fingers around his arm and Breyre pulled a

shaky breath.

“I don’t know what her magic is, but it’s terrifying. She could make me kneel and call

my avatar with a few words. If she had succeeded—if I had changed, she would have trapped
me again. I came so close to killing myself,” he ended in a whisper.

Raven moved closer, pressing his body to Breyre’s. “I would have freed you!” he said

vehemently. “I would have come and beat her again, and freed you. Don’t—please don’t
leave me to grieve for you until you know all hope is lost.”

Breyre finally looked at him, and what he saw made him frown in concern and hold

Raven close. “I promise.” He found Raven’s lips with his own and they both took comfort in
the intimacy of it.

Breyre just held him for a while, his nose buried in Raven’s hair, and the familiar gesture

seemed to comfort him too. Finally he asked, “It was you who saved me, wasn’t it? What did
you do?”

So Raven told him of the cavern and the trapped magic, and was secretly pleased both at

Breyre’s amazement at his accomplishment, as well as at his concern at the mention of
Kierner and the moment of close danger.

His arms tightened around Raven. “Next time I’ll have you tied to a tree,” he muttered.
“And who will come rescue you then?”
But Breyre didn’t laugh or smile. “None of it would have meant anything to me if you

had died.”

Stunned, Raven wondered how anyone could put such value in him. “We’ll both have to

be careful, then.”

Breyre agreed with one more kiss.

~*~

Chatrina had remained unconscious since Raven had freed the magic in the stone pillars,

but as morning arrived Eckien knocked on their door to let Breyre know she was stirring. Half
curious and half afraid, Raven went with them when the Eyrders went to see about their
captive.

Chatrina was still not wholly coherent, but whatever had happened to break her hold over

Breyre had taken its toll. Her hair was streaked grey, her face and hands wrinkled as if with
age. Her beauty, though cold and calculating as it had been, was gone.

“Of an age with the Queen,” Breyre murmured when he saw her. “She’s shown her true

face now, after all these years.”

Her face may have changed, but her eyes, when she finally opened them, were still full of

hate and anger, and as piercing as they had ever been. “What have you done to me!” she
screamed when she saw Breyre and Raven in the doorway of the small servant’s room where
she was kept. “I will kill you, you filthy beasts,” she hissed.

“Be quiet, witch,” Breyre said sharply. “You should value each day you still live.”
She showed her teeth in a sneer and clambered out of her bed, hands held curled before

her chest. “I remember how easily you were commanded, Breyre of the Beast Men. How
easily I conquered your will. I’ll do it again.”

Small lights began to show at the tips of her fingers. Breyre didn’t seem to notice, but

Raven did, and he yanked Breyre out of the way as Chatrina lashed her hands out. Chips flew
from the wall where her magic hit.

Breyre cursed. The two warriors guarding her did. “She has magic still!”
Chatrina cackled and lashed out again.
Raven didn’t pause to think. He jumped in front of Breyre and threw his hands up. Her

magic bounced against his palms. It felt like she’d thrown nothing more than pebbles at him.
Chatrina must have been as surprised as he, for she stood staring when he lowered his hands.

Breyre yanked Raven out of the room, and the warriors slammed and bolted the door.

“Don’t do that!” Breyre shook him by the shoulders.

Raven was still too stunned to speak.
“Esker, I think this is too much for us to handle, even with the... uh, Outlander’s help.”

The warrior glanced at Raven, a small flush of colour making the old scar on the side of his
face stand out in white relief. The other warrior stood with his sword raised and his free hand
pressed hard against the door, as if that would stop Chatrina. But if this was all that was left of
her magic, maybe it would.

Breyre straightened, his hands still on Raven’s shoulders. “I agree. We need the

Merender. Have a messenger sent for him.”

After that two men were set to follow Raven around, as if Breyre suddenly didn’t trust

him not to do something foolish. Raven resented the presumption but didn’t want to argue

with Breyre. He had enough concerns and Raven didn’t want to add to them. The men stayed
until Elekin rode through the gates at midday, accompanied by a dozen warriors.

“Meuri be blessed, lad, I’m glad to see you!” His hug was brief but heartfelt. “So where

is the Esker? I hear he has some work for me.”

“He does. I’m glad to see you well. We were so worried. And I have so much to tell

you.”

Elekin laughed. “I see. All in good time, here comes the Esker now.”
Breyre clasped Elekin’s forearms in greeting. “I’m much relieved to see you well,

Merender.”

“And I, but it was a close call for a while.” He grimaced a bit.
“I heard,” Breyre murmured, giving him a sympathetic nod. “You came unharmed

through the city?”

“Yes, strangely, it seems, the soldiers were to let us pass.” He gave the Esker a

questioning look. “What hold do you have over them to make this happen?”

Breyre shifted where he stood, seeming uncomfortable with the Merender’s scrutiny.

“Perhaps a greater one than we thought. I have a serious matter I need your help with, and not
much time,” he said. The Merender followed when he led the way inside.

Raven barely hesitated a moment before falling into step with them, ignoring Breyre’s

cautioning glance.

Chatrina should have been either honoured or intimidated at the gathering of warriors

that showed up at her door with the Esker, the Merender, and Raven, but of course she wasn’t.
“I demand to see Kierner, and to be brought sustenance,” she said haughtily.

She hadn’t found out Kierner was dead, Raven realized. What else was there she didn’t

know, and how come she didn’t?

“And let you regain your strength?” Breyre sneered at her. “I think not.”
Elekin gave him an unreadable look. “This is what you need my help for?”
“Merender, may I introduce Chatrina, councillor and confidante of the Queen.”
“Ah,” was all Elekin said. He stood for a long moment and just looked at her, Chatrina’s

age-thinned lips pulled back in a sneer. “I need time alone with her,” he said finally. Breyre
and the warriors readily moved outside. “You too, lad,” Elekin said over his shoulder. “I think
this will not be pleasant and I don’t wish to scare you.”

“But—”
“Raven,” Breyre murmured. “Come. You can wait outside.” Not particularly pleased,

Raven stepped out. Breyre had four men set to guard the room, then turned to him. “No matter
what you hear, you will not go in there, understand? The Merender knows his business. Let
him work.”

Raven didn’t appreciate being told or treated—again—in this manner but wouldn’t argue

in front of the Esker’s men. Breyre left with a last cautioning glance at the warriors, one of
them nodding in acknowledgement to the silent order. Raven resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Not a sound was heard from the other side of the door, not a breath or a shifting of

bodies. Finally Raven had to sit, his back to the wall. The warriors said nothing, hands resting
near their weapons and eyes flicking warily to the door. Raven wondered if they would be
able to fight Chatrina at all should she decide to make a run for it.

Eventually the door slowly opened and they all jumped to attention. But it was only

Elekin, looking weary. Or sad. Raven got to his feet and glimpsed Chatrina in the room,
curled on the bed and staring with wide eyes at the Merender’s back.

Elekin held up a hand to forestall any questions. “She’s—” He broke off and shook his

head. “Guard her,” he told the warriors, “but don’t be afraid. She can’t hurt you unless you
allow her. Come, Raven. I need a breath of clean air.”

They found their way to the very same garden where Raven and Myche had spent so

much time by the fountain, and Elekin bent and scooped up handfuls of water to wash his
face. Raven waited patiently while his friend collected himself.

Finally Elekin sat down on the rim of the fountain and said, “She is so ugly.”
Raven blinked before he realized Elekin probably didn’t mean her appearance.
“She’s had a gift bestowed upon her and twisted it to horror with her greed and thirst.

And now that she doesn’t have it, or can’t reach it, she’s angry and sulking like a child.”

Raven sat down beside him. “What do you mean?”
“She’s not unlike you or I, Raven. The very core of her magic is her own. I wonder what

it would have been like had she not sullied it this way. But she… found something. It’s
unclear. She hardly remembers it, or has chosen to forget how she was before. But I think I
know what she found and it terrifies me that an Outlander could ever do such things to the
magic of our world.”

“The Father’s Root.”
Elekin looked sharply at him. “How did you know?”
“We found it, down in the cellars.” And then he had to retell the events of the previous

day again.

The Merender was wide-eyed and pale at the end. “Meuri’s heart,” he whispered. “Show

me this place!”

Raven hadn’t been down there since the battle and was surprised at what he sensed as

they stepped into the cavern. “But I thought it had left,” he exclaimed. The tingle of magic
was in the very air.

“It did,” Elekin said, walking slowly out among the rubble and damage. “What is still

here belongs in this place. It’s been here for all eternity. I don’t know how but she trapped it,
like you guessed, in these pillars, and somehow pulled the magic of the Father’s Root all the
way here.” He crouched and touched the shards of a pillar. “Mingling of two such powerful
magics, and then her own. No wonder she turned into what she has become.”

“So what she can still do now—that’s her own magic?”
“Yes. Her link with this place is broken, thanks to you.”
“I had help.”
Elekin smiled softly. “Such modesty.” But his face was still troubled when they went

back outside.

Breyre was relieved to hear Chatrina was virtually powerless. “She has done enough

harm.” He looked at Elekin. “May I ask you to see to my warriors? Raven has done a fine job
of caring for them, but some of them needs more healing than he’s capable of, and the dead
would….” He paused briefly, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “They need your blessings,
Merender.”

Elekin nodded, bowing his head in acknowledgement of the Esker, patted Raven on the

shoulder, and then let a warrior escort him away to see to his tasks.

Breyre stood for a moment, looking at nothing. Then he gestured to Heliendor, standing a

few steps away, respectfully waiting his turn. “Are you ready to see the Queen? I believe she
won’t be pleased at this last bit of news.”

Heliendor nodded, coming forward. “I’m as prepared as I can be, but resolute. Is it time,

Esker?”

Breyre looked grim. “It is.”
Heliendor, decked out in rich splendour and accompanied by his own captain and fifteen

armoured and armed warriors, rode off within the hour to see the Queen, unannounced.

“I thought you would go,” Raven said to Breyre.
“No. I could, but we agreed Heliendor should continue what he started, and I stay here as

the power behind him. She probably doesn’t remember me anyway.”

Raven frowned but hesitated to ask.
Breyre met his eyes. “Fifteen years,” he said quietly. “That’s how long she held me

captive.”

Raven stared. “I wonder that you can walk in here and not tear it all down.”
Breyre’s lips pulled crooked, mirthlessly. “It’s a struggle, but I need only to look at you

to remember why I do it.”

~*~

Looking closely enough, the tension became visible in Breyre’s body as the day wore on.

There was no word from Heliendor and no call to arms, but Raven wondered if Breyre and his
warriors wouldn’t have welcomed a reason to do some violence. The tension weighed heavily
on all their shoulders.

Finally Breyre couldn’t stand it, and yanking off his jacket, he stalked out into the yard

where many of his men spent their time in the cool afternoon. “Any man willing may cross
blades with me. I have energy to spend,” he called, and a great many heads came up.

Raven took a place to the side and watched in fascination as Breyre dealt first with one

man, then another, holding his blows just shy of bruising. He truly was a superb swordsman.

Elekin, obviously having taken advantage of the baths after seeing to the men—dead and

alive—joined Raven as a third warrior saluted the Esker. “He is quite handsome,” he
murmured, seeming in better spirits and wringing his still damp hair into a long tail down his
chest. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a younger man. Had you not snatched him,
I’d have been tempted.”

Raven frowned, feeling strangely possessive.
Elekin laughed when he noticed his expression, not offended at all. “Don’t worry, lad.

I’m more than thrice his age. He’d hardly look at me.”

Raven wasn’t so sure. He had noticed a few of the warriors give the Merender

appreciative glances from time to time, and some of them were younger than Breyre.
Glancing at Elekin’s high cheekbones and sensual mouth, his long hair and narrow hips,
Raven thought Breyre might just have said yes.

“Ah, well now, this will be interesting.”
Elekin’s words caught Raven’s attention and he turned to see Eckien walking out to cross

blades with his brother. With Eckien possessing more muscle and a number of years of
experience over the Esker, Raven was surprised and proud that Breyre managed as well as he
did, only admitting defeat after a drawn-out match that ended with Eckien knocking his
brother to the ground with a nasty-looking blow.

“Hmm,” Elekin murmured, as he watched the two men shake hands and congratulate

each other on a match well fought. “Perhaps the Esker’s brother….”

“I think he has intentions toward someone already,” Raven said without thinking.
“Oh?” Elekin raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “You’re not trying for a matched set, are

you?”

Raven coloured hotly. “Never! Not him!” He shuddered at the thought of constantly

having to deal with Eckien. Then felt his ears heating even more as his thoughts went to the
matters of nightly dealings. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

Elekin gave him a speculative look. “Who, then? Someone you know to have been able

to observe this.” He looked out across the yard at Eckien, eyes narrowed. “Ah. Of course.
That is a good match too.”

“What? How did—you can… see it?”
“It’s my secret to keep how I do some things, lad. Don’t spoil my fun.”

Raven pouted at the Merender’s laugh but quickly forgot to be offended as he noticed

Breyre heading his way. There was a certain gleam in his eyes.

He crowded Raven against the wall of the yard and leaned down for a kiss. “I would have

you right here,” he breathed in Raven’s ear.

“But everyone can see!” The heady scent of Breyre’s sweat filled his nose, his heated

body pushing against Raven’s. He was very conscious of Elekin edging away.

“They wouldn’t look.”
“Yes they would,” Raven insisted. He’d learned some things about the Eyrders’ sense of

propriety.

“Yes, they would,” Breyre agreed, and teased his tongue around the pin of Raven’s

earring.

“Best take him somewhere private, Esker,” Elekin suggested, coming to his rescue.
Breyre flashed the Merender a smile and did just that. Their small bed finally saw the

passion they hadn’t been in the mood for last night, and Raven was sweaty and limp by the
time Breyre was at last spent.

“I wonder if I will ever reach your age if this keeps up,” Raven said, delicately sliding his

fingers through the cooling mess on his skin.

“Are you calling me old, little bird?” Breyre growled playfully, leaning over him.
“Surely not. Not as long as you can do this to me and still have breath to speak.”
“I’ll show you!” Breyre pounced, and it was a wonder the guards didn’t come running at

the shrieks and shrill laughter.

~*~

Heliendor returned just before nightfall and he looked weary. Breyre gave him a moment

to freshen up and have a few bites of his supper, before he demanded to know how things had
gone.

“She was outraged, of course,” Heliendor reported with a small, satisfied smile, looking

at the men gathered around the table. “That we dared set foot in her city in this manner. It
took quite a while to calm her down. I think she is quickly losing face with her councillors.”

“She’s old. They would look to replace her with her daughter.”
“That one is not much better,” Heliendor said, prodding at his food. “She’s as arrogant as

her mother, but in some ways sensible with it, as strange as that may sound.”

Breyre grunted. “I never met her.”
Heliendor’s head came up and he looked like he’d forgotten Breyre had been there before

him. “Of course,” he murmured.

“So where do we stand now?” Breyre wanted to know.
The envoy shrugged. “For now she looks at us like small children who’ve played a

naughty prank. A few of her councillors feel otherwise, I know. However, none of them dare
make a move without Chatrina, and it seems the Queen has managed to keep the exact details
of her situation from them.” He glanced at Eckien, then Raven, before he continued. “She
would be weak now, without Chatrina and no other strong confidante to lean on. Now is the
time to make your demands and see them come true. But I have to be honest with you, Esker.
Negotiations of this magnitude are beyond me. You, or members of our own Council, should
sit in with me.”

Breyre’s eyes narrowed. “You admit your faults so willingly?”
Heliendor grimaced. “I never denied them. My father brought this feud too high, is my

opinion. He wanted through me what he couldn’t have for himself and it has turned out most
disastrously.”

Breyre said nothing.

Eckien glanced at his brother then turned them back to the previous subject. “He’s right,

someone should join him in the negotiations. If not you, Brother, then we should send a
messenger to Seirk.”

“Need I remind you Seirk doesn’t look kindly at me right now?” He gestured at

Heliendor. “But you are welcome to the aid of my men. I have several swift messengers.”

“The Council are fools,” Heliendor looked incredulously at Breyre, then at Eckien, who

nodded. “I’ll let them know what you have done here, and for me personally, Esker. This
matter does not end in Seirk.” He thumped his fist against the table, reminding all that he too
had power to his name.

Breyre bowed stiffly where he sat, but he seemed unimpressed.
“Right. I’ll have messengers ready at first light,” Eckien said, and nodded at the envoy

before he left.

Breyre sat deep in thought and Heliendor took the chance to eat some more. Raven

studied him out of the corner of his eye. He was thin, perhaps thinner than he’d been before
his captivity. But other than that, it was hard to tell how badly he had suffered from the recent
ordeal. Raven wondered if he had nightmares the way Breyre did.

Heliendor noticed him looking. “I must say, it’s unusual to have an Outlander sit at our

table.” He didn’t sound hostile or scornful, but Breyre frowned, brought out of his thoughts.

“He is as loyal to me, and as trusted, as my brother or my manservant. An insult to him is

an insult to me.”

Heliendor nodded. “Just so I know.” He raised his glass to the Esker in an appeasing

gesture. “I thought he was rather more than that, though.”

Breyre’s eyes narrowed again. “You were right.”
It was like Eckien all over again. Raven shifted uneasily and inadvertently drew the

attentions of both men.

“Well,” Breyre said, and pushed his chair back. “I won’t keep you from your meal. And I

dare say your own… companion… would like you in her bed before long.”

Heliendor looked taken aback but managed a nod. “Esker.”
Breyre smiled as he led Raven out.
“He has a lover?” Raven whispered when they were safely some ways down the hall.
“Yes, most definitely one of the women of his company. If I’m not mistaken he’ll be a

father too in a season’s time.”

“Oh.” Raven had to think about that. “How do you know?”
Breyre gave him a secretive look. “I shall not tell you, but I have my ways.”
“You and Elekin both,” Raven muttered, put upon.
Breyre only laughed.

~*~

The city slowly returned to its usual rhythm except that its people found reasons to stand

outside the gates of the mansion, gawking or cursing at the intruders. When Heliendor, with
Breyre’s permission as a way to show their good faith, agreed to release the bodies of the
dead city guards and Chatrina’s men for their families to bury, the crowd got so riled up that
Breyre had to send out his warriors to push the growing mob back. Strangely, the bodies of
the men that had dried up like Kierner had, were left unclaimed by any family, and the
Eyrders put them back in the secluded storeroom. Elekin didn’t think their dried corpses
would rot any time soon.

Apparently, the Queen saw no reason to help the Eyrders protect the mansion, or even

keep her subjects away. “She wouldn’t want to be seen aiding an enemy,” Heliendor said.

“Her situation is precarious enough as it is. The people must be wondering why we are even
allowed to stay.”

Raven was wondering that too. Maybe Chatrina was more valuable to the Queen than

they had first thought.

For several days running the mansion was a hive of activity. Messengers came and went

from Seirk, some arriving before either the envoy’s or the Esker’s messages could possibly
have reached their destinations. Raven saw very little of Breyre during the day. Word came
that two members of the Council had quickly agreed to come south, but they would set up
camp a mile outside the city, much to Breyre’s ire.

“Your men at Ravensborn Pass either need to go back across the border, or camp more

openly. With them still in hiding the Queen could claim we are planning something outside
the negotiations,” Heliendor said, recently returned from the castle again.

“They know of my men there?” Breyre frowned in concern.
“They didn’t say it in so many words, but I think it would be best if they set up camp

elsewhere. Just in case.”

Raven had quickly realized just how tedious political discussions could be, and claimed

he was tired or had some task to see to when they began again. Slipping out with a glance at
Breyre he breathed a silent sigh of relief when he wasn’t called back.

He went in search of Elekin and a helpful warrior pointed him to the stables. As he

stepped inside he saw a group of warriors standing at the stalls of Chatrina’s gift horses, the
white ones Lord Deucin had given her. The Eyrders seemed impressed by the animals, giving
them appraising looks. He heard them wonder what they could be worth, or if the Esker
would claim them for himself. Raven thought Breyre would just as well leave them here.

He found Elekin in one of the stalls. The Merender was tending to a horse that had come

back limping from the last messenger run.

“Ah, Raven. How are you this evening?”
“Fine. It’s just getting to be a bit much, that’s all.” He leaned against the stall door and

watched the Merender treat the horse. It seemed appreciative of the attention, ears splayed and
lower lip hanging.

“Yes, I’m not one for politics either. Too many traps. And it gets rather boring.”
“I was thinking about Chatrina.”
Elekin looked up. “How so? Is the Esker asking about her?”
“No. He hardly mentions her at all. I meant, I’m… curious, I guess.”
Elekin straightened with a frown on his face. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to see her,

Raven. You should put her out of your mind.”

Raven shrugged. “I don’t want to see her. It’s more her magic.”
“Hm. Well, I can’t fault you for being curious about that.” He stepped out and closed the

stall. “Come, I need to wash my hands.”

He pulled a bucket out of the well and Raven waited while he cleaned up. “As you know

I can’t say much about your magic, and it turns out I can’t do more than guess about hers
either.”

“How come?”
“It’s been so changed and twisted with her greed and what she did with the magic she

trapped, but in flavour it is like a mix between my own and a bit like yours.”

“Magic has flavours?”
Elekin chuckled at Raven’s sceptical tone. “Well, not like a taste on your tongue, of

course. It was more an expression, but it’s not a bad analogy either.” He shrugged. “Anyway,
she was able to do quite a lot of what I do, and since she could sense the magic in the earth
and the Father’s Root, I suspect she had, or learned, the use of a magic similar to yours.”

“What happened to her to make her look the way she does now?”

“I believe when she was stripped of her magic she aged. Remember Breyre said she was

the one to betray him all those years ago? Having magic of her own she would age more
slowly than her peers, but not remain young as I gather she seemed to be, from how you have
described her. I believe her twisted magics kept her that way, but as you destroyed the pillars,
she lost that power.”

Raven frowned in thought. “Could she do this to someone other than herself?”
Elekin gave him a sharp look. “What do you have in mind?”
“Maybe…. I think Kierner was like her—she kept him young too.”
“I never met this man.”
“He died when we destroyed the pillars. Like some of the guards did.”
Elekin held his gaze. “She might have kept them all from ageing,” he said slowly,

seeming very troubled by this. “They would have benefited from Chatrina’s strange magic
while they were alive. She aged when you freed it, but having no magic of their own they died
from the backlash.”

“She kept them alive with the Father’s Root? But why?” Raven had thought Chatrina too

greedy to share any of it, and certainly not with lowly guards.

“Maybe as a reward?” Elekin mused. “Or to make certain the men stayed loyal to her?”
Raven pondered this. “She aged, and they died.” He felt Elekin’s eyes on him, expectant

but patient. It scared Raven, what was forming in his mind, that he could think such thoughts.
“What if she bound them with her magic, like she did Breyre?” he began hesitantly. “Then
channelled the magic through them and into her?”

Elekin frowned. After a moment he said, “It would make sense, I suppose. All that power

fed straight into her could have killed her rather than prolonged her life. But tempered through
a string of bodies….” He trailed off. “It must have extended their lives as well, and would
explain why they have no family to claim them. I suspect what remains is closer to their true
age than what they looked like in life.”

“Like Chatrina herself.”
Elekin nodded. “Her manner of use of such strong and pure magic scares me. I wonder

what other damage she caused.” He shook his head. “Whichever the reason, she can’t be
allowed to regain her powers.”

Raven agreed wholeheartedly with that. “How do we stop her from doing that?”
Elekin glanced around as if to see if someone was listening. “There are ways to disrupt

magic. Of course, keeping her from physically touching the pillars is the most basic of ways,
but also the most efficient.”

Raven was reminded of something. “When I first came here Myche said that whenever I

spoke out loud I had to be careful of what I said or she might hear me and take issue, and that
water was a good protection against her magic.”

“Yes, and he was probably right. Water disrupts some of my magic as well. I wonder

where he learned that.”

Raven had no idea. “Do you think the Queen knows of Chatrina’s magic?”
“Perhaps, or maybe the Queen saw a powerful woman and that was enough to grant her

the Queen’s ear. After that, it would have been easy for Chatrina to bend the Queen to her
will. Either way, they have both made themselves guilty of a great crime against us, not least
when they imprisoned the Esker. Chatrina’s powers will be a secret no more once the charges
are brought up by our Council.”

“They will do that now?” For Breyre’s sake Raven hoped so.
“They must, sooner or later. It is the first reason Breyre went to fight after all.”
“I hope they won’t hold it against him. I know he just wants to go home after all this is

done.”

Elekin laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Me too, lad. We’ll help him sort it out.

There’s time yet.”

The Merender’s answer to everything—time.

~*~

Heliendor spent any number of hours at the Castle, more to stall and keep them busy with

lesser issues than anything else, Breyre said, while they waited for the Eyrde council members
to arrive. In a week’s time they received word that they and a few Maresals were now camped
a mile outside the city. Breyre himself made ready to ride out and greet them.

“Is this wise, Esker?” Heliendor asked, a furrow between his eyebrows.
“Yes. I must show the Council proper respect, in any event. The Queen won’t dare do

anything. I leave plenty of warriors with you and she can’t risk an attack with a force outside
the walls.” He mounted and Eckien, who would go with him, much to Raven’s relief, gestured
at the Esker’s men to form up. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Raven bit his lip not to call out and stop them. Breyre had told him to stay this time and

even gone so far as to ask Elekin to keep an eye on him.

“They’ll just be discussing politics,” the Merender muttered aside to him. “Boring,

remember?”

“Yes, but….”
“They wouldn’t dare do him any harm. He’s still the Esker of Heiyerborn and quite

respected by the younger generation. Besides, look at all the warriors who’d fight them for
him if they treated him with any less than perfect civility.”

“I guess.” Raven still wasn’t so sure. As long as Kaonir wasn’t one of the Maresals in the

councillors’ camp, Breyre might be able to keep his head.

With nothing much to do but wait, Raven let Elekin distract him, persuaded to do a few

chores and even some light meditation. He was kept busy but was still conscious of time
passing.

Finally midday came and with it Breyre’s return. Raven reached the yard as the company

dismounted and was relieved to see Breyre looked fine, if a bit tired. And he brought another
familiar and longed for face.

“Raven!” Myche came running over, and Raven hardly had time to brace himself before

Myche squeezed him in a tight hug. “I’m so glad to see you! Sweet Meuri, I was so worried
until word came. We had no idea if you had survived the attack or not. Breyre has refused to
say anything yet.”

“Peace, Myche,” Breyre chuckled as he came up to them. “Let Raven breathe, and

myself too. We’ll find a meal and somewhere to sit, let you tell us what happened.”

“Something happened?” Now Raven had a chance he saw Myche had a scabbed-over

gash on his forehead and his jacket was torn but mended along one sleeve.

“Ah, well, I’ll tell you over a meal. Food sounds like a very good idea.”
It turned out the warriors sent to take the city had left the camp at the Pass just in time to

avoid the Queen’s troops coming from the west—the troops she had supposedly sent to
reinforce her camps along the border. They had doubled back behind the Eyrder camp and
attacked well after dark. Myche and the remaining men were warned in the nick of time by
the avatars stationed along the Pass, and had managed to take cover in the caves.

The Queen’s officers had realized the Eyrders had split up and sent more than half their

troops after Breyre and his men. This was a fortunate move for both the Eyrder companies, or
the numbers alone would have seen them defeated.

“We took care of the remaining soldiers,” Myche said, the expression on his face

unreadable as he stared down at his plate. “We didn’t know how your company had fared but

didn’t dare send rangers out in case that would give us away again. Finally the avatars came
back with news that you had entered the city as planned, even with the ambush.” He glanced
at Breyre who nodded but said nothing. “After that we figured we were safe for now, but
made ready to leave at a word from the Esker. Which didn’t come until someone decided they
had the leisure,” he sent Breyre another look, “and that word was to stay hidden, which was
getting really boring and sort of a moot point.”

“How did they know, do you think? That we were in the Pass?”
“Hells, lad, I have no idea. They could’ve spotted any one of us coming, and if they were

clever enough about avoiding us we wouldn’t have known they were there. We’re not
infallible.”

“Or whoever the Queen’s contact is knew and told them,” Breyre said, scowling at the

thought that the spy was still among the Eyrders.

“But wouldn’t that mean it’s someone among your own men, Master? Who else knew of

your plans in that level of detail?”

This seemed to make Breyre even more uncomfortable. “I wish most dearly this isn’t so.”
Raven hesitated, glanced at Breyre, then said, “Or Chatrina knew.”
Breyre’s head came up. “What makes you say that?”
He told them of his and Elekin’s conversation about her magic. “Maybe, if we’re right,

she could sense us—or me, even—in the caves. At the Father’s Root.”

“Like you sensed something, that vision you had.”
Raven shrugged. “Maybe. It’s a theory.”
“But a good one.” Breyre seemed almost relieved to have the blame back where it

belonged, and not among his own kin. Not again. “This deceit, the movement of troops and
ambushes—it’s just what I would think her capable of.”

“But it failed,” Myche said. “Why did she send all the soldiers out if they knew we were

coming?”

“Maybe she was too arrogant, thinking she could take us on by herself.”
“And the Queen would let her, if she was that powerful,” Raven said quietly.
“It would certainly explain why the Queen has been waiting all this time instead of

forcing us out. She doesn’t want to risk her most powerful confidante.” Breyre rose and began
pacing.

Myche watched him for a moment. “Anyway, we heard the council members were on

their way and decided to join up with them. That’s where your second messenger found us, to
tell us to stop hiding. I feel so undervalued sometimes,” he said, making a dramatic gesture.

Breyre shot him an annoyed look. “We’ve been quite busy, you know.” Which comment

made Myche threaten to do them harm if they didn’t tell him everything.

It seemed less fantastic the third time around as Raven told of what he and Eckien had

done.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Myche growled at the mention of Kierner. “I saw him do so many

cruel things to the servants, and I could do nothing to help them.” He pushed his plate away
and stood.

“Myche,” Breyre murmured.
“I just need a moment.” He left quickly, and Raven was reminded once against of how

long the two had been held there against their will. It seemed Myche had had a jailer of his
own, like Breyre had.

Breyre sighed and sank back into his chair. “He never complains. How can I help if he

doesn’t tell me?”

“You and him both,” Raven said. “He asked me the same thing concerning you just this

past winter.”

Breyre looked at him for a long moment. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? None of it is your fault either.”
“No, but I needn’t have made it so hard on you both.”
Raven stood and came over. “You didn’t. I decided to be a part of this. You gave me

plenty of chances to leave.”

Breyre took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Why didn’t you?”
Raven thought back. “Because Myche made me his friend. And you kept looking at me,

really looking, like you tried to see me for who I am.”

A strange look passed over Breyre’s face as he drew Raven down into his lap and held

him close. “Your father was a fool for not seeing who you are.”

“Neither did I. But, I think, I’m beginning to.”

~*~

The council members, a man and a woman, arrived at the mansion early the next

morning. They were dressed in colourful robes and escorted by warriors in armour that shone
in the morning sunlight. They demanded the Esker and the envoy show their respects—which
Breyre did with only a stiff bow from the top of the steps, to Eckien’s grim amusement and
Heliendor’s worried frown—and for an escort to guide them to the castle. Heliendor had been
prepared since Breyre had come back the day before and readily mounted his own horse.

“If this goes sour, will you come rescue me?” he muttered to Breyre before they rode off.
Breyre watched them leave, then found a spot to sit in the shadows of the stables. Raven

sat down beside him. “Will we have to, do you think?”

“Hmmm?”
Raven glanced up and saw Breyre’s eyes were closed, head tilted back against the wall.

He’d had nightmares again. “Rescue them?”

“It’s not entirely impossible, but considering how many times Heliendor has come back

it wouldn’t be by any fault of his if we had to.” Which said plenty of what Breyre thought of
the Council.

“Who are they, the man and woman?”
Breyre straightened and pursed his lips. “I think I’ve met her once, can’t remember him,

though. Her name’s Asker, comes from one of the northern Holds. It makes little sense that
she should negotiate since it’s the south that suffers worst.”

“Maybe she’s just a good councillor?” Raven suggested.
Breyre looked at him, lips twitching. “Maybe.”
It was rare for Breyre to sit idle and he took the chance for a nap in the morning shade.

Most stayed away and those who seemed about to come over decided their errand could wait,
convinced by Raven’s forbidding looks.

Eckien came flying in an hour later, a falcon landing gracefully beside him. “Look what I

found circling the chimneys,” Eckien said with a wide smile as he pulled on the robe a man
handed him, another held out for the woman as she changed shape.

Surprised and a bit wary Raven recognized Breyre’s cousin Oleanir. He hadn’t thought

she was one to leave the safety of the Eyrder lands, but clearly he had misjudged her.

“Esker.” She gave a small curtsy and Breyre looked at her in surprise. “Will you not

welcome me?” she asked, eyes twinkling when he didn’t move.

“Meuri’s beard. Oleanir!” Breyre got to his feet and embraced her warmly, nearly lifting

her off her feet. “What are you doing here?”

She had a most contagious laugh. “Oh, I thought a social call was long overdue. I hope

your larder is well stocked—what do you think, you oaf?” She slapped his arm and Raven felt
his eyebrows climb. He hadn’t known they were so free with each other, especially in public.

“We have food, but no dove, I’m afraid.” Breyre’s lips stretched in a wide smile. “I can

have Eckien hunt one down for you if you’d like?”

Eckien snorted, offended. “I’ll take myself off somewhere and let you two get

reacquainted.”

“He still doesn’t like being teased?” Oleanir asked with a smile at the big man’s back as

he stalked away.

“No, not particularly. But what are you doing here?”
“Oh, no, Cousin. First you will do what is proper and invite me in for refreshments. And

I would like to greet Raven, too.” She gestured at Raven where he stood safely out of the way
by the wall.

“Of course,” Breyre said, his lips twitching slightly.
She smiled and came closer. “I’ve heard about your endeavours, young Raven. I think

they were right when they said you needed watching.”

Raven blushed, not sure what she was speaking about, but remembered to bow as he

greeted her. “Eskeri,” he murmured.

Oleanir laughed. “I think I will like this one. Much nicer than some of your other lovers,”

she said to Breyre, who stiffened and cleared his throat.

“Yes, well….”
A shout from across the yard had them all turning. “Oleanir!” Myche came running over,

arms out. He caught her and had no compunctions about lifting her off the ground. “You poor
excuse for a bundle of feathers. It’s good to see you!”

“Myche, you flea-infested sack of fur, put me down!”
Raven felt his eyebrows climb again. This was not the image of the woman he had made

for himself last time he saw her.

She must have noticed his expression because she slapped both her friends’ arms. “Look

what you made me do. Poor Father would have a fit if he knew.”

“Still trying to make you behave like a lady?” Myche laughed.
“Yes, and he would be happy to succeed too.” She gave Raven a mock-suffering sigh. “I

grew up with Myche and five brothers. What is a girl to do?”

“Learn all our tricks and beat us at our own games,” Myche answered.
“As happy as I am, Oleanir, I need to know why you’ve come.” Breyre’s sombre voice

made her smile slip a little.

“Yes. Give me a moment to freshen up, find me something to eat and to wear, and I’ll

tell you everything.”

Even growing up with six boys Oleanir proved she could carry herself gracefully and in a

ladylike fashion. Quite a few of the warriors looked after her, and judging by their bows, she
was not only of status but approved of among the men. Raven wasn’t sure he should follow
them to the room Breyre had made his meeting hall, but Myche drew him along.

“How much have you heard from Eyrde?” Oleanir asked once she had taken a few bites

of her food.

“Nothing. The council members weren’t very forthcoming with their knowledge or their

reasoning,” Breyre said dryly, fingers of one hand around the stem of his glass.

She eyed him across the table. “I’m not sure you quite grasp how you’ve upset the

balance of the Council with this campaign, Breyre.”

“Their sensibilities were not a consideration of mine.” He was frowning now.
She snorted, quite unladylike. “I know. Father had to smooth some ruffled feathers. But

what it ended with was a definite division among the council members. You know there are
those who’ve always thought much the same way you do, and they would have supported you
for a seat in Seirk. They were not very outspoken then, but now?” She waved her fork at him.

“You would have lands of your own if they got their wish, that’s how well thought of you
are.”

Breyre grimaced. “I don’t want lands. So what now? The Council is divided, but will

they have me out or not? I still went against their wishes.”

Oleanir sighed. “You’re not listening. You’re not only welcome back, they—or at least

those who support you—want you to take a High Chair in Seirk.”

Breyre stared. “Ridiculous!”
Myche stifled a laugh and quickly busied himself with Oleanir’s wine when his master

shot him an offended look.

“The vote would be in your favour.” Oleanir ate some more while her cousin sat

speechless.

Raven had never seen Breyre look so stunned. Or so lost.
“I… no,” he finally said. “I don’t want a High Chair or a seat on the Council, or lands.

That’s not why I did this.”

“No, I know. But single-handedly defending our kin, taking this mansion—and

succeeding—”

“It’s not over yet,” he interrupted.
Oleanir gave him a dirty look. “You have succeeded, you know it. Did you really think it

would have no repercussions at home?”

“No! But not like this!” Breyre was on his feet now and Raven felt himself stand too.
“Oh, Cousin,” Oleanir murmured. “Your uncle’s letter came while I was still in Seirk. He

sided with you, you should know. He had no other choice.”

Breyre’s lips thinned and the colour drained from his face. “I need to think about this.

Excuse me.” He left without another word.

Raven stared after him, torn between going after him and letting him have his privacy.

What did Aiendor’s choice truly mean for Heiyerborn? Breyre seemed to think the worst. But
if Oleanir was right the Esker would have support for his cause and even protection once he
came back home. Regardless of the danger to Heiyerborn, Raven was glad Aiendor had sided
with him, putting his family before all else.

Oleanir sighed and pushed her plate away. “He never did anything for his own gain, and

now when they want to repay him….” She looked at Myche.

“They hurt him, you know. He thought they had abandoned him to die here.”
“They had,” she said, but not unkindly. “The opposing faction was in strength at the

time, but I think their treatment of him was the beginning of their fall. The younger generation
has grown in strength and wisdom since then.”

They seemed absorbed in old memories, their eyes on each other yet without seeing.

Raven tried to sneak away to find Breyre.

Oleanir turned to look at him when he moved. “Raven,” she murmured. “Rumours said

you had him tricked somehow, to bring you with him.”

“E-eskeri, no, I—”
She raised a hand. “I know. And I know him. He did that all by himself. Heralds of

change, indeed. You best go find him, or he’ll think himself into a sulk.”

Raven willingly fled her presence.
Breyre didn’t allow himself to be found easily, but Raven was beginning to learn his

ways. “If anyone is to be given lands it should be you,” Breyre muttered as Raven came
closer, carefully stepping around the overturned table and chair in Chatrina’s rooms, the
rumpled rug and the broken lamp.

He hadn’t been up here since that day and it looked so different, as if the rooms were just

rooms when their mistress wasn’t there any more, lifeless and hollow. “I wouldn’t know what
to do with it.” He dared take Breyre’s hand and was relieved when he wasn’t rebuffed.

“I suppose they mean well, but I don’t want a reward for doing something they were too

cowardly to do. I wasn’t even thinking—” He stopped himself.

“I know you did it for revenge,” Raven said quietly. “At least partly. It wasn’t hard to

see.”

Breyre’s fingers tightened around his, but he didn’t look at him. “I was angry. At a lot of

people. But I’m not any more.” He seemed to slump. “Now I just want to go home and live as
I damn well please.”

“Then do that. Let Heliendor and the Council deal with the rest.”
Breyre turned and pulled him into a hug. “You will come with me?” he whispered.
“Yes. And Myche, and Eckien, and anyone else you’d want to ask.”
“No. Just you and Myche,” Breyre murmured.
And Eckien, Raven thought. Eckien needs to come too.

~*~

Of course it wasn’t that simple. The two council members needed to be told, and they

needed to report this development to the rest of the Council in Seirk, along with everything
else they spoke of with the Queen, of which Breyre had very little knowledge. They were
opposed at first. The Esker leaving could be taken for a sign of conflict among the Eyrders,
and the Council wished most diligently not to show any weakness now. They had only
themselves to blame, Breyre said. He was close to bursting by the time word finally came that
relief was on its way.

“They’re sending Savandor to replace you?” Heliendor said with a surprised expression

when he found out.

“Yes, and a large contingent of warriors both from Seirk and Laopnir,” Breyre added.
“Are they trying to say something by that?” Myche asked with a scowl.
“There are warriors coming from all the Holds large enough to supply them without

risking their own safety,” Oleanir added before tempers rose.

“Savandor is an experienced man,” Eckien said from his seat farthest away from her. “I

agree with their reasoning. He’ll have all the men under control, and probably the city as well,
if need be.”

“You have met him?” Heliendor asked.
“I served under him for a time. I dare say he sided with you, Brother. In either case, he’ll

do what is best for our kin.”

Breyre nodded grudgingly. “I think you’re right. I’d rather have a man like him to protect

our borders than some young hothead who’d do it for the honour.”

Myche and Oleanir shared a glance, and even Eckien’s lips twitched.
“And what of Chatrina?” Heliendor’s question had most of them falling quiet.
“In all fairness,” Breyre finally said, “she’s not ours to punish. I believe we had our

vengeance when she lost her magic and her hold over us.” He glanced at Raven. “I need to
speak to the Council, I suppose, but I’d rather not have any more to do with her.”

“Do we dare leave her to the Queen?” Oleanir asked.
Elekin shook his head. “I think not. She lost much of her magic, yes, and the rest is

dwindling even now, but she’s still dangerous in her own right. Chatrina would regain her
power through the Queen, even if it’s no longer of a magical nature, and none of us can afford
that.”

“There are whispers among the court that the Queen will be usurped in favour of her

daughter,” Heliendor said. “I give it a year at most.”

“That will make for precarious negotiations,” Oleanir muttered. “What they agree on

with this queen might not sit well with the next.”

“And you, Esker?” Heliendor wondered.
Breyre looked at Raven. “I’ll be going home. I have matters of some importance to see

to.”

“Ah.” The envoy, along with everyone else, smiled. “I see. Sadly, I might not be able to

be there.”

“I’ll send you a letter and tell you all about it.”

~*~

Raven sat in the shadow of the stables when the message came that Savandor was outside

the city. Breyre decided not to go himself this time, but sent Eckien and Heliendor to greet
and escort the Maresal in. It was a surprisingly quiet affair, the Queen having announced to
her people the Eyrde representative had now been invited, and few people did more than
gawk at the company as it made its way through the city.

Savandor rode through the gates with seventy of his men added to Eckien’s twenty, and

Raven thought they made an imposing sight in full armour and tack. The man himself was not
what Raven had expected, though—tall and whip-thin, with a grim, commanding presence
about him. The left side of his face was scarred after an old injury, the ear nicked and the eye
blinded. He took in the mansion and the yard, and the condition of the warriors saluting him,
in just a glance. Raven supposed this was the kind of man to whom Eckien would give his
respect, but he wasn’t so sure Breyre was happy to do the same, experience or not. The
Maresal made Raven nervous in much the same way Kierner had.

Breyre waited on the steps, Oleanir and Elekin at his side, and Raven and Myche a few

steps behind them, as Savandor dismounted in his own good time. Eckien and Heliendor
followed when he walked over, Eckien glancing between the Esker and the Maresal.

“So.” Savandor stopped two steps below Breyre and looked at him, his face and clothes.

“You’re the Esker who took the city and almost brought us to war.”

“Yes,” Breyre said shortly.
“Well, not half bad for a pup.” He gestured to Eckien. “Your brother has told me a good

deal on our ride in. But I need to hear your side—all of it.”

Raven was spared from that conversation, at least at first, for which he wasn’t sure if he

was grateful or not. Then Savandor found out what he had helped accomplish, and both Raven
and Elekin were sent for.

The Maresal scrutinized him for a long moment with that disconcerting gaze of his, and

Raven fought not to squirm or look away. “Few Outlanders—or indeed Kemerans—would
have done what you did, Raven. I can see why some are suspicious of you.” He rose from his
chair, and to Raven’s dismay, came over to where he had been given a seat. Up close, the man
towered over him. “I was given reason to believe you were not what you have made yourself
out to be, to be wary of you. Your name alone has been a point of great contention—to speak
it with your people’s meaning, or ours?”

In the corner of his eye Raven saw Breyre and Oleanir shift in their seats, and just then

he began to realize this may not be a good situation. He opened his mouth but no words came
out. What was there he could say?

Elekin rose from his seat. “Is the word of a Merender not of value to you, Maresal?” he

said in a very amiable tone. “I have looked at this boy, had him in my tutelage for months,
and never once has he shown me anything to be wary of.”

Savandor turned to the Merender. “Which is why I needed to hear his friends first,

Elekin. Two such diverging stories, I had to make up my own mind.” He went back to his
own seat and Raven felt almost faint with the need to breathe.

“And what have you decided?” Breyre growled. “I will not let you harm him.”

Savandor waved dismissively at the younger man. “Check your tone, Esker. When you

have lived as long as I then you’ve earned the right to demand.”

Breyre gritted his teeth but his gaze did not relent.
“Fear not, you are safe in my presence, young Raven. I understand how these rumours

have come about now that I see you, but find I cannot credit you for all they say.”

Heliendor stood with graceless haste. “Once again I find myself in a situation where

many could have been hurt, and in your words, Maresal, I hear my father.” He looked
unhappily at Raven, then Breyre. “I apologize. I have been an instrument in his movements
against you. I apologize most humbly.” He bowed deeply, his braid falling over his shoulder
to the tabletop.

Raven had no idea what to say. These schemes were beyond him.
But Breyre had no such problems. “You hold no more blame in this matter, Heliendor.

Yes, I too hear your father’s words in what Savandor is saying, but his actions are not your
responsibility. Now or then.” He held his hand out, palm down. “Please, friend. Sit.”

Heliendor’s head snapped up, and there was surprise and a small glimmer of relief on his

face. He sat slowly, eyes on Breyre.

“If we are to begin a new age for our people, let it start here, and let it start with peace.”
“Well spoken, Esker,” Savandor said, his palm to the table.
Oleanir, Myche, and Eckien quickly followed, Elekin and Raven next, though he hardly

understood the gesture.

Heliendor held Breyre’s gaze for a long moment. “I never hoped to be accepted by the

man so wronged by my family’s actions. The word about you was true, Esker. I accept, and
know you have a loyal man also in me.” He placed his palm on the table and it seemed some
tension drained out of the room.

“I also bring word from the Council about you, Esker,” Savandor continued, all eyes

turning to him.

“I refuse to dance by their tune. I have no obligation to them,” Breyre said, his voice tight

as he looked at Savandor. “What are their orders when I refuse?”

Savandor made a non-committal gesture. “None. I believe they already knew you

wouldn’t come.”

Breyre looked alternatively surprised and relieved, as well as slightly insulted.
“What will you do now?” the Maresal asked in turn.
“If Uncle will let me I’d like to return to Heiyerborn. At least there I feel an obligation.”
“I’m sure,” Savandor murmured. He looked at Breyre, speculation in his eyes as he

leaned back in his chair.

Raven sat numbly while the others finished the conversation, a few pleasantries to end a

long day. Did they—the other Eyrders not at this table, men and women he had never met—
truly fear him so much they had sent a warrior to learn his intentions and have him dealt with?
He couldn’t understand what they saw in him.

Breyre came and took his arm as they all left, gently leading him into a garden, and sat

him down in the shade of a tree. “How do you feel?”

“Like… like I just escaped a sword I never knew was there. It’s… how can they hate me

without ever having met me?” he asked, looking at Breyre where he crouched in front of him.

“I don’t know,” Breyre confessed. “The report of your deeds alone should be enough to

ease their fears. But those who argue against you are skilled with words and present in Seirk,
and you are not there to show them how false it is.”

“You are saying I should go there?” He began to sweat just at the thought.
“No,” Breyre assured him. “Your face is lovely enough, but your words would not

suffice against months of falsehood.” He shifted a bit. “But there is one thing you can do to
solidify your position.”

“I don’t have a position, not even a rank,” Raven reminded him.
Breyre’s lips twitched. “To make a position, then.” He sounded as if this was the perfect

solution.

“And what would that be?” He wished Breyre would just spit it out.
Breyre took Raven’s hands between both of his own. “I’ve wanted to ask you, but there’s

never been a good moment, and certainly not in a time of conflict. But I find this can’t wait.”
He rose and pulled Raven with him.

“There is a formal ceremony where you would be officially welcomed into Heiyerborn

and recognized as a member of the Hold. All the people there would bear witness to this. My
uncle would become your Master, as he is to everyone who lives there.” He hesitated for a
moment. “Since I would be the one to invite you, it would make it known to all that I choose
you for my lover, and potentially my future lifemate. You don’t have to,” he said quickly
when Raven’s eyebrows shot up. “We can live long and happily together as lovers if that is all
you ever want.”

“I don’t even know what it means, this ceremony,” Raven said slowly, slightly

overwhelmed.

“It-it means you would become one of us, Raven,” Breyre said, stumbling on the words

as if he was nervous. “Heiyerborn would become your Hold as much as mine, but the claim
would be mutual and only broken if you wanted it yourself.”

Raven hesitated even though he felt deep down he wanted nothing else. Tavanir had once

been part of Heiyerborn, of Breyre’s life, in just this way. But she was not any more, and
Breyre had a right to choose for himself. What would Aiendor say, he wondered.

His continued silence made Breyre frown in concern. He slipped one hand free and

caressed Breyre’s face—brow, cheek, lips. “Yes. I want that very much. My wolf.” He
stepped into Breyre’s arms, and squeaked with the suddenness and strength of the embrace.

“My little bird. Raven. You’ve made me very happy.” Breyre’s voice trembled. His

whole body did, like he had held himself too tightly and now let go.

“Ah, yes,” came a quiet voice, and they broke apart. “That’s a very good match.” Elekin

and Myche came into the garden, both smiling like their faces would split.

“I guess I have to congratulate you,” Myche said, and took Raven into a hug.
“You don’t have to do anything, Myche, but behave,” Breyre said, and sniffed.
Myche quickly pulled him into a hug too, and the two friends stood so for a long

moment, quiet words passing between them.

“I’m pleased for you,” Elekin murmured, and Raven looked at him. “I’ve seen you two

grow close. I have hoped for this since I met you. Our Esker will be a very strong man for
having you by his side.”

“I’m still not going to Seirk, Elekin,” Breyre announced, overhearing.
“Oh, good. Because I was hoping for permanent housing in Heiyerborn, and then Raven

and I can continue his training.”

Raven felt his lips stretch in a smile. “Yes. I would like that, too.”
Breyre’s eyes became soft and warm when they looked at each other. “Then that is

settled.”

“Look now, I think Raven just learned how to get pretty much all he wants from the

Esker,” Myche said with a grin, then had to duck quickly from both Breyre’s and Raven’s
cuffs. He gave an indignant sound and Elekin laughed.

Breyre pulled Raven away from them and into a warm embrace. “You truly want this?”
“Yes.”
“And you would live in Heiyerborn with me?”
“I will.”
“Eckien will visit, and maybe Oleanir, and Reirandor, and Heliendor.”

Raven slid his hands around his neck. “I don’t care. I want you.”
Breyre’s smile was blinding. “Then let’s go home and make it official.” He kissed Raven

until his toes curled and his spine tingled and his groin ached.

All the world was in the next breath and in his lover’s eyes. And it was all Raven wanted.

~*~

Raven and the Moon

~*~

Raven wasn’t sorry to see the Queen’s city slowly growing smaller in the predawn light

as they rode away at a trot. It was strange, he mused, the first time he left it he was heading
into the unknown with only his two mysterious companions, enemies ahead and behind. Now
he left in triumph, for a life he hardly dared speculate about, unknown in its own way and
exciting because of it.

He looked at Breyre’s back where he rode ahead and felt a flutter in his stomach. Myche

caught his eye next and grinned at him as if he knew his thoughts.

Savandor had wanted to keep Eckien for the foreseeable future as his second and Breyre

had argued, which hadn’t done much good. But then Raven had gathered his courage and
taken the Maresal aside and told him why Eckien couldn’t stay, at least not that long, and
Savandor had agreed with a wide smile. Smiling, the man seemed less intimidating. Raven
decided he was a good man, for all his fearsome appearance.

Oleanir had hugged them all goodbye since she would stay for a while too, as a

representative of the younger generation, and to offer counsel to Heliendor and the now four
council members present. “But don’t you dare have the ceremony without me!” she
threatened, and Breyre had readily agreed.

Judging by the expressions on the various faces around him, Raven wasn’t sure if he

wanted to know too far beforehand exactly what this ceremony would entail.

Their company passed within sight of Ravensborn Pass and Myche wondered aloud, “Do

you think the magic returned there?”

Raven shrugged. “I guess. Elekin could probably answer that better than I.”
“Before you know it you can too, I’m sure.” Myche smiled at him.
“I hope so.”
The Merender had chosen to stay in the city for a while longer, to see to Chatrina. They

had all decided she would be best left in the care of the Eyrders for now. Her own magic was
diminishing but not gone, and they weren’t comfortable leaving her to the Queen, nor
bringing her across the border into their own lands. Perhaps, if the new queen proved worthy,
they would let Chatrina live out her remaining life in her care.

Heliendor and the council members were in a precarious situation. The current Queen

was old and her support weakening after all that had happened. Her reign would not be very
long in ending. Her daughter was quietly making it known what she thought of the state of her
soon-to-be kingdom and she was gaining support in all quarters among the subjects.
Heliendor had let Breyre know he was carefully holding negotiations with her too. The
Eyrders would not side with or aid her in her endeavour, but they would be amiable in
greeting her when she gained the throne, if she was worthy.

Raven did not envy Heliendor his position.
Travelling much slower going back than they had riding out, it took them nearly two

weeks to reach Heiyerborn, their company given housing freely on the way and Breyre

greeted by many for the hero he was among his people. Raven was amused to see him blush
on more than one occasion.

Summer had nearly arrived in Heiyerborn and they rode in through a forest teeming with

life, birdsong, and the scents of blossoming plants and trees. Raven wondered what his oak
looked like now and experienced a brief moment’s need to go see it.

“Look at him,” Myche murmured, nodding at Breyre. “He’s almost bursting, he wants to

run so badly.”

Breyre was turning his head this way and that, his nose twitching with all the scents, and

Raven could almost see his ears pricking at the sounds. “Will he have time soon, do you
think?” He wanted to see the big wolf play again.

“I hope so, or you will have to keep him happy some other way.” Myche looked

completely innocent as he said it, but then burst out laughing as Raven scowled.

Breyre turned in his saddle to see what was going on. Raven quickly schooled his

expression.

Aiendor had had time to prepare for their arrival and all his Hold seemed to have turned

up to greet them as they rode in. The cheers were deafening, making the horses toss their
heads and the Esker look a bit stunned.

“Nephew!” Aiendor greeted him when he had dismounted. But words didn’t seem

enough for the old man this time and he pulled Breyre into a tight hug. “Meuri and the fates
have been merciful,” he murmured, and there were tears on his lashes.

Raven waited with Myche and the horses, letting the two men express their relief and joy

in that wordless way they had, without intrusions.

“Uncle.” Breyre finally stepped back, holding his uncle’s arms tightly, he too moved by

the moment. “I’m glad to be home.”

“You are most welcome. I think we both have much to talk about,” he said with a glance

at Raven. “I have your rooms readied and food set out. Please, everyone, come inside.”
Aiendor took them to his own hall and bade them eat before he wanted to hear everything.

“First, Uncle, I want you to tell us what you wrote to Seirk.”
Aiendor gave his nephew a look. “I think you already know. I heard Oleanir joined you

not long after.” He stroked a finger along his beard. “Was there truly any other answer I could
give them?”

Breyre was frowning. “And what was their reaction?”
“It wasn’t as bad as you think. Of course they weren’t happy, but I think it gave your

supporters the reason they needed to officially side with you. I’m glad now I did what I did.
My own family should have no less than my full support.”

“You put your Hold at risk, Uncle.”
“Hardly. I have nothing but faith in you, Nephew.”
Breyre seemed unable to speak for a moment, taken aback, and Aiendor took a slow sip

of his drink to cover the pause in conversation.

“I hear we’re soon to have a Hold ceremony to prepare for?”
Breyre let out a laugh and looked at Raven. “Yes. I hope you will offer us your Hold,

Master, for the occasion. I think it will be very joyous.”

Aiendor waved at Breyre. “No such talk, my boy. You know I will be most happy to

adorn my halls for this. It’s been too long since we last had reason for such a feast. Just leave
all that to me.”

Breyre bowed where he sat. “Thank you.”
Later, as Breyre led Raven and Myche to his own rooms, Raven wondered if the feeling

in his stomach was joy or relief or nerves. Myche went about setting things in order for the
night, sure and deft as if they hadn’t been gone at all.

Breyre pulled Raven into a hug. “How do you feel?” he murmured into his ear.

“Overwhelmed? Is that the word?” Raven wondered himself, holding tightly to Breyre’s

back. “So much has happened and I find myself wondering, what now?”

“Anything you want.” Breyre caught his eye. “Anything you want that is mine to give.

Ask and it’s yours.”

“Then I want you, and calm days. And sleep.” He felt weary beyond belief now that they

were finally safely back in Heiyerborn.

“Sleep?” Breyre’s eyebrows rose.
“Well, not just sleep,” Raven said, and smiled up at him.
Myche came back into the room. “I’ve turned down your bed, Master. May I propose you

make good use of it? Your lover looks tired.” He paused by the door and gave them a sly
wink.

“May I propose you take yourself off, Myche?” Breyre growled in mock-anger. “When

you have a lover of your own I shall tease you this way, make no mistake.”

Myche’s smile slipped just a bit. “I hope so, Master. I hope so.” Then he left before

Breyre could ask.

Breyre stood staring at the door for a long moment. “Is he unhappy with me?”
Raven took his hand and led him towards the bedroom. “No, not with you,” he assured.
Breyre turned his full attention to Raven. “Who, then? You know?”
“I might. Or actually, I’m pretty certain.” He tugged at the lacings on Breyre’s jacket.
“Will you tell me?” He seemed disinclined to help undress just now, more concerned

with his best friend’s dilemma.

“I’m not sure it’s my place to say,” Raven muttered, at once very annoyed with himself

for having said as much as he had. “I’m not sure they are sure it’s what they want.”

Breyre took him by the shoulders. “But if I knew, I could help.”
Raven gave him an impatient look. “You will do no such thing. They’re still exploring

the possibilities and if you interfere it might send all kinds of wrong messages. I’m not telling
you who it is and you’re not asking Myche. Now let me undress you and then kiss me!”

Breyre blinked at his outburst, then yanked him into a kiss mixed with laughter.

“Anything you want, my little bird. Anything at all.”

Raven happily gave himself up and spent the next hour or so being thoroughly pleasured.
He was only moments away from sleep, comfortable, sated, and tucked snugly against

Breyre’s warm body, when Breyre suddenly sat up with a shout.

“My brother!” He shook Raven awake. “It’s my brother, isn’t it?”
Raven groaned and pushed his face into the pillow. “I was almost asleep.”
“Please, Raven.”
He just couldn’t resist that word from his lover’s lips. He turned and looked at him. “Yes.

At least, that’s what I think I’ve seen. But they have been very careful.”

“They must have been, I haven’t noticed….” He trailed off into thought. Raven waited,

idly twining a long strand of Breyre’s hair between his fingers. “Huh,” he said finally.

“Yes. So don’t go interfering, Esker.”
Breyre lay down again, pulling Raven close. “But how can I not when Myche looks that

way?”

“Because it’s what he did for you. You have to let him come to the decision by himself.

Him and Eckien both.”

“He must’ve been so annoyed with me all that time before I began courting you. I was

insufferable.”

“I know,” Raven agreed, and was tickled for the offence. “Promise,” he gasped when he

was able to breathe again.

“I promise.” But Breyre sounded grumpy as he said it.
“Good.” He petted his lover into a better mood and eventually into sleep.

~*~

Days seemed to flow by when Raven spent all his waking time in Breyre’s presence, and

other days saw him hardly at all until supper. Messengers still came from Seirk, asking the
Esker to come for an official announcement of his reclaimed position to be made, for the
Council to be properly informed of all that had transpired since before and after his escape
from the Kemeran city, but he refused them all.

“I don’t want to be dragged into their politics. I’ve done my part,” he said.
Neither Raven nor Aiendor were unhappy with this.
There was no more mention of their interest—as it were—in Raven. It seemed

Savandor’s opinion had been made clear, and that the Council had decided to trust him. For
now, Breyre had added when they spoke about it. He was less certain of the Council’s
willingness to let it go.

Messengers came also from Kemer, and while there was unrest among the populace

Heliendor reported they were not much disturbed by it or in any particular danger. Myche
seemed relieved at this news and Breyre carefully didn’t notice why that might be.

“I want to leave for a bit,” Breyre announced one morning.
“What?” Raven and Myche both looked up from their breakfast.
“I need to run, have fresh air and the scent of prey in my nose. I want earth under my

paws.”

Myche snorted a laugh. “I’m surprised it took you this long. Maybe I should ask Raven

what he does to you in bed.”

Breyre sat back with a smug look. “It’s more what he lets me do to him.”
Raven choked on his tea.

~*~

Myche helped him ready a horse and tied a small knapsack behind the saddle. “Simple

fare for you. It should last the day if you want it to. The Master can eat rabbits if he’s
hungry.”

They grinned at each other at the wet snort from the wolf waiting impatiently at the doors

to the stable.

“Won’t you come, Myche? I’ve hardly seen you lately.”
“No. I’ve things to do, what with that ceremony someone wanted. It’s only a few weeks

away now.”

“Please, don’t remind me,” Raven mumbled, feeling all light-headed. Soft fur slipped

under his fingers and he gripped a tuft hardly without noticing.

“You’ll be fine.” Myche smiled. Then his face twisted briefly in a strained expression

that Raven knew he didn’t want them to see. He was trying so hard to be cheerful these days.

Raven caught his friend in a hug and felt the wolf press close as well. Soon, he wanted to

say, but only held Myche tighter for a moment. “See you later.”

Breyre loped easily ahead of the horse, leading the way into the forest south of the Hold.

The trees were heavy with green leafs and colourful blossoms, the grass and underbrush lush
and thick, birds and creatures everywhere. Raven slowed his horse to a walk and just breathed
it all in.

He found a good spot near a brook to hobble his horse and lay out the blanket, but Breyre

wouldn’t let him sit just yet. Insistent snuffles and gentle nips of teeth had him following the
wolf out among the trees, walking faster to keep up, and then running. The exertion made his
heart pump and his muscles burn, the air dragging sharply in his lungs and across his skin.

With each step he felt his boots dig into the earth, and the branches of trees reached for and
tangled with his hair. Raven suddenly understood what Breyre knew—freedom. He let out a
shout and threw his arms up, and the wolf answered with a bark.

He stopped finally, panting heavily but smiling, and the wolf turned and came back. But

it didn’t stop and Raven yelped when he was toppled over, valiantly trying to fend off the cold
nose and wet licks that had him laughing until his stomach ached. Only then did Breyre see it
fit to change and steal his breath away with a deep kiss instead. They barely made it back to
the comfort of the blanket before Breyre had his way, just how Raven liked it.

~*~

The day was nearing and with it Heiyerborn slowly filled with visitors, all of them

wanting to greet and congratulate Breyre and the young man soon to become a member of the
Hold. Raven’s mind was awhirl with names and faces. He learned to keep away from the
worst crowds that tended to gather, or risk being trapped and heaped with questions he had no
idea how to properly answer.

“Sweet fates!” he hissed at Myche where they crouched behind the banister on the

balcony above the entrance hall. “Where do they all come from, and do they really have to
come here?” Raven had been under the impression this was a Hold affair, but the others—and
certainly Aiendor, who greeted one and all with much joy—seemed less surprised by all the
guests.

Myche chuckled. “Your lover is well-known and well respected. With all that has

happened many of them are here because they’re curious. I’m sure there will be plenty of
invitations to other Holds, so you better learn to like the attention. The goats in Seirk haven’t
given up on him yet either. You’ll probably see one ball or another, too.”

“Ball?” Raven went cold all over.
“Yes, you know, dancing and socializing, and lots of food.”
“I know what a ball is. But I can’t dance!”
Myche just patted him on the shoulder and made comforting noises.
Eckien flew in with Oleanir a week before the ceremony, and Raven watched half in

amusement and half in sympathy when Myche handed the man a robe to wear as he changed
shape. Eckien accepted it with a smile before Breyre interrupted.

“Brother!” Breyre greeted him with a clasp, then gave Oleanir a hug. “I thought you’d

gotten lost in the storm that blew past a few days ago.”

“No, but Chirp here lost all her tail feathers so we had to make a stop,” Eckien said with

a grin, hardly even twitching at the slap she gave his arm.

“You oaf,” she chided him. “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”
Eckien leaned closer, quietly murmuring something in her ear that made her gasp and

slap him again. Myche discreetly turned away, and Raven wanted to kick Eckien on the shin.
He knew Breyre had noticed too.

“Come,” Breyre said. “I’ll have food set out for you in my hall and we—”
Eckien declined. “I have a report to give to Aiendor, purely formal. I’ll see about food in

the kitchen later.” He left with long strides, seemingly ignorant of the way Myche looked after
him.

“Your hall?” Oleanir wondered, eyes wide, picking right up where Breyre had been

interrupted. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” She hooked her arm with Raven’s and
winked at him as they headed inside.

Breyre rolled his eyes at her in an uncharacteristic gesture of exasperation. “Uncle

wanted to give me one as a gift for the ceremony, and would not let me say no,” he confessed.
“I suppose it is necessary for when I have guests.”

“Oh, most definitely,” Oleanir agreed. “I will make sure you have many, many feasts.”

She pulled Raven along, oblivious to his unease at the thought of dancing. She smiled when
she saw which hall Breyre had chosen. “Your mother would be honoured. Will you have the
ceremony here?”

“No, Uncle decided he would host it in the great audience hall. He was very firm on that

point, and with all the guests arriving I think he has the right of it.” Breyre’s lips twitched as if
he tried not to smile, or grimace.

“I think it will be crowded even in the great hall,” Myche said, then grinned at both

Breyre’s and Raven’s groans.

Oleanir slid her arm from Raven’s and stepped up to the table and chairs at the high end

of the hall. “I remember your mother standing here, announcing she was with child.” She
smiled at Breyre. “She was glowing.”

Raven looked at Breyre and saw the flash of old grief in his eyes. He wanted to touch

him and offer comfort but waited, not knowing how. Breyre never talked about his parents or
what had happened to them.

“And now you bring this fine young man into your Hold,” Oleanir continued. “How the

years pass.” She turned to Raven. “Of course, there will not be children of blood between you,
but I dare say you would make any mother happy to have her child as yours.”

Raven frowned at her words, not understanding, but Breyre cleared his throat and hooked

his arm with hers before Raven could ask. “Come, I know Uncle wants to see you.”

~*~

Elekin arrived, looking weary from his travel, but glad, and he brought news from

Heliendor. “He regrets he can’t be here,” he reported, “but sends his best wishes and this
letter.” He handed it to Breyre across the table. “He also says that things are going
surprisingly well with the Queen at the moment.”

“Maybe she realizes she must save face and ally herself to remain on the throne a while

longer,” Breyre commented, sounding cynical. He hesitated a moment. “Does he say anything
about Chatrina?”

Elekin glanced around the table at Myche and Oleanir, Aiendor and Eckien, and finally at

Raven. “They’ll keep her in custody at the mansion for now. The Queen wishes to have her
back, of course, or at least to see her, but I can’t truly recommend either and feel comfortable
with it.”

Breyre frowned but expressed no opinion.
Elekin took a sip from his tea before he continued. “I believe I’m also beginning to

understand the scope of Chatrina’s actions and how it has affected the land. I can’t yet say
how much damage she’s done. The Father’s Root is….” he seemed to be searching for a way
to explain it but finally only said, “well, too great a power for one person to grasp. I do know
that the Kemeran lands and its provinces have been—and still are—suffering by failed crops
and droughts, even sickness for a number of years. Maybe Chatrina’s theft is the cause.”

Raven stiffened where he sat, his mind suddenly filled with noise. She… Chatrina did….
Elekin touched his shoulder and Raven realized he had spoken aloud. All eyes were on

him. The Merender looked worried. “Raven?”

“I… there was a drought at my village,” was all he could say.
Both Elekin and Breyre frowned. “So far west,” Elekin murmured.
“What are you saying?” Breyre asked.
“I have heard of these disasters from the people of Kemer, seen the refugees. From what

I can understand they come from the farthest reaches of the land—east and west—first. The

Father’s Root is located close to the Queen’s city. Its powers would last the longest at its
centre.”

Breyre nodded slowly. “Driving the people from their lands and to the city.”
Elekin turned to Raven. “Do you remember what year this drought happened, or anything

else that befell your village?”

Raven tried to think back, to recall the village and its people, his father’s house, the small

garden, but he couldn’t. His hands were clammy where he gripped the arms of the chair. Not
my fault, not my fault. “I-I…. Excuse me, I can’t….” He hastily rose and left the room, all the
others staring after him.

He found himself standing in one of the gardens and had no idea how he had come to be

there. It was empty except for a man caring for the plants along the one wall. He glanced up
once but then went back to his work.

Raven breathed for a while, the escape from the others and his rush out here having

cleared away the worst of his distress. He felt foolish now when his mind had quieted. He
should go back but couldn’t make his feet move. Not yet.

“Raven,” came Breyre’s quiet voice from behind, and he turned slowly, not quite able to

meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“What for?” Breyre came closer. “I know the memories of your home aren’t the happiest.

There’s no need to apologize.”

Raven shifted uncomfortably. “It was three years back, I think,” he said, glancing up at

Breyre. “The crops failed first, but I think the drought had started a year or so before, the river
drying…. I don’t know.” He shook his head. Had he really tried so hard to forget?

Breyre took him in his arms and Raven rested gratefully against his chest. “Elekin asked

me to say he’s sorry.”

Raven let out a breathless little laugh, the last of the lingering unease lifting. “He doesn’t

have to. It’s not his fault.”

“Will you come back inside?”
He thought he had regained his equilibrium, and nodded.
Elekin stood when they stepped back into the room, and Raven came to sit next to him

again. The Merender’s hand was gentle on Raven’s shoulder.

After a brief pause Aiendor spoke. “Why have we not been affected here?” picking up as

if Raven hadn’t left.

Elekin turned to him. “Ah, you see, our own magic would protect us from the effects of

another. Even our ancestors recognized that the people here could one day become powerful,
and embedded wards into the very earth along our borders.”

“To protect us from magic?” Breyre asked, something hard in his voice. “But not from

the people?”

Elekin seemed to understand at the same time Aiendor winced. “No,” the Merender said

slowly. “To deny the people passage would have been detrimental to them—and us. We had
trade bargains and cultural exchanges that benefited all of us. I guess they thought at first the
Kemerans weren’t strong enough to best our warriors.”

“But they were, and then they came to raid and kill.” Breyre sounded both sad and tired.
Raven knew where Breyre’s thoughts had turned. Aiendor reached out to his nephew,

who gratefully accepted the comfort.

“It is years back now, Cousin,” Oleanir said gently. “Not even our ancestors could

foresee what would happen.”

“But they warded the land against magic, and we are the ones to deal with the rest of it,”

Eckien muttered.

“To be fair, I believe the Kemerans would have found a way whatever out kin had done,”

Elekin said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Hate and fear are powerful forces.”

“The Merender is right,” Aiendor said, his hand still on Breyre’s arm. “Nephew, let it

rest.”

Breyre seemed ready to argue, but only nodded. He looked around at the others, coming

to Raven last, before he rose with a quiet apology. Raven understood his need for some
solitude and let him go.

Elekin claimed Raven for himself afterwards and he helped the Merender unpack in his

rooms at the foot of the small tower. “So, lad. How do you feel? The ceremony is soon, yes?”
he asked over the customary cup of tea.

Raven couldn’t help the smile on his lips. “I’m nervous, and excited. It’s a bit scary too.

But I feel it’s right. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Elekin seemed pleased with this answer. “Has anyone explained how the ceremony will

transpire?”

“Not really. Well, I know it will take all day, and that Breyre and I won’t see each other

until the feast, but that’s all.”

“Then I shall tell you the rest. You will be taken to separate rooms at dawn, you’ll get to

bathe and dress in suitable garb. I suppose Myche could help you, but I suspect he’ll want to
be with the Esker. I would like to offer my aid to you, Raven. Unless of course, someone
already has?”

“Yes, I would like that very much.” Myche had mentioned something vaguely, but like

Elekin had guessed, Raven too suspected his friend wanted to be with Breyre on this special
day and he couldn’t begrudge him his wish.

“Thank you,” Elekin said with a smile. “I’ll see to your needs throughout the day, food

and the like, and announce visitors as they arrive.”

“Visitors?”
“Yes.” Elekin looked surprised Raven didn’t know this. “Ah,” he said with a slight smile.

“I see I’ll have to give you an explanation.” He pursed his lips in thought. “The Hold
ceremony takes place between two Holds more than two persons. If successfully completed it
binds the two Holds together, sharing skills and workers, even warriors, between them. In
many ways it was, and still is, a political bargain, hardly ever about love.”

Raven looked down at his hands. “Was it love… between Breyre and Tavanir?”
Elekin didn’t answer at first. “Is this something you truly need to know, Raven?” he

asked gently.

“I… I think… he did love her,” he said hesitantly. “I think he still does.”
“He did,” the Merender said, and from the tone of his voice Raven knew this to be true.

“In his heart he will always have a place for her. But you are the one he brings to his Hold and
before his Master now, Raven. She is in his past.” His hand was warm on Raven’s cold ones,
and he looked up at Elekin. “You are his future.”

Raven tried a wobbly smile and Elekin waited a few moments before he continued.
“It’s tradition to receive visitors who are either family or close friends of the one

bringing you into the Hold, to tell you about them, their character, what their relationship is,
and what they’ve accomplished in their life. Some have even received visitors trying to
dissuade them, but that’s unusual. This is a remnant from the old days when the couple had
hardly even heard of each other before, a way to learn of their future family as well as what
the Hold might offer them.”

“But I have no one who can go to Breyre. My family is….” He trailed off, chest tight.
Elekin touched his arm. “You’d be surprised how many will go to speak for you, lad. I

among them. Don’t worry.”

Raven stared at the Merender. “I had no idea.”

“Well, you’ve made quite an impression.” Elekin’s smile was wide and a bit

mischievous. “The rest of the Hold will start the feast quite early. I wager there’ll be a fair bit
of drink and dance with this crowd.” He chuckled into his tea. “You and the Esker will not see
each other until the feast, and receive the well wishes of all the guests there. You can expect
gifts, I think, and any number of speeches. Those can get dreary.”

“From everyone?” Raven nearly shuddered at the thought; it would take all night!
“Ah, I suppose Aiendor might decide who gets to speak. You’ll be asked to socialize for

a bit after the free dance has begun, but it’s a sport for the couple to slip away as soon as they
possibly can without anyone noticing. I heard of one pair who went off right before the first
toast. That was a right scandal.” He chuckled again.

“You mentioned gifts. Do you think I’m expected to have one for Breyre?”
“Have you asked him? Some couples exchange welcome gifts at the feast, others later in

private.”

“Maybe I should ask, then.” Breyre would be able to give him almost anything, but what

did Raven have that he could offer?

Elekin soon claimed he had things to prepare and Raven walked back into the Hold’s

central tower with no particular aim in mind. He heard voices he recognized and followed
them to a hallway.

Antouen and Myche stood there talking and at first he thought to join them, but when

Antouen reached up and touched Myche’s hair, Raven stopped short. He watched in surprise
as the captain smiled at Myche, stepping closer. Myche, colour on his cheeks from surprise or
shock, stared up at the man and said something too low to hear. Antouen smiled wider in
response and leaned in for a kiss.

Only it didn’t get the chance to connect. As if conjured out of thin air, Eckien appeared

and yanked Antouen back forcefully enough to make the large man stumble, then clocked him
right on the jaw with such force even Raven heard bones creak. Myche was as shocked as
Raven, if his bulging eyes were anything to judge by.

Eckien growled at the captain—Raven wasn’t sure there were even proper words—then

dragged Myche away with him down the hallway, leaving Antouen to rub his sore jaw.

Raven was too stunned by what he had seen to hear Breyre approach and jumped when

he murmured, “Ah, vengeance is indeed sweet.”

Raven turned. “What?”
Antouen had noticed them and gave Breyre a crooked grin and a wink, before he ambled

off, no doubt in search of Elekin.

Breyre’s smile was disconcertingly wicked, his mood from earlier apparently eased, and

brightened even more by what they had just seen. “I’m pleased to have paid my brother back
in this way.”

“You set this up?” he asked, incredulous.
“He was taking too long. I would not have either of them sulking at our ceremony.”
“But—but Antouen…?”
“He already has a lover, which Myche knows and which was probably why he looked so

confused.” Breyre laughed. “And Eckien knows both Antouen and his lover, but I suppose
he’s been too distracted lately to remember that.”

“But why…?”
“Because Antouen is large enough a man for Eckien to feel threatened. It’s a territorial

thing.” He suddenly caught Raven by the nape of his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss
that left Raven panting and hot.

“That was a territorial thing too?”
“Yes.” And then Breyre did it again.

~*~

The night before the ceremony was a restless one, Raven tossing and turning, yet trying

not to.

Breyre finally grumbled under his breath, caught Raven around the waist and pulled him

tight against his body, front to back. “What’s the matter, little bird? Do you have ants in your
half of the bed?”

Raven let out a pent-up breath. “No. I don’t know. I guess I’m nervous.” He felt Breyre

shifting and then a warm mouth was murmuring in his ear.

“Don’t be. You’ll do very well tomorrow. Elekin will look after you.” He nibbled on the

rim of Raven’s ear, making him squirm back against his hips and chest.

The he remembered. “Elekin mentioned gifts. Do we exchange gifts?”
Breyre stilled. “If you were of another Hold I think it would be customary to have gifts

for each other. But you’re not, and with no property or coin to your name. Besides,” he leaned
closer, “you have already given me so many gifts. It’s difficult for me to repay them all.”
There was a grin in his voice when he said, “And you’ve already agreed to give me
something.”

Raven went still. “I have?” He couldn’t recall right then what it was.
“Yes.” Breyre stabbed his tongue against Raven’s earring, making him gasp.

“Remember?” Breyre purred.

“Oh. Yes. Will you do it?” He reached back under the covers and caressed Breyre’s

muscled flank.

“No, I’ll ask Elekin. He has the proper tools and oils to make it correctly and prevent

infection. Wouldn’t want your ear to swell.”

“Ah.” He bit his lip as he felt Breyre’s body waking. “Do you… should we?”
“Hmmm. I think not. Not tonight. But I expect a full night of lovemaking after the

ceremony.” His teeth grazed Raven’s neck. “My little bird.” Then he groaned when Raven
dug his fingers into his buttocks. “I think I won’t be the only one sleeping restlessly tonight.”

~*~

When the knock on the door came before dawn, both Raven and Breyre were awake.

Breyre had woken Raven with kisses some time before, easing him from sleep into a languid
wakefulness. They held on to each other while they kissed and caressed, memorizing the
other’s body for the long day of separation. Raven relished the slow build of arousal and heat.
Breyre skilfully kept them both just on the edge, feeling the need, but able to temper it since it
wasn’t urgent. Raven suspected this was his intention.

“I’ll think of you each hour of this day, until I see no other face than yours. And when we

see each other again I’ll kiss you welcome.”

Raven cupped Breyre’s cheek and drew him near. “And I.”
Elekin cleared his throat in the doorway. “Esker, Raven, are you ready?”
With a sigh Breyre waved at Elekin to leave the two robes he was carrying at the foot of

the bed and leave, for which Raven was grateful. Breyre urged Raven naked out of bed. He
insisted on holding Raven’s robe out for him, made of soft silk, then pulled him close for one
last kiss. “Soon,” he whispered, before he donned his own robe, heeding Myche’s cough from
the doorway, and followed him out of the rooms.

Elekin’s smile was evident in his voice. “Well, I think he will miss you.”
“As I’ll miss him.” They had been apart before, but this felt different. When they saw

each other again at the end of this day, Raven would be a member of Heiyerborn, someone
with a home and a family. Someone new.

The Merender led him to a room in the south tower with windows facing the stable yard

below. They heard the guests coming and going, the clatter of hoofs and the rustling of large
bodies. “I think a few of them took the opportunity for horse trade,” Elekin murmured,
glancing out the window.

The mood Breyre had put him in had vanished on the way there, and Raven was slowly

becoming too nervous to listen as the Merender went on about the properties of horses from
the different Holds.

“Ah,” Elekin said when he finally noticed Raven’s distraction. “I think it’s best to get

started.” He pulled a cord by the door, and soon a young maid came with the breakfast tray.
Elekin shooed her away again and told Raven to sit while he served.

He sat staring at the food before him, not sure if he would be able to keep any of it down.

“When will the first visitor come, do you think?” he asked to distract himself from the
daunting task of eating, not that the prospect of visitors was any easier on his mind.

“Not until you are ready. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get through this day without

mishap, lad. Ah, but soon I won’t be able to call you that again.”

Raven looked up. “What will you call me, then?”
The Merender thought for a moment. “If you were a woman the correct title would be

‘Eskeri’ to Breyre’s ‘Esker’, but that’s hardly proper. And you can’t be ‘Esker’ as well or it
might cause confusion. If you were Eyrder you would probably have a title of your own, but
since you’re not…. Might be we’ll have to make one up for you.” Elekin winked.

“I wouldn’t object if you kept calling me ‘lad’. Less trouble that way.” Less formal too,

and if he was just “Raven” he wouldn’t attract so much attention, but he didn’t say so.

His friend laughed. “I agree, but since the Esker brought you to the Hold you’ll need a

proper title. I think he might object to the lack of respect. Now, eat a bit, lad.”

Raven found he could.
The bathwater arrived almost as soon as he had finished, and to Raven’s embarrassment

Elekin insisted in helping him bathe. Which might have been a good thing—there were oils
for the water, his feet and hands, his body, his hair, and his face. And most disconcertingly,
for his genitals. Elekin handed him those with a smile and a solemn promise not to look.

“What are these?” he asked once he was oiled and slippery all over.
“A bit of this and that, herbs and flowers mostly. I made them myself for you both.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“Yes, quite. Wait until they sink into the skin. You’ll feel very smooth and I know the

Esker will appreciate that,” Elekin said with a suspiciously serene expression. He held out a
large drying cloth but left Raven to it at his frown. “I heard about Eckien and Myche,” he
continued, picking up the robe for Raven instead. “Antouen’s jaw was rather swollen by the
time he came to see me.”

Raven smiled. “Yes, I bet. I saw the whole thing. Eckien looked furious and I thought

Myche’s eyes would fall out of his head.”

Elekin laughed. “I wish I had been there. I also heard Myche spent the whole night in

Eckien’s rooms. I wonder what they were doing?”

“Sweet fates, I think you know.”
“Oh?” But his grin was very wide as he said, “Yes, Myche could hardly walk this

morning.”

Even Raven laughed at that.
Elekin brushed Raven’s hair until it shone, and gave his arms and feet a very relaxing

massage that had his eyelids drooping. But not for very long. He was then told to dress in the
formal wear Elekin had laid out for him.

Raven looked at himself in the mirror. It was a strange sight. Both shirt and trousers were

of soft, white cotton and loose enough to billow as he moved. The sleeves were a bit too long,

hiding half his fingers, and Elekin tied colourful ribbons along Raven’s forearms to keep them
up. Then he wound a sash of blue-dyed linen around Raven’s waist, around and around, until
it covered him from the lowest rib to the hips, and still there was length left for the ends to
reach his knees.

“Now,” Elekin said, “if you came from a Hold you’d tie a string of pearls or precious

stones around your waist to declare your lineage and position, but since you don’t have any, I
thought I would lend you mine.” He held up a slender silver chain on which dangled stones of
all colours.

Raven stared at the precious thing. “I-I can’t, Elekin.”
“Yes, you can,” he replied gently. “It will be a sign that you are under my tutelage, and

that is no less than being a member of a Hold. Now, turn around.” Elekin wouldn’t accept any
more arguments. He clipped the ends together and carefully settled it around Raven’s hips.
“This chain had only the two stones when I went to practice my magic.” He pointed to two
clear stones. “With each victory and lesson learned, I got another.” He picked up a woven
gold chain from the table and it too went around Raven’s hips. “This one is yours.” Elekin
carefully lifted a pretty, blue stone with a fingertip. “I tried to find a stone like your earrings,
but it was hard. I hope this one will please you?”

Raven had never heard the Merender sound unsure and it gave him pause for a moment.

He had no words to reassure him properly and did the only thing he could think of—he turned
around and threw his arms around Elekin’s shoulders. “Thank you so much.”

Elekin held him tightly and murmured, “I have no child of my own and so rarely see my

close kin. But you have filled that place in my heart, Raven. It is I who should say thank you.”

Raven’s throat was too tight to speak, but he tried anyway. “I understand now what you

mean about making your own family.”

He sensed the older man had a need for the comfort and they would have remained like

that if a knock on the door hadn’t interrupted them. When Elekin pulled away, Raven thought
he saw tears in his friend’s eyes.

Elekin took his time setting the room in order, much to Raven’s bemusement, before he

answered the door. “Aiendor,” he greeted with a small nod, and let the Master in.

Aiendor stood quietly just inside the door until Elekin showed both him and Raven to the

chairs. “I welcome you, Raven of the Western lands,” Aiendor greeted with a slight but
formal bow.

Raven nodded, not quite sure what to say. He noticed the Master had not named him

Kemeran.

Aiendor continued. “It’s a most joyous day. I have long looked forward to it and am

pleased that my nephew has chosen, and been chosen by, a young man as fine as you.”

Raven couldn’t stop his eyebrows climbing. Such formal speech was beyond him.
Aiendor nodded slightly. “The first phrase is important and often rehearsed for weeks,”

he confided with a smile. “I had a much longer one prepared but thought you’d appreciate the
short version.”

Raven smiled too, relief settling over him that this wasn’t to be a conversation of

complex and formal words, but tried to answer in kind with his own greeting. “Thank you,
Aiendor of Heiyerborn. It’s I who am pleased that your nephew has chosen me. For a long
time I didn’t even know where I belonged, but now that he has brought me here, I feel in my
heart it is in Heiyerborn.”

Aiendor sat a bit straighter and folded his hands in his lap. “The tradition is for me, as the

Master of the Hold, to tell you about the strength and grandeur of Heiyerborn.” He smiled
gently. “But I suppose you already know it?”

“Some,” Raven admitted.

“Then I shall speak of the one who invited you, and having raised Breyre since he was

but a boy, I have quite a few tales to tell.”

Raven was fascinated to learn that the serious Esker had once been the terror of all of

Heiyerborn, together with his childhood band of brothers. The amount of mischief he had
caused was both hilarious and admirable in its inventiveness. But he was also a young man
who loved to learn, and had had tutors to teach him all he wished to know. Aiendor spoke of
Breyre’s skills with horses and hounds, weapons and the hunt. He briefly mentioned Breyre
had often been well spoken of in political circles, but since so much of the last year had been
marred by politics, he left it at that.

Aiendor wouldn’t talk about Breyre’s parents, though. “That is not for me to tell you,

even though she was my sister. A day like today is not meant for a sad story.” He took a
moment to collect himself and Raven looked away briefly. “He’s been good to me, Raven.
You know I want him to succeed me when it’s time and how he fights me on the issue. But,
maybe now, he’ll have good reason to accept.”

“I hope he’ll do what’s right for him, Master,” Raven said, not unkindly. “I’ll stand by

him no matter what.”

Aiendor bowed his head. “As you say.” He looked at Raven’s attire. “I see the Merender

has given you his ishere to wear?”

Raven blushed and fingered a stone on the silver chain. “He has, but just for today.” He

glanced at Elekin where he stood by the window.

“As he should, then.” The Master nodded at Elekin, who smiled and bowed his head as

Aiendor stood. “I have spoken with you about my Hold and about him, his past as only I
know it. Now I open the doors of Heiyerborn to you and hope it will welcome you, as I have.
I give you leave to love my nephew. I hope it will last you a lifetime.” And then he left,
quietly closing the door behind him.

Stunned by the enormity of Aiendor’s words Raven just sat there for a few moments,

staring at the empty seat. He looked up when Elekin came closer. “I don’t even know what to
say….”

“Then don’t say anything,” Elekin advised. “Just know his words were honest and true.”
“He’s giving me a home.”
“That he is.” Elekin smiled kindly as Raven’s eyes blurred with tears.
The day progressed with every visitor, some he knew or had at least met before, like

Antouen and Perindor, and even Reirandor. The two captains came to tell him how proud they
were to have served the Esker, and Raven thanked them for their efforts and loyalty. They
were easy to talk to and had a laugh over the bruise on Antouen’s jaw before they left.

The Maresal’s visit, on the other hand, made him nervous. Reirandor came to tell Raven

how much he admired the young Esker for his willingness to see clearly enough to do what he
had done. Raven held his tongue on the subject, not sure how much he could say without
angering someone in a position whose words could have Breyre’s reputation damaged. In the
end Raven wasn’t sure he had gotten out of that brief meeting what Reirandor had intended.

There were a few men and women he had never seen before, but it turned out they had

only met the Esker once or twice in Seirk. They were there to speak of his competence and
skill in politics, and how valued they thought he would be in a High Chair position. Raven
didn’t say much on that subject either, having no notion of what it truly meant.

“Don’t think them insensitive,” Elekin said after they had left. “It is a day and a good

opportunity for them to test and see what kind of person you are. They’re hoping you would
be able to sway the Esker to come to Seirk.”

“But I have no interest in that, and certainly no idea if it would be good or bad,” Raven

said, puzzled.

“Yes, and they know that. If they can persuade you, maybe they can have you persuade

him.”

“I’d never tell him what to do, and certainly not against his will,” he said with certainty,

and Elekin looked very pleased at that.

Eckien came later, his face set in an unusually sombre expression. “I’ve known Breyre

since he was very young. He’s had a number of lovers but only Tavanir was ever invited to
Heiyerborn. I’ve never seen him agonize over any of them—even her—like he did over you.”
Eckien leaned forward in the chair and gave Raven a very direct look. “I hope you understand
how deeply we Eyrders love and how seriously we take commitment.”

Raven bristled at Eckien’s tone and presumption. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know all that

yet. I’m still learning. But the Esker, and the Merender, are both good and patient teachers.”
Raven leaned forward too. “And you should know, as different as you are from me, as
different am I from my kin.”

Eckien nodded after a moment, a corner of his mouth twitching. “True, as you’ve proved

very well already. I know of your courage, I’ve witnessed it. You’ll be good for him, just
enough trouble.”

“As you will be for Myche,” Raven shot back, and was pleased to see Eckien’s eyes

widen in surprise.

“We’re not here to talk about him,” Eckien mumbled.
“I think we should. Talking about Breyre means talking about Myche,” Raven said, not

unkindly. “You know they’ll not easily be separated.”

The big man rubbed a hand over his face. “I do know that. But I don’t see how…. My

Hold is Oleonborn, I’ve loyalties to my family, and my status takes precedence over
Myche’s.”

“Your status?” He had never quite grasped where Eckien stood in the hierarchy of the

two Holds, besides being the Esker’s brother.

“Yes, I am Vasurien—ah,” he stopped himself at Raven’s look. “Master of the Blade,

you might say.” He glanced at Elekin for confirmation of his translation, and the Merender
nodded slightly. “It is my duty to see to the readiness of the warriors. But I am also of a
stronger lineage, and higher status because of my two avatars.”

Raven tilted his head. “I was wondering about that.”
Eckien looked pleased. “It is a rare gift, like the Merender’s magics. The legends say

there are a predetermined number of avatars to each generation, so maybe I got the one that
would have been his, when he got his magic.”

Elekin laughed. “I think you robbed someone of the younger generation, Vasurien

te’Oleonborn. I am much too old for you.” He smiled slyly and Eckien answered in kind.

Raven felt the urge to remind them Eckien was taken. Which prompted him to say, “So

you would have to ask Myche to go with you to Oleonborn?”

Eckien turned back to him. “I would have to,” he said after a moment, holding Raven’s

gaze.

“It would break his heart to see you go without him when you’ve just found each other,

as it would if he had to leave Breyre.” Raven knew this to be true. He’d witnessed the
unquestionable loyalty and love between them.

Eckien sat back with a sigh. “How did we come to speak of me and Myche?”
“This is about Breyre too. You know he went to some trouble to bring you two

together?” Raven smiled sweetly at the other man’s scowl.

“I know. I wasn’t thinking at the time. Had to make apologies to Antouen and the bastard

only said it was his pleasure. Even congratulated me on a good right hook.”

Raven couldn’t hold back his laugh. “I’m sure. Breyre cares for you and Myche very

deeply. It hurt him to see you upset. I think… he would want you to stay.”

Eckien shook his head. “I’m not sure I can.” He looked at Raven for a long moment, then

stood. “This has been a talk of the future, of love and friendship. You’ll suit him very well,
Schierer.” He bowed and left.

Raven blinked at the abrupt ending. “What does that mean?”
Elekin looked thoughtfully at the closed door. “Schierer means something like… adviser

or counsellor. But it’s an old word and back in time it was most often used for the consorts of
Hold Masters and high caste men and women.”

“Consort?” It was a word he was not familiar with.
“Lover, or even lifemate. I think it’s a very suitable word, Raven. The consorts were only

given the Schierer title if they were wise. I think you are, even young as you are. Apparently
so does Eckien.” He laid a hand on Raven’s shoulder. “Don’t look so shocked—you’ve
shown even me the truth on occasion. Accept the honour and strive to live by it. Now, how
about some food? You hardly had enough for breakfast and you’ll need your energy later.”

Flute and strings music began to drift up from the yard below as they ate, and more could

be heard from within the Hold itself. The feast had begun and Raven wondered when he
would be able to leave this room and join in. Not too soon, apparently—Elekin announced
Oleanir not much later.

She curtsied and smiled at them both before she sat down. “Such a feast,” she said. “I’ve

hardly seen the like since, well, in a long time. Aiendor has spared no expense.”

“He shouldn’t have,” Raven mumbled, embarrassed.
Oleanir waved this away. “Oh, he’s just been waiting for a reason. You’ve done him and

Heiyerborn a great favour, and made my cousin very happy.” She glanced at Elekin where he
stood quietly by the window. “Breyre is the only child of Aiendor’s sister and her lifemate.
They both died before they could have another. Aiendor himself never had children and after
the loss of his sister….” She hesitated for a moment. “He put all his hopes in Breyre to have a
family. When we all thought he had been lost to Chatrina Aiendor was devastated. But then
you brought him back, and now you’ve been invited here by him, and perhaps you will start
that family we all wish for.” She smiled but there were tears on her lashes after her voice
trailed off.

“I… but, how can there be children?” Raven wondered, confused and uncomfortable at

the direction this conversation had taken.

Oleanir let out a small laugh and looked at Elekin. “He has some things yet to learn.” Her

eyes were still a bit damp when she turned back to Raven. “There are many couples who can’t
have children of their own but we have a few ways to still give them a family—a blood
relative who dies while their children are still young, or even a servant or warrior of the Hold
who dies or for some reason can’t provide. Sometimes a family outside the Holds or villages
will send their young to be raised by a high caste family to better their chances for a good
life.” She noticed Raven’s expression. “Are you shocked? Don’t be. Those who have family
to return to often do so when they are older. It’s a mutual choice they all make and it works
out well.”

She didn’t know about Raven’s own family. She couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if the knot in

his chest was aversion to the Eyrders’ way of treating their young, or envy that he hadn’t had
the same chance for a different childhood after his mother died.

Oleanir looked uncertainly at him. “I have upset you. I’m sorry, and this was supposed to

be a joyous day.” She looked down at her hands. “I guess you’re wondering also why I’m the
one telling you all this? Aiendor wouldn’t. He’s too close to his pain still. Eckien and Myche,
well, they are men.” She glanced up with a briefly uncertain smile. “Breyre would not bring it
up either, I think. So that leaves me, as the only woman of close kin who can speak about
such matters.”

Raven nodded, taking a moment to swallow and find his voice. “The Merender told me

once that family is what you want it to be. I know this is true now, but I still have to learn
your value of family. If children are what Breyre wants then I’ll help him achieve it.”

Oleanir seemed pleased with this. “Thank you.” She delicately touched her fingers to her

eyes. “I should leave,” she murmured, rising, and Raven stood too. “I’m sorry this turned out
to be such a sad conversation.”

On impulse Raven reached out and took her hand. “Don’t be. I need to learn all this, and

about Breyre, to do my best for him.”

She squeezed Raven’s fingers. “Just do what you’ve done so far. You’ve made him very

happy.” Then she leaned in quickly and kissed his cheek before she left.

Thoughtful now, Raven stood there until Elekin cleared his throat. He turned to the

Merender. “Did you know she would speak of children?” he asked.

“No. Although, I guess, it was a possibility. She is young enough to still be able to have

children of her own body, and as a woman naturally is much closer to such matters. But don’t
fret, Raven. She brought it up prematurely. You’re not even lifemates yet. There is no
obligation.”

“What if Breyre wants…?” He found he couldn’t go on.
“Like Oleanir said, there are ways for you. Please, lad, don’t burden yourself with this

matter today. It is for the future, let it be until you are ready to discuss it with him.” Elekin’s
hand was warm on his shoulder and it seemed the warmth spread through Raven’s limbs.
Soon he felt calm again.

“Thank you,” he murmured. Elekin merely nodded.
As the sun was setting Myche was the last to arrive, dressed in beautiful russet and green

feast garb, his ever-present leather cap for once missing. He threw his arms around Raven in a
crushing hug. “Look at you!” he exclaimed, holding Raven at arm’s length. “Simply beautiful.
You’ve done a good job, Merender.”

Elekin bowed his head with a smile. “If you are here to watch over him for a while, then

I can go see the Esker.” He patted Raven on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in time to lead you to
the feast.” He closed the door quietly behind him.

“Are you nervous?” Myche asked as they sat.
Raven shrugged. “A bit. I think I’ve had too many visitors to think much about it, and I’ll

feel it when I’m let out of here.”

Myche laughed. “I’ve heard stories about couples with so many visitors they couldn’t

leave their rooms for days.”

Raven shuddered in mock-horror and Myche made soothing noises. “I know you’ve

come to speak about Breyre,” he began before Myche could. “But I would like to know about
you as well. You are a part of his family.”

“Ah.” Myche’s cheeks coloured a bit. “What would you like to know?”
“How you met. When you are together it’s as if you’ve known each other forever.”
“Yes, I suppose.” He looked towards the window for a moment. “I’ve known him since

—I think I was four, when I first met him. He came to visit Oleonborn and I was—”

“Wait,” Raven interrupted. “You lived in Oleonborn? Eckien’s Hold?”
Myche blinked. “You didn’t know? I was born there. I’ve known him since I was little.”
“And it took you two this long to get together?” Raven wondered, amused at Myche’s

unexpected embarrassment. “So Breyre came to visit?” he prompted.

Myche looked bewildered, then relieved at the change of subject. “Yes. I was just a small

boy when I first noticed him playing with Eckien. Later on, even though I was younger and
only a servant’s son, they let me join in their games. You can imagine the mischief they got
me into, being a squirrel.” He laughed at some memory. “I admired him from the start and he
took me right in. Then, when his parents died, he was not the same for a long time and I

couldn’t bear to see him so….” He trailed off. “I asked to come here and be his manservant.
Both Aiendor and my own mother readily agreed, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Did you ever visit your family?” Raven wanted to know, thinking of what Oleanir had

said about raising children.

“Of course. I still would if we hadn’t been so busy lately,” he said with a crooked smile.
“And now? Will you move back there?” He needn’t explain his question.
Myche looked away again. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I think I’ll be very happy

with Eckien. He’s… insufferable and arrogant, and absolutely sweet. But don’t tell him I said
so.”

“I promise.” Raven tried to look serious but Myche’s wide smile was infectious.
“But I know I would miss Breyre terribly if I left. There’s still time to decide, I guess.”

He shook himself. “I don’t want you to have this on your mind today. You should only think
about him.”

“Actually, I think it’s been good to get a bit distracted,” Raven confessed. “I’ve hardly

been able to eat all day.”

“Neither has he. We’ll have to stuff you both at the feast, then, or you’ll have no energy

for the night.” He chuckled, pleased at Raven’s blush.

Elekin returned some while later and Myche left again. “The Esker is looking a bit pale,”

the Merender informed him with a grin.

“I know how he feels,” Raven muttered.
“It is time, lad.” Elekin held out his hand and Raven stared at it for a moment.
“I don’t know how the rest goes,” he said nervously.
Elekin crouched by his chair. “You don’t need to know. Breyre will lead you and all you

have to do is follow. This part of the ceremony is what you make of it.”

He had been in worse situations, surely. Thinking back he realized this was probably the

easiest situation of all. Slipping from Chatrina’s grasp had been so much harder in
comparison. This time he knew where he was meant to go, who was waiting for him, and he
trusted Breyre with all his heart.

Raven stood and took Elekin’s hand. It warmed his own cold one.
The revelry and music of the feast grew stronger as they walked along the corridors of

the Hold, and Raven wondered what time it was and how much the guests had already eaten.
He hoped they were all properly drunk.

Elekin slowed and stopped at an open door where branches of birch trees had been tied to

the posts with plaits of green and black ribbons. They could see the great hall through the lush
archway. Raven hadn’t truly appreciated how many guests there were and he stared now at
the milling of colourfully clad bodies, the brilliance of their clothes nearly outshining the
lights.

He balked when Elekin urged him forward. “I can’t go out there.”
“Yes, you can,” his friend said calmly, and pointed. “Look.”
Across the hall he glimpsed another door adorned with garlands of flowers and colourful

ribbons, and there, just inside, stood Breyre and Myche. Raven stretched on tiptoe to see, but
the guests moved back and forth, and Breyre’s face disappeared and reappeared between
them.

Frustrated, Raven stepped out of the doorway, and in the next moment didn’t know what

to do. It was a churning sea and he had no way across it. He saw Breyre moving on the other
side, Myche behind him, and people were beginning to take notice. Slowly, one by one, the
guests fell silent and the music stopped, every face turned their way, and once again Raven
couldn’t see Breyre’s among them.

Worried he was being a fool for not knowing what to do, Raven hesitated again, then

gasped as the guests raised their hands and put masks over their faces. Some were elaborate

with stones and silk and feathers, others were of simpler cloth or leather and horsehair. Raven
took a step back and stopped when Elekin grasped his shoulder.

“What—?”
“Now the only faces you can see,” Elekin murmured close to his ear, “are those of your

friends and your lover.”

The crowd parted, and with a breath of relief, Raven saw Breyre and Myche across the

hall. Now he could go to him. No one moved but him and Breyre, no one curtsied or bowed,
as they slowly walked to meet on the floor. They were all anonymous faces, no names and no
opinions that mattered at all. The only one of importance was Breyre. Finally Raven held him
in a tight embrace. He was warm, his chest moving in quick breaths as he nuzzled his nose in
Raven’s hair, inhaling.

“It’s so good to see you,” he murmured for Raven’s ears alone.
“And you. The day has been so long.” A tingle spread through him at the chuckle that

touched his ear.

Breyre straightened and looked at him. “You’ve grown taller,” he said, his voice pitched

to reach those around them. “And your hair is longer.”

Raven frowned. It had only been since this morning, surely he couldn’t have grown—and

then he understood. “I’ve gotten to know you. You smile more often, and I’ve seen your
avatar and it is beautiful.”

Breyre smiled proudly. “They tell me you are kind and generous, and stubborn when

needed. And that you are a friend for life once you’ve become it. This is good to know.”

Raven felt heat on his cheeks—they had truly said that about him?—but went on. “They

say you are brave, and determined, and clever. Some here have guessed you are a skilled lover
and now only I will know.” He couldn’t help smiling when Breyre laughed, and chuckles
rippled through the crowd.

Breyre reached out and gently touched Raven’s cheek, his ear, his hair. “Will you accept

Heiyerborn as your Hold?”

Raven had but one answer. “Yes. I will live here as long as you’ll let me.”
Breyre pulled him close and stifled the sound of his whimper against Raven’s lips.
Raven threw his arms around Breyre’s neck and let himself drown in him. Thrills ran up

his arms, down his spine, and the smile on his lips made kissing difficult. Look, Father. Here
is someone who wants me, a place to call home. Strangely the thought of the man he had once
called family didn’t diminish the joy he felt at all.

Breyre seemed reluctant to let go, but when Raven realized the noise he heard was not

the rush of blood in his ears, but the crowd cheering, he leaned back and glanced around.

Breyre smiled and held him tightly. “I believe we’ve made them happy.”
He saw Aiendor clapping his hands too, a wide smile on his face. “I’m glad they

approve.”

Elekin and Myche were the first to congratulate them, and after that it was a sea of

smiling faces and hands touching them. It seemed it was everyone’s intention to greet and
congratulate them now, but Aiendor announced the food was about to arrive and they were
led to their seats at the high table. Raven pulled a breath and kept a tight hold on Breyre’s
hand until they were safely seated.

Never before had he partaken of such richness of food and joy, let alone been the focus

of it. Both men and women still found their way to their table to offer wine or sweets or
morsels of particularly well-prepared food, doing their best to bring their own Holds or
families to the Esker’s attention. “This is from my Hold, Esker.” “My own aunt made this.”
“These grapes were shipped from the shores of Vairr, Esker.” Raven was practically dizzy
with it all. Breyre kept a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile.

As the guests began to settle down he spotted his friends among them. Elekin had found

a pretty, young lady with fair hair in waves down her back, and they were speaking with their
heads close together. Myche and Eckien were seated not far down the high table and they too
seemed immersed in conversation. Raven spied one of Myche’s hands sliding up Eckien’s
thigh, but turned away before he could see how the big man responded.

“Are you all right?” Breyre murmured.
“I am. Just a bit overwhelmed, I think.” He smiled at Breyre, truly his lover now. “How

long will we have to stay?”

“Not very long. Until all have had their drinks refilled, I suppose.” Breyre’s gaze

narrowed, his voice growing lower. “Why? Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

He felt his cheeks warm and gave Breyre a look under his bangs. “No, not really.”
Breyre’s smile was blinding.
The food kept coming until everyone was satisfied and begged for no more. Musicians

struck up a lovely tune and tables at the high end were cleared away for the free dance.
Breyre’s furtive glances around the room made Raven look questioningly at him, and he saw
Breyre catch Antouen’s eye, then squeeze Raven’s shoulder.

A mighty crash was heard from the table with the silverware and every head turned that

way. Raven drew a quick breath and let himself be urged away by Breyre, slipping between
the chairs and down a hallway behind their table.

“Smoothly done.” Breyre chuckled.
“Poor Antouen,” Raven said. “Why do you always make him do such things?”
“He loves a good joke.” Breyre pulled him closer. “Actually, he offered.”
“He did?”
“Yes, it’s considered an honour to aid the couple in their escape, seeing as they’ve been

held captive by ceremony and visitors all day. Although, while his method was not very
elaborate, I think they will remember it for being loud.”

Raven shook his head and smiled.
Breyre slowed a bit and led the way, not to his rooms as Raven would have thought, but

higher into the central tower, along a staircase leading up to the walkway around the parapets.

They stood for a moment, Raven watching Breyre watching the stars and scenting the

night air. He was… there was no one word for it, Raven thought. A knight and a scholar, a
man and a wolf. Ethereal, elemental, a creature of old tales. A strand of his hair twisted slowly
in the breeze, touching his cheek and revealing the tip of his ear.

Raven reached out and caught the strand, twining it around his finger and turning

Breyre’s head. “Beautiful,” he murmured with a smile. He leaned in for a kiss and Breyre
dutifully touched his lips to Raven’s.

“Turn around,” he whispered, guiding Raven to lean back against him. “Look up there.”
The moon was full in her cradle of stars, silver and heavy, not a cloud covering her face.

Raven wondered if Breyre had wanted their ceremony to take place at the night of a full
moon, but of course he would have. He smiled, thinking his lover was very much a wolf.

“The moon changes, passes through wax and wane, as life does. So will our love. But

even when you can’t see her she’s still there. When I look at her I see you, Raven,” Breyre
said. “I see her beauty in you. To me she is eternal, the one constant in my life I can always
trust. And now, will you be that for me?”

Raven clasped the arms wound around him. “You know I will. I committed to you before

I even knew you for who you are. Myche once said maybe I was fated to come to you, I think
maybe he was right.”

“Then I thank Meuri and the fates for not only sending you, but for letting me keep you.”
He turned around in Breyre’s arms. “Always. Give me your lovemaking, my wolf. I want

you to.”

Breyre did, right there on the roof for the moon to bear witness.

~*~

Epilogue

~*~

They say a starfall like the night I was born is a miracle that only happens once in a

lifetime. I’m not so sure. They say loving yourself is one of the hardest challenges you can
ever face. I’ve learned how to, through the eyes of another.

I’ve lived in Heiyerborn for nearly two years now, as Breyre’s lover, and as his Schierer.

I think I’ve found my place, but know the road is not yet ended.

Breyre is content, finally, with his lot in life. He tells me I taught him too, not only how

to love himself, but another. He says that is the greatest trick of all.

The End

~*~

About the Author:

Mari was born and raised in Sweden, and currently lives with her two cats. She dreams of

magic, faraway-lands, great adventures, and everlasting love. When not working (or

dreaming) she tends to write, read, or draw, and grabs every chance she gets to take her

Harley out for a spin.

Find Me Online:

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/marievers

My blog: http://moonriddler-mim.livejournal.com

My website: http://www.moonriddler.com

More stories by Mari Evers can be found on her website.