Chapter
Eight
Galantia Present day, Deepmarsh Castle, Sebian’s chamber
lay mug clasped between my shaky hands, a small piece of what appeared to be tree bark floated on the shuddering surface of my tea. To calm my nerves, Sebian had said after he’dC carried me to his chamber, sat me into an armchair beneath the window, and handed me the warm mug.
He pulled on the rust-speckled buckles of his brown cuirass where he stood beside his four- poster bed, opening them. “Make sure you drink all of it, or the pain will only get worse from here.”
With each additional sip, the burning aches seemed to dull, and my nerves right along with it. My gaze wandered about my new surroundings—a chamber very similar to mine, aside from how dozens of small clay pots lined an open armoire. It smelled like herbs in here, beeswax, and leather.
Like him.
A warning roil shifted in my guts, subdued by whatever I was drinking. In my shock, I hadn’t quite cared where Sebian had taken me, so as long as it was away from Malyrs’ ravens. Should I even be here? Alone? With a man?
No, worse… A Raven.
Sebian tossed his cuirass onto a trunk that stood at the end of his bed, his white shirt wrinkled and barely tied over his broad chest. “Open up your dress in the front.”
My throat narrowed. “What?”
“Those cuts need cleaning and a layer of tallow.” Sebian pushed a stool in front of me with the tip of his boot, its legs groaning over the stone. “Otherwise, they might get infected.”
I stared down at the gruesome mess that was my chest, wrought with puffed-up lines, shreds of skin, loose hair clinging to the weeping cuts, and blood. So much blood. “It will scar, regardless.”
He took a wooden bowl of water from beside the hearth. “Not if you manage to die of blood poisoning first.”
He had a point there, but… “Is there no healer I can go to?”
“Sure. If you prefer to walk across the castle looking as if you barely escaped the henhouse, then suit yourself,” he said with annoyance in his tone. “I’m offering you my help. Take it, or stop bleeding all over my room and get out.”
My muscles tensed. Compared to Malyr, Sebian seemed to be the lesser evil, but he was still a Raven. The one who’d captured me. I couldn’t forget that. Neither could I risk infection, allowing these wounds to turn into something even more gruesome. Besides, if I wanted to avoid public humiliation and a stain on the name of my house, I hardly had a choice.
I undid the topmost ribbon on the front of my dress, pulling the fabric until the weeping wound lay generously exposed. “Oh, gods… how could he do this to me?”
“Did he piss over it after?”
That Sebian needed no clarification on who he was told me this kind of viciousness hadn’t been
out of Malyr’s character. “No.”
“Then it could’ve been worse.”
“Malyr mutilated me. Marked me with… with…”
Gods, I couldn’t even tell with all this blood. What would Prince Domren say? Too much was at stake to break our betrothal over it, but what if I would appall him? What if he could never truly want me like this?
“Life marks us all in one way or another.” Sebian dunked the cloth into the water. “The only scars truly ugly are usually the ones on the inside, anyway.”
Spoken like a true commoner who had the freedom to overlook such blemishes. Nobody cared about my insides unless it pertained to the regularity of my menses, and even then— I flinched back on a gasp. “Your hand…”
Elevated scars webbed across his digits, his knuckles, and the gaps between them, enclosing valleys of dark ochre. The disfigurement reached all the way up to his wrist, then disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. I hadn’t noticed it the day he’d grabbed me. How much of his body was covered in these hideous patches of wrinkled flesh?
“Burn marks.” He pressed the cloth against my sternum, droplets of water running down along my wound. “Best take a long hard look, sweetheart, because it’ll be a common sight in this castle.”
My insides convulsed. “Why?”
“Same reason Tidestone has weighted net catapults, catching our unkindness if we fly up too closely. Keeping us on the ground, with no chance of escape, makes for easier targets. Birds with feathers singed to the roots fly poorly, if they still fly at all.” He gingerly dabbed the cloth over the cut, and whatever he’d added to the water or the tea or both made the sting tolerable. “Your father has
quite the fondness for setting us ablaze.”
Which I fully supported, but telling him so would hardly gain me answers as to why I was here. If this Raven bothered to care for my wounds, how likely was it that he would tell me? Only one way of finding out.
I took a deep breath. “Why do you hold me prisoner?”
“Prisoners don’t get fresh clothes, warm meals, and long soaks in a tub. I daresay you’re our guest.”
“Guests don’t get carved up, but I’ll humor you. Why am I your guest? You want something from my father for my return, don’t you?”
His vibrant eyes found mine for a second before a bemused smirk curled his full lips. “Figured
that out, huh?”
Tension left my muscles.
At last, good news.
“What is it? Gold? A truce?”
“Your father is holding one of our own in his dungeons. We want an exchange of prisoners.”
“That was a very ill way to pronounce guests.”
A chuckle. “You’ve got a mouth on you. Lots of ways to put that to good use, so I like it. Malyr does not. Better mind your tongue around him.”
Said mouth turned dry when my brain finally caught up with what he’d just said. What if this Raven prisoner was too crucial in this war for me to measure up in value?
But what could be more valuable to Father now than strengthening his alliance with King Barat?
The capital would supply him with archers, footmen, and cavalry to keep the Ravens away from their borders—all things needed to keep Tidestone standing. Of course Father would get me back!
My chest squeezed strangely, but I breathed past it. Alright… maybe he had no inclination to get me per se, but certainly this chance at the betrothal. He needed it. Quite unfortunately for him, that
meant he needed me.
Another squeeze.
But did he? Marriages tied houses together, to be certain, but so did sheer desperation. Oh gods, this was awful.
Sebian patted and wiped in slow, tender motions, revealing the inflamed lines where the bleeding had slowed. “Just as soon as we get our Raven, Lord Brisden can have his beloved daughter back.”
Beloved daughter. Whatever he’d put in that damned tea to calm my nerves had been too much, because a giggle pushed past my lips as if I wasn’t fucking done for.
Sebian’s hand stalled, and his narrowed eyes found mine. “You have doubts that your father will
agree to this exchange?”
Absolutely. “Not in the slightest.”
Satisfied by my response, Sebian once more focused on my wounds. “He cut deep, but clean.”
“So this, um… Raven my father is holding?” I asked, the wound all but forgotten against the premise of my ordeal. “Who exactly is he?”
“She. Marla is Captain Asker’s bonded mate.”
She. So it was only a woman, but… “Bonded mate?” My lessons with Risa had never mentioned such a thing—nor anything else about his kind, really. Because it wasn’t necessary for me to know about these things, Mother had always said, and Father… well, he hadn’t cared. “Is that like a wife?”
He arched a brow at me as though I lacked common knowledge. “Ravens have fated mates,
chosen for us by our goddess herself to bond with for eternity.”
Woman. Wife. Mate.
Equally worthless to Father.
“How can you even be certain she’s still alive?”
“Asker’s unkindness is still in full plume,” he said. “If she was dead, his ravens would rip their feathers out in grief.”
Relief finally broke through my dulled panic. Gods be good, this exchange was a done deal! They might as well ready me a carriage and cart me back home. Or to my wedding feast. The latter was preferable.
“Father will comply.” Perhaps he held that woman for no other reason than to taunt the captain of the Raven army. Nothing but a trifling gibe in the shadow of my betrothal. Though one issue remained… “Can I meet this Captain Asker? Assure him of my father’s need for this exchange? If I do, surely, he will somehow interfere with Malyr on my behalf?”
“Asker answers to Malyr, not the other way around.”
My shoulders slouched. No, of course not. Alas, Mother had once again been correct in one of her assessments, hadn’t she? Malyr was no lord.
“He’s a Khysal.”
“The last one.” Sebian dipped the clean side of the rag into the water, then set to work on my chin.
“He’s King Omaniel and Queen Elnora’s son.”
“Prince Malyr of House Khysal.” I looked down at my chest, heat flushing through my veins, amplifying the pounding beneath the cuts. Angry-red lines came together in the shape of a raven sitting on a skull. He’d carved his sigil into me. How could Prince Domren ever find love for a wife carrying the permanent mark of his enemy? “This can’t get any worse.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, it can.” Sebian gave a tug on my chin, lifting my gaze to his so he may wipe the blood from my mouth. “Don’t provoke Malyr; don’t draw more of his attention to you than you already have.”
“I never wanted his attention to begin with.” It was too intense, too overwhelming, too… unfamiliar. When the cloth reached the cut on my mouth, I sucked in a breath. “Ouch.”
Sebian’s deep, masculine groan answered, vibrating the air between us. At first, I took it for annoyance over my squeamishness, but it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be.
Not with how he gentled his touch, squinting at my lip with greater focus as he licked his own.
“He… cut your lip. Interesting.”
Lick the knife, Galantia.
My breath stalled for a moment at the memory of how the blade had nipped me, carving a reaction from my body that went against all sense and sanity. More concerning was that thrill returning to my belly, making me shift on the chair.
“There’s something very strange in your scent,” Sebian said, and whatever did that mean? “In any case, you’re all cleaned up, sweetheart.”
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
His jaws shifted as if he was grinding his molars. “Don’t get used to it.”
This close to me, I took note of his slightly elongated eyes, the tan of his skin, the shadows that filled the hollows beneath his cheekbones. For someone occasionally covered in feathers, his chin was much too smooth, with not a single whisker in sight. Neither on his honed chest, where slabs of muscles shifted behind his shirt every time he moved.
Strange heat seeped into me, making me distressingly aware of the nearness between us. If Mother
saw me this close to man—worse, a Raven!—she would faint.
Internally, I grinned at that.
I shouldn’t have.
This was dangerous.
“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” I said as I shifted back slightly. “It’s not becoming of a lady to be alone with a man… with no chaperone who can confirm that nothing indecent happened.”
“Indecent…” He pronounced that word slowly, languidly, while a lopsided grin tugged on his full lips. “Like what, Galantia? What are those indecent things, hmm? Tell me.”
My teeth ground together until my jaws ached. I’d listened to the maids’ gossip at Tidestone.
Wasn’t entirely oblivious to the things that happened between a man and woman in the privacy of a
dark corner.
“Are you teasing me?”
His grin climbed even higher, putting a spark of mirth in his eyes. “Aren’t you a little too old to be unmarried? Untouched?”
“Not for lack of Father’s ambition. For your information, I was betrothed twice before. And I would long be married, wasn’t for the fact that your awful kind has the tendency to behead my future husbands before I ever meet them.”
“Mmm, a tendency I’ll gladly continue.” His grin eased away. “You still didn’t tell me what those indecent things are, Galantia.”
“Things that might ruin my reputation, putting my current betrothal at stake.” Something they surely had to be aware of. But if not, then now was a good time to mention it in an attempt to emphasize my value. “I am to wed Prince Domren.”
Again, that teeth-grinding. “You sound as if it’s something to look forward to.”
And he sounded as if he was convinced it wasn’t. “What young lady wouldn’t look forward to marrying a handsome prince?”
“Handsome? Have you ever met him in person?” Bowl lowered to the floor, he tossed the cloth onto the nearby table, rose, and walked over to his armoire. “Sweetheart, he has the face of a horse.”
A lump swelled in my throat. Gods fetch him, clearly, he’d set his eyes on the prince before—an advantage I hadn’t been afforded. I wouldn’t ask him just how bad it truly was compared to the likeness the royal family had sent instead.
“Galant, then,” I said. “Honorable.”
“Honorable…” His lips pressed into a thin line. He once more sat across from me with a small clay pot resting in one hand. “This will ease the pain and quicken the healing. Apply it twice a day, but no more than that. The weed I need to make this only grows in the mountains. Difficult winds up there, hard to navigate for my ravens.”
“Because of your burns?” When he nodded, I watched how he gathered some of the dark green stuff on his finger. “Is that what you do when you aren’t busy capturing highborn women? Make salves? Potions?”
“We have studied Ravens for that, but I spend a lot of time in the wild harvesting the plants they need, so I know a thing or two about them.” His finger once more settled on my bottom lip, spreading a thin, greasy layer of the salve in a circular motion. The touch held a care I’d only ever known from Risa. Which was unexpectedly… comforting. “It comes easy to pathfinders like me, spotting herbs from the sky, scenting flowers not even in bloom yet.”
Which explained the scent of herbs that clung to him, along with traces of wet soil, pine needles, nature. “You have amplified senses?”
“To a point I hear the rush of blood in your veins. How your heart beats stronger when I’m close to you. How your breath quickens when I touch you…” another tug on my lip. “…right here.”
A touch so different from Malyr’s, inquisitive and delicate, but wrong, nonetheless. My heart shouldn’t beat stronger at it; my breathing shouldn’t alter. Worse was how he noticed… I straightened, gaining us more distance. I was overwhelmed and confused, nothing more.
“That’s it?” I asked, though it explained his earlier comment about my scent. “That’s your magic?”
“We call them gifts. And no, a pathfinder’s gift holds a little more than heightened senses.”
No small amount of curiosity tingled through me. “Like what?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” A final stroke of his finger over my bottom lip as he winked at me. “We’re incredibly charming.”
Lightness came to my core as I stared at him, flabbergasted. “Charming?”
“Handsome, too.”
Muscles I hadn’t used in so long twitched, bringing an unexpected smile to my face. That it had taken a Raven to put it there was an odd circumstance.
Sebian grinned. “You don’t agree?”
Oh, he was more handsome than one’s captor ought to be, but in a strange, eerie way. Undeniably
Raven.
Forbidden.
And yet, he had carried me here. Had cleaned my wounds, covering my mouth in salve and a smile. And, yes, he’d saved me from the fate of the other women in the village, even if he’d had no other obligation to interfere beyond his task to catch me. In all those things combined, I found gratitude. It wouldn’t kill me to confess so… might even gain me a much-needed guide.
“Sebian?”
He gathered a handful of salve and carefully slathered it on my chest. “Hmm?”
“Thank you for… you know, protecting me.”
His hand stalled, rendering him still for long seconds before he narrowed his eyes at me. “What do you mean?”
“From that Raven,” I clarified. “In the village?”
He stared at me for another moment, features morphing between surprise and… something else.
Something I couldn’t name.
Until he got up and turned away. “You should go back to your chamber and rest. There will be a feast in a few days to introduce you to court.”
“Introduce me.” What a fine way to describe how I would undoubtedly be paraded around like
the captive I was. “What court?”
“The Court of Ravens, of course.”
