Page 5 of White Raven

His massive physique was bent over on all fours, emphasizing the cut muscles under his grey cotton pants and tunic—the colors of a captive thrall. The lowest of beings.

His head jerked up, his dark-as-night eyes meeting mine. There was a strange buzz in my chest.

I recognized it as pure hate.

He was a loathsome Night Raven who represented cruelty. It didn’t matter that at one time, centuries ago, our clans had been friendly. My whole life all I heard was they were brutes who thrived off torture. The darkness seeped into their minds, rotting them with viciousness. My father told me Gavric was never satisfied, always hungry for more power. It was he who killed Greythorn, spilling his blood and cursing our land. The entire reason my world was flipped upside down, forced to marry because I needed to hide from men like him.

A snarl hitched my lip, anger blistering through me, his bold stare not lowering from mine. His hair was shaved short and only a light scruff lined his face, displaying his strong cheekbones and jawline. A scar cut into his top lip, and he was covered in wounds and bruises. Rune tattoos could be seen inked up his neck, down his arm, and over his knuckles.

It was jarring to see a man’s face so bare. Beards and hair in our culture were a status symbol, a mark of pride. For men, a thick beard was a representation of their manhood, while a woman’s intricate braids and long hair boasted of her position in life, the fact she could afford to keep her hair clean and styled. Only the lowest of thralls and criminals were forced to keep theirs short. It was a punishment, a lesson in humility.

Thralls weren’t allowed to look me nor my father in the eyes, another signal of their low standing, yet he stared back at me without humbleness or reservation. It riled me. It provoked me. It ripped away the mask I kept up of being the obedient daughter.

“How dare you look at me!” I screamed, slamming my boot into the dirty water pail, kicking it. Mud splashed into his face and spilled onto the rug, smearing what he had already cleaned and ruining more of the carpet. “Fucking Night Raven.” I leaned over, grabbing the back of his tunic until it cut into his throat. I poured out my anger, using the kindling my father started and aiming it at him. “You filthy piece of shit. I hope someday my father destroys your whole kingdom and burns it to the ground.”

His bruised jaw twitched but he didn’t respond. His black eyes gripped mine with such authority and abhorrence that I could feel it piercing my chest, unsettling me. Made me realize how close I was to him. The fact I was touching him, my fingers twisting into the stiff, itchy fabric and brushing the back of his neck. His skin.

Jerking back, I stepped away, my lips curling, my heart thumping in my chest.

“Wren?” A familiar voice called me, but I couldn’t break from his stare. “Wren!”

My head twisted to the side to see Sarina waiting for me, her eyes darting curiously from me to the thrall on the floor.

Regaining myself, I brushed off my hands, trying to get the feel of his skin off me, and pushed my chin up, looking down my nose at him.

“Clean that up, thrall. And it better be immaculate,” I said coolly before strolling away, heading toward my chamber, where I was no better than the rug that needed to be cleaned and tidied before being presented for someone else to walk over.

CHAPTER 2

Rabbit blood sprayed across the icy ground, splattering my pristine white shoes and dress, soaking in the life which was just lost. Clouds drew over the assembly, flakes floating down in silent mourning to the sacrifice. The court before me was bursting with fur-clad nobles, sipping their mead, seated in cushioned chairs. The villagers pressed together far behind the nobles my father invited, trying to get a glimpse of the man worthy enough to marry the White Raven. Half the town had shown up, squashing into the snowy courtyard. The tang of their compressed unwashed bodies had me thankful the ceremony was outside. Even in the summer months, when my father preferred formalities outside, the ground was always coated in white.

“In honor of my son’s union with the White Raven and for His Majesty the King.” Miika, the older Blaxhall, bowed his head toward us, his voice ringing through the outside courtyard. His dark blue eyes glinted with lust, the taste of power salivating on the tip of his tongue, ready to gorge on what I brought to his family: prestige, influence, and money. A direct tie to the King of Silvervale, the ruler of the Day Ravens.

The animal jerked with its last breath in Blaxhall’s meaty hands before it surrendered to its demise. Keeping my gaze forward whilst red droplets sizzled into the snow, I felt every snowflake settle on my pale lashes, every breath knocking against the furs snuggling against my pulse.

My father’s hand pressed on mine in warning to keep me from appearing anything less than captivated. His fingers dug in as a reminder to keep my chin up, knowing I wanted to turn away, stand up, and demand the man bleed himself dry in my honor instead of the rabbit.

“This is how it is done, Wrennlyn,” my father would tell me over and over as a girl. “Huginn and Muninn demand a sacrifice. We must keep them appeased. To keep you protected. You most of all should understand what happens if the White Raven isn’t kept safe. The Night Ravens will stop at nothing to take the one who is foretold, depriving this land of the true leader, the ability to really heal this land.” Since King Stallard and Queen Elsara had borne the only child of royal blood, it was my father’s claim to be the leader of all kingdoms. His rightful place.

“I thought they’d already forsaken us?” My young brain did not understand why we had to placate distant deities who had already turned their back on us.

“Even more reason to please them. To become their favored once more,” he stated firmly. “You have a duty to fulfill. Do not disappoint me.”

As if I could ever escape my responsibility. What was asked of me since I was a girl. Protect our destinies at all costs.

The once-powerful Messengers of the Realm—Day Ravens and Night Ravens—were the favored couriers of the original two ravens, Huginn and Muninn. The ravens who represented “thought” and “memory,” carriers for the god Odin. As the world grew, we became their operatives—symbols for life, death, and purgatory. We ventured to faraway worlds and glided into dreams as warnings and signs, seen only in our spirit forms.

One day, when my father was an adolescent, our skies were suddenly shaped with featherless wings. A new species had come into our world under their god Hodr, Odin’s son. In the role of Hodr’s Messengers of the Realm, they took their place beside us, making a home in the West. It wasn’t long before they gained power and sway, stirring up hatred and a struggle for dominance between the species. It was a threat to Huginn and Muninn, to all of us Ravens. We had once been favored by Odin. Discontent simmered between the bats and ravens, until it detonated into war.

That was almost two centuries ago, when Kings Helvig and Stallard came together to campaign against our enemy in the Shallow Fields to the West. The battle lasted for three days, during which together the Ravens defeated the Leatherwings tribe in a glorious victory. However, when the Night King drew the knife across Greythorn’s throat, the sky cracked and the earth shook, cursing the soil and dividing the skies in anger. Our world was separated into everlasting day, eternal night, and undying dusk—the Night Kingdom of Ravenshadow, the Day Kingdom of Silvervale, and the Dusk Realm of Shadowfyre.

My tutors taught me that because of our offense against the will of the gods, Huginn and Muninn stripped us of magic, our feathers, and banned us from ever leaving our world.

The seers’ foretelling of the White Raven came soon after. The Leatherwings’s blood was still warm in the dying soil when the runes showed them a child of royal blood, their magic breaking the curse, healing the land, and uniting the tribes as one.

A dead carcass flopped at my feet, the limp rabbit staring blindly up at me. Gritting my teeth, I lifted my eyes away from the animal, staring off to the high snowy peaks of Silvervale, the lake tucked between the mountains reflected the pregnant clouds above. The older Blaxhall stepped to the side while a younger, taller one took his place, tugging a pig behind him.

Another sacrifice in my name, my father’s honor, the kills we’d feast on at the dinner tonight where I would officially be betrothed to Brynden Blaxhall, becoming his wife in a day’s time.