Ravenmarked Excerpt

My novel “Ravenmarked” is in the final stages of preparation for uploading to Kindle and other e-bookstores. The novel will be live on February 1, but until then, here’s the entire first chapter for your reading enjoyment. If you like it, please tweet, share, post, or otherwise point out to your friends and family and others who like character-driven epic fantasy. Thanks!

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For one with the ravenmark, there is no balance.
— Tribal lore

Razor-sharp scales glinted in the Esparan sun as Connor gripped his harpoon, ready to strike the massive fish. He adjusted his footing on the sandy sea bottom, dropped chum, and waited. The bloodhunter’s mouth cut through the water toward his leg. Connor held the harpoon ready—

Another shimmer distracted him. “Damn it!” He missed his chance to strike and leapt away to avoid losing a thigh to the razorfish’s teeth. Coral stabbed between his toes. He gritted his teeth and regained his footing as the razorfish circled.

“Connor.” Violet braids of air brought her voice to him over crashing surf and crying gulls.

“Not now!” The fish charged. Connor thrust his harpoon into its neck. Salt water stung his eyes as the creature thrashed. He drew a knife and stabbed the fish between the eyes. When it stopped moving, he lifted the harpoon out of the bloody water and grinned. Not bad for a quick morning swim.

When he turned toward the shore, the grin faded. “Mother. You nearly cost me a leg.”

Queen Maeve stood on the white sand, hands on hips and mouth in a grim frown, as he waded toward her. “How in the name of Bachi’s teeth did you end up in Espara?”

“I’m on holiday. Kanisse Helene invited me.” He looked down at her. “Did you come to release me?”

She folded her arms. “No.”

“Then we have nothing to discuss.” He hefted the harpoon over his shoulder, careful not to touch the fish’s scales, and walked toward Helene’s villa.

“Your foot is bleeding.”

“I stepped on a piece of coral. Goodbye, Mother.”

Within a few paces, Maeve landed in front of him; the air braids faded as she alit. “I need to talk to you.”

“Not until you release me.”

“Connor—”

“No, Mother. Release me or go.”

She crossed her arms.

He shrugged. “As you will.” He walked around her.

He made it to the steps of the villa before she blocked him again. “Connor, please. I need your help.”

“You have the nerve to ask for help after what you did to me?”

“Please—just listen.”

He stared down into dark brown eyes that matched his own. “All right. Tell me.”

“There’s a woman who needs an escort from Taura to Sveklant. I need you to take her.”

“Why me?”

Her mouth twisted as if she’d swallowed unripe fernberries. “Because you’re the best. Because when people mention freelancers, your name is always at the top of the list.”

“Flattery won’t work. I’m busy.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I am. I have to lead a merchant train through Nar Sidhe territory and then I’m going to Taura for the tribal hunt and then I’m wintering in Dal’Imur.”

“With torturers and savages?”

“With rich silk merchants who pay well. It’s warm there, and the women think I’m intriguing.” He started walking again. “There are dozens of men capable of taking a woman from Taura to Sveklant. Find someone else.”

She took two steps for every one of his. “I don’t have time to find someone else. Things are changing in Taura. Regent Fergus is ailing. Braedan is still in exile, and Fergus and his Table have chosen a new successor, but we think Braedan is mounting a coup. He’s built an army in Culidar and positioned men loyal to him within Fergus’ household, but we don’t know who. Duke Mac Kerry pretends neutrality, but he’s building up his own forces and sending money to help Braedan.”

“Mac Kerry—Braedan’s uncle?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“I have one loyal to me among Braedan’s men. He’s sent a few messages.”

The sand merged with rare translucent marble paving stones cut from the mountains of the Eastern Ridge in Tal’Amun. A servant wearing ochre-hued silks and a silver collar awaited Connor on the marble patio. Connor set down the fish and harpoon. “Deliver that to the kitchen. Prepare it however the lady wishes.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man kept his eyes lowered. “And wine?”

“Veidara. The lady prefers it.”

The man held out a kerchief to Connor. “For your foot, my lord. Do you need a repha?”

“I’m fine.”

“Of course, my lord.” He tried to lift the fish, but settled for dragging it away. Within moments, another servant arrived with a pail of water to clean the bloody drops Connor had trailed up the steps and patio area. Rarely did even an olive leaf linger on a courtyard stone more than a few moments at Helene’s villa.

Connor tied the kerchief around his bleeding foot and walked up to the balcony outside Helene’s bedchamber with Maeve close behind him. “Why bring this to me? I don’t care if Fergus’ son becomes regent.”

“He doesn’t want the regency. He wants to set himself up as king.” When her revelation didn’t garner the response she wanted, she spoke as if to a small child. “To call himself king, he must get rid of the rightful Taurin heir.”

He stopped and turned to her. “This woman—she’s the heir?”

“Yes.”

Prophets and scholars and religious fanatics had spoken of the eventual upset of the regency and return of the rightful Taurin line to the Raven Throne his whole life. I didn’t expect it to happen in my lifetime. He walked through the gauzy drapes that separated Helene’s bedchamber from the outside world. “I’m not interested.”

Maeve followed him into the room. “This is your country—your people. How can you—”

“I’m only half Taurin—the attainted half. I told you six years ago. I want nothing to do with any of it.”

She eyed the tattoos on his chest and arm and frowned. “You’ve visited the tribes.”

He crossed his arms, accentuating the blue dye. “I didn’t get these in Espara. And the tribes aren’t Taurin.”

“So you’ve visited the tribes, but you’ve not seen fit to visit me.”

“If you wanted me to visit, you could have forced it.”

She flinched. “Have you seen Edgar?”

“No. I’ve stayed in the south.”

“You won’t even return to your own tribe?”

“Did you forget? Edgar agreed with you binding me. I won’t be subject to a chieftain who would see my will bound to my mother’s.” He stepped closer to her again. “Release me from the magic, and we can talk.”

Her voice dropped. “Connor, I can’t. Please believe me. I’m trying to protect you.”

He turned away. “Go, Mother. We’re done.”

He picked up clothes Helene had scattered in her haste to undress him the night before. The bed was still unmade, and the scent of their night together hung in the air, honey and jasmine and veidara and passion woven with salt air and silk. He picked up Helene’s sarana, the long piece of fabric he’d wrapped around her when she emerged from her bath. It had only stayed on her long enough for them to share a meal. Why would I leave any sooner than I have to?

Maeve’s eyes followed him as he moved, and the ache in his chest flared. The Morrag’s voice resounded in his head—an eerie echo with more substance than dream, less than reality. You’ll be my first—my raven.

He grimaced. You’ll never have what you want from me.

Connor had spent his early childhood with his mother’s people, the Brae Sidh—the blood-magicked people who manipulated elements of air, water, and stone and lived behind enchantments in the deepest forest of Taura. His education with the Sidh had consisted of training in his limited air talent and thorough memorization of the old prophecies and legends.

The Sidh life stifled Connor. After more than one altercation with Sidh village boys who were taught not to fight, his father intervened and began training him as befit a Taurin lord’s son. Duke Culain Mac Niall gave Connor every advantage in foreign affairs, languages, and martial arts. Against Maeve’s wishes, he also introduced Connor to the tribal people of Taura. In the tribes, Connor felt at home. When he was fourteen, he asked to be initiated into the wolf tribe.

The initiation had changed everything for Connor. Left alone in the forest without any guide except his wits and his sense of direction, he had sought a vision that would give him a place in the tribes. He’d expected a vision of a tribal hunter or warrior, but instead, the avenging spirit of the earth—the Morrag—had marked him as her own, a man who would kill who and when she demanded. Ravenmarked, the tribes called it. There was only one man so marked in a dozen generations, his chieftain said. Connor knew of no others.

After his tribal initiation, Connor’s restlessness only grew. He chafed on his father’s estates. He could not play courtly games, and he found Taurin noble girls unimpressive. The Sidh village held no appeal for him; he hunted and ate meat and had little elemental talent. He was the rare son of a queen who should have had a daughter. When he decided he wanted nothing to do with the Taurin nobility or the Sidh magic, he left Taura to find his own path.

Maeve had not moved. “I’ve not used the bond on you in all this time, and you’re still angry?”

He whirled to face her. “Wouldn’t you be angry? To be bound to your mother’s will knowing that if you make a wrong move she’ll snap the bond back and force you to do her bidding? To wonder, ‘Is this the day she’ll make me come back? Is this the day I’ll stop making my own decisions and be subject to my mother’s whims?’ I’m a grown man. I’ve never asked you for a thing—for money, for a home, for a title—and yet you bind me like an infant at the tit.”

Her eyes watered, but she kept her emotions from her voice. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re all I have left.”

“And you think binding my will to yours will keep me safe? Tame?”

She closed her eyes. “What if it called you to kill them?”

A faint tremor in her voice was her only concession to the fear, but he knew what she thought—that the Morrag would call him to avenge his own father and sisters.

He could still taste the rage when he thought of Sean Mac Rian, the rival duke who had murdered Culain Mac Niall, his daughters, their families, and close to a third of the townspeople of Kiern six years before. After the murders, Connor had been ready to strike back against Mac Rian and his daughter, Olwyn. But Duke Mac Rian had the ear of the regent, and Olwyn was rumored to be a sorceress, and Maeve feared for Connor. Using her gift of the codagha, the binding web that connected her to the Brae Sidh, she bound Connor’s will to hers. When he thought of Mac Rian, when he was tempted to seek vengeance, the thoughts would simply evaporate.

He crossed his arms. “I can control the Morrag.”

“Other men thought the same once.”

Do you think I don’t know that? Legend said that in the battles between the magical races, the ravenmarked warriors went mad or developed a bloodlust that refused to be sated. They had done the earth’s bidding during the wars, but when the fighting ended, they still wanted blood. The tribes had to kill them to stop the deaths and allow the balance to return. “Do you think it hasn’t flared in all this time? I can control it.”

She watched him, conflict hovering on her ageless, fine-boned face. The Sidh Queen still had the beauty of a young woman, despite her indeterminate age. Her ebony curls still tumbled heavy and full to her waist, and her face was unlined. She looked like she could be his petite sister. Connor had his father’s stature and his mother’s Sidh coloring. “I worry for you,” she said.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I feel it every time you kill. When you’re escorting someone, when you fight, when you’re wounded… I feel it. I sense your rage. I tell myself that when it comes for you—when the Morrag calls—I can stop it. I can use the binding to stop it—to keep you free of it.”

You can’t stop it. “So this is my fate—to be bound to you or to her? Give me my will, Mother. Let me be a free man as long as I can. I’ll worry about the Morrag later.”

She didn’t speak for some time. The salt air hung about them, heavy with the promise of warm, brief rains and the tension of unspoken emotions and griefs. “Will you do this for me? Take this girl to Sveklant?”

He sighed. “You can’t find anyone else? Can’t you go to the tribes? Edgar—”

“If you want to dance in the heather with painted beasts, so be it.” Her voice rose in indignation as she eyed his tattoos and shoulder-length braids. “I’m not going anywhere near the tribes. This is something I want you to do.” She paused. “I’ll pay you if I must.”

“There’s not enough gold in all the Sidh vaults to make me do this for you.” He picked up a thin blanket from the bed. “Couldn’t she go somewhere else? Somewhere closer? What about Eirya? I could get through tribal territory—”

“There’s a town in Sveklant—Albard. There are people there who will teach her and help her build an army. Besides, the prophecy says the heir will return from the place where fire meets ice.”

He scoffed. “There’s always a prophecy. Why can’t it mean Eirya? I’ll take a torch to a glacier myself if it saves me a trip to Sveklant.”

Her mouth was tight again. “This doesn’t come from me, Connor. There are other forces at work here.”

Don’t drag me into this. “I don’t want to have anything to do with Taurin royalty.” He walked behind a partition and removed the short linen breeches he wore for swimming, brushed sand onto the floor, and tied the blanket around his hips.

When he stepped out from behind the partition again, Maeve’s eyes were hard, and a muscle twitched in her jaw. The queen had a towering fury. Her dedication to her people and her powerful Sidh magic gave her a steely edge that far outweighed his skill as a warrior. “I could compel you to do this,” she said.

He shrugged. “Try it. See how easy it is for you to run roughshod over my will. I will fight you every step. You may succeed, but not without great pain to you and the Sidh.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m asking you, Connor. Please. For me. Would you just put your life—” her voice held an edge that said she didn’t think his life was worth going back to “—aside for a short time and take this woman to Sveklant?”

“Escort her. Nothing more? She’s not expecting me to help build this army, is she?”

“She’s expecting nothing more than an escort. Get her to Albard, and then you’ll be free to leave her.”

“And then you’ll leave me alone? Let me get back to my own life?”

“Such as it is… yes, I will. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not the life of a pauper, Mother.” He gestured at the room. The low bed was large, comfortable, and covered in woven blankets and soft pillows. A cedar table near the opening to the balcony held a tray of fresh fruit next to a carafe of wine and two goblets. Every morning, he swam in the warm Aldorean Seas and lay in the sun, and at night, he slept ensconced in the breezy waves of warm Esparan air with a beautiful woman who smelled of jasmine and cinnamon.

Being with Helene was easy. They didn’t discuss certain subjects, neither of them expected commitment or obligation, and she paid him only for protection—nothing more. When he wanted to leave, he would find another noble or merchant to escort or a battle to fight where his skill with a sword would earn him a good wage. The freelance life eased his restlessness and brought all the money, adventure, and women he wanted.

Maeve looked around the room. “Connor, does this fulfill you? Are you happy?”

“You’re not one to lecture on happiness.” His tone was more irritable than he intended, and he regretted the words.

A shadow of old pain crossed Maeve’s face. Maeve and his father had loved each other deeply, but her magic, his nobility, her duties, the law—all had conspired to keep them from being wed. They were always torn between their two worlds. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“It means I’ll miss the hunt. And I’ll have to spend the winter in Sveklant. I was looking forward to Dal’Imur.”

“For the money?”

“And the sun.”

The jaw muscle twitched again. “Please.”

He considered it. “Will you release me from the bond?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Connor—”

“That’s my price. Release me from the bond, and I’ll take this woman to Sveklant.”

She folded her arms again. “After you deliver her.” She held up a hand when he started to protest. “I want to know exactly what you are doing any time I wish it.”

He laughed. “You want to spy on me?”

“Yes. This girl was raised in the Order of Sai Atena. She’s only known the life of the sayada. She’s young and chaste and innocent, and I don’t want you defiling her.”

“She must be pretty or you wouldn’t warn me.”

“Connor!”

“I swear, Mother, you think I’m a ten-year-old boy.”

She folded her arms. “Only when you act like one.”

“Gods.” He sighed. “I promise to keep my hands and everything else to myself. But I won’t be something I’m not. You ask me to do this, you get me—not some soft Brae Sidh water talent who’s never eaten meat and can’t swing a sword. I can keep my breeches on, but I can’t promise that she won’t be a little shocked by everything else that I am.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “So we’re agreed? If I release you when you’re done, you will do this?”

He hesitated just enough to make her squirm. “All right.” Maeve blew out a long breath. “But I don’t want anyone associating the name Mac Niall or Connor Mac Culain with this. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m involved in Taurin politics when I go back to my work.”

“Use your Sidh name.”

“All right. You’ll warn the sayas about who you’re sending?”

“Yes. When can you be here?”

“I have to take this merchant train first. I’ll leave tomorrow and see if I can talk them into leaving a few days early, but I can’t back out. I don’t know anyone close who can take them through Nar Sidhe country.”

“Is that the best you can do?”

“I made a promise.”

She sighed. “Very well. I’ll meet you on Macha Tor when you get to Taura.”

He sat down on the bed. “One more thing—when I’m done with this, I’m done. This is the last obligation I have to the Sidh. Don’t ask me to do anything for duty or prophecy or magic again. Release me from the bond and that’s it. I’m done with the Sidh, with Taura, with everything. Agreed?”

The tight frown returned, and she crossed her arms. “You can’t run from your magic. It’s in your blood.”

“I’ll deal with the magic, but I want your assurance that I’ll be free of obligation to you.”

“Very well. Just hurry, will you? And Connor—” She reached out and grabbed a handful of the tribal braids in his hair.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Cut your hair. The tattoos I can’t do anything about, but this girl—she doesn’t need to be escorted by some savage beast. Can you do that much?”

Even the braids? He’d earned the right to wear them. They were a sign of his high tribal rank. It’ll grow back. He gave her a grudging nod. He took her hand. “Mother… I think of my father every day.”

“So do I.” She looked away. “Six years—it’s too long. I miss you. I’ve tried to respect your privacy, but you’re the only tie I have to him.”

“You have Edgar.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen Edgar since—” A soft sob escaped her throat.

He knew how much that sob cost her. “Since the day we buried my father.”

She nodded.

“I chose the tribes. Edgar didn’t talk me into it,” he said.

She looked up, closed her eyes, and bit her lip. “Edgar didn’t agree with me,” she finally said. “He was afraid for me. When you walked away, he took me to task for binding you. He wanted me to release you.”

Connor didn’t expect that admission. He only remembered Edgar’s fist connecting with his jaw when he fought the binding magic. Edgar had defended Maeve, promising that if Connor hurt her again, he would call down the wrath of the entire wolf tribe on Connor’s head.

The words in Connor’s mind slipped out without warning. “I could have slit Mac Rian’s throat in his sleep before anyone knew what happened.”

You will be my first—my raven, the Morrag whispered.

Connor pushed the ache down. He had tasted the Morrag’s kiss and killed in her name once. He would not submit to her willingly. If you want me, take me.

Maeve hesitated. “Olwyn Mac Rian is not a woman to challenge. Please believe me. There is evil there.”

His hand tightened on hers. “When I’m released from this bond, I’ll consider visiting again.”

She nodded and kissed his head. “I’ll see you on Macha Tor.” She lifted her arms, and magic pricked his skin as she commanded the air to carry her back to Taura. Violet air braids wrapped her body from head to toe, concealing her inside the air, and she disappeared over the Aldorean Seas.

Connor let out a long breath and flopped back on the bed, covering his face with one arm. He hadn’t been to Taura in a year, and it had been more than six years since he’d been to the Sidh village, the wolf tribe, his father’s old holdings, or even the capitol city of Torlach. He only returned to participate in the ritual hunt each year. Hunting with the earth magic around him helped sate the Morrag.

The constant ache of her presence flared in his chest like the greeting of an unwelcome relative. He pressed it back. How long? How much more time will you give me before you make me yours?

The sweet scent of jasmine teased him from his thoughts, and soon he heard the soft rustle of Helene’s silk gown in front of him. Her thick Esparan accent tickled his ears as she wrapped her tongue around Taurin words. “I heard a woman’s voice.”

He propped himself up on his elbows. Even nearing her fortieth year, Helene had a beauty that stole his breath. She wore a white sleeveless gown that draped over her body in loose folds. Her light brown arms gave a stunning contrast to the gold filigree trim, and she had belted the simple dress with a gold-beaded belt. Thick black hair hung straight and heavy to her waist, and kohl accented her dark, exotic eyes. “It’s one of those things,” Connor said.

Her mouth tilted into a seductive smile. “Oh. One of those things.” She bent and put her hands on either side of his legs. The curtain of hair fell to one side as she leaned in to kiss his neck, revealing an ear pierced from lobe to crest with the small gold rings of her rank. “You leave sand on the bed.”

He shivered at the sensation of her warm breath on his skin. “That’s the price of your supper. Did you see the fish I caught?”

“Men and fish. You all think yours is the biggest.” He grinned as her lips drifted up his neck to his mouth. “You will make amends, yes?”

“If you insist.” Warm lips against his erased the salty taste of the sea. “I have to go,” he said when she drew away from him. “Tomorrow.”

She frowned. “So soon? After but two days?”

“It is regrettable, but duty calls.”

Helene straightened. “I did as you asked. I paid for freedom for my slaves.”

“I know. Your servants told me.”

“Then why—”

“I can’t tell you.”

The crash of waves echoed in the room as she stood considering him. “I can pay you more.”

“You know that’s not how this works.”

She untied the blanket around his hips and slid one hand up his thigh to tighten over the blue raven tattoo on his leg. In Helene’s bedroom, the ravenmark was a curiosity, not a destiny. “Then I have you until tomorrow, yes?”

“Till tomorrow, yes.” Taura can wait until tomorrow.
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