Patricia Briggs - Raven's Strike

“But you can’t do that now.”

She shifted against his side to get more comfortable. He didn’t tell her that her elbow was digging into his ribs where they were still a little tender because that would make her move away from him entirely. She’d wriggle around a bit more before she fell asleep anyway.

“No,” she said, yawning. “Brewydd says there were only ever a few Orders in the world. When one Order Bearer dies, the Order is cleansed and passes to a new bearer. Because of the Path’s interference, these Orders aren’t cleansed.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. He’d missed these late-night talks. When they’d first left Taela, he had been too tired by the time they stopped each night to do anything but sleep. He was tired tonight as well, but not with the kind of exhaustion that made him lose consciousness as soon as he quit moving.

“Most of the gems don’t work quite right,” Seraph said. “What was supposed to happen was when the gem was worn against a wizard’s skin, that wizard could use the powers of the Order just as if he was the Order Bearer they had stolen it from. Brewydd thinks that they were stealing the Order too soon, before it was cleansed by the death of its previous bearer.”

“So the gems are haunted?” Tier asked.

Seraph nodded. “Or so we surmise. Volis said that none of the Healer gems work right.”

“If you break the stones, won’t the Orders be freed?”

Seraph shrugged. “Probably. But they’ll still have bits and pieces of their previous owners’ experience—maybe even personality. Brewydd thought it might keep them from bonding at all—or, worse, make the Order act more like a shadow taint.” She took a deep breath. “Like the Guardian Order, maybe.”

“I see why you can’t just destroy the gemstones,” Tier said, smoothing her hair.

“It might come to that eventually,” Seraph said. “But I’m not anywhere near willing to take that risk.”

The mountains were a mixed blessing, thought Tier a few days later. It meant they were getting closer to home—but it also slowed their pace.

Jes and Lehr had taken to ranging in front of them with Gura, looking for chance game or wayside robbers—leaving the women to totter along with the cripple and his old warhorse, Tier thought sourly. Journeying with Benroln’s clan, he had gotten used to riding while others walked, but it bothered him more when his only companions were a pair of women.

When they came to a fairly level stretch of road he threw one leg over Skew’s rump and dropped to the ground with a groan.

“What are you doing?” Seraph put her hands on her hips and frowned at him.

“I’m going to walk a bit,” he told her, and suited his actions to his words.

“Brewydd told you to keep off those knees.” Seraph slipped an arm through his and walked beside him.

“That was a week ago,” Tier said. “I’ll only walk where the road is level. Skew needs a rest.”

“He does not,” she said stubbornly. “Tier—” She stopped herself. Her voice soft, she said, “I worry too much, I know. But I hate it. Hate that you were hurt. Hate it worse that I didn’t get to immolate the men who did it until after they were dead.”

He slipped the fingers of his left hand through her braids and ducked down to kiss her on the lips. “You’re not responsible for everything that happens, my Raven. You can’t prevent any of us from getting hurt or even dying. That is not your place. Best you accept that now, love.”

She didn’t say anything more, but tucked herself more closely against him as they walked.

“It is, though,” she said, when they reached the end of the level path, and Tier stopped to mount.

“Is what?” he asked with a grunt of pain. Walking hadn’t been too bad, but mounting was miserable. His left knee didn’t want to bend enough for him to get a foot in the stirrup, and his right knee wasn’t happy about holding all of his weight. He managed it, and managed to haul himself into the saddle, too, but only just.

Seraph waited until he was settled before she answered his question. “It is my place to keep others safe. It’s what I was raised for and part of being Raven.”

He kept Skew still for a moment as he looked down upon his wife. She was strong, and gods knew she was powerful. He knew that, but his heart saw how easily she bruised and how mortal her flesh. His eyes saw a woman who weighed half what he or either of her sons did.

He loved everything about her. If she were not a Raven, she wouldn’t be his Seraph. If he could, he would not change that part of her, even if it meant she had to take up her duties and leave the farm, leave him. But he didn’t have to like it.

“Is it?” he asked softly. “Maybe. But those stories are so old, Seraph. Older than the Empire. Older than the Fall of the Unnamed King. Are you certain that you are right? Maybe there’s something else that the Ravens, the Owls, and all the other Ordered are supposed to do. Maybe there’s a better reason that Jes suffers under the Guardian Eagle’s talon. I hope there is. If it is only that some damn fool wizards decided they’d made a mess their children’s children’s children needed to pay for, then you are all paying too much.”

Hennea stopped and picked up a rock that caught her fancy and put it in her pocket. The air was heavy with clouds, but there was no rain yet. Perhaps she ought to go back to the trail and join up with Seraph and Tier.

When the boys were both out scouting, Hennea tried to give Seraph and Tier what privacy she could. There was some tension between them to be worked out—and walking alone was no hardship for Hennea. She liked being alone because it gave her time to think.

She’d had time enough to decide the decision she’d made to stay with Jes’s family had been the right one. The kind of man who could give up his humanity for power would not forgive the blow that Tier had dealt to his plans. Sooner or later the Shadowed would find them, and Hennea intended to be there when he did. That was the purpose of her existence after all—to keep the shadows at bay.

Her decision was the right one, but not for Jes. Not for Jes. She was going to end up hurting him.

She took the rock in her pocket and threw it as hard as she could. It hit a tree and bounced off the bark and into the branches before falling to the ground with a dull thud.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jes, startling her. Guardians were like that.

“Nothing,” Hennea said, without turning to look at him. “I was just thinking it was probably time to get back to your parents. They’re going to wonder where we are.”

“I’m not my father,” Jes said. He was close enough now that she could feel the heat of his body against her skin. “I don’t know when you are lying.”

“Always,” she told him. It was the truth, but she kept her voice light.

Slowly, so she had plenty of time to move, Jes leaned against her back and wrapped an arm around the front of her shoulders above her breasts and pulled her against him. She could feel his breath stirring her hair and closed her eyes so she could feel it better. It had been a very long time since someone had touched her this way. There was nothing sexual in the embrace—if there had been, she’d have pulled away. But she couldn’t make herself reject the comfort he offered her.

Her eyes burned with tears though she didn’t know why.

“You are tired,” Jes whispered in her ear, and tightened his arm.

“Seraph and I stayed up too late,” she said.

He shook his head. “No. Not sleepy. Tired.”

She was tired of fighting a futile battle that never seemed to end. They had managed to bring the Path down—a task that had seemed impossible to her when she’d started out for Taela with Seraph and her sons. They’d managed it somehow, but there was no triumph in a victory that left a Shadowed at large. And if they managed to destroy this Shadowed, another one would appear. Let ten years or a couple of centuries pass, and there would be another power-mad mage who wanted to live forever. Whatever she did, it would never be enough.