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The Silent Mother peered into the flames of the small fireplace and mouthed the word Sythia. She watched closely, but the fire showed no indication of listening to her. She mouthed the word again and turned back to the bench. She pulled a large clay pot from the shelf before her and peeled the cloth cover off slowly.
She reached into the pot with two hands and pulled out another, smaller one of clay. She gently sat it down on the bench and turned it slowly to look over the symbols etched roughly into its exterior. The black, shiny surface of the liquid within reflected the firelight; as she read the symbols aloud, the surface shifted, rising and falling as though there was something trying to break free from the thick liquid. She breathed in the power of it.
She slowly ran her finger around the inside lip of the pot, and the magic hummed through her skin. Elalia’s power was growing. She had felt it, but she had yet to see it. Now that the little ravens had been removed from Rocfeld and the distraction that they were, Elalia could focus again on what was needed, what was necessary.
She sighed and looked back to the fire. The magic hung heavy around the castle and the new queen, and the Silent Mother was wary of the Brothers. Yet they didn’t appear to have noticed the change in the air they breathed—or at least they hadn’t let her know it. No matter how hard the little princess had tried to warn them, they hadn’t listened to her.
It was Elalia’s husband, Malin, that had unsettled the Silent Mother. They had heard there was something in the touch of a man that distracted the less faithful, and they didn’t want that for their queen. Even thinking his name gave him power he didn’t deserve. The Silent Sisters had whispered in King Oren’s ear to give her someone useless, someone without power over her. And yet she had still connected with him, bonded in a way.
Despite Elalia’s angry words and frustrations at his activities, the Silent Mother could see the feelings she had for him. Or were they for the hoped child? Either way, it was over now.
“Find your way to her,” she whispered, running her finger around the lip of the bowl again.
The power hummed through her and she reluctantly lifted her hand away to pull a wicker cage from beneath the table. She flicked open the door and reached for the raven within. It was silent and still. If she did not have her hands around it, its heart beating strong against her palm, she might have thought it dead. She carried it back to the bench, taking care to shield it from the fire. She was sure it saw more than it should, but it should not see this.
She held the raven head first over the little pot, the opening of it the size of her palm, and slowly lowered the bird in. She mouthed the words etched in the pot and continued to feed the bird into the too-small opening as it disappeared into the inky blackness within. Sliding and disappearing. Once her hands were empty, she tilted her head over the pot and a distant raven’s cry could be heard. She smiled and poured the black liquid into a small cup. As it hit the sides, it became crystal clear. Very carefully, she took the little pot and slipped it back onto its hiding place.
She mouthed the words over the cup, smiled at the sheen that glowed briefly, and then carried it out into the dark hallway. It was quiet and the guards were not posted outside Elalia’s door. She entered the bright room and inwardly cursed the sunlight streaming into the queen’s solar.
She sat silently beside the fire, the cup tight in her hand, and waited.
The Raven Queen stood at the window, silently watching the world move through the courtyard beneath her, in and out of the castle and in and out of the Temple. Back and forth they went, busy with some business that was not really important at all.
Once Sythia returned, they would learn what was important, or at least just how insignificant they truly were. She had dreamt of Sythia the night before, the first time since she had lost her child. Sythia had reminded her that she was the way, that she must remain strong and follow the Silent Mother.
“You have been very quiet,” Brother Erasmus said from the table behind her, and she felt his searching eyes across her back.
Elalia tried to relax her shoulders, feeling the tension pulling at them. “There is nothing to say,” she said.
“They have been gone weeks already. There is no threat, no news of a threat. Why won’t you allow them to return?”
“They are travelling,” she said, continuing to watch the insignificance of the people of Rocfeld. But when he didn’t respond she turned slowly from the window, and although he managed to keep it from his face, he radiated anger. She smiled and stepped forward. “They take the time to see the world, to have time away from the pressures of Rocfeld since Father’s death.”
“That wasn’t your reasoning when you sent them away. Where did you send them to?”
“Brother, do not worry. They are well protected.”
“From what?” he said a little too loudly, giving away his frustrations. She cocked her head to the side. “Forgive me,” he muttered, pushing up from the table with some effort. “I feel somewhat distracted.”
Elalia glanced at the fireplace and then back to the Brother. “Perhaps you should consider some quiet prayer,” she said, indicating the door just as it opened to reveal Malin. She fought the urge to sigh. “Not now, my dear,” she said, pushing a smile across her face. He nodded and followed the Brother away.
Once the door was closed, she turned to the fireplace. “How long?” she asked.
“How did you know?” the Silent Mother asked, becoming visible as she stood slowly, the cup held tight in her hand.
“I felt you,” she said simply, walking back to the window and staring out at the day. “The days grow longer.”
“Spring has arrived,” the Silent Mother said, not moving from her position by the fire.
“I prefer the shadows,” Elalia said.
“Soon,” the Silent Mother replied, holding out the cup, and Elalia stepped forward and took it from her.
Brother Peras moved between the dark and dusty shelves of the study and sat down at the long table opposite the old man. Brother Erasmus stared unseeing across the table and Brother Peras remained silent, not wanting to distract him from his thoughts. A Sister put a bowl of porridge on the table and disappeared. Peras looked after her, but she did not reappear with another. He put his slate down as Brother Erasmus dragged the bowl across the table and looked at the contents with suspicion.
“What are we to do with this woman?” he asked, poking it with a spoon.
“There are other Sisters who can cook,” Peras offered, watching the man closely.
“I meant the queen,” Brother Erasmus said, his eyes still focused on his food.
Peras stared at Brother Erasmus across the table.
“Not cooking, Brother. Her family affairs.”
“Oh yes,” Peras said, “of course.” He shifted under the intense stare of the senior Brother. “I worry for the princesses,” he murmured.
Brother Erasmus nodded slowly. “I too fear they are sent into more danger.”
“Princess Meg is a sensible woman,” Brother Peras said.
“Sensible may not help if she is run through with a sword.”
Peras gulped. “What can we do?”
“Pray the gods keep a close watch over her,” Brother Erasmus said.
“And Tands? Might they fight for a chance with her? What might they do if they hear she has been sent away?”
“Let us hope it is not heard for some time. And although the new queen dissolved the match, it was done before she was marked as Raven Queen. I cannot guess at the reaction of their king,” Brother Erasmus added softly with a slight shake of his head, his long beard dangerously close to his porridge.
Peras could only nod. He was sure the young princess was much stronger than she believed. He had seen it himself when Queen Elalia had been injured in the hunting accident. Princess Megora had slipped so easily into the role, and it had seemed the right place for her to be.
“Let us find a distraction for the queen,” Brother Erasmus said.
“She rarely leaves her rooms,” Brother Peras responded.
“Find her a cause—one that removes her focus from whatever strange reasoning sent her sisters away.”
Brother Peras nodded. He hoped with the young princesses out of the way, the queen might reconsider their removal and have them returned. But when that might be, he couldn’t guess. “I shall see what can be done.”
“Peras,” Erasmus said as Brother Peras stood from the table. “See if you can find something more...” He poked the contents of his bowl again. “Appetising.”
Nodding, Peras left the study and moved directly to the Temple. It was silent when he entered, although six Brothers already knelt on the cold stones before the statues. He stepped forward and touched the feet of the gods that towered over the expanse of the Temple, then bowed his head. He moved to the Followers—Fire, Water, Earth and Air—and touched their feet too. He joined his Brothers and knelt before the gods, his head bowed.
Meg, the sweet girl that smiled at everyone she met, smiled at him in his mind’s eye, and then the strong woman that had taken control after the attempt on Elalia’s life stepped forward.
Keep her safe from harm, he prayed. Watch over her, walk beside her and return her to us.
Peras repeated the words over and over, beseeching the gods to help her. When he lifted his head, the other Brothers had left the Temple and he was alone. He stood slowly, his legs stiff, and the light of the few candles that had been lit flickered and danced across the faces of the gods. They moved in the light, smiled and nodded. He stepped forward and rubbed his hands across the smooth stone feet of each statue. Then he moved back to Kion, kissed the smooth, worn place on his foot and did the same to Kira. Then he kissed Kira, and then Kion.
As he stepped back, Brother Peras was surprised to find the Lord of Rocfeld moving quickly towards the gods. Without pausing to speak to the Brother, he stood at the feet of Kion, rubbing his hand back and forth as he looked up into the god’s face.
When he finally turned from them, he blinked as though waking from a deep sleep.
“Your Highness,” the Brother said, stepping up to meet him. “Do you search for advice on something particular?”
“Peace more than advice,” he said. “He is the Father.”
“And the Brother,” Peras said, giving a short nod of his head. “Do you need a father’s advice?” he asked.
Malin turned back to the gods and shook his head. “My child died,” he said, somewhat vaguely. Then, focusing on Peras, he added, “In a hunting accident.”
“I did hear the sad news. I am sorry, Highness,” he said. “She is a young wife,” he offered. “There is time for more.”
Malin stared at him as though just realising he was there. “She will not let me in the bedchamber,” he said. “All that time she wanted nothing else, and now she will not have me.”
“She may need time,” the Brother said. So desperate for a child and now that child lost, she wanted nothing. A strange creature indeed this queen was, he thought.
Prince Malin nodded sadly.
“I am sure you could be of some use to her in other ways,” the Brother said, and Malin glared at him, straightening quickly, his chest puffed out. “Such as matters of state, or at court perhaps,” Peras added carefully.
“Perhaps,” Malin said, deflating. He started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “Thank you, Brother,” he said and moved slowly out of the Temple.
How did he come to be husband of a queen? Peras wondered as he walked through the empty Temple in the wake of the prince towards the queen’s solar.
He found her on her knees at the private chapel beneath her rooms. He shivered, waiting in the doorway, watching the two candles flicker strange light around the room. There were no statues of the gods. She remained unmoving for some time, and although he understood the power of prayer, it somehow seemed unnatural in this woman.
He decided it would be best to think on Brother Erasmus’s request and come back to her when he had a clear plan to distract her. He backed away from the door and headed back to the comfort of the Temple. He knew that he would need to talk with her sooner rather than later.