The Raven Lord | Book I

I. The Raven Lord

Kaira

My hands were stiff with blood. 

I wove in and out of the crowds of people, hood up, dagger concealed. No one would catch me here. I kept my hands hidden in my sleeves, stopping only once to replenish my supplies at the market stall where the cleric took one long look at my scarlet stained hands, quickly took my money, and whispered his wards under his breath. They always did that when they saw me. I couldn't blame them either. 

"Margot says she saw him standing at her window last night," a woman behind me giggled, throwing her blond curls over her shoulder. "She says he is more dashing than the stories say!"

"Margot always lies," the redhead beside her chimed. "And besides, the legends say the Raven Lord never shows himself unless he has good reason to."

"Or to bed his women...," the blond whispered. After a moment they both flushed and erupted into sporadic bursts of laughter. Scoffing, I turned and got as far from them as possible. I turned away from the village and made my way down the forest path, back toward my cottage. I had enough supplies, and enough of the people.

Kicking a stone from my path, my eye was drawn to a spot of scarlet on my boot. One that, I now realized, matched my hands. 

Five. That was how many lords of Marwol that I had assassinated this year. The blood burned and pricked at my skin, pleading to come off. He had been young, this lord. His hair was scarlet red, like his blood that now stiffened my hands, and he had the greenest eyes. Those eyes- I would never forget. It happened each time: I get hired to assassinate someone, I get paid decent money, and then I disappear again for several weeks, only to have the faces of those I drain of life join a gallery that haunts me in my dreams. 

But it was my only choice. 

I got to my cottage before dusk. The sky was hazy, the trees blowing gently this way and that with a low whistle and sigh.

"Looks like rain," I murmured, opening the creaky door and entering my temporary home. 

An hour later I had a fire going and had washed the blood from my hands. My shoulders sagged in relief. With the war between the Mortals and the Stygian, or what we like to call the "Shadow Wielders", men had been hiring me left and right to eliminate political opponents, potential spies, and others who got in their way. I was used to this. So why did I feel so badly?

I changed my clothes, longing to wipe every trace of that scarlet lord away. The cottage was small. Only one room with a small cot in the corner, a table stained from the years of use of spices, and a fireplace on the wall opposite the door. I would have to move on soon since they were probably hunting me already. 

Adjusting my sleeves, my eye snagged on the broken mirror hung by the door. I was hardly anything like those robust women in the village. I was frail, and my chestnut hair hung in strings over my shoulder. Purple half moons plagued my eyes, and my skin was so pale I could be mistaken for a corpse. My eyes were the only things I had to be proud of: they were a blue-green like the sea, unlike any other I had seen before. I breathed heavily and tried to fix my hair. How long had it been since I had actually cared about trivial things like appearances?

The rain started, causing the roof to leak and the shutters on the outside to bang in the wind. I hurriedly ran outside and tied them shut, before running back in to dry off. 

I sharpened my blade by the fire. Had those women in the market really seen the Raven Lord? Probably not. He was merely a wives tale: a golden-eyed demon taking his pick of the women and killing off the blackened souls of the world. The stories say that he only appears to when he wants something, sometimes even whisking women away far into the Stygian mountains to claim as a trophy.