Silverblood Raven Book 3:
A Path of Storms and Reckonings

by Nikki McCormack

The Silverblood Brotherhood wants Raven dead. Even the law of the land allows their doctrine to dictate her fate. It’s beginning to look like letting the Brotherhood win may be the only way to protect those she loves.

If only she could change the laws that currently deny her protection. But to do that, she would need to evade the Silverblood hunters long enough to gain the favor of a king. A daunting task for someone who still hasn’t figured out the complexities of social expectations. With her life hanging in the balance, it might still be worth trying.

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Information:

Title: A Path of Storms and Reckonings, Silverblood Raven Book Three
Author: Nikki McCormack
Cover Art: Robert Crescenzio
Publisher: Elysium Books
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Length: 347 pages
Release Date: February 2023
ISBN: 978-1-7367938-5-5

Excerpt from A Path of Storms and Reckonings: Silverblood Raven Book Three

by Nikki McCormack

Copyright © 2023 by Nikki McCormack. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

CHAPTER ONE

Raven was never going to be able to fall asleep in a manor littered with dead bodies. Not even knowing the manor was Aldrich Darrenton’s and the men his guards. Knowing how many of those lives she had taken only made it worse. She hadn’t killed them for no reason. She did it to protect the ones she cared about in Amberwood from the attack Darrenton was planning and to avenge the murder of her adopted father and mentor, Jaecar. That second part was where the greatest conflict stemmed from. Revenge wouldn’t erase the pain of his loss. She had understood that going in. But she hadn’t expected to feel that loss more acutely when it was over.

Raven had been staring into the fire, sipping absently at her wine for about twenty minutes when the serving woman, Lily, returned to the sitting room to tell them their bedrooms for the night were ready.

“Go get some rest,” Marek prompted when neither of them moved. “I’ll keep watch and wake you in a few hours to trade off.”

Raven looked over at him, her gaze going to a bit of dried blood in his jaw-length, dark-blond hair. “I don’t think I can—”

“Try,” he interrupted, his silver eyes narrowing slightly with a stubbornness that mirrored her own. “You need the sleep.”

So did he, but she could tell by his look that arguing would be an exercise in futility, one she didn’t have the energy for right now. Lying alone in the dark, fretting over the lives she had ended, would probably only make her feel worse than she already did. But Lily had gone to the trouble of preparing them rooms. It would be rude to snub the offer now.

Raven shoved herself out of the chair, her muscles heavy with fatigue. Lily led her to a room down the north wing, away from most of the bodies. The young woman was quiet, perhaps sensing that Raven wasn’t in the mood to talk. Or perhaps too afraid to speak after seeing how effectively she and Marek had finished off the manor guards.

She slipped off her leather armor in the room, trying not to think about how badly it needed cleaning and why. Then she lay down on top of the covers, prepared to stare at the ceiling for a few hours until Marek came around.

Sleep claimed her minutes after her head touched the pillow.

•

When she became aware within the dream, she was standing once more in the rear entry of the manor, slaughtered guards littering the floor around her feet. Every one of them looked at her. No. They stared at her, each of them blaming her for their deaths. Even those Marek had killed. And that was appropriate because she had brought him here. Some of these men could have played a part in Jaecar’s murder. All of them worked for Aldrich Darrenton, who had ordered the death of her adopted father. His own brother. To make things worse, Aldrich had been gathering an army of mercenaries to attack Amberwood so he might lay claim to the town’s natural resources. He lay there too, one of his eyes punched through with a crossbow bolt she had fired.

Why, even knowing all of that, did she feel so awful about ending their lives?

“Raven.” Synderis’s hands came to rest on her shoulders, drawing her back toward him. “You’re alive.”

She turned within the circle of his arms to face him, noting the distress that tightened his jaw and furrowed his brow when he looked around at the carnage.

He glanced down, his silver eyes reflecting the flickering light from a wall sconce. “Can I take us somewhere else?”

She nodded.

The dreamscape filled with Krivalen magic carrying the warm comfort of his presence. She willingly relinquished control, watching with a flood of relief as the bodies and the manor disappeared, replaced by lush forest. A shaded pond appeared next to them, teaming with life. Dragonflies and other insects danced around the water’s surface. The intermittent deep croaking of frogs created an offset to the light twitter of songbirds. Two turtles rested on a log along the bank, basking in the sunshine. A family of ducks paddled through a spray of lily pads.

This was his counter to the death he had found her amidst.

She looked at him again, admiring the silvery-white hair that hung long around his face. Distinct cheekbones. A strong jaw, softened slightly by elegant elven lines. Lips she would never tire of kissing. “It’s almost morning. How many times have you tried to dreamwalk me tonight?”

He brushed his thumb lightly across her lips, then along her cheek. A faint tremble in his touch told her how worried he had been, waiting to see if she survived the assault on Darrenton’s manor with no way to influence the outcome. Guilt twisted in her chest, not for the first time, at what she was putting him through. If only she could find a way to care for some of the people she loved without making others suffer.

A fond smile touched his lips, moving up to shine in his silver eyes. “More times than I can count.”

The contrast between their dreamscapes pounded into the forefront of her mind. Her tableau of death against his beautiful forest bursting with life. She had killed. With minimal effort and almost as little thought, she had ended numerous lives that night. Somehow, she had even managed to fall asleep in that manor full of corpses.

Where was he sleeping? In his hut up in the trees? At the outer post where he had made love to her, unaware that she meant to leave him in the morning? Some other place surrounded by the beauty and vibrancy of that magnificent forest?

She lowered her gaze, a heaviness pressing upon her chest. “I don’t know that I deserve Eyl’Thelandra after what I’ve done tonight. I don’t know that I deserve you.”

“You do. We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of.” His voice was soft. That sense of safety and comfort radiated off him, inviting her to lay her burdens aside.

“What have you done?” She made herself look up at him, demanding his answer with her eyes.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She accepted that for the evasion it was, but only because of how it eased her sorrow, bringing a glimmer of joy into her heart at a time when very little about her felt good. Still, the hollow in her chest persisted, refusing to set her free that easily.

When he drew back, his brows pinched together as though he sensed the depth of her lingering distress.

“You defeated Darrenton?”

She nodded.

“Are you safe?”

She nodded again, almost casting a look around before remembering that she was asleep, unable to see her waking world surroundings. “I think so. For now.”

“Are you all right?”

She shrugged. “A few small cuts—”

He cut her off with a gentle finger over her lips and looked deep into her eyes. “I wasn’t asking for a physical assessment. This night hurt you in a different way. How can I help with that?”

Raven stepped into him, leaning her head against his chest, and he folded his arms around her the way she had known he would. His heartbeat was steady and reassuring. Such an odd detail to capture in a dreamscape. Was it her expectation or his that created that effect? In that instant, this place seemed more real than the blood-soaked reality she had made for herself.

“Hold me a moment. Tell me the things I’ve done tonight haven’t ruined me in your eyes.”

His arms tightened around her. “Heleath le’athana, anweyn.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and sorrow tore through her as Phendaril’s voice echoed in her mind, saying those exact Elven words. What had she done? Why did she still love him? Even now, after giving so much of her heart to Synderis, she longed to see Phendaril again. Why now, when she was closer to Phendaril in the waking world than to him, did Synderis have to offer precisely those words of love?

“Raven?” He spoke her name in soft inquiry.

She realized she had started to pull away from him. The urge to flee swelled in her, but she wasn’t going to do that. Running from him again, with no explanation, would be cruel.

She looked up at him, opening her mouth to tell him the thoughts that tormented her.

Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.

•

Raven snapped awake to hands cinching tight on her throat. A cloaked figure crouched over her, leaning all of his strength into the vice-like grip he had around her neck. His hood shadowed his face, but her death lurked behind the pure loathing that burned in his eyes.

As she woke more to the desperateness of her situation, she grabbed one of his wrists. Her other hand reached for the dagger she had stashed under the pillow. The instant her fingers closed around the hilt, she bucked her body. Men often made the mistake of assuming she was weaker because she was female and slight of build. She was Krivalen, and those magic enhancements made her stronger than most men. The power of her movement flung him off to the side. She followed, throwing herself after him. They hit the floor with her straddling his body now, and she drove the dagger between his ribs.

His eyes widened with pain and the terror of realizing he had lost his last fight. He grabbed her hand on the weapon’s hilt, holding it there. Perhaps he knew as well as she did that he would bleed out much faster when she pulled the blade free.

“I don’t want to die.” His voice shook, and tears spilled from the corners of his eyes.

Now that she got a better look at him with his hood knocked back by their struggling, she saw he was nothing more than a frightened youth. Her gut twisted. She yearned to take back the blade in his ribs and undo the damage, but it was much too late for that.

“Why?” She searched for anything familiar about his features. “Why did you attack me?”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he coughed up blood. It trickled from the corner of his mouth, spreading through the stubble of his beard. When he opened his eyes again, she was struck by how blue they were.

“You killed... my brother.” He groaned, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His hand shook over hers, his grip weakening.

The room shrank around them. A dropping sensation in her gut left her lost and confused. “Your brother?”

“Captain... Karth.” He coughed again, harder this time.

Raven turned her cheek to him, wincing when a light spatter of blood hit the side of her face. Revenge was never simple. Everyone had family somewhere. In her quest for vengeance and to protect Amberwood, she had inspired that same hatred that drove her in someone else. She had become this man’s Darrenton.

Tears welled in her eyes, one spilling down her cheek.

His brow furrowed in response. “Why?”

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “He killed my father.” She didn’t know for certain that his brother, Captain Karth, was among the men who came for Jaecar that day, but it was as likely as not.

The youth squeezed his eyes shut. Fresh tears ran down the sides of the young man’s face. A choking cough brought up more blood. “It hurts.” His voice rose with fear.

“I know.” The rest of her tears broke free. “I can stop the pain.”

He met her eyes and nodded. Recalling how it felt when Wayland reached into her with his power, preparing to take her life from her, Raven guided the Krivalen magic into him. She sought out that dwindling vitality that made him more than an empty husk. While she did so, she held his gaze and placed her free hand on his chest. Fear still shone bright amidst the pain in his eyes, but his face relaxed a little, and the hand over hers fell away.

Raven yanked the blade out as she drew on that faltering sense of warmth that was his life. He choked, his body jerking under her. After several agonizing seconds that seemed to linger on forever, the light left his eyes, and he was still. A silvery mist swirled around her hand, snaking up her arm and vanishing in to her chest. She had expected pain, the way there had been when her mother first turned her Krivalen. This was more like a splash of warm water, except it sank inside her, spreading through her entire body before the sensation faded.

She shivered once, then shifted off him and sat back against the side of the bed, bringing her knees into her chest. Mere seconds had passed when she startled at the sound of someone else entering the room. Closing her hand around the knife hilt again, she looked up to see Marek take a few steps toward her from the direction of the open door.

“I heard a noise and came to check on you.” His gaze flickered to the dead youth. “If it makes you feel any better, I do know for certain that Captain Karth was among the men who killed Jaecar.”

She heaved a shaky breath. “Not really. And, right now, I’m not sure I want to know how you know that.” With a quick glance around the room, she spotted the hidden door to the servant’s passages standing open in the back corner. That explained how the young man had gotten in. Either he had been extremely quiet, or she had been exhausted. Perhaps both.

“I met up with Darrenton’s men on my way north after killing that beast outside Andel. They had Jaecar’s body with them.” He stopped a few feet from her. She felt his gaze boring into her. “You took his life into you. How? In the Brotherhood, we’re told that only the priests have that power.”

Irritation prickled at her skin. She was tired, and the hurt that Synderis had so sweetly offered to help with was worse now. “Why would that be true? Priests are made using the same magic that made you and me.”

“They teach us that the magic remakes some people differently every now and then, blessing them with the ability to make others of our kind.”

“And it never struck you as odd that no one has been remade in that particular way since the first three men who started the Brotherhood?” She wiped her dagger on the frayed bottoms of the young man’s trousers—he wasn’t going to care—and stood up. “Control, Marek. That’s called control. It’s just another lie they fed you.”

His hands clenched into fists for a few seconds, then he deliberately unclenched them and took a deep breath. “How did you learn how to do it?”

“Wayland tried to do it to me. I paid attention.” She looked down at the youth lying at their feet. “He’s not a guard.”

“No. He was one of the stable hands. I met him when I brought the horses in. I got no sense of threat off of him then. He hid it well.”

Raven nodded. “The dead, they’re all human?” She looked directly at Marek now.

He met her eyes, his narrowing slightly. “Yes.”

“Then we’ll bury the bodies in individual graves as their families would.”

“That will be a lot of work.” There was caution in his voice and choice of words as if he feared upsetting her.

She walked to a basin on the vanity. The blood on her face was a spray of black specs in the darkness. She picked up a hand towel and dampened it, using it to start cleaning the blood away. Was it more amusing or disturbing that neither of them thought to light a candle, relying instead on their enhanced vision to see? For herself, she didn’t want a better look at the dead man lying behind her. It was terrible enough simply knowing he was there.

“We’ve got fields full of mercenaries,” she said. “I’m sure we can find some willing to help for a bit of coin.”

“If that’s how you want to handle it.”

“It is.” She glanced at him in the reflection, noting his wary regard. Part of her wanted to try to sleep again, hoping that Synderis would dreamwalk her once more and help ease her mind, but that would have to wait. “Give me a few minutes to clean up, then I’ll take watch so you can get a little rest before morning. We have a lot of work to do.” A lot of bodies to bury.

He gave a nod and turned to leave.

“And Marek?” When he stopped, she said, “Maybe put something in front of the servant’s passage entrance into your room.”

He glanced down at the body of the stable hand again. When he looked back up at her, some of the wariness had gone, but she couldn’t quite read what had taken its place.

“I will. Thank you, Raven.” He inclined his head to her before leaving the room.

Once she was alone, she stared at her eyes and hair in the reflection. Better light might reveal more silver in them now, but she didn’t want to see it. Not ever. She walked over to the young man’s body and bent down to brush his eyelids closed.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, fighting hard against the threat of fresh tears.

She had given him what she could. If the Krivalen in Eyl’Thelandra were to be believed, Accepting his spirit was an honorable act. She wasn’t convinced, but it had felt like the right thing to do at the time.