He changed the subject abruptly. “Do you know why Haldron tried to kill Magnus years ago?”
“Because he wanted to be king. That’s clear enough.”
“No.” A soft chuckle left his lips. “Not at all. Haldron was a good man. Sympathetic to the Viori. Beloved by the people. And most especially, by his wife, Thyra.”
I jeered. “Thyra, who languishes in Suomelin, still trapped in a half-life after his abuse?”
“Your father only gave you the version of events he wanted you to know. Thyra bore the cursed Hrafn mark, and your father destroyed her life—Haldron’s life—for it.”
“Hrafn?” I repeated, dragging the H and R together like he had. The word meant raven in Old Ederyn but I’d never heard of the mark.
“The divine mark—a sign of the old gods that Ragnor Ederyn rejected out of fear.”
A slow, sickly feeling curled in my stomach. “Fear of what?”
“That the old gods would return through their chosen.” Brogan’s expression darkened. “It was how Magnus justified taking Thyra from Haldron.”
“Taking her?” My brows furrowed. “You’re saying my father stole Haldron’s wife?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Brogan rubbed his jaw. “She bore the Hrafn mark—though no one knew until an accident forced her to shave her hair. The mark was hidden beneath it, waiting.”
I crossed my arms. “And you expect me to believe my father kidnapped her just because of a mark?”
“No,” Brogan said grimly. “Because he believed she was a vessel for something far worse.”
He spoke with such openness it nearly made his story sound true. But in all my years living in Suomelin, I’d never heard a word about Thyra bearing this mark—or my father interfering in Haldron’s marriage. “Why would he take her?”
“It’s Ederyn tradition. Anyone born with the Hrafn mark is taken—locked away in a dungeon beneath the keep, where they can never be a threat. Most are imprisoned as children and go mad before they reach adulthood.”
Ederyn children seized and thrown in the dungeons?
The idea sounded preposterous.
But was it? Twins were murdered at birth. The Bound realms were subjected to the Bloodbinding. Lirien’s traditions were built on fear and superstition. “Why?” I demanded.
Brogan drew a sharp breath. “Because the gods might have died at Vornfall, Your Grace, but their spirits endure. They want to return. They should return. But which ones? Valtheron, the all-knowing? Gaelric, god of storms? Or Sly, the traitor who sided with the enemy at the end of the Third Age?”
His brow furrowed as he went on. “A child born with the Hrafn mark has been touched by the divine. Given the right circumstances, one of the gods could resurrect through them. Ragnor Ederyn had everything in his power to eliminate that possibility through the Bloodbinding.
“The only threat left, Ederyn children born with the Hrafn mark, are taken when they’re found. Every infant is searched at their naming ceremony.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded and chilled.
Is it possible?
Could Brogan Ragnall be telling the truth?
I shouldn’t listen to another word of his poisoned lies. I knew who he was. What he’d done.
“But if Thyra was an adult, what difference did it make if she bore a divine mark? Why would my father care?”
His lips pursed. “Haldron asked the same thing. Begged Magnus to see reason—that she was no threat. But Magnus took her all the same. Insisted she had to be locked away.”
He held my gaze, unflinching. “After years of trying to get her back, Haldron lost control. He stabbed your father in his rage. Stole Thyra and took her to Ibarra, where a priest promised to remove the Hrafn from her with an ancient spell. But it failed and she was left clinging to life, her mind shattered. The Regulation caught up with Haldron and he fled, unable to take her with him. After that, he came to the territory.”
“How do you know? You would have already been here when Haldron left Lirien.”
“He found me in my encampment. Begged me to help him plot his revenge. I refused.” Bitterness twisted his scowl. “Turns out he found a way to force my hand.”
