Echoes of the Raven (The Eldrystone #2)

17. CHAPTER 17

17

VALERIA

“We can’t have two incompetent women in charge of Castella. Good thing I’m here to do something about it.”

Don Justo Ramiro Medrano - Master Mason - 21 AV

“ T reasure!” Cuervo exclaims happily that night on the balcony of my bedchamber when I call him and give him back the amulet. Odd how The Eldrystone feels safer in his care than in my sister’s.

“Hide it well, my friend. I may need it again.”

Bobbing his head, he hops across the railing, then leaps into the sky, flying in the direction of the observatory. He quickly disappears into the night, and I go inside and lay my head on the pillow, tempted to remain there for another week.

The realm will be fine without me. Won’t it?

Morning comes too fast. I don’t bother to put on a dress for my impending meeting with Don Justo. I asked Renata to arrange it, knowing I can’t put the task off without angering Amira. Instead, I wear my most comfortable, well-loved leggings and tunic—my recovered raven dagger strapped to my side.

I stare at my image in the mirror and smooth my hair into a braid, then plump my cheeks in order to look alive, not attractive .

My complexion is dull. I spent nearly all night tossing and turning, thinking of what to say to Don Justo and how to talk to Amira about her proposal for the fae. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep.

For hours, I considered both conversations, imagining what they would reply back, then adjusting my words based on their likely responses. Deciding how to approach Don Justo—a man I barely know—should have been the hardest of the two, but it was my imaginary conversation with my sister that took strange turns and left me feeling at a loss.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but in the end, I’ve come to believe that the proposal is just that. She’s toying with the idea. Once we talk, and she understands what a betrayal to Mother a holding compound would be, she will see things differently.

To my shame, I would be lying if I didn’t admit it wasn’t my sister or Don Justo who truly kept me awake. There was someone else on my mind occupying more space than he deserves.

Rífíor .

Bastien .

Bastien .

Rífíor .

Both separately, then together, merging into one perplexing figure I can’t seem to eradicate from my thoughts.

Every time I closed my eyes, Rífíor’s scarred face and pointed ears morphed into the human semblance of a man I decided to trust, a man who made me feel so much.

The memories of the night we spent together, the way he touched me, kissed me, and looked at me are carved into my mind as if in stone. And being here alone—on the bed where he was mine for the briefest moment, and I felt nothing but the exquisite rightness of it all—I’m weak, so weak that if any trace of Bastien lingers in Rí fíor, I’ll be lost.

In those feeble moments, anger rises, and I hate myself. Rífíor is a monster. Anyone capable of torturing another can’t possibly be any good and deserves to rot in a dungeon for the rest of their life.

Shaking myself and pushing all these thoughts and worries aside, I leave my bedchamber and head to my meeting.

I still have an escort that follows me around wherever I go, but I hope that soon, as things return to normal, their presence won’t be necessary anymore.

My meeting with Don Justo is in the largest, most impersonal waiting room I could think of. When I enter, asking my guardias to remain outside, I find him inspecting a portrait of my grandfather, Rey Vicente Plumanegra. In this particular painting, he’s in his early thirties, surrounded by four pointers, a bow held casually in one hand, and an empty quiver hanging from his back. A dozen rabbits hang from a pole to his left, displaying his hunting prowess.

Don Justo turns to face me, a forced smile plastered on his face. Slowly, his intense blue eyes scan the length of my body and pause at my scuffed boots. His smile falters. In contrast, he wears a tailored doublet of rich velvet, its deep hue catching the light with a subtle sheen. Beneath, he sports a crisp linen shirt, the collar adorned with delicate embroidery.

“Princess Valeria?” he says in the tone of a question, as if he thinks they have sent an impostor in my place.

“My grandfather loved murdering innocent creatures for sport.” I gesture up at the portrait of the exacting man.

Don Justo is clearly displeased by my comment—no doubt he likes murdering little creatures for fun, too.

“I hear your favorite dish is cochinillo,” he replies, sharp with his verbal swords.

One cannot feast on meat without murdering an innocent creature. My preference for suckling pig is a detail I shared with his mistress of keys in Alsur, and I’m surprised he’s aware of this. He must have thoroughly interrogated her about me.

“Touché,” I say, allowing him a win since I’m about to cause him a loss.

He smiles, self-satisfied, then takes a step closer. “I’m so relieved you’re all right.”

I take a step back to ensure he stays at a safe distance. “Thank you.”

“If those responsible weren’t already dead, I would make sure they met the end of my sword.”

The possessive tone in his voice makes me want to say something rude, but I restrain my temper and, instead, reply in the friendliest tone I can muster. “You’re a very protective man, Don Justo, a valued denizen of Castella. We appreciate everything you do in the south to defend the realm from the threat of Los Moros.”

“I do no more than a man who loves his realm would do.” He inclines his head as if he were doing it all for honor and not personal gain.

“The whole of Castella thanks you, including me,” I say, running a finger over the back of a gilded sofa as I meander further away from him. “I also thank you for fighting so valiantly during the veilfallen’s attack on Nido.”

Yesterday, Jago told me that the exact details of what occurred have not been made public, for obvious reasons. It wasn’t hard to come up with a lie. No one can possibly guess that Orys had the queen under his spell for weeks and was working to undermine not only the Plumanegra rule but also the human rule. Therefore, the official report states that the sorcerer infiltrated the palace, tried to supplant the queen, but failed.

“No more valiantly than you, my dear princess. I’m rather impressed by the fact that you ended the sorcerer. You must tell me how you did it.” His eyes narrow with interest.

Only the veilfallen and my sister bore witness to my confrontation with the sorcerer, and the report excluded any mention of the amulet and the espiritu it lent me to accomplish the deed. It’s only natural for Don Justo to be curious.

I gesture vaguely with one hand. “He exhausted his powers, and I saw an opportunity. That is all.”

A sound in the back of his throat expresses his enduring skepticism. Yet, I’m not here to address his doubts. He has no business asking questions that only concern my family, so I swiftly come to the crux of the matter.

“Before my father died,” I say without preamble, “he and I were contemplating your proposal. However, we never arrived at a final decision. After his death, Amira was overwhelmed and a little distraught. She wasn’t clear about Father’s intentions regarding my autonomy in determining my own future.”

Don Justo’s eyes narrow, an edge of displeasure tainting his features as he begins to suspect where this is going.

“I’m sorry to say,” I go on, “that she refused to listen to me and sent me to Alsur against my will. That is the reason I left shortly after arriving to your villa. My sister wasn’t happy and ordered me to go on with the engagement. But then the veilfallen took me, and her fear for my life caused her to see things more clearly. I—”

“She cannot break our agreement,” he interrupts, his words firm and spoken between clenched teeth.

“You can’t fault the queen for wishing for her sister’s happiness. Though I want to make clear that I bear full responsibility for the final decision.” I pause so that my next words have the desired effect. “I do not wish to marry you.”

His nostrils flare, and his hands tighten into trembling fists. “If you deny me, you may find our southern enemies soon knocking at your very door.”

“What ever happened to your love for Castella? ”

He comes around the couch, trying to reach me, but I move to the other side, keeping the piece of furniture safely between us.

“Your sister will bear the blame,” he says, “and her reign will be deemed weak. Many already feel she isn’t a worthy replacement for your father.”

Instantly, anger reaches a boiling point in my veins. “Amira Plumanegra is Simón Plumanegra’s eldest daughter, raised and trained by him to be the best queen any realm could wish for.”

“Debatable.”

“You’re out of line!” I say, my words charged with red-hot fury. “You were politely welcomed into Nido as a faithful denizen of the realm, but perhaps you aren’t what you portray yourself to be. Your words about our queen and your threats to the realm are nothing but treasonous. I could have you arrested.”

His left eye twitches as he realizes his mistake. He takes a deep, calming breath. “You are right,” he says in what seems to take a monumental effort. “I’m out of line, but I hope you will understand my disappointment. My apologies.” He inclines his head.

I don’t believe him, not for a second, but I can’t make an enemy of this man. I have to offer an olive branch.

“I do understand,” I say, my effort as monumental as his. “Your contributions deserve appreciation. I’m willing to provide funds for your army.”

He presses a hand to his chest. “You offend me, Princess Valeria. It isn’t riches I seek. I have enough gold to last me many lifetimes.”

“Forgive me.” I incline my head and lower my gaze to the floor.

He turns toward the door, and for a moment, I believe he will walk out, and I’ll never have to see him again. But it’s all a show, and he turns on his heel, smiles, and says, “There might be a way you can help me, however.” A pause. “I’m still an unmarried man in search of a regal wife.”