Echoes of the Raven (The Eldrystone #2)

29. CHAPTER 29

29

VALERIA

“If only I’d persuaded Esmeralda’s ma to join us. She might not be safe if what I’ve foreseen for Castellina comes to pass.”

Gaspar Patrach - Romani Diviner - 21 AV

A series of loud knocks startles me into a sitting position, jolting me from uneasy dreams. Jago also seems alarmed and as disoriented as me. Only Rífíor is calm, though I have the feeling he was already awake.

“Get up, you lazy fucks, if you want to break your fast,” a familiar voice calls from outside the wagon. Esmeralda.

I feel drunk as I strap La Matadora on, open the small door, and place a foot on the first step. I wince at the bright sunshine seeping through the canopy of a large oak. Birds chirp overhead and bright green moss pads my steps better than a Catalunyan rug. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I marvel that the world is still this beautiful when everything else around me feels like decay and rot.

Jago and Rífíor follow, stretching like cats. Though in the latter’s case, the analogy might work best with a lynx. He appears more ferocious and intimidating, while Jago makes me think of a cuddly kitten. I smile inwardly at that. Jago wouldn’t like this comparison at all, but he doesn’t have to know .

“You can’t be smiling after that miserable night of sleep,” Jago says.

I shrug and follow Esmeralda. Her hips sashay, and her collection of bracelets tinkles as she goes. She’s dressed in a layered, tattered skirt of green, yellow, and purple—her feet bare, leaving dainty indentations in the moss. Jago’s eyes follow her, tracking her every move with a frown.

She guides us around the oak tree, where Gaspar sits next to a crackling fire, tending to what appears to be a pot of oats cooking over the flames.

I glance around, searching for the rest of the troop. “Where is everyone else?”

“Up the road.” Gaspar drops a stick of cinnamon into the porridge, breaking it into smaller pieces. “They know we’re carrying precious cargo… they just don’t know who yet. We would rather keep it that way for as long as we can.”

“I see.”

The oats roil, releasing the sweet scent of cinnamon, making my stomach growl. Esmeralda passes around mugs of tea. I raise my cup to my nose and inhale deeply, enjoying the smell of chamomile.

“Fancy us putting cinnamon in porridge,” Esmeralda says.

“Food supplies from the princess’ kitchens,” Gaspar points out. “She even got pepper and saffron. Not sure how to use that last one.”

“I’ll tell you how,” Esmeralda puts in. “We sell it.”

Rífíor looks at me sideways, and it feels like a reproach. I instructed Jago to gather supplies that might be useful for the trip. It seems he let his stomach do the thinking. Spices didn’t even make my list.

We all sit around the fire, except for Rífíor who stands aside, reclining his back against the tree. He braces one foot against the trunk and sips his tea almost carelessly, eyes surveying our surroundings. When offered food, he dismisses it with an absent hand gesture.

Angry at myself for being so focused on his presence, I tear my eyes away from him and stare into the distance. The terrain is flat and covered by thick trees. The underbrush is dense and undisturbed, except for the area that marks our passage. I focus on a bug flying overhead, then a bird, which turns out to be Cuervo.

Good bird , I think, meeting his inquisitive gaze and inclining my head in greeting. He doesn’t appear to have The Eldrystone with him, but I have to assume it’s somewhere nearby, well hidden.

I clear my throat. “Excuse me, I need to… relieve myself.”

Heading in the opposite direction of where Cuervo sits, I push through the brush, ensuring the wagon remains a barrier between my companions and myself. I walk a safe distance away to make sure no one sees or hears a thing. I wait and start to worry when Cuervo doesn’t appear after a long moment. Swirling, I peer up at the trees, trying to spot him.

“Where are you, Cuervo?” I say under my breath.

A rustling sound makes my head jerk to the left. I squint, scanning the heavy foliage. Wings flap on my right, and I turn to watch Cuervo land at my feet, the amulet clamped tightly in his talon.

I squat next to him. “Hello, friend,” I coo, happy to see him, wishing I only had him and Jago for company on this journey.

He releases the amulet so I can retrieve it.

“Thank you.” I pick it up from the ground and quickly hang the chain around my chest, hiding the gem under my tunic. “And thanks for being here.” I smile as he preens, pulling on one of his iridescent feathers. “Stay close, all right? Don’t be a stranger.”

He flies away, likely to find himself a delicious breakfast.

I return, take a seat, and sip my tea, trying to act normal. Gaspar hums as he spoons oats into a battered metal plate and bangs the spoon against its edge.

Before long, my attention returns to Rífíor, drawn as if by a magnet. I feel his presence like a thorn in my side, a thorn I wish I could extricate and cast away .

He’s a bad male, Valeria . Kick him out of your mind then burn the memories to ashes.

It doesn’t matter what he said about helping his people, about doing all those things for them and not for selfish reasons. I can’t trust him. He deceives like a spider spins its web. Expertly.

“Why do I get the bottom dregs?” Esmeralda demands. “Give them to him.” She points at Rífíor.

“In case you didn’t notice, he didn’t want any of it,” Gaspar replies. “Besides there’s nothing wrong with it. I didn’t burn it this time.”

She sneers and stares at her porridge. “I see burnt bits in here.”

“Here, you can have mine,” Jago says.

Without hesitation, Esmeralda exchanges her plate for Jago’s.

Gaspar shakes his head. “Don’t you go pandering to her. She’ll strip you bare if you let her.”

“I don’t mind the burnt bits. I like them,” Jago says.

What? What is he talking about? He doesn’t even like oats. I look between my cousin and Esmeralda. Jago stares at his plate, swirling the spoon, and looking chagrined. What is going on here? My cousin has never looked chagrined in his entire life. Does he like her? I know him well enough to recognize the signs of his attraction to someone, but I haven’t seen any of them. Typically, it all begins with flirting and making his intentions known from the start. Instead, he’s behaving as he did when he was ten and had a crush on one of the chambermaids.

Saints and feathers! Does this mean he really, really likes her and doesn’t only want to get under her skirts?

The thought makes me almost giddy inside. Jago seems to have a real crush on someone! It’s endearing except… my giddiness vanishes right away. Esmeralda is the last person Jago should have that kind of crush on. She is shrewd, and I get the impression she’s very experienced in matters of the heart? Or should I say loins ? Either way, this can’t bode well—not to mention this is the wrong time for such complications. We have enough troubles as it is. I’ll have to talk to him about it when we have a moment of privacy.

“So how long will it take to get to the veil?” Esmeralda mumbles between bytes.

“At our current pace, I would say about a fortnight,” Gaspar responds.

Rífíor grunts.

“The tree trunk doesn’t approve,” Gaspar says.

“I don’t,” Rífíor responds, “give us two horses and Valeria and I can get there in half the time.”

Jago huffs. “Are you forgetting about the guardias?”

“We can outrun them,” Rífíor says.

“Maybe, maybe not. Secrecy is our best ally.”

“You’ve waited this long, Veilfallen,” Esmeralda says. “You can wait a little longer, don’t you think?”

“It may seem that way to you, human, but every day in this godsforsaken realm is untold misery,” Rífíor retorts.

“This godsforsaken realm, as you call it,” I say, jerking to a standing position, “has provided you with shelter and food, and everything you need to survive for two decades, so show a little gratitude.” I don’t think my argument is sound, but anger is the sole force guiding my words at the moment.

“Don’t worry, Princess, the days I spent with you weren’t so bad.”

“You fucking bastardo.” I start toward him, ready to kill him. I’ll teach him not to ever bring up the biggest mistake of my life.

I’ve barely taken a step in his direction when my ears start ringing and my heart beats out of control. I clutch at my chest.

“What is it? Your heart cannot resist the sight of me?” He grins crookedly.

“No, asshole! I… I don’t know. Something is w—”

A whistle sounds to my left. A violent pain in my left arm follows as an arrow nicks me, and my legs go weak. I fall, grabbing hold of the aching spot. Something warm and sticky coats my fingers. Blood! I stumble and nearly fall but manage to steady myself. Another whistle follows, and another arrow embeds itself in the oak tree, mere inches from Rífíor’s face. He jumps into action, unsheathing his sword and dropping to one knee by my side.

He presses a hand to my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

There is concern in his eyes. I recoil from it, from him.

He snatches his hand away and glances at Jago. “Take cover!”

Jago doesn’t question the order and starts pulling me behind the oak tree. I hiss in pain as he tugs me along.

Shit! The guardias found us. I thought we’d managed to leave them behind, but—

A blinding blast strikes the base of the tree. Gaspar throws an arm over his eyes as he rounds the trunk, followed by Esmeralda. The acrid smell of charred wood fills the air. Espiritu? The guardias don’t have espiritu—not unless they hired a sorcerer.

“Devils! I told you we should have never agreed to this,” Esmeralda says.

Gaspar looks affronted. “You told me? You were grinning ear to ear over the gold.”

“Quiet!” Jago hisses as I scramble to extricate myself from his hold.

“Let me go. I’m all right. It’s just a scratch.” Pushing my cousin away, I get to my feet and peek around the tree trunk.

Rífíor stands in a crouch, the sword he took from the library positioned right in front of him. Lucky the thing is fae-made! Lucky he took it!

Another ball of espiritu comes flying our way. Quick as the wind, Rífíor moves into its path and cuts it in half, angling the blade just so.

The attack disintegrates into thousands of miniature fireworks that fizzle harmlessly to the ground.

“ Drocháin ,” Rífíor curses, followed by a name I despise. “Calierin!”

She’s here? How did she find us? My entrails tremble as the memories of what she did to me rise like phantoms inside my mind. I press a hand to my stomach feeling sick.

“I would know your magic anywhere, you harpy. Show yourself,” Rífíor shouts. “Fight me like a real warrior.”

“What? Is he crazy?” Esmeralda pulls at her dark hair. “We need to get out of here.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Gaspar asks. “On your flying horse?”

“Ha, you’re so funny. At least the others are safe,” she spits. “I should’ve stayed with them.”

“Fucking traitor!” Calierin’s voice resounds across the forest. “You sold us out.”

“Then come and kill me… if you can,” Rífíor taunts, twirling the sword to the left, the right, the front. The blade goes so fast it seems nothing but a blur.

Bushes rustle across the way, and Calierin strolls out, hands raised and throbbing with espiritu. I clench my teeth and let hatred eat away my fear. I came to dread the sight of her, the gleeful glint in her eyes, but I’ve been fighting to erase her face from my nightmares, and I won’t allow her back in.

Calierin’s not alone. The male named Kadewyn is behind her—Rífíor’s second. His silver hair reflects the morning sunlight that filters through the thick canopy. I met him in the catacombs. Well, met him is a stretch. I laid eyes on him and heard his name. That’s all. He holds a drawn bow in his left hand.

I touch the wound in my arm. Bastardo! He tried to kill me! Or did he? Perhaps I only deviated the shot when I stood up. Perhaps he meant to kill Rífíor instead. From the way Kadewyn glares at his former leader, that seems to be the case.

Calierin and Kadewyn cut an intimidating pair. I don’t blame Esmeralda for wanting to run. The sight of them makes my insides turn to water. My history with the sorceress isn’t helping, but I’m determined to give this female no power over me.

I reach behind my back, and slowly, my hand wraps around La Matadora’s hilt. Taking a deep breath, I step from behind the tree, my weapon zinging as I draw it out of its scabbard.