Echoes of the Raven (The Eldrystone #2)

40. CHAPTER 40

40

VALERIA

“Tonight, I will dance the night away around the bonfire.”

María Salazar - Badajos Resident - 21 AV

“ W ait! Where are you going?” I reach out a hand toward the door as Rífíor exits, leaving me alone in the room with a thousand newly sprouted questions that demand an answer. “Come back,” I call as I attempt to stand, but pain brings me up short.

I press a hand to my side, groaning. It takes me a moment to get to my feet and walk to the door. Holding my wound gingerly, I peer into the hall, but there is no sign of Rífíor.

It’s evident it was hard for him to dredge up the past. I’ve never seen him so upset, never thought he could look so vulnerable—not when strength and indifference are his defining characteristics. This was not the person I know. This was someone else entirely.

And it’s the main reason I’m inclined to believe him.

The whole story seems ludicrous, even as I recall his strained expression as he related it to me. Mother wasn’t a vengeful person. The idea that she devised a curse seems nothing but far-fetched. Unless…

Unless there was an exceptionally good reason .

The very thing that Rífíor doesn’t want to talk about, which is what I’ve suspected all along.

Holding my side, I take several steps back and sit at the edge of the bed, wondering if I want to talk about it, if knowing what drove Mother to curse Rífíor will also push me to my limits.

My mind races, attempting to piece together the puzzle. Rífíor stole The Eldrystone. Could he have taken a life to accomplish it? Perhaps he even murdered the rightful owner, the Fae King. I shake my head, overwhelmed by the possibilities. Maybe he didn’t commit a murder, but surely only a grave transgression could have provoked Mother’s drastic measures.

If he killed someone, I have no right to judge him. I’ve killed, too. And after all this time, it’s possible that he has had time to reflect and regret his actions. Perhaps Mother’s punishment had its intended effect.

No, not Mother’s punishment. Niamhara’s.

I agree with Rífíor. Her influence is unmistakable. Even now, I sense her hand at work, shaping our path toward an objective that eludes my understanding. I’m afraid of where she may be leading us, but what other choice do we have?

Outside the window, I hear excited voices, people going about their lives without a care in the world.

For an hour, I wait for Rífíor to return, but he doesn’t. Without thinking, I start pacing the room from one end to the next, so preoccupied that I don’t notice how quickly the pain in my side is subsiding. Gingerly, I press the spot and find that there’s only a small ache. Nothing I can’t handle. Francisca was right. The healer’s power is still at work, steadily mending me.

Finding my clothes clean and folded on top of the dresser, I change quickly and leave the room in search of Rífíor. The noise from the tavern on the first floor grows louder as I approach. I’m surprised to find people dressed in costumes, wearing masks and moving about in excitement. I quickly make some mental calculations and realize that La Feria de Zafra takes place around this time of the year, and the farmers and livestock owners of Leonesa—the western-most region of Castella—come together for trade and other festivities. The latter seems to be in full swing.

As I come down the steps, the man behind the counter notices me and points with his chin in my direction. His wife’s eyes widen, and she quickly approaches, weaving through the crowd.

“I’m so very glad to see you on your feet,” she says. “May I help you in any way?”

“Thank you. Um, yes, have you seen Rífíor, my companion?”

She gives me a rueful smile. “Yes, unfortunately. He’s drunk.” She points at a far corner in the back, where Rífíor sits slumped on a chair, three bottles in front of him. His head lolls to one side.

“Fantástico,” I mumble.

“Maybe he’s letting out steam,” she says. “He paid the price to heal you. It couldn’t have been easy.”

I want to ask her what she means by that, but she walks away before I can. I approach Rífíor and nudge his boot with mine. He doesn’t stir. I do it again, this time harder, more of a stomp on his toes than a nudge. He deserves it.

Groaning, he pulls his foot back and squints at me. At first, he doesn’t seem to recognize me, but then his mouth turns downward, as if the mere sight of me causes him pain. He sits up and glances around at the masked revelers.

“What in all the hells?” he slurs.

“It’s La Feria de Zafra, I figure. It’s that time of the year. We’re in the Leonesa region, after all. Badajos, right?”

He grunts in response, then stretches to his full height, picks up one of the bottles, and drains it to its last drop. Setting it down with a thud , he pushes away from the table and heads for the door, stumbling.

“Where are you going?” I demand. “We need to finish our conversation.”

Weaving precariously, he makes it outside, where the noise is considerably louder than it was just an hour ago. The residents of Badajos are starting to come out in full force to celebrate.

Standing on the narrow wooden porch in front of the inn, Rífíor makes a face of disgust at the sight of all the happy people. Swaying only slightly, he runs stiff fingers through his silky hair. It’s standing on end, and the maneuver makes it worse.

“Damn, useless human wine,” he complains. “If I only had some feyglen.”

The three bottles he drank could easily knock a large man out, but it barely seems to have had any effect on him. The fae process alcohol a lot faster than we can.

“Are you backing down now?” I ask. “Will you not tell me what I need to know?

“You don’t need to know anything. Leave me alone.”

Under other circumstances, I would probably yell at him and demand that he does as he promised, but something about his harried expression makes me feel sorry for him. There are things in my past I can’t bear to talk about, so I understand how he feels. Of course, this only makes my curiosity bigger, for what could affect him so? Still, I feel like the right call is to let him be and allow him to tell me on his own terms. Besides, he did save my life and watched over me all night. He has earned a break.

Even if I understand, I don’t need to show him I’ve decided not to be hard on him. He never makes anything easy for me, so why should I?

I step off the porch and onto the road with the revelers. “You’re a coward.”

Holding my side as I walk, I blend with the crowd, following the sound of distant music. At the end of the street, I reach a plaza where a bonfire burns in the center and people dance. Some of their sequin masks blink in the light, dazzling the eye. The music is lively and makes me want to dance. Odd, considering everything.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a cart with masks for sale. Their intricate design draws me closer. I pick one up. It’s black with golden filigree, and black feathers lining the top. That’s probably the one I would buy, if I had any coin with me.

“That one would look pretty on you,” the seller says. “Would you like to try it on?”

I consider putting it on just for fun, then decide against it. “No, thank you.”

The seller looks at me with narrowed eyes, focused on the white streak of hair hanging in front of me. His mouth opens and closes, and my heart picks up its beat. Is it possible that he recognizes me? No, we’re far from Castellina. There are no portraits of me here, are there?

“Aren’t you—?”

“We’ll take two.” Rífíor appears behind me, picks up two masks, and throws down more coins than necessary in front of the man. He pulls me aside by one arm, his strong fingers digging into my skin.

“Hey, that hurts. Let me go!”

Seemingly recovered from his drunkenness, he says, “It doesn’t take you long to find trouble, doesn’t it? If he has not figured out who you are by now, he soon will. Here, put this on.” He tosses the black mask in my general direction, and I catch it before it hits the ground.

I tie the silk ribbon behind my head, the smooth material gliding between my fingers. Rífíor does the same with his mask, dark eyes glancing back at the vendor.

“He is still looking this way,” he grumbles, then seizes my hand and pulls me into the throng of dancers, effortlessly twirling me around before drawing me into his embrace as the crowd swirls around us.

The next thing I know, he’s guiding me dexterously to the rhythm of the music. I fall easily into the movements, letting him take the lead, enjoying the subtle strength of his arms and the sturdy pressure of his chest against mine. My breath catches as I inhale his delicious musk. This was definitely not in anyone’s predictions, not even El Gran Místico’s.

At first, he’s focused on looking over the crowd, his eyes narrowed, his face etched with suspicion and distrust. But at last, he seems to relax, and once he’s sure we’re out of trouble, he starts releasing me.

Unwilling to let the moment end, I hold on tighter, squeezing his hand and pulling him closer. His perfect, thick eyebrows go up.

“Dance with me a bit longer,” I say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a reprieve.”

“We’re not here to enjoy ourselves, Princess. And what about your wound?”

“It barely hurts,” I lie, moving around is making it smart uncomfortably, but nothing I can’t handle.

Despite his gruff tone, he secures his grip around my waist and leans into the dance with more enthusiasm than I would have expected.

His movements are graceful and practiced, which makes me wonder about his life in Tirnanog before he became a stranded pariah. When the song ends, he twirls me one last time, then pulls me close. My chest hits his, and one of his hands slides from my waist to the middle of my back, fingers splayed.

He gazes down at me, our noses nearly touching. His lower lip trembles, and I see the moment his resolve breaks. Possessive and hungry, he kisses my neck. His tense body feels wild and full of desperation, as if time is running out, and this is the last time we will be this way. I want to pull away from him and search his expression, but I can’t because I also want to stay, kissing him, lost in his embrace.

Breathless, he tears away from me, and I cling to his shirt, trying to keep him in place. He seems lost for an instant, but finding his resolve, he picks me up, turns away from the revelers, and takes me past a line of trees in the back of the plaza .

All around us, I perceive the silhouettes of several couples, tangled in each other’s arms, letting the euphoria of the festivities warm their blood the same way it has warmed ours.

Rífíor takes me deeper and deeper into the woods until we’re utterly alone. There, he pushes me against a tree and traps me in the cage of his arms and the delicious weight of his body. One of his hands wraps around my throat as he looks me over with unbridled hunger.

“What did you do to me, Valeria Plumanegra?” he demands. “This is not meant to be. This cannot be.”

“What cannot be? Tell me?”

Without answering, he kisses my neck again. His body is solid against mine, and the heat of his desire suffuses my skin the way the sun’s warmth does. I pull on the silk ribbon of his mask and release it. It falls to the ground. I do the same with mine. I don’t want anything between us.

As he leans back, his gaze tracks up my body, stopping at my mouth. “Do you want me to touch you, Valeria?”

Yes. Yes. I do. I can’t bring myself to say it, though.

At my lack of response, his eyebrows go up. A tight smirk on his lips, he removes his hand from my neck and, with a shrug, steps back.

“I do,” I blurt out, without thinking.

“Do what?”

I swallow my pride. “I want you to touch me.”

He chuckles and comes closer, his hands landing on my waist, then traveling upward until he cups me. His thumbs press against my nipples. A shock of pleasure leaves me breathless. His mouth comes closer to mine. He licks his lips. I hold his gaze. I still haven’t changed my mind about my no-mouth policy, but I can’t tell whether or not he’s still glad about it .

When he kisses me, his lips come dangerously close to the corner of my mouth. My eyes flutter closed. He trails kisses along my jaw as his thumbs move in lazy circles over my nipples, fueling my desire.

He pulls away as something in the air seems to change. All around us, the forest is muted as if a curtain has come all around us.

“What…?” My heart skips a beat, fearing an attack, though my senses haven’t warned me of anything.

As if in answer, The Eldrystone lets out a dim glow, like a firefly blinking in and out.

“It seems we have been offered some much-needed privacy,” Rífíor says.

“So it seems.”

It’s as if Niamhara is pushing us closer.

He lifts my tunic over my head and discards it on the moss-covered ground. With expert fingers, he relieves me of my bidding and proceeds to kiss my breasts. I pant as a wave of ecstasy rolls over me. His tongue darts out, skimming over my nipple. I sink my fingernails into his shoulder, and he makes a sound of satisfied approval in the back of his throat.

What game is he playing? Does he think he’s the only one with power over me?

Hells no!

Gathering my will, I push him away. His dark eyes go wide. On impulse, I licked his neck, tracing a hot path to his stubbled jaw. At the same time, I accidentally rub my forearm over his erection, making him moan.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, and in the same breath proceed to untie his pants. “It’s only fair given I’m topless.” I slap his hand away as he tries to palm my breast.

He opens his mouth to protest, but his words die a sudden death when I lower his pants, wrap both hands around his girth, and pump my hands downward.

“Fuck,” he groans .

He was hard before I wrapped my hands around him, but there’s no denying he’s growing even more.

Abruptly, he picks me off the ground and deposits me on a patch of soft moss. He tears my pants off, then using his knees, wretches my legs apart.

“So fucking delectable,” he says, then, in a quick assault, runs his tongue between my seams, tasting. He trails kisses up my stomach, pausing at the wound on my side.

“I am so glad you are all right,” he murmurs, kissing around the spot.

His voice thrums with unexpected fervor, but it’s not something I can deem real—not in a moment like this. He may just be glad he gets to fuck me. He continues kissing his way up until we’re face to face.

“This time,” he says, “I want to feel your tight heat around my cock.”

At first, his dirty talk alarms me, but then I realize it’s all part of the game, the excitement of it all. I may be inexperienced, but I’m a fast learner.

“I’m so wet for you,” I say in a sultry tone.

He seems to lose all control then, and pressing his tip to my entrance, he pushes in, letting out a moan that is met by my own whimper of pleasure. Slowly, he draws his hips back while I curve into him, eager for more. As he slams into me, I bury my face in his neck, fearing he will split me in two.

I feel every inch of him, gliding in and out, the ridge around the swollen head of his shaft rubbing me in just the right way with every thrust. Our bodies rock in unison at a perfect pace. I cry out as he pauses then slams into me again as if he can’t have enough. The exquisite sensation inside me is all-consuming.

Savoring the feel of his slick skin against mine, I cling to him like a lifeline until I climax violently. Moaning, I contract around his shaft, waves and waves of pleasure spiraling until I’m left limp and totally satiated in his arms .

He takes his pleasure a moment later, his face buried in my neck as he goes tense, muscles taut and trembling. There’s power in owning him like this. Because he can’t deny it. Right now, he’s utterly mine.