Echoes of the Raven (The Eldrystone #2)

44. CHAPTER 44

44

VALERIA

“It is worse than I feared. Saints forgive us.”

Bishop Benedicto Brasa - Bishop of Castellina - 21 AV

B lood spews from Rífíor’s mouth, spraying down as his body goes limp. He has passed out. Something must be terribly wrong with him if he’s vomiting blood. Concern fills my chest, a feeling that I’d like to deny, but that is as real as my anger at the fucking, smug sorcerer that did this to us.

Down, I think, clutching The Eldrystone tightly in my fingers. The opal flares hot against my palm.

Finally!

The pressure around my ankle vanishes. For a terrified moment, I think I’m going to crash on my head, but I clutch the amulet and wish for a smooth descent. Espiritu warms my chest, and with a sickening flip, the world spins right side up. My stomach lurches. Propelled by the amulet’s espiritu, I float down effortlessly and land gently on my feet.

The guards circling us raise their swords, but the for-hire sorcerer, Galen, gestures for them to stand down. They don’t sheath their weapons, but remain in place, watching me warily .

Galen regards me with a raised eyebrow and quickly puts both hands up in a pacifying gesture. The hood of his cloak is down, and for the first time, I take a good look at his features. He has sun-streaked, long brown hair held back from his face by braids. His brow is strong, and three-day stubble covers his face. He wears an olive-green cloak that matches his warm skin tone too perfectly to be a coincidence. He appears to be five to seven years older than me, but I doubt that’s his true age.

“Hold your fire, Princess Valeria!” he says. “Peace! Let’s not have a repeat of that whole statue situation, shall we? It wasn’t exactly… pleasant, and besides, I’m just following orders from your lovely, but slightly terrifying, sister.”

Behind Galen, Calierin’s eyes reveal an internal battle as she’s surely attempting to free herself, but it seems her opponent’s espiritu is more powerful than hers.

Ignoring the sorcerer, I run to Rífíor’s side and drop to one knee. I inspect him for wounds, but the only blood present dribbles down the corner of his mouth. He’s still and pale. With trembling fingers, I check his pulse, and I’m relieved to find it.

Galen approaches and speaks casually, “He has a punctured lung. Broken ribs.” He waves his hand in an esoteric way that is slightly comical. “I can sense them,” he adds in an outlandishly mystical voice. The male seems to be some sort of jester, one of those people who never takes anything seriously.

Furious, I straighten and glare at him. He’s a full head taller than me, but he takes a step back, gaze falling to The Eldrystone clutched in my hand.

“Then do something about it!” I growl.

“’Fraid healing isn’t part of my… repertoire.”

I have no idea if he’s telling the truth, and I—

“But you can take care of it. After all, you’re the one with,” he leans close and whispers, “The Eldrystone. ”

Feeling stupid for not realizing it, I glance down at the opal, then at Rífíor.

Heal him , I think, waiting breathlessly for a sign that it’s working, but he remains still, lifeless.

I search Galen’s face for an answer.

He frowns. “Maybe put your hands on his chest or… something.”

The bastardo doesn’t seem sure, but with no better idea of my own, I must try. I go to hang the amulet around my neck, but it’s broken.

Galen waves his hand, and it’s suddenly whole again. I don’t question his actions. Instead, I put on The Eldrystone, kneel next to Rífíor, and brace both hands against his ribs.

Heal! This time, my thought is forceful, a command.

As if lightning has struck him, Rífíor sits up, dark eyes wide, blood spraying from his mouth as he coughs. A wave of relief washes over me, and I lean back, trying not to show it. I blink in awe, noticing that the burns on his chest have also healed.

Breathing hard, he glances all around, taking in the situation. When his eyes meet mine, he seems confused. Blinking, he runs a hand down his side and inhales deeply.

“Thank you,” he mouths.

I stand. “I couldn’t let the Fae King die in this godsforsaken realm.” I turn my attention to Galen, vaguely noticing my torn nails have healed too, and all pain in my side is gone. “What now?” I ask, expecting him to have an answer because I sure don’t. I don’t know what to do next.

My plan to reopen the veil doesn’t seem half as sound anymore—not when one of the most vengeful people I know is Tirnanog’s king and the owner of the most powerful object in existence.

I had hoped to approach King Korben Theric, entering his palace with his lost jewel in hand. I imagined he would be grateful for such a gift, and after that, everything else would have been easy. He would have agreed to an arrangement that would result in a peaceful, civilized transition. There would be no retaliation for any injustices we might have committed against his kin. He would understand it was a sad and natural reality that two different races can’t coexist without tensions arising, for surely, the humans stuck in the fae realm have gone through a similar experience.

But now, how can I reason with him? How can I trust him when he won’t tell me exactly what led to the veil’s collapse?

“What now?” Galen repeats. “Well, I would say you’re under arrest but—”

A fist strikes the sorcerer across the jaw, and he goes down like an anvil, hitting the ground with bone-cracking force.

“Arsehole!” Rífíor shakes his hand, glaring at the fallen sorcerer.

The guards, who up until now have stayed at the fringes of the clearing, close the circle, swords pointed at us. They look terrified but are following orders, nonetheless.

Thankfully, Calierin is still ensconced in Galen’s espiritu, even if he’s unconscious. She’s too volatile and would only complicate things.

Rífíor goes for his discarded sword, ready to start a fight.

I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but my words are cut off by the arrival of more guards, and the last person I ever expected to encounter during this journey: Don Justo Medrano.

“No one move a muscle,” he says, squaring his shoulders and facing Rífíor and me. “If anything happens to me or anyone else in my party,” he glances down at the fallen sorcerer and makes a gesture to indicate the fae doesn’t count, “something unfortunate will befall a certain cousin of yours, Dear Princess.” He smiles crookedly and coldly, sending a shiver down my spine.

Gods! He has Jago.