House of the Raven (The Eldrystone #1)

1. CHAPTER 1

1

VALERIA

“The Realta Observatory, a marvel to my old eyes, rose in days under the weaving of hands and the melodic hum of espiritu. I watched its creation—a sight that, before the veil, would have been deemed a miracle. I often wonder how Castella would be without magic.”

Diego Fontana - Erudito de la Academia Alada - 1327 DV

E spiritu , the power to use magic, is almost dead in the realm. Many things in Castella are a constant reminder of how life used to be a mere two decades ago. The collapsed glass walls of the old observatory are one example.

Enormous shards of glass rise from the ground like icebergs. They refract the early afternoon sun, shooting rainbows onto the arid surrounding ground, while smaller shards sparkle in the dirt, fooling the eye with the suggestion of lost treasure. I feel like an insect in the presence of towering gemstones.

I’ve seen paintings of the structure as it stood back then, a magnificent building with a large cupola, a clever design held up by spells, the espiritu of long-gone fae immigrants, though they would simply call it magic. Humans never had enough espiritu for such grandeur, but at least we used to have some. After the veil disappeared, however, it all went away. Now only a few of the stranded fae possess the gift.

I stroll through the destruction, but the echoes of its past beauty don’t escape me. Not for the first time, I wish I had seen the city before the veil disappeared and took all espiritu with it. Well, not all. Not yet.

“Val, home,” Cuervo croaks from the top of the large shard where he’s been perched.

Jago, my first cousin on my father’s side, sits below Cuervo, making a show of looking exhausted. “You should listen to the chicken.”

“Not chicken!” Cuervo croaks. The insult never fails to make him mad, just the reason Jago doesn’t relent in its use.

They are both right. I shouldn’t be here, but I’m tired of being locked up behind the palace’s walls. This is the first time I’ve snuck out in weeks. Besides, Father and Amira, my oldest sister, think I’m attending my Tirgaelach lesson while my maestro thinks I’m down with a stomach ache.

I shake my head. Tirgaelach… what is the point? Even the fae still living in Castella don’t speak the ancient language. Just like we don’t speak Castellan. Over the two thousand years our cultures have been in contact, our languages evolved into what we speak now: Tiran.

Cuervo flaps his wings and flies down.

“Treasure,” he croaks as he digs a hole in the ground with his sharp talon.

Cuervo’s feathers are beautiful. They look like polished onyx, glimmer blue and black and purple, and oddly enough, even white when the light hits them just so. His beak is curved and sharp. Shiny too. He has perfectly round eyes that watch everything. He belongs to a rare breed of ravens that came from Tirnanog, the fae realm.

“What did you find?” Pushing away the rapier strapped to my waist, I kneel next to him as he uncovers a multifaceted piece of glass in the shape of a teardrop. This is not a broken-off piece of the observatory. It’s not sharp. It is smooth, maybe a remnant of a chandelier or something similar.

I pick it up and hold it to the light between my thumb and forefinger. All the colors of the rainbow refract in the middle.

“Good job, Cuervo.”

“You shouldn’t indulge her, chicken.” Jago comes up behind us.

Cuervo tries to peck Jago’s foot, but my cousin moves out of the way, hands up. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Sometimes their bickering drives me crazy, but these two are my constant companions. My days would be unbearable without them.

I stretch to my full height and place the piece inside my satchel. I’m making a necklace for Amira’s birthday. I was missing the centerpiece, but I think I’ve found it.

Well, Cuervo found it. Clever bird!

I also found a pea-sized blue piece of glass that, once smoothed, can make a pretty ring for Nana. Blue is her favorite color.

Sighing, I decide it’s time to get back before anyone notices my absence. I throw the hood over my head. I don’t think many would recognize me, but better safe than sorry.

With Jago by my side and Cuervo flying overhead, I make my way out of the dilapidated site and into the streets of Castellina, the capital city. The broken observatory lies to the east of the palace, and it’s about a thirty-minute walk back. I keep my head low and my pace brisk.

“Mind if I take a detour from here?” Jago asks halfway to Nido, the palace.

I give him a narrow-eyed glare. “Where are you going?”

He shrugs.

Likely, he’s after some man or woman or another. With his dirty blond hair, honey-colored eyes, and cheerful mood, he’s popular among the single people of Castellina.

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes .

He points a finger at the sky. “Cuervo will keep you safe.” He leaves with a hop in his step, whistling a happy tune.

I’m sweating under my cloak, so I hurry my step. It’s the peak of summer. Assaulted by an odd feeling, I halt as the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. Frowning, I look over my shoulder. The cobbled path is lined by a few businesses and official buildings. People mill about, immersed in their own affairs. No one is worried about me.

I keep going, but this time, my eyes dart in every direction. I wait for the uneasy feeling to pass, but it remains. Something is familiar about it. I’ve felt this way before, but when?

As I reach one of the nearby plazas, my eyes are drawn to the source of music and rhythmic clapping. Two men sit on low stools, one playing the guitar, the other one singing and keeping an intricate clapping pace—something known as palmas. A few members of the audience have joined him, their hands moving with practice. What is most enthralling, however, is the singer’s voice, so full of longing and pain. The duo is good, only missing a dancer tapping her heels and twirling in a red dress.

Despite the light atmosphere, my entire body is on edge. The area is busy with street vendors, people sitting outside crowded cafés, and denizens going in and out of the adjacent buildings, conducting business. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, so why do I feel this way?

A little girl runs toward the fountain in the center of the plaza. The performers finish their act, and cicada calls in the distance replace their song.

My ears begin to ring, and my mouth goes dry. I take several deep breaths. My heart pounds, and people walk past me, oblivious to my state of alarm.

Oh, gods! What’s wrong with me? Am I sick ?

A deafening explosion sends me flying backward. I land flat on my back with bone-crushing force. Dust chokes the air along with the panicked screams from people.

“Veilfallen!” someone shouts.

Coughing and disoriented, I sit up. My back protests in pain. Someone steps on my hand as they run past me.

“Ow.” I yank it back and shake it, then pull my shirt over my nose, blinking at the floating debris.

“Saints and feathers!” I mutter as I peer through the dust and contemplate the madness: splintered wood fragments, brick chunks, overturned carts, the severed head of a statue, the severed arm of a person.

I look away, nausea tearing through my gut.

Cuervo’s desperate croaks sound above my head, well past the thick cloud of dust that hangs above, choking the sky.

“Call for help, Cuervo,” I shout, unsure of whether or not he can hear me over the screams and anguished cries.

A man stumbles by me, his eyes wide within a mask of caked dirt. His right arm is a stump dripping with blood.

I recoil, stand, and clamber toward a nearby wall, wiping muck off my face. Through the settling dust, I see the little girl by the fountain. She’s curled up on the ground, a woman lying broken next to her. People run in every direction, and the girl doesn’t dare move.

Without thinking, I rush to her, crouching low until I reach her. Wet streaks cut through the dust on her face.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

She shakes her head and looks down at the woman, whose eyes stare blankly at the heavens. One side of her head is bashed in, probably due to a flying piece of stone.

“Is that your… ? Do you… ?” I don’t know how to ask her if the dead woman is her mother, but the girl understands.

She shakes her head and sobs, “I don’t know her. ”

I nod, relieved. The woman might still be someone’s mother, but at least her kid didn’t have to see her die so horribly. Not the way I saw my mother die.

“Let’s get you out of here.” I put my arms out, and the girl jumps up and hugs my neck tightly.

I’m about to run the way I came when I hear the organized marching steps of what must be Castellina’s Guardia. Cuervo did as I instructed, I presume. As they round the corner, the neat lines of uniformed guards break apart and disperse through the plaza.

Thank the gods! Help is here.

However, my relief dies suddenly as arrows fly, making targets out of the helping guards.

Bastardos! When are the veilfallen going to stop killing innocent people?

I hold tightly to the girl and run away from the center of the plaza. When we reach the bordering buildings, she wiggles out of my arms and runs parallel to the wall.

“Come.” She beckons with one small hand as she disappears through the door of a tavern.

I follow her in and come to a halt. A group of startled people blink at me, looking anything but friendly. The little girl runs into the arms of a bulky man.

“Nina.” He crushes her to his chest. “I thought you were upstairs.”

“I was feeding the fish in the fountain. She helped me.” Nina points at me.

The man looks at my hood, gives me a distrustful nod. “Thank you?” It sounds like a question.

I throw the hood back to reveal my face, my ears. Everyone needs to see they aren’t pointy.

“Princess Valeria?!” A woman says.

Wait, what? She recognizes me? Fantástico!

“Veilfallen are out there,” I say to distract them, but also because we’re still in danger. “Everyone, hide until the guards clear the plaza.”

“Damn fae!” the burly man curses, taking Nina behind the bar counter where they duck out of sight.

Everyone else scurries behind furniture and closed doors. I walk to the window to take a peek outside. With a yelp, I jump back. Figures wearing heavy cloaks and cowls are headed this way.

“They’re coming,” I warn as I try to find somewhere to hide. There are many tables, but they will provide no protection.

The door bursts open. I whirl and draw my rapier.

Three veilfallen pile at the threshold. All I see are their eyes. Their cowls leave only a narrow gap between their brows and the bridge of their noses.

The one that stands in front glares at me, dark eyes feral. A scar cuts down his right eyebrow and across his eyelid, its trail getting lost under the cowl. He is massive, his shoulders as wide as the door, his hands long-fingered and strong. They curl into fists as his eyes flick down to my weapon and sparkle with amusement.

He takes a step forward as if I’m not there.

The conceited bastardo!

I take a step to the side and block his path, the tip of my rapier grazing his middle. “Where do you think you’re going, veilfallen?”

“Let us pass, girl, if you value your life.” His deep voice is calm, and it sends a shiver up my spine.

Girl? I’m not a girl. I’m twenty years old.

I stand firm. “You will not pass, and you will answer for your crimes.” I don’t know where the conviction in my voice is coming from, but I’m glad for it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I try to see if anyone in the tavern is coming to my aid, but it seems I’ve landed in the lower echelons of cowardice. Or is it the highest? No matter. I only need to thwart these criminals long enough for the Guardia to get here.

“We have to get out of here,” one of the other veilfallen says, a female with violet eyes that shoot daggers at me. “I’ll take care of her.” She steps forward, but the leader puts a hand up.

“No need,” he says as, with one callous finger, he pushes my rapier to the side.

Annoyed, I point the weapon back at his middle.

He pushes it again in the same manner and says, “You look familiar. Have I met you before?”

“No,” I snap. “I don’t associate with criminals.”

“They’re coming, River,” the female warns.

I gasp, even as I try to hold back my surprise. River is the leader of the veilfallen. He is ruthless and has killed more innocent people than I dare count. I can’t let him escape. Capturing him would be a huge blow to the veilfallen.

I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to stop him. If I have to—

He pushes my rapier out of the way once more. Though, this time that’s not all he does. Moving faster than I can track, he steps forward, grabs my wrist, and squeezes it with viselike strength. The sword falls from my hand and clatters to the floor. Shifting to stand behind me, he twists my arm and wraps his other arm around my neck. I end up with my back flush against his hard torso as he walks backward, pulling me along.

My feet drag as I fight. “Let me go, bastardo.”

I kick my legs desperately.

We move past the counter, and I see Nina and her father crouching there. She gives me a little wave.

Going limp, I become dead weight. Undeterred, River drags me down a long hall toward what I presume is a back exit .

“Slice her throat and be done with it,” the female with the violet eyes says. “We do not need a hostage. We need to get out of here.”

“Slicing Princess Plumanegra’s throat would be unwise when we can use her as leverage,” River responds.

What? He knows who I am, too? Dammit!

I suddenly hear my father’s words echoing in my ears: One of these days, someone will kidnap you for ransom.

I always thought he was exaggerating, always thought I was too clever to get caught. Now, my ass is in the hands of the most feared criminal in all of Castella. Figuratively… the ass part, not the most feared part.

“Princess Plumanegra?” the female repeats, incredulous. “The future queen?”

“No. Not that one. The other one.”

She leans down to look at me better. With a growl, I try to kick her but miss.

The other veilfallen, the one that hasn’t said a word, throws a door open, and we spill into a narrow alley. He motions with one hand, urging them to hurry.

“That’s not her,” the female declares.

Whenever I sneak out of the palace, I hide my most recognizable characteristic, a streak of white hair that sprouts from the top of my forehead. A bit of a paste made from ground walnut hulls to match my natural golden brown color, and it’s gone for a few days. Maybe I am clever enough, after all.

“That’s right, you idiot. I’m not a princess,” I bite the words out.

Within the blink of an eye, River whirls me around, pushes me against the wall, and grabs a section of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. He slides his grip along the strand, then shows his cohorts his stained fingertips.

Damn! I always thought I could blend in. I look just like any other Castellan woman: brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin. What gave me away? I bet it’s that damn portrait they hung at the Biblioteca de la Reina. I told Father it was a bad idea, but he never listens to me.

“Help!” I scream.

He squeezes my throat, and my voice dies out.

“Will you look at that?” the female smiles with satisfaction. A lock of blond hair peaks from under her cowl.

I do my best to memorize her eyes, her height, and her build. I do the same with the others.

“Knock her out and throw her over your shoulder,” she says.

River pulls his fist back, ready to do just that, but I’m not going down without a fight. If they take me, I may never see my father and sister again.

Using all my strength, I stomp on River’s toes with the heel of my boot. Any normal human being would curse and holler, but not a damn fae. Still, his grip around my throat loosens just enough, and I’m able to reach down for the dagger sheathed at my thigh.

I don’t hesitate. Instead, I let my instincts take over and cut at his wrist. When he pulls back, surprised, I drop to one knee and go for his leg. He jumps back as I try to stab him. Instead, my weapon slices as it travels downward, tearing through his trousers and opening a long gash.

He barely lets out a grunt. Anger flashing in his eyes, he tries to grab me again, but I slash my dagger from side to side, keeping him at bay as I back away.

Just as I think all three of them are about to jump me, the sound of footsteps comes from one end of the alley, and a group of guards appears. They come running down toward us without hesitation.

“This is the leader of the veilfallen,” I scream, pointing at my would-be kidnapper.

There is a big reward for his capture—nothing wrong with giving the guards a bigger incentive to catch him.

River narrows his eyes at me. I stick my thumb between my index and middle finger and give him the fig sign .

“ Fuck you ,” I mouth.

He reacts not at all. The male has ice in his veins. Instead, he turns around and sprints in the opposite direction, followed by his allies. He doesn’t even limp. They’re gone and out of sight before the guards even make it to where I kneel on the ground.

They stare at me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand. “Follow them.”

A couple of them bristle at receiving orders from a random citizen. The idiots don’t recognize me. Really?

I pull out the chain that hangs around my neck and show them the Plumanegra key, my family’s symbol. It’s a key shaped like a raven’s feather. When they see it, they salute me.

“Never mind that. Capture them!”

As they rush down the alley, I’m not holding my breath for their capture. I know those cold-blooded criminals are gone. And there’s one more thing I know. I’m in a heap of trouble.