House of the Raven (The Eldrystone #1)

3. CHAPTER 3

3

VALERIA

“I yearn for peace in the realm, but the other tribes remain resistant. If only there were a means to unite us all.”

Lorenzo el Valiente (Casa Escalante) - Tribal Leader - 100 BV

F ather hasn’t said a word. He sits in his favorite chair in his study, arms crossed, jaw set. Amira stands behind him, looking just as stern. They are unified against me, as always. Against Jago, too, who shuffles from foot to foot next to me, making this a repeat of many past occasions.

Rey Simón Plumanegra the Third is a man of fifty with graying blond hair, olive skin, and clear blue eyes. He wears a closely cropped beard and is as fit as an ox. He likes hard labor and has never shied away from it. He practices with the Guardia Real in the lower courtyard every morning, rides his stallion in the palace woods in the evenings, and mucks up his own stall afterward.

Amira Plumanegra, my older sister, is twenty-five and the future queen. She acts as if she were my mother sometimes, but it’s Father she resembles more and more as time goes by—not physically, mind you, temperamentally. He’s shaping her to be the monarch Castella needs, which is taking all the fun out of her .

“I almost killed him,” I say.

It’s not an exaggeration. I was aiming for River’s femoral artery when I tried to stab his leg. If I’d only been a little faster, we would be having a completely different conversation—not that this is much of one. It’s more like a let’s give Valeria and Jago the meanest glares we can muster type of situation.

Don’t they realize I’m already immune to their evil eye?

“You have betrayed my trust. Both of you,” Father finally speaks, his words lacking the anger I’m accustomed to.

This controlled lecture is far scarier than even that time he went blue in the face screaming at me.

I clear my throat. “Father, I—”

He cuts me off, putting a hand up. “I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been working all day to ensure the injured are taken care of and those responsible for this attack pay for it. I have neither the time nor the desire to hear empty explanations about your appalling lies .”

Amira winces. That is how harsh the last word sounds. It cuts me. Deep.

“I will deal with you later, Jago. Leave!” Father flicks a hand toward the door.

Jago rushes out without a backward glance. The coward!

Father goes on, “You promised me you wouldn’t leave Nido without the Guardia Real again, and today you nearly got yourself taken by the veilfallen.”

I consider denying it, but that would be another lie and not even a good one.

“From now on, you will be guarded from the moment you wake up till the moment you lay your head to rest,” he decrees.

“What? Within Nido’s walls? You can’t confine me to the palace. You—”

He looks back at my sister. “Find a couple of guards who can watch her day and night. Inform them they are responsible for her safety.”

I take a step forward. “I’m not a child. I don’t need constant supervision.”

“Your actions today make those words yet another lie.”

“You can’t keep me locked up. I’ve tried to respect your wishes, but life within these walls is not enough for me. I’m not allowed to go anywhere.”

“That is untrue. You’re welcome to accompany your sister and me.”

“You know I have no interest in stately affairs.”

“Instead your interests include dressing like a boy, playing in the dirt in dilapidated sites, and filling your head with things of no consequence.”

“Father…” Amira rebukes him in a quiet tone.

Tears prickle in my eyes. He has never talked to me like this, has never called me out on any of my interests. It isn’t fair, not when he’s always encouraged me to be myself.

“It’s time she hears it, Amira,” he says. “She turned twenty this year. She is most definitely not a child, even if she insists on acting like one. She is to marry soon. Don Justo Medrano has made a fine proposal.”

I do my best not to appear disgusted. “I have not agreed to that.”

“Your acquiescence may become unnecessary.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I may not have a choice.” Father runs a hand down his jaw, smoothing his graying beard, a distracted motion that means he’s done with me. He stands up slowly and leaves without another word.

Amira sighs. “You really made him angry this time.”

She looks tired and her golden brown hair, the same shade as mine, is not as neat as usual. She probably pulled at it in one of the endless council meetings she and Father attend almost every day.

“He has no right,” I protest. “I’m practically a prisoner here. Hells, with a guard at my heels at all times, I will be one. ”

“You know the veilfallen have grown more dangerous this past year, and it’s only getting worse. Today’s attack is proof of that.”

Damn veilfallen! A year ago, rumors that they were more organized began, and soon after that, news of a leader who had galvanized the once-dispersed groups of fae rebels was all anybody could talk about. Where did this male, River, come from? It’s as if he sprouted out of the ground. The veil disappeared over twenty years ago. Why did he come to Castellina now? To ruin my life?

“I know how to take care of myself, Amira,” I insist. “I don’t need guards to follow me around the palace. What is everyone going to say?”

“You should have thought about that before you snuck out.”

“You can’t be in agreement with him. You have to convince him that a guard is unnecessary.”

“You know well that when he makes up his mind, there are few who can convince him to change it.” She stares pointedly at me.

Since I was little, I’ve always been the one able to cajole things out of him: a later bedtime, one more piece of cake, a birthday ball for my sister. With her expressive eyes, Amira is asking me, in no uncertain terms, that if I’ve failed to change his mind, what hope could she have if she tried?

“If I were you,” she adds, “I would keep my head low for a long while. Maybe he will remove the guards if he notices good behavior.”

I shake my head. “Do you hear yourself? Good behavior? I. Am. Not. A. Child. Whether or not he likes my behavior, I’m a grown woman. I’m not his puppet. He can’t make me dance around to his tune.”

“Valeria, please don’t do anything stupid.”

I huff. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter what I do, you two will think it’s stupid.”

I march out of the study. I want to run to Nana to cry on her lap, but she doesn’t need the anxiety my situation would cause her. Her health has been fragile lately. Besides, I need time to think about what to do next. My life can’t continue this way. What Father wants for me— marriage to a lord with a fortune large enough to befit a princess—can’t be the only path for me. There has to be something more.

There is no way I’ll marry Don Justo Medrano or any of the other men Father has volunteered. I’d rather die.

My heart beats hard as I enter my room. I climbed to the fourth floor practically running. Shutting the door, I notice Cuervo perched on the balcony’s marble railing. He flaps his wings when he notices me. The curtains sway in the summer breeze as I walk past the open balcony doors. I lean my elbows on the railing and peer beyond the palace walls toward the observatory.

The larger pieces of broken glass are still visible from this distance and sparkle like the lost jewels of a giant.

I sigh.

“I wish I had seen it,” Cuervo croaks.

A sad smile stretches my lips. “I do say that a lot, don’t I?”

He hops closer and bumps my shoulder with his head, his way of comforting me.

“I think you understand how I feel better than anyone,” I tell him.

He bobs his head up and down in agreement.

“I was born twenty years too late, my friend.”

What I wouldn’t give to see Tirnanog, to visit my mother’s village, to experience espiritu. Every time I think that this part of my heritage is lost to me, I feel a deep void in my chest, a space that will never be filled. I feel not only half-human and half-fae, but also half alive.

Not for the first time, I wonder why Amira doesn’t feel the same way. I’ve asked her multiple times, and she says it’s all in my imagination, that if I stop reading all those old history books, yearning for a world that may forever be outside our reach, I would feel much better. I often wonder if she wishes our mother wasn’t fae, if she’s tired of keeping that secret from everyone.

Either way, she’s wrong. Some of those old history books, as she calls them, were relevant only two decades ago, for all the gods’ sake. More than that, they describe the place where our mother was born. How can she just…?

Frustration mounting, I whirl and stomp back into the bedchamber. I sit at the edge of my bed for a long moment. My nose itches due to the dust still embedded in my clothes. I rub it back and forth with the back of my index finger, trying to suppress a sneeze.

My mind whirls like carriage wheels, turning over and over and over. My whole future seems to flash before my eyes as my imagination flies with itself. Married to a stuffy, overweight, older man with a twisted mustache (I’ve never seen Don Justo, but this is how I imagine him.) Shipped to a faraway villa to keep house for him. Expected to part my legs every time he deigns to pause his duties for an obligatory visit to his burdensome wife. Required to pop heirs, preferably male and on the clock. Forced to ignore his many mistresses and illegitimate children.

At the brink of vomiting what little sits in my stomach, I leave my room, the seed of a decision embedding itself in the fertile soil of my tilled mind. With every step, my conviction grows. This idea has lived in the back of my head for a while now, but I’ve been afraid to look it straight in the eye. The further I walk, the fear that has kept me from taking action seems to peel off like dead skin and fall away in large strips until I feel lighter, and my steps gain a spring I’ve not felt in a long time.

I approach Father’s private study. Here, the absence of guards is deliberate, as the room lies nestled deep within the heart of the palace. Instead, the guards are posted further out, protecting the perimeter doors that lead to this inner sanctum. This is the only way to have true privacy, he says. Secrets can’t be kept if you have guards or servants roaming around, no matter how loyal.

The closed study doors are made of solid, dense fae blackwood, bearing an intricately carved depiction of a raven’s nest resting on the branches of a tree. A vigilant mother raven stands watch over her chicks, silhouetted against the backdrop of broad leaves and a waning moon.

“So they are right then?” I hear Amira say on the other side of the closed doors. Her voice is raised, upset.

“Of course, they aren’t right,” Father responds.

I press my ear to the door.

“Why did you decide to tell me this now?” Amira demands.

“You will be queen sooner or later. You need to know.”

“And what about Valeria? Are you going to tell her?”

“Saints no!” Father exclaims. “With that bleeding heart of hers, who knows what she would do.”

“But—”

He cuts her off. “You know I’m right.”

“It isn’t fair to her.”

“Yes, but I’m protecting her.”

Protecting me from what?

“When I’m gone,” he continues, “it’ll be your job to protect her.”

“She is not a child, and you need to stop treating her as such. I think you cling to the idea that she is your little girl, and you’re not allowing her to grow up, at least in your mind, but if you haven’t noticed, she is a woman now.”

He grunts in displeasure.

I want Amira to keep going, to tell him he can’t keep treating me this way, but I also want to burst in and demand what secrets they’re keeping from me. Except if I do, I know they won’t tell me anything. Father will chide me for eavesdropping and send me on my way, without supper… if he still could. My best bet is to keep listening, and afterward… accost Amira for all the answers.

“Perhaps I will tell her one day,” he says. “You know she sympathizes with the fae.”

What? This has to do with the fae? Now I’m really confused.

“Not with the veilfallen, Father. Some live in peace among us. She feels for them as I do.”

“Not as you do. You understand that our people are the priority. She does not.”

Of course, we are the priority, but that is because we are the majority. We make the rules and control everything. But the fae have voices too, and they need to be heard. I wish he was as just to them as he is to humans, but there is no equality between us.

“Perhaps she’s not so wrong, Father,” Amira says.

I nearly gasp. Did she really just say that?

“Offering them a seat in the council may alleviate tensions,” she adds.

“You know well we have attempted that already.”

“But that was ten years ago. Maybe it’s time for another try. Maybe a reasonable leader will emerge and—”

“There is no reasoning with outlaws, Amira. Have you learned nothing from what I’ve been trying to teach you?”

She says nothing in response.

Father has tried to make peace with the fae. It’s true, but one should never give up on peace. There are plenty of fae who only want to live their quiet lives, even if that means doing so in our realm. Pointing fingers at us for the disappearance of the veil solves nothing, and a big majority of them understand that. Even if there is a group of bloodthirsty fae who don’t. Father should keep trying, but maybe he’s too stubborn for that.

Would Amira succeed where he has failed?

I shy away from the question as soon as it enters my mind. The only way I would find out the answer is if something happens to Father, and I would never wish for such a thing. I love him. He is a good father, and I think once we are past our differences, once he understands he has to let me carve my own path—even if it is not the path he has envisioned for me—we will get along just fine.

“I have to go,” Amira says.

Shit! I tiptoe away from the door and hide behind a wide column, peeking out carefully.

“Please remember to keep this between you and me,” Father calls out as the door opens and Amira glances back, a hand on the knob.

She huffs. “You made me promise, so you don’t have to remind me.”

She closes the door and heads down the hall at a clipped pace. Once her steps are but an echo, I come out of my hiding place and stand there, staring at the floor. Lost in my thoughts, I try to imagine what the secret could be.

“So they are right then,” Amira said. Based on the rest of the conversation “they” refers to the fae.

The fae are right.

Right about what? That we are taking advantage of them? That we don’t care about their well-being? That we hate them and want to expel them from Castella? That it is our fault the veil disappeared? The veilfallen accuse humans of all these things and more, so any guess is as good as another.

Still, none of these topics—no matter how delicate—feel like the kind Father should guard so jealously from me. It has to be something else, but what?

Snapping out of it, I walk past Father’s door and go after Amira. At the end of the hall, I pause, wondering where she’s gone. I check the time on a timepiece sitting on a narrow polished table. It reads half past thirteen hours. Also, today is a Wednesday so… I think for a moment.

Petitioners. She will be receiving petitioners at fifteen hours. I’m itching to talk to her, but I would just be wasting my time if I go searching for her now. Instead, I decide to go back to my room, take a quick bath, and change out of these dust-ridden clothes.

After that, I’ll get my answers, then let Father know my decision.

I am leaving Nido. It’s time I start living my life the way I see fit.