House of the Raven (The Eldrystone #1)

4. CHAPTER 4

4

VALERIA

“A deafening boom rose at my back, and an instant later, a wave of white energy rippled through the forest and knocked me to the ground. I got up, dazed, and when I walked back the way I’d come, I couldn’t find the shimmering veil. It was gone!”

Calierin Kelraek - Fae Warrior - 1 AV

A fter my bath, I feel human again. Half-fae and half-human, to be precise.

A simple tunic and worn leggings have replaced my dirty clothes. It is of an earthy hue that blends well with the walls. A worn leather belt cinches my waist and provides a place for my dagger, which I carry with me at all times. It was a present from Father. The hilt is shaped like a raven’s body, and the cross-guard is its wide-spread wings.

I run a finger over the pile of books that sits on my desk. They are all old history books , like Amira likes to call them. They discuss Tirnanog, espiritu, the veil, and how life used to be in Castella before our connection with the fae realm was severed for unknown reasons.

The veil’s disappearance is the crux of my fascination with the fae. Why is it gone? Did the fae close it from the other side? They were the ones who opened it, after all, the ones with the knowledge .

Two thousand years ago, Aldryn Theric, a fae king from a long line, stumbled upon a split in the fabric of the ethereal plane. It is said he used his espiritu to widen the tear and cross to the other side. Right away, he knew he’d found something special and soon returned with his retinue to explore the new lands.

These fae pioneers remained in Castella for nearly two years, visiting the small tribes that dotted the land. It is well documented that King Theric befriended the members of one particular powerful family, my Plumanegra ancestors, who joined Theric and developed a human/fae alliance. In their minds, they foresaw two united races, working together to mutually benefit. They promoted trade and migration, a well-intentioned strategy that didn’t anticipate the animosity that would eventually arise between the two species as the novelty of their acquaintance faded. Not surprising, really. Humans, even among themselves, find meaningless reasons to hate each other. For two races to quarrel seems only natural.

It was from King Theric’s line that the Plumanegra’s ability to shift into ravens came. In fact, my ancestors, at the time, went by the surname Escalante before they changed it to Plumanegra, which in the old Castellan means black feather.

I sigh. If only I could find a way to reopen the veil, then all of those fae who are trapped in our realm would be able to go back home and all this unrest would be over. The humans on the other side of the closed veil would also be able to return and stop their suffering. Unlike the fae, who can live for centuries, they’re likely losing hope of ever reuniting with their loved ones. They are running out of time. Some probably already have.

Sadness sits heavily on my chest.

I open one of the books and trace the map that lies before me. Tirnanog used to border Castella to the west, but now they say that if one walks past the border, there is nothing but arid land. Beyond is the Eireno Ocean, and together Castella and that empty landscape form the Emerald Iberis Peninsula. To the south, the Jabaltariq Sea stretches eastward, its tranquil blue waters kissing the Eireno Ocean at the Strait of Jabaltariq. To the east, a vast mountain range separates us from Frankecia.

Some say Tirnanog is gone and all that is left of it is that dead land. However, most people believe it exists in a different plane. This is what I choose to believe. After all, two thousand years ago another country used to border Castella to the east. According to the history my sister trivializes, its name was Portus, and it’s thought to have died out when their territory was cut off from the rest of the continent by the veil’s sudden appearance.

I’ve read these books multiple times. The fae have always fascinated me. I have Mother to thank for that. Not many know she was from Tirnanog, specifically a small village called Nilhalari which she missed dearly and yearned to see again.

“Mother,” I whisper, remembering her long brown hair and eyes, her gentle voice and tender touch.

I was eight when she died, but I still remember her beautiful face. She always used a glamour to disguise her fae features, except at night when we sat in our private quarters where only Father, Amira, Mother, and I were allowed after twilight. Then she dropped the glamour and became the most radiant being in existence.

I always wonder how it was for her to hide her true identity, to pretend she was human. Father says my grandfather would have never accepted the truth. He didn’t like my mother from the start because she didn’t come from an aristocratic family that could be traced back for at least a century.

A sound outside my room brings me back to the moment. I wait for a knock, but none comes. After a pause, I walk to the door and open it. I’m startled by the sight of a man standing right in front of me. He stands at attention across the hall.

I frown. “Who are you?”

“Princess Amira sent me,” he says in a deep voice that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. “I am to guard you.”

He wears the Guardia Real uniform, tight-fitting black pants stuffed into black knee-high boots, and a black velvet doublet with leather straps to keep it tight to his wide chest and the House of the Raven coat of arms: a raven with its wings outstretched, painted over an ornate emblem. The standard issue rapier hangs from his narrow waist. He stares straight ahead at a spot above my head. He’s tall, around six-foot-three, and has short jet-black hair and onyx eyes that seem to hold a million secrets he would kill to protect. His presence feels like a disturbance in the atmosphere, a palpable force of nature, as if he’s harnessed the very lightning from the skies and will unleash it at the least provocation.

I’ve never seen him before, and despite myself, he commands my attention by just standing there.

“I… I don’t need you,” I say. “You can go.”

Those dark eyes lower and meet mine. They go lower still and stare at my chest. I’m about to declare him a pervert when I remember my Plumanegra key is out in the open, hanging from a chain around my neck. I palm it and stuff it under my tunic.

“I said you can go,” I repeat.

“I don’t take orders from you,” he responds with an effortless confident air, as though the realm itself bends to his will. Then he goes back to staring over my head.

“How dare you talk to me like that?!”

No response.

“You’re fired.”

Nothing. He just stands there as straight as if he swallowed an obelisk. His expression is blank.

“What’s your name?”

Nothing.

Infuriating fool!

I march down the hall in search of my sister. She won’t be in the petitioners’ hall for another twenty minutes, but I’m determined to find her. The guard’s steps follow behind me. I whirl around and glare. He stops, his expression as lifeless as the moles Cuervo sometimes leaves on my balcony.

“Who the hells are you?” I demand. “I’ve never even seen you around?”

“I’m new.”

I wait for more, but he goes back to looking like a corpse. A damn good-looking corpse, but still, I might kill him, or Amira, or Father. Maybe all of them.

“Val!” Jago rushes in my direction as he sees me crossing one of the many Nido tapestry halls.

I wait for him to catch up. He looks chagrined. I feel chagrined.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I say at the same time.

We smile at each other like idiots.

“It’s really my fault, Jago.” I continue walking.

He keeps pace beside me. After a minute, he glances over his shoulder, noticing the guard following us.

“Who’s your brawny beau?” he asks, his voice dripping with innuendo and his mouth stretching widely. The smile disappears when he takes in my displeased expression. “Um, on second thought, he looks like they dropped him on his face when he was a babe.”

“Don’t lie,” I whisper.

“Well, who is he?”

“My personal guard.”

“Since when do you have a…” He trails off. “No, he didn’t! ”

“Yes, he did.”

“What a bastardo!”

I nod. Another day, I wouldn’t let him call Father a bastardo. Today… I don’t care.

“I’m sorry, Val. At least he’s a sight for sore eyes.”

“What about you? Has my father decreed your punishment yet?”

He shakes his head, looking worried. “Not yet, but I’m sure he won’t assign a slab of delicious muscle as my guard. He’ll probably order that I fuck an ugly goat every day for a fortnight.”

“Would that really be a punishment for you? You’re such a harlot.”

He slaps a hand to his chest. “You wound me. Deeply.”

We pass under one of the soaring archways that lead from the east wing to the center of the palace. Our steps echo on the marble floor and reverberate off the vaulted ceilings. Sunlight streams through the many rows of stained glass windows, bathing us with colorful light.

As we approach one of the large doors that leads to the inner quarters of Nido, I stop. “Are you busy? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Jago narrows his eyes. “I’m already in enough trouble, Val. Maybe we should… I don’t know… behave for a few weeks. Months?”

Jago has always been too afraid of my father, and with good reason. Father is inflexible with him. He shouldn’t be. He should show nothing but compassion for his nephew. Jago’s mother died at birth, while his father perished in a battle ten years ago. Uncle Julián was a general of the Castellan Army, and he was ambushed by a group of invaders and executed without quarters.

We are still fighting against this enemy: Los Moros , who come through the Strait of Jabaltariq wanting to retake our country. Two thousand years ago, before my family gained its shifter powers, Los Moros controlled our land. Later, King Anselmo Plumanegra drove them out, making strategic use of his new abilities. After that victory, the Plumanegra dynasty was born. However, since our espiritu disappeared two decades ago, their incursions have recurred with more frequency than we would like.

Despite the fact that Jago lost both his parents and was, therefore, my father’s charge and only nephew, he receives no special treatment. On the contrary, he is expected to be perfect in all his duties as a royal member of the Plumanegras. When he was sixteen, he was forced to attend the Academia de Guardias, from which he recently graduated, and soon is expected to join the Castellan Army. Something Jago doesn’t want to do. Not in the least.

“I promise this won’t get you in trouble,” I tell him. “I just need to talk to someone about it.”

Just moments ago, I’d been determined to inform Father of my intentions. Now, doubts are creeping in. I could use someone to talk to before I take the final leap.

“What is it?” he asks.

I look in Guardia Corpse’s direction. “Not here.”

Jago considers for a moment. “All right, I have time.”

We make our way back to my bedchamber. I let Jago in, then start closing the door on Guardia Corpse as he stations himself across the way. His onyx eyes hold a similar expression to the one the late king wears in the portrait that hangs above his head, which is to say: blank. Yet, I sense there is much going on behind that indifferent facade. I tear my gaze from him. Yes, he was definitely dropped on his face when he was a babe. I need to convince myself of that.

“Let’s go out to the balcony,” I say.

When we’re standing out in the open, I close the doors behind us.

Jago frowns. “A bit excessive? He won’t be able to hear us even if we talk inside.”

Maybe, but I don’t want to take any risks. I’m also glad Cuervo isn’t here. That bird flaps his beak too much when he’s overloaded with information. I shrug .

“So what is this all about? I’m very intrigued now,” Jago says.

“I’ve made a decision,” I start.

“What? Are you going to start playing the proper princess role and organize the All Saints’ masquerade?”

“No.”

“You’ll start attending official meetings with your father?”

“Of course not.”

“Um, you’ll marry one of the lords he lined up for you?”

“Gods no!”

“You’ll—”

“Will you let me talk?”

He puts both hands up in defeat.

“I don’t know how else to say it, so here it goes…” I pause, make sure it still feels right. It does, for the most part. “I’m leaving.”

His eyebrows go up, and he cocks his head as if waiting for more, but there isn’t any more to say.

“You… are… leaving,” he echoes, savoring each word, trying to tease out the meaning.

I nod.

“You already tried that, Val. He’s not going to let you live at the summer palace until you become an old crone.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean… I’m lea-ving.”

Jago blinks rapidly, as if his brain is stuttering.

“Lea-ving,” he repeats. “Leaving? Leaving?” He hooks his thumbs together and flaps his hands as if they’re birds.

“Yes.”

He bursts out laughing.

“Quit laughing. I’m serious.”

It takes him a long minute to stop. “You…” he struggles to catch his breath, “you’re serious?” He sobers abruptly.

I cross my arms and give him a you think you’re so funny glare .

“Val, I’m sorry, but that’s unrealistic.”

Taking a step away from him, I let him have my meanest glare. “I thought you, of all people, would support me.”

He considers my words for a moment, then flaps his mouth like a fish before taking a deep breath. “You know I’m always here for you, right?”

Reluctantly, I nod. He really is.

“Well, listen carefully because this is me being here for you… that’s the worst idea you’ve ever had. You’re a princess. You know nothing about living outside these walls.”

“That’s not true.” I’m indignant. “I know more than Amira and many others who live here.”

He shrugs. “That isn’t saying much.”

“I’ve been out there, Jago. I know the city. I can make my own way.”

A drawn-out sigh leaves him. “That is terribly na?ve. You’ve been to the destroyed espiritu sites, the shops on Colmenar Street, a few of the upscale taverns, some of the monuments, and that is it. You’ve never been to the outskirts of the city. That’s where real Castellan life goes on for the majority of people.”

“True. I can’t deny that, but that’s one of the first things I will correct.”

“All right. Fine.” He shakes his hands at the heavens and rolls his eyes. “Where are you going to live? What are you going to eat?”

“I’m not poor, Jago.”

He scoffs. “You think your father is going to give you money so you can play house with the rubble?”

“I have a few valuable things that belong to me. I can sell them to get started, then I’ll… make jewelry and sell it . I don’t need much.”

“Val, Val, Val!” He pulls on his dirty blond hair. “You know that Tarta de Santiago you like so much? Almonds cost an arm, a leg, and a testicle. This tunic you’re wearing,” he tugs at the fabric of my sleeve, “that is Malagasy silk, not homespun. That bed,” he gestures to my large canopied bed, “It’s made of fae blackwood from trees found only in Tirnagog, and has a swan down feather mattress. You haven’t the faintest idea what you need.”

“I don’t care about material things and you know that.”

At this moment, I hate him, hate him because his words have sliced through my resolve and have infected me with fear, increasing my doubts. What if he’s right? What if I’m so spoiled and used to this comfortable life that I don’t even know it?

I shake my head. No, I won’t let him dissuade me. I can’t keep going like this. I just can’t.

“All right, how about this?” he says. “Have you thought about Nana? You’ll destroy her!”

Gods, I could punch him in the teeth. This is a blow below the belt. Nana practically raised Amira, Jago, and me. She was there when Jago’s father and my mother were alive, but after they died, her presence became ubiquitous. She made sure we ate, bathed, got to our lessons on time, had enough sleep and playtime. She also read to us, healed our scrapes, wiped our runny noses, loved us. She became our mother. I love her to death and don’t want to cause her any heartache. Still, I think she will understand.

“My mind is made up, Jago,” I say with resolve. “You might be right about everything, but if I keep living like this, under Father’s thumb, I will wither like a leaf. And at the end of my life, when I look back, not following this instinct for freedom will be my biggest regret.”

“Oh, Val.” His face softens, and his honey-colored eyes fill with warmth. He pulls me into an embrace and squeezes me tightly. His chin settles on top of my head as a huge sigh fills his strong chest. “What are we going to do?”

I push away. “We?”

Jago nods. “Yes, we.” A short pause. “Do you think you can teach me how to make some of those pretty necklaces that were a sensation with all the female servants? ”

My eyes fill with tears. A year ago, I made necklaces for all the women who work in Nido. I used the prettiest shells I collected in the summer palace and spent weeks working on them.

“They were just humoring me.” I fight back the tears.

“Oh, no, they were not. They wouldn’t still wear them if they didn’t think they’re the greatest thing since the invention of the windmill.”

A tear manages to sneak out and streak down my cheek. “You would really come with me?”

“To the end of the world.”

“You idiot.” I punch him in the arm.

“Ow, what was that for?” He rubs the spot in exaggerated circles.

“All those things you were saying I’m going to miss, you were talking about yourself, weren’t you?”

He gives me a sad smile. After thinking for a moment, he says, “Only partly.”