House of the Raven (The Eldrystone #1)

6. CHAPTER 6

6

VALERIA

“When they come for their taxes, I hide the statue of my beloved Saint Agnes in the cellar. She guards our lambs, and their wool puts food in my children’s bellies. What has Los Moros’ god ever done for us?”

Francisca Oliva - Shepherdess - 35 BV

I wait until after dinner when I know Father is more at ease, unwinding from his long days of ruling Castella. He is a good king, a million times better than my grandfather.

Growing up, I was around enough adult conversations to pick up on different impressions. I hid under tables with Amira when everyone thought we were in bed or otherwise engaged, eavesdropping on countless gatherings—most inappropriate for children’s eyes and ears.

During these occasions, we were glad to hear how beloved our father is, and how everyone thinks he fell far, far from the tree. If only the veilfallen could see that and stop blaming him for all their problems, then life for everyone would be much easier.

I knock on the door to the throne room. Three knocks, then two, then one. It’s how he knows it’s me, not Amira or one of his advisers coming to disturb him with some urgent duty. Oddly enough, he spends a lot of time in the vast room at the end of each day. I often wonder why. Maybe his private bedchamber feels empty without Mother. Maybe it holds too many memories. Though if that is the case, the throne room should be his least favorite place. That was where Mother was murdered.

“Come in,” Father says.

“Stay here,” I order Guardia Bastien.

He looks displeased.

“Unless you want to intrude on my private conversation with the king.”

This works. He hangs back.

I walk into the throne room and find my father standing on the closest balcony, a glass of wine in his hand. He’s peering down beyond the palace walls, at the thousands and thousands of lights that illuminate Castellina at night. Father says that before the veil fell, the streets were lit by fairy lights, not gas lamps. It took a couple of years to replace all of them, and during that time, crime spiked. People were afraid to go out at night. Now, it seems those dark times are creeping back. The denizens are afraid of the random attacks from the fae. These days, many are even wary of coming out during the day.

“Pour yourself some wine,” Father says, inclining his glass toward a small table topped with more crystal glasses and a decanter.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Haven’t we talked enough today? I’m tired, Valeria. It’s been a long day.”

“I’m not marrying Don Justo Medrano under any circumstances.”

He rubs his forehead and sighs. “At the moment, I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

“I’m not marrying him or any others,” I insist.

“That’s nonsense.” He comes in and sets his glass on the table. “I know you will do your duty.”

“Not like this.”

He frowns .

“I’m leaving, Father.”

The frown deepens. “What is this about now?”

“I’m leaving Nido. I can’t stay here to be smothered further. I’ve decided to live on my own, to carve my own path.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

I hold his gaze to make sure he sees my determination.

“I won’t allow it,” he declares.

“What are you going to do? Put me in a dungeon cell?”

“You’re being rash.”

I shake my head, and when I speak, my voice is calm. “I’ve thought about it carefully, and my mind is made up.”

“You can’t just abandon your responsibilities.”

“What responsibilities, Father? In your eyes, I’m incapable of handling the smallest of tasks.”

“Exactly. So how do you expect to survive out there?” He jerks his arm toward the balcony and points at the city.

A wave of sadness hits me. “When did you decide I was worthless? Was it when I saved your life?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I’ve never said you are worthless.”

“You don’t need to. Your actions speak for themselves.”

“I only seek to protect you.”

“From what? Life? Happiness? Because if that’s the case, you’re doing an outstanding job.”

His face turns red with anger. He opens his mouth to speak, to shout more likely, but I cut him off.

“I’m not here to argue with you. I’ve done enough of that. I just thought you should know.” I turn to leave.

“I won’t allow you to make such a terrible mistake.”

I face him again. “So you will put me behind bars then.”

He clenches his jaw .

Pressing my wrists together, I thrust my hands forward. “Put the shackles on yourself then, because if you stop me, that is exactly what you’ll be doing.”

His face contorts with distaste. It’s evident that the idea of personally retraining me is something he finds repulsive.

He thinks for a moment, then says, “If you leave, don’t think I’ll allow you to come back.”

The words wound me deeply. It seems his pride is bigger than any love he claims to feel for me. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to come back.”

I leave him, fighting back the tears that pool in my eyes. Outside, Guardia Bastien scans my face for an instant, and the attention is enough to chase my tears away. Crying won’t fix anything. As I lift my chin and keep walking, the walls that Father has erected around me begin to melt away, and the feeling is exhilarating. Tomorrow nothing will be able to stop me.

I hear someone headed in my direction. I’m not in the mood to see or talk to some random person, so I quickly slip through the nearest door and end up in a small waiting room. It’s a familiar one. Since it is close to the throne room, Mother often arranged her workspace here in order to be near her husband, which means Amira and I spent a lot of time here when we were little.

Guardia Bastien follows me inside and stands by the door. He glances around, assessing the space, probably searching for exits through which I could escape.

“You don’t need to follow me around anymore,” I say. “You’ll be glad to hear that this humiliating assignment is over for both of us.”

He perks up at this, his bland expression going from dead to moribund. An improvement for sure.

“I knew that would cheer you up,” I say, no attempt to hide my sarcasm .

Pacing along the back of a long sofa, I run a finger over its gold-trimmed back. I open my mouth to tell him I won’t be here tomorrow, then shut it again. It’s not in my best interest to let people know about my plan to leave. It wouldn’t be conducive to anonymity.

With a sigh, I collapse in an armchair. The exultant feeling quickly wears out, giving way to sadness. Hurt taints my decision. I guess I expected Father to tell me he didn’t want me to leave, that he would not force me to marry or expect me to be someone I’m not. Instead, he threatened me. It seems he would rather keep his pride than me.

Worse yet… I still have to talk to Amira and Nana. I can’t put it off any longer. Well… maybe a few more minutes.

My eyes settle on Mother’s sewing box for a moment. It’s still here. No one has dared move it. I used to play with its contents after she died. Eventually, I stopped.

Next, my gaze roves over the painting across the way. The grand canvas is like a portal to the past. In vivid strokes and hues, it unveils a haunting scene, a raven soaring above a battlefield cast in shades of twilight and despair. The land is a tapestry of chaos, where once-bright banners fly bloody and tattered. Forgotten warriors lie strewn on the crimson-stained earth, silent witnesses to the Plumanegra might.

Yet, it is the raven that captures the essence of the painting. Its feathers, sleek and iridescent, appear untouched by the destruction. Its beady eyes, sharp and knowing, are the only real witnesses to the price Castella paid for its freedom from Los Moros. I’ve stared at this painting countless times, conflicted by its meaning, aching to soar and glide over the clouds. I blink, realizing I’m worrying at the key that hangs around my neck. Absent-mindedly, I stick it back under my tunic.

Almost of its own accord, my head jerks up. I listen. My ears begin to ring, and my heart jumps into a frenzy. I feel exactly the way I felt right before the veilfallen attacked this morning .

This time, there is something else… a thrum in the air, one I immediately recognize even though I haven’t heard it in over twelve years.

“No!” I exclaim, jumping to my feet.

Without thinking, I run out of the waiting room and back the way I came.

I dart down the corridor, following the sound. My heart hammers. My feet pound the stone floor, keeping rhythm. Guardia Bastien joins me. I fear he will drag me back, but instead, he runs ahead, hand on the hilt of his rapier.

When he enters the throne room, he halts in his tracks. I watch his features with trepidation, attempting to predict the horror that lies ahead, but his expression is as inscrutable as ever, and that freezes the knot already stuck in my throat.

A second later, I cross the threshold, and it feels as though I’ve plunged into a recurring nightmare, and I’m tumbling head over heels. The scene unfolding before me distorts, melding with memories I’ve long wished to erase from existence.

Shaking my head to clear it, I skid to a stop. Father is standing back to the dais, facing a glowing figure.

“Valeria, leave. Run!” Father holds a hand up in my direction.

No. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m leaving him. I didn’t abandon him when I was younger and he faced a similar threat. What makes him think I will abandon him now? I walk closer, wondering where his guards are.

“Go, Valeria!” Father insists.

I come to a stop next to him and stand shoulder to shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then we’re both dead,” he declares.

“So long I’ve waited.” The figure in front of us says.

At the sound of his voice, bursts of radiant light punctuated by thunderous waves of espiritu dance before my eyes, images from that horrible past .

I know that voice. It belongs to Orys Kelakian, the same fae sorcerer who murdered my mother all those years ago. How is this possible? He should be dead.

I killed him.