House of the Raven (The Eldrystone #1)

9. CHAPTER 9

9

VALERIA

“No, they don’t come from Portus; they’re a peaceful sort. Los Moros come from the south, and they mean war.”

Luis Castillo - Soldier (Casa de Cano) - 37 BV

B ack in my bedchamber that night, I find signs that someone has been searching through my things. They are subtle, but I see them. The top drawer of my vanity is slightly open. The jewelry box on the mantle is misaligned. The covers on my bed aren’t smooth.

“What now?” I ask out loud, my voice echoing in my loneliness.

“ Let’s leave, Val. If we don’t they’ll torture you, and when you confess you lost the necklace, they’ll kill you ,” Jago insisted when I told him to go to bed a few minutes ago.

But I can’t run.

Amira said I could go about my life in Nido like I always have, and that’s what I intend to do. Well, in theory, this is what I want her to believe, but in reality, I’ll be working to get to the bottom of this. They’re not the only ones who can deceive. I can, too.

Besides, the necklace isn’t truly lost. I have leverage, and I will use it if it comes to it. I resist the urge to leave my room to retrieve it. The heirloom is safe where I last hid it, a place Amira would never suspect given its conspicuousness. I moved it from the vault to a place that felt more appropriate, more personal.

There’s a knock at the door. I answer. A servant is here to deliver a note. I recognize the seal: Nana’s. I retreat back into the room and set the note on the night table. She undoubtedly heard the news, and the note expresses her condolences. I know she would be here if she could maneuver the many stairs, but her pain must be too bad today to allow it. I can’t read the note right now. I know I’ll fall apart if I do.

I stare at the tapestry that hangs on the wall. It depicts a field with rows of colorful tulips, my mother’s favorite flowers. We worked on it together as she taught me to embroider.

“How different life would be if you were still here, Mother,” I whisper.

Shaking my head, I walk onto the balcony, wishing Cuervo was here so I could find some comfort in stroking his soft feathers, but he always sleeps somewhere else. I don’t know where he goes. I just know he comes back every morning, bright and early.

Walking through the room, I put out the candles one by one. The servants light them at nightfall, along with a couple of gas lamps by the bed. I don’t change from my tunic and leggings and curl up on top of the covers, leaving the lamps on. I’m afraid to invite the darkness in, afraid to discover that this loneliness has teeth and claws, like the childhood monsters of my imagination.

I shiver, though not from the cold. The room is warm with the summer air that comes in through the open balcony doors. No, I shiver from my effort not to cry, my effort to keep myself in one piece and not let my bones shatter into a million pieces.

“Forgive me, Father.”

The next morning, bleary-eyed, I wake up early, take a bath, and dress in a new pair of leggings and a comfortable wool tunic I knitted myself. I slip on my favorite boots, a well-worn brown pair that Father’s royal cobbler put together. The soles are made of supple leather, perfect for walking silently.

Cuervo’s wings flap outside. I walk onto the balcony and find him perched on the railing. He peers at me with his small round eyes, looking for all the world as if he knows I’m hurting. I swear there is sympathy in his gaze.

He must have heard the news. He always seems to know what goes on in Nido.

“My father is dead,” I say.

He inclines his head, driving his beak toward his chest, his way of saying I’m sorry .

“You knew?”

He bows again.

“What did you hear?”

“Rey Plumanegra… dead,” he croaks.

“Anything else?”

He shakes his head, then hops closer and rubs his head against my arm, comforting me.

“Thank you, Cuervo.”

We’re silent for a long moment. I sigh. “I have to go. I need to find out what’s happening. You can’t trust anyone. Only Jago. Understood?”

He makes a few clicking sounds and tilts his head to one side. That white membrane in his dark eyes blinks, and I’m not sure he comprehends what I’m trying to say.

“Jago is a good friend,” I say, trying to put it in simpler terms. “I don’t like anyone else.”

He thinks for a moment, then croaks, “Amira?”

“Amira isn’t my friend. Not right now. All right?”

Tucking his head in, he gives me a confused look. The feathers on his head puff up. It may take him a moment to understand, but he’ll get it. He’s smart. I can trust he won’t repeat something he shouldn’t in front of my sister as long as I don’t overwhelm him with too much information.

“If you hear anything interesting make sure to tell me, got it?”

It’s not the first time I’ve asked him to eavesdrop. This is a concept he understands well. Through him, I’ve learned some interesting gossip like about the time Jago had a tryst with Fernando and Maria behind the stables. At first, I thought I’d misunderstood Cuervo, but Jago truly rolled in the hay with both of them. Simultaneously. Quite the accomplishment since Fernando always thought Jago wanted to steal Maria from him.

Cuervo turns away from the balcony, majestically spreads his wings, and launches himself into the sky. Watching him, I’m reminded of Father wistfully staring at the sky, a deep longing edged in his features. He always hoped the veil would reopen one day, and he would soar through the skies in his raven form once more. He used to talk about it when Amira and I were little. He wasn’t afraid to appear vulnerable then. But in the past few years, he kept a tight lock on his emotions. I think it hurt him too much to think of all he’d lost.

Shutting my mind to my own vulnerable thoughts, I go back inside, pick up Nana’s note, and break the seal.

My Dearest Valeria,

My heart aches today as I know yours does. The passing of your father will be felt across the realm, but nowhere as fiercely as it is felt here in Nido.

You have inherited his strength, wisdom, and resilience, and I have no doubt you will honor his memory by carrying his legacy forward. You and Amira are now the bearers of his torch, and I have every confidence that you will shine brightly, as he did.

During this time of sorrow, please remember that you are not alone. Come see me, my dear, if you need a shoulder to lean on.

Nana

This morning, I’m better equipped for Nana’s encouraging words, and I manage not to shed a tear. Done reading, I fold the note gently, place it in a drawer, then leave the room.

I move slowly without making a sound. Whenever I hear voices, I slow down and listen carefully, hoping to catch something of interest, but I only run into servants, who go about their chores in hushed, respectful tones. Their moods seem to match mine. They liked Father. I know they did. He was a good king, who treated those around him with respect, no matter their station.

Except you. He never treated you with respect , my brain pipes in, but it’s an unfair thought. Lately, we had our differences, but I know he would have come around. At least that’s what I choose to believe.

A few times, before turning a corner, my heart speeds, fearing I will find Orys on the other side, but if he’s still here, what are the chances I’ll find him out in the open?

I’m up earlier than normal, hoping I will catch Amira during her morning meal, but when I make it to the first-floor breakfast sunroom in the east wing, she’s not there. Yet, I see evidence of her earlier presence: an empty plate in front of her chair. The garden that extends beyond the enclosure is alive with workers and a gentle breeze. It all seems so mundane, but nothing is the same anymore.

I grab a few slices of orange and go in search of my sister. The next logical place is the main council chamber. The current state of things requires nothing less. I arrive a moment later and, judging by the amount of people loitering outside the door, it seems I came to the right place.

Emerito stands in front of the double doors, flanked by two guards in full uniform. He looks small next to the towering men and stands out like a parrot in an unkindness of ravens. He wears a puffy-sleeve doublet. It is blue velvet, embroidered with gold thread. Equally puffy short pants end at the knees and his stocking-clad feet are stuffed into too-pointed poulaines.

Every minister is here, too.

Ministro Genaro Covarrubias, minister of the exterior.

Ministro Eliseo Flores, minister of agriculture.

Ministra Eva Aquina, minister of war.

They all look haggard as if they haven’t slept all night, which I imagine they haven’t. I search the crowd for Guardia Bastien, but I don’t see him.

After eating my last slice of orange, I wipe my hand on my leggings and march toward Emerito.

When people notice me, they lower their heads and murmur their condolences.

Ministra Aquina steps in front of me and meets my gaze. She was Mother’s closest friend once, and she has always kept an eye on Amira and me, even if she is more adept at battle plans, infiltration, and whatever other things her ministry does.

“Valeria,” she takes my hand and drags me aside. “How are you holding up?”

Immediately, a knot forms in my throat. I fight it and manage to swallow it down. “I’m fine.”

She shakes her head. “This is a tragedy. Simón was so young. My deepest condolences. If there is anything I can do, you know I would move the heavens and the earth to help you. We are already doing everything we can to find that miserable sorcerer. Security has been reinforced at all of Nido’s gates, and guardias are raking the streets of Castellina as we speak.”

I’m tempted to suggest that she inquire about his whereabouts from Amira, but that might prove to be a mistake. I wouldn’t be surprised if my sister is counting on a direct accusation from me. It would give her the chance to fling an accusation of her own. Dynastic rivalry , she would claim, then everyone would think me a traitor, hungering for the throne. I can’t take that risk.

So I simply say, “Thank you, Ministra Aquina.”

“You’re here,” Emerito says, noticing me for the first time. “Excuse us, Ministra Aquina, but Queen Amira is waiting for Princess Valeria.”

I nearly choke at the word queen . Up until last week, she was saying she wasn’t ready to be queen. Was she only lying in order to hide her true feelings? Was she yearning for the post all along?

Taken aback at the realization that Amira is expecting me, I walk forward. She must have sent someone for me, but they missed me since I left my bedchamber early.

Emerito rushes me into the council chamber, and I find Amira pacing the length of the long table that dominates the space. She is the only one there. The space is bathed in natural light, which comes from the high windows that flank the vaulted ceiling. At the far end, an imposing throne of polished mahogany stands upon a raised dais, the House of the Raven banner hanging above it.

“Your sister is here, Your Majesty.” Emerito bows even lower than he used to just yesterday, steps back outside, and closes the door.

Amira appears as haggard as the ministers in the hall. She has dark circles under her eyes, and her normally glowing skin is lackluster.

“Good, I thought it would take a thunderclap to rouse you,” she says.

“I slept well, so I got up early,” I say from across the table. “A clear conscience helps with that.”

She smirks. “I had a feeling you were going to be unpleasant.”

“You killed Father, what do you expect me to do? Knit you a scarf?”

“I thought for an instant you might be smart about this whole situation, but then I came to my senses. You have never been a sensible person, so why would you start being one now?” She waves a hand in the air, then smooths her sage court dress. It is opulent, the neckline lined with jewels and fine lace. “None of that matters now, anyway. I have something important to talk to you about.”

My breath catches. Is she going to ask me about the necklace? I do my best to appear nonchalant.

She goes on. “I’m afraid the life of leisure you envisioned for yourself simply cannot be. It turns out you still have a duty, the same one Father arranged for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your marriage to Don Justo Medrano can’t be swept aside.”

“I had already told Father and now I will tell you… I am not going to marry that man or any other.” My words are firm and brimming with anger. Who does she think she is? She can’t force me to marry anyone. She only wants to get rid of me, ship me to a faraway province, where I’ll be less likely to uncover her treachery or challenge her right to the throne.

“What makes you think you have a choice?” she asks.

“There is always a choice.”

“I am your queen, Valeria, and you are my subject. You have no choice but to do what I command you.”

I lean over the table, placing my hands flat on its surface as I stare her in the eye. “Is this really you? If that sorcerer has some power over you, please give me a sign, sister.”

Her eyes widen, then she seems to choke on words she’s unable to spill out. She looks sick for a moment. I go around the table and seize her hands in mine.

“Amira, I’m here.”

She shrinks from my touch, then bursts out laughing. “You really are na?ve.” She shakes her head, looking disappointed. “All that intelligence invested in foolish curiosity and daydreaming. What a waste of a good life. ”

My heart aches at the well-delivered jab. No one knows me better than Amira, except Jago, and she knows where to strike for major effect. As sisters, we’ve had plenty of fights, and her sharp tongue has left me crying many times, but this attack is vicious, striking to the very root of who I am.

“If this is really you,” I say, “how did you hide your treachery so well?”

“Treachery? Don’t be ridiculous! Maybe you didn’t notice, but I was tired of being under Father’s thumb. Don’t speak, Amira. You are here to listen and learn. No, Amira, I don’t need your opinion right now. You don’t understand the extent of the problem to begin to craft a solution. Talk to your sister, Amira. Make her see reason. He was worse than Cuervo, constantly spouting the same things over and over. I just happen to have the courage to take matters into my own hands.”

I shake my head, horrified by her words. They all ring true, which makes me doubt the idea that she’s under anyone’s influence but her own. I want so badly to believe she didn’t plan all of this, but what if I’m wrong?

“Enough of this.” She waves a hand in the air. “This is what’s going to happen, whether you like it or not. You will travel to Aldalous with a small escort. Emerito will be part of the party. He will ensure you conduct yourself properly once you arrive. Others will ensure you don’t try to do anything stupid on the way there.”

My first instinct is to yell and assure her that there is no way in all the hells she will force me into a marriage I don’t want, but I manage to hold my anger back. I can tell there would be no point in arguing. She holds all the power here, and I hold none, so I try a different approach.

“You can’t do this. I have to be here for Father’s funeral.” Another painful ritual where I won’t be allowed to shed a tear.

The day Mother was laid to rest, I stood next to Father and Amira without crying. I acted exactly the way a Plumanegra princess should act. I honored her with my composure, ensuring the ceremony was regal and perfect. Nothing less than she deserved. I reserved my tears for the solitude of my bedchamber.

Still, I have to honor my father.

“There will be no funeral. He’s already been buried.”

“What?! You can’t do that.”

“I have.”

“How will you explain that to everyone?”

“I don’t have to explain myself. I am the queen. You are leaving tomorrow.”

It takes a huge effort to compose myself, but I straighten, lift my chin, and ask, “Why do I have to do this? Why did you change your mind?” Does she not care about the necklace anymore?

“Don Justo Medrano is a very wealthy man, who commands a good number of troops, men loyal only to him. His villa is located near the Strait of Jabaltariq, where threat of invasion has increased in the past year.”

Is this true? Or is she making it up? Father never mentioned it. Of course, he rarely talked to me about such matters.

“What father didn’t tell you,” Amira continues, “is that he was selling you to the highest bidder. He wanted you to think that he was looking out for your best interest when in truth he was only looking out for Castella’s future. But I won’t lie to you. At least, you can expect honesty from me. So here is the truth, Don Justo Medrano is from a less than—how shall I call it?— desirable background. He may be wealthy, but his riches do not come from honorable sources. His men are ruthless mercenaries, uncouth individuals who would do anything for gold. In that respect, they are not unlike their master. In short, by marrying a Plumanegra princess, Don Justo Medrano hopes to gain respect and social standing. If you don’t agree, he has threatened to join forces with Los Moros. ”

“It sounds as if he would be better off marrying a Plumanegra queen,” I offer with bitterness.

“Don’t be silly. As queen, I will not lower myself or my throne. On the contrary, I shall make an effort to keep our royal blood pure.” She pauses, then proceeds to finish the answer to my question. “If you don’t marry him, he threatens to ally himself with our Moros enemies, which, as you can imagine, could be disastrous for our empire.”

I don’t know what to say. Amira watches me closely as the information sinks in.

“Now, do you see how you were nothing but a child in Father’s eyes? He always tried to make everything seem like a silly game or adventure for you to undertake. He didn’t think you were capable of handling the truth. But I’m not here to spare your feelings. I don’t have time for that. I also don’t have time for your childish rebellions, so go to your bedchamber, pack, and be ready to leave tomorrow at first light. Now, be gone.”

Once more, her words cut me deeply. I bite my tongue and manage to keep back the tears that burn in the back of my eyes.

You were nothing but a child in Father’s eyes.

Even as I try to deny her words, I see the truth behind them. He kept the Jabaltariq threat from me. He lied about why he wanted me to marry Don Justo, and he didn’t share secrets with me that he shared with Amira.

After all her rancorous words, I don’t know how I manage to speak firmly, but I’m glad I do.

“Before I do, share something with me,” I say, considering that since she seems willing to reveal all the painful truths that were once withheld, she might be inclined to divulge more. “Yesterday, I overheard a conversation between you and Father about a particular secret…”

Amira’s indifferent expression, which she donned while dismissing me, now tenses. “Eavesdropping is a nasty habit, Val. ”

“Don’t act like you’re perfect. We’ve done enough eavesdropping together.”

“It is something I outgrew some time ago. Maybe Father was right to keep treating you like a child.”

I wait for her to say more, hoping to trick her into revealing what Father confided in her, but she remains tight-lipped, giving nothing away.

“Is there a question in all of this?” Amira says, her expression relaxing as she slowly begins to suspect I know little of their furtive conversation.

“What was he hiding from me?” I demand.

She smiles widely, and I realize she’s satisfied and relieved I don’t know the secret Father entrusted her. Puta madre! I just wasted an opportunity to find out more. I need to be more shrewd. What if the secret has something to do with why she killed him? It can’t be a coincidence. But what would drive someone to murder their own father?

“It’s really nothing you should concern yourself with,” Amira says. “Now, leave. I have a very busy day ahead of me, and don’t do anything stupid. I don’t need any trouble from you.”

But what about the necklace?! I want to ask. Why would she send me away before demanding I give it to her? There’s only one possible answer to that question, she found it! My fears kept me from retrieving it last night, and now she has it.

My legs falter as I take a step back.

No, no! She hasn’t found it. She hasn’t.

I take a deep breath and push my panic away. Calmly, I leave, perfectly aware that any further questions I ask of her will lead to more dead ends. I hold my head high as I walk past all of those waiting outside. My steps are firm and unhurried, but as soon as I turn the corner, I run.

Feeling as if my chest might cave in from fear and sorrow, I rush through the halls until I find myself alone in the waiting room by the throne room, the same one Guardia Bastien and I occupied last night .

I sit in the armchair next to Mother’s sewing box. My hands tremble as I lift the lid. Its small hinges creak with age. The top tray contains an array of delicate needles, their tips gleaming like silver. Beside them, spools of thread in a rainbow of colors rest in their slots, each one a potential tapestry waiting to be woven by eager fingers.

Further inside, a thimble, its surface bearing faint scratches from years of use, nestles beside a pair of elegant embroidery scissors with ornate handles.

I lift the tray and set it aside. My heart quickens as my fingers touch the concealed latch, almost imperceptible against the rich wood. With a gentle push, a hidden compartment is revealed.

There, nestled in a velvet-lined cradle, rests Mother’s opal necklace. The jewel shimmers within its intricate golden framework. The metalwork is a delicate array of swirling vines. Carefully, I pick it up and set it on my palm.

“She didn’t find it,” I whisper in a rush of breath.

Then why hasn’t Amira asked me about it? Why is she sending me away without doing everything she can to take it from me? There is only one logical explanation. She, Orys, is afraid to make me aware of its importance, afraid that once I know I’ll never relinquish it.

I turn the necklace over, my eyes roving over the small runic symbols etched on its underside. As I sit there, heart hammering, I wonder about its true origin, its connection to Mother’s past, and the secrets it holds.

Quickly, I hide it in my bosom, replace the sewing box’s tray, and close the lid. I sit quietly for a moment, willing my heart to settle.

Memories of happy times abruptly appear in my mind. Mother sat with me on this very chair, consoling me when I complained about the ache on the tips of my fingers because of my first violin lessons.

“ After some time, you will build thicker skin on your fingertips, and playing the strings won’t hurt anymore, ” she said, drying my tears with her tender touch.

“ But I don’t like the violin. I preferred the piano. ” The piano was much easier and didn’t make my fingertips hurt.

Of course, I was lying. I much preferred the violin, at least when Maestro Clemente was playing it. He could draw the most beautiful melodies from the instrument, melodies that made Mother gaze out the window with a melancholic air. In those moments, I felt she was on the verge of telling me everything about her past, and I thought that if, one day, I could learn to play the way Maestro did, she would tell me everything. Sometimes, I still wonder if she would have shared her entire heart with me had she not died.

Slowly, I gather myself. I will walk through the halls carrying Mother’s necklace with me and giving nothing away. At last, I stand, straighten my tunic, and leave the room.

Amira will not get this necklace, and she will not send me away. At all costs, I’m staying in Castellina.

On my way to my bedchamber, I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder. It’s not easy, but I keep my steps unhurried. The few people I run into watch me closely. My heart pounds as I imagine Orys looking through their eyes. I don’t know if I’m being paranoid, but I feel… stalked.

I dab at my eyes with my sleeve, drying non-existent tears, pretending the pain that rages inside me has reduced me to a pathetic, blubbering woman—just what everyone expects to see.

At every corner, I imagine someone charging out to intercept my path and take the necklace from me. No one even talks to me. Maybe it’s the fake tears. No one likes dealing with disconsolate people .

I make it to my bedchamber, and after making sure I’m alone, lock the door behind me. Through the open balcony doors, I search for Cuervo. He is not there.

Walking outside, I pull the necklace from its hiding place. Trying to convince myself that what I’m about to do is the best option, I click my tongue three times to call him. “ Tch, tch, tch .”

Cuervo immediately swoops down from the battlements high above me, where he likes to perch. He lands on the railing.

“Hello, gentle don,” I say.

“Hello, gentle se?orita,” he croaks.

I smile, then click my tongue once in approval. “ Tch .”

“I need you to do me a favor.” I stretch my hand out and show him the necklace.

“Treasure,” he croaks.

“Yes. Very special treasure. I need you to hide it away from Nido. Do you understand?”

“Hide,” he echoes.

“That’s right. Hide it where no one but you can find it. Do you understand?” I ask again.

He inclines his head to one side, appearing unsure.

“Hide it. Only Cuervo can find it. Do you understand?” I insist.

After a moment of pondering, he croaks, “Safe.”

“Yes! Safe!” I’m relieved. I know he gets it. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.” I press a finger to my lips.

“ Shh. ”

“That’s right, you clever bird. Now go.”

He wraps his claws around the jewel and lunges into the sky, the chain glinting in the sun as he becomes nothing but a speck.

A stab of trepidation makes me place a hand on my chest. I don’t know what I have just entrusted to a bird. The necklace could hold great significance, and now it’s beyond my grasp. For all I know, my mother’s heirloom is on its way to becoming nothing but a memory.

But the truth is, I don’t actually believe that. I have faith in Cuervo, but if the necklace were to become lost, who is to say it’s not for the best?