House of the Raven (The Eldrystone #1)

15. CHAPTER 15

15

VALERIA

“The child is blind. There is nothing to be done. I am sorry.”

Eda Villanueva - Human Midwife - 25 BV

T he next morning, I feel awful from lack of sleep. Before going to bed, I spent a couple of hours going around the house while the guard Bastien posted at my door followed me around. He appeared embarrassed the entire time, clearly uncomfortable with his orders to stop the princess from escaping.

We ran into guards and servants belonging to Don Justo. They watched us with curious eyes as I explored the many sitting rooms and museum-like spaces that held a variety of paintings and sculptures of clashing styles, the mesh of artifacts giving the impression of someone trying to pass as an art connoisseur and accomplishing the exact opposite.

I hope anyone who saw me assumed the guard at my heels was there to protect me and make me feel comfortable while I navigated my supposed new home. But if they suspect my plan is to run as far away from Don Justo as humanly possible, maybe they won’t blame me. The problem is… based on my nighttime explorations, I decided that escaping the villa is virtually impossible. There is no gap in the wall, and there are too many guards everywhere. It was this realization that kept me from sleeping and had me tossing and turning all night, though it wasn’t all for naught. I did come up with a feasible plan. I only hope it works.

I leave my bedchamber in search of Ynes and find her in the ample kitchen, directing the cook and maids, and instructing them in all the tasks to be performed for the princess and Don Justo’s arrival later that evening. When she notices me standing by the entrance, she and everyone else curtsy and bow their heads.

“Good morning, Princess Valeria,” she says. “I didn’t expect you to wake up this early. I thought you might be tired from your travels.”

“On the contrary,” I say, putting on a vapid air, “I feel incredibly refreshed. It must be the ocean breeze having a positive impact on me.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Your Majesty.” Ynes turns to the others and claps her hands, causing them to blink and stop gawking. “Everyone, get to work.” They shake themselves and do as instructed, some disappearing through side doors and others turning to the counters to knead bread and chop meats and vegetables.

I flip my hair to one side. “Ynes, I would like breakfast delivered to my room as well as help getting dressed.”

“Certainly, we will be there shortly.”

“Thank you.” I whirl on my heel and leave, sashaying and looking all around as if I expect butterflies to start circling around my head. It’s an act I’ve delivered a million times. Those who know me don’t fall for it, but I can still get away with it every now and again.

My guard follows me, frowning. He can tell something is up, and I have no doubt he will run to Bastien to tell on me. There’s nothing I can do about that, however, so I resolve to be more clever than him.

After breakfast, I instruct the maids Ynes assigned to me to find my lilac dress in my luggage. After they get it freshened and ready to wear, I let them do my hair and makeup. They are delighted to help me as I regale them with stories from Castellina and the royal palace. They want to know about my sister. Is there a dashing king somewhere vying for her love? Will she ever come to visit me in Alsur? Will I need their help when I go back to visit the capital?

Throughout the interrogation, I keep a friendly expression, even if their questions hurt. My father isn’t ten days dead, and he’s already forgotten. I’m glad when they leave me alone.

Carefully, I examine myself in the mirror and approve of their work. I definitely look like a proper princess . Father and Amira would be proud. I have always preferred trousers and leggings. Most of all, I prefer comfortable shoes, as opposed to the ones my feet are stuffed in at the moment. No way I’m going anywhere in them.

I’m on the way to the closet to exchange the heels for boots when there’s a knock at the door. Jago pops his head in after a moment. I asked Ynes to deliver a message for me. She frowned when I told her I wanted to see him in my bedchamber.

“Perhaps,” she suggested shyly, “you should meet him in one of the sitting rooms, Your Majesty.”

I know she’s only looking out for me. From the slight edge of fear in her expression, I can tell that inviting any man to my bedchamber, even my cousin, would be an issue Don Justo would take offense to.

To pacify her, I said, “Don’t worry, I won’t give Don Justo any reason for displeasure.”

Ynes gave me a gentle smile, full of relief. It makes me wonder if she has suffered at the man’s hands.

Jago blinks at my dress. “What is this all about? Have you decided to play by the rules and give the don what he’s expecting?”

I glare at him.

He puts his hands up. “Sorry, it’s just it’s been a while since I’ve seen you in a dress like that one.”

I go into the closet, kick my shoes off, and gather the clothes I left on one of the shelves. Sitting in an armchair, I slide the leggings under my dress, stuff my feet into a pair of woolen socks, then put on my comfortable boots.

Jago watches me all the while, stroking his chin. “You must have a plan.”

“I do.” I wiggle my toes in relief.

“So, is there a part for me this time?”

I winked at him. “Always.”

He smiles and rubs his hands, a willing accomplice. “Tell me all about it.”

So I do.

Meandering through the house sometime later, I take short steps to make sure no one sees my boots under the long dress.

A different guard trails behind me. I ignore him and make sure he has the most boring morning of his life. I fan myself and yawn, pausing at portraits of bald, fat men, who I’m sure aren’t related to Don Justo and are here just for show. His fortune is new and stolen, so I doubt his ancestors commissioned such works.

One portrait out of the hundreds catches my eye. It depicts an extremely handsome man in his early thirties. He has clear blue eyes and blond hair framing a chiseled face. The painter has managed to capture an air of confidence and arrogance that is oddly alluring. A plaque at the bottom of the frame reads Justo Ramiro Medrano . What? This is Don Justo? No, I don’t believe it. I’m convinced he looks like a wart-ridden, overfed goat. He must have paid handsomely for a double-dealing painter to lie on the canvas.

After a heavy lunch, I sit in the courtyard, smelling the roses and fanning myself some more. I haven’t seen Bastien or Emerito all day, and I’m glad about that. Cuervo is here, perched on the roof and acting like a regular raven. I instructed him to keep his distance, especially from Guardia Corpse.

My guard stands next to one of the columns, pulling at the tight neckline of his uniform. He’s dripping sweat and looking miserable. I’m not doing much better, not with two layers of clothes on, but it is little to endure if my plan works.

When the guard looks ready to fall asleep or faint from heat exhaustion, I stand and walk out the front door, sighing heavily.

“This place is so dreadfully boring.” I look back at my guard. “Don’t you agree?”

He nods, and I think that, like me, he would do anything to get out of here and return to the capital.

Distracted, I make it all the way to the front gate. The guards there stand at attention when I approach.

“Good day to you,” I say, batting my eyelashes.

One of them positively blushes. He looks no older than me.

“What do you, gentle dons, do around here on dreadful days like this?” I ask.

The young guard opens his mouth to respond, but the other guard, his elder, cuts him off. “We perform our duties, Your Majesty.”

I’m not sure if he’s attempting to impress me with his diligence or trying to make sure the younger guard doesn’t embarrass them by saying the wrong thing. I really hope it’s the latter. I don’t need a strict adherent to the rules at this moment. I need someone who can be flexible and enjoys life.

“That sounds as dreadfully boring as all of this.” I spread my arms toward the house to illustrate the lack of… well… life. This place is dead, and I doubt Don Justo’s return will make a difference. In fact, I have a feeling his presence will only make everything worse.

“I looked and the house doesn’t even have a chapel,” I complain .

“There is one right outside the villa,” the young guard supplies eagerly.

“Truly?”

He nods, wearing a huge smile.

“Do you think you can take me there?” I incline my head to one side and innocently lick my lips.

“Of course, Princess Valeria,” he responds.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” my guard puts in.

“Of course, you don’t.” I roll my eyes. “If you want to stay, go ahead.” I step closer to the two guards. “These men work for my future husband, and I’m sure they know better than you what is a good idea and what is not.”

He shuffles from foot to foot and glances toward the house, unsure of what to do.

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and grabs me by the elbow. “You need to get back inside.”

I cry out as if he’s hurting me. “How dare you touch me? Let me go!”

“Hey, take your hands off her,” the older guard commands, placing his hand on the hilt of his big knife.

My guard lets me go. “You don’t understand. She—”

“She is the future lady of the house, Princess of Castella. Laying your filthy hands on her is a sin.”

“That’s right,” I say. “I don’t need you following me around the house or anywhere else. Leave!” I jerk my arm, shooing him away. “Don Justo has a battalion of excellent men at his disposal. They guard the villa and the city, and keep everyone safe from harm, including me.” I approach the gate. “Now, I would like to take a pleasant walk to the chapel in the company of these two excellent gentle dons.”

Both the young and older men look satisfied as they lift their chins and glare at my guard down their noses.

“Get replacements to guard the gate, muchacho,” the older guard tells the other.

My guard looks right and left. If I’m being honest, he looks terrified. Guardia Bastien appears to be a shrewd commander, indeed. I feel sorry for my guard and for whatever price he’s about to pay for letting me get out of the villa, but I can’t let that stop me. Shaking his head at me, he takes several steps back, then finally turns and rushes toward the house in search of Bastien, no doubt.

Soon, two new guards take their positions by the gate, and I’m able to leave.

“Which way is the chapel?” I ask, even though I noticed a small building when we rode in last night, and I suspect that’s where we’re going.

“Just down the path, Princess Valeria,” the young guard responds.

I hurry my step. I have to be out of here before Bastien comes searching for me.

The chapel is a quaint little building, tucked under a line of trees that extends behind it. It’s built of ancient stone, its wooden door scratched and battered.

I throw the small door open and look inside. To my relief, there’s no one there.

I glance over my shoulder at the guards. “I would like to pray in privacy.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” they reply in unison.

After stepping inside, I quickly close the door and look around. Shafts of dusty sunlight pierce through the old windows. There are three sets of narrow pews on each side, presided by the carved figure of a saint I don’t recognize. Heat hangs heavily in the confined space, making the exposed beams groan overhead.

Moving fast, I retrieve a free-standing metal candelabra from a corner and use it to brace the door. I secure its top under the handle and brace the bottom securely against an uneven floor tile. With that done, I unlace the back of my dress and step out of it, leaving it in a puddle on the floor .

Shaking myself, I run toward one of the side windows, which, to my relief, is not locked and opens easily. Nerves sharp as daggers, I climb out, land on a patch of grass, and stay still for a few beats, listening. When it becomes clear that the guards are none the wiser, I run, staying right behind the church to avoid being seen. When I make it to the other side of a small hill, I start breathing more easily. However, I’ve learned enough about Bastien to still be wary. Despite myself, I keep imagining him jumping out in front of me like a ground-sprouting demon, moving in that effortless way he has. Cuervo flies ahead to offer a warning, but Bastien already bested him so I don’t rely solely on him.

My eyes dart anxiously, scanning the surroundings, peering behind every gnarled tree for any hint of the man. It’s irrational, I know, I should be worried about him assailing me from behind—not the front—but I can’t help myself. Maybe he’s secretly a sorcerer.

I freeze. Oh, gods! What if he’s Orys?

The question pops inside my head out of nowhere, and it sends my heart into an even greater erratic frenzy. But the thought is ludicrous. Bastien can’t be Orys. He was there when the sorcerer attacked, and even tried to help. But what if it was all a big magical performance? Orys is certainly powerful enough to project an image able to fool anyone, isn’t he? Honestly, I have no idea. Shaking my head, I quicken my step, jumping over falling logs and overgrown brambles. I can’t get carried away with fanciful notions.

I hear a sound ahead, come to a sudden stop, and crouch. I hold my breath to better listen. Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure no one’s pursuing me. Praying to all the gods, I take several deep breaths, obeying the demands of my pounding heart. Once my lungs are pumping steadily, I move forward, taking care to keep each step silent. Once I’m able to see past the trees, I realize that what lies ahead is a street with people milling about. I’m at the edge of town already .

But where is Jago? I search for him but don’t spot him. He’s supposed to be waiting for me somewhere around here. He left the villa an hour ago, riding Furia.

“The tracks go this way,” someone calls behind me.

Oh, no! They can’t be here already. What should I do?

I see no other alternative but to leave the woods. Casually, I recline against a tree at the very edge of the road, acting as if I’ve been there all along. Once I’m sure no one is paying attention to me, I meander down the cobbled path, which is lined by street vendors. It seems like it might be market day today, and it’s to my advantage since many people are out and about, purchasing fruits, vegetables, cheese, tools, clothes, and all manner of goods.

I move away from the woods and to the other side of the street. Quickly, I turn the corner and press my back to the wall. Jago and Cuervo are nowhere in sight. Slowly, I peek around the building, back the way I came. My heart jumps as I see Bastien standing in the middle of the path, those dark eyes of his scanning every face like a hawk. I pull back and desperately try to find a place to hide. The first thing I notice is a closed wagon with a painted sign hanging above its back door. It reads El Gran Místico.

I hurry up the step stool that sits right below the entrance and burst in, thinking of nothing but remaining free.