House of the Raven (The Eldrystone #1)

23. CHAPTER 23

23

VALERIA

“You can play with my necklace but only for a moment. Understood, my little pixie?”

Loreleia Elhice - Queen of Castella - 9 AV

“ S aints and feathers! I feel ridiculous,” I say as I walk down the sidewalk arm-in-arm with Jago.

“From the way everyone is staring, it’s working.” He waves as we pass a woman about my age. She looks at me with a mixture of alarm and jealousy. I don’t see how both emotions go together, but apparently, she both approves and disapproves of my outfit.

The red silk and damask dress Jago got for me came with a bodice, which he made sure to lace in such a way that my bosom feels as if it might burst forth at any moment.

My heels are precariously high, and I’m afraid I’ll trip and break my neck. There is no way I’m letting go of Jago’s arm.

“I thought the point of a disguise is to avoid being noticed,” I say.

“You already tried that, and all of Castellina knew who you were. This is perfect.”

“But everyone’s looking at me.”

“Exactly. When you skulk around in a cloak, they all pretend they don’t see you because they know you don’t want to be seen. Now, you’re accomplishing the opposite. One more thing,” he leans closer and whispers in my ear, “they know their little princess hates dresses.”

Nonsense. The only reason they don’t recognize me is because they’re spending all of their time staring at my breasts, not my face.

When we reach the library, we walk up the front steps, which are flanked by two raven statues made from obsidian. They gleam in the sunlight, reminding me of Cuervo. He stayed back since, according to Jago, the bird is a dead giveaway of my presence, another beloved pet of Castellina’s residents.

Fantástico!

We cut across La Plaza de Tierra Madre where a once-grand fountain dominates the center. Water trickles weakly from spouts around the goddess Achnamhair—fae mistress of the land, sea, and everything in between. Her marble semblance presides over a chariot, guided by two ferocious lions. I’ve read that globes of water used to levitate overhead, their colors changing with the seasons and the mood of the spell that kept them afloat. Just one more of the wondrous sights that were present in Castellina during the veil years.

Though built after the veil, the Biblioteca de la Reina is a magnificent place, rumored to be the envy of the entire continent. It’s one of the few projects Father initiated that inspired me to participate. Mother’s love for books, which she passed on to Amira and me, made constructing the library in her honor a cause I had to be part of.

Once inside, I’m struck by the place’s beauty as usual. The entrance is adorned with intricately carved tulips, Mother’s favorite flowers. The moment I cross the threshold, a hushed reverence envelops me. I wish she could have seen this. The soaring, vaulted ceilings, adorned with constellations in their frescoes. Sunlight filters through towering stained-glass windows, strategically avoiding the bookshelves in order to protect the books .

Rows of bookshelves, carved from dark mahogany, stand proudly, holding volumes that whisper secrets of centuries past. Gilded tomes, leather-bound classics, and scrolls from far-off lands fill the shelves, a treasure trove of human knowledge.

In the heart of the first level, a grand statue of Queen Loreleia Plumanegra stands tall. She’s depicted in regal attire, her posture reflecting both strength and kindness. My throat aches at the sight.

How I miss you, Mother.

I swallow hard as we approach a tall counter, where a thin man of about twenty-five stands scribbling in a large ledger. We stop in front of him, and he regards us over round spectacles. He has a long nose and a mop of curly red hair that tickles his thin eyebrows. A black band with the wings of a raven embroidered in gold thread wraps around his bicep, carefully stitched to the sleeve of his jacket. This marks him as an erudito graduate of the Academia Alada. Only the best students in Castella are admitted to the prestigious learning center. There are few available spots every year, and they’re given to the brightest of the brightest, no matter their economic background. There’s one requirement, however—the student must be human.

This is a topic I argued with Father many times. There are bright fae born in Castella who deserve a spot. They are also our citizens. He countered that it wasn’t our responsibility to educate them—not when they had always considered our education methods subpar to their own, not when there aren’t enough spots for our own people. How could he love Mother so much and at the same time scorn her people?

“Good afternoon,” I say.

The erudite reappraises me, which involves glancing down at my cleavage, then over-correcting to look anywhere else but there.

“May I help you?” he croaks.

“Can you direct us to the section where I may find books on Tirnanog and the fae in general?”

“Certainly. Take the stairs to your right to the second floor. From there, go to the end of the stacks. The last ten rows will contain what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you.”

“He wanted to eat you alive,” Jago whispers as we climb the steps.

“I never realized how distracted men can be over something as simple as a pair of breasts.”

“Oh, there’s nothing simple about it. Many joys can be derived from—”

I put a hand up in front of his face. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Honestly, you should educate yourself to know what you’re missing.”

“I’m pretty sure I only like men, Jago. I told you this before. So why don’t you tell me about the joys of their many attributes instead.”

“I could, I could, but then they would blame me for corrupting you.”

“Who would blame you?” Father is gone. He was the one Jago was always afraid of.

He gets my meaning but says nothing else. Perhaps, he still feels a duty to protect me. Father always told him he was the big brother I never had, and therefore, it was his job to take care of me.

When I turned eighteen, I had a brief lesson from Nana on my duties as a wife. At the time, I was mortified by the conversation and wanted it over with. I didn’t even ask any questions despite my curiosity. I still remember what she said, however, and the images her words painted in my mind have been replayed many times over. I looked at them from every angle, and my questions only multiplied. Good thing there are libraries to do just that: answer young women’s curious queries.

“How is Nana?” I say, reminded of her. “Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”

“I have. We ate breakfast together yesterday morning. She’s very worried about you. ”

“Did you tell her I’m all right?”

“Of course. I know how to lie like the best.”

When we reach the top of the stairs, we hurry down the corridor, passing several people with their noses buried in thick tomes. At the end, we enter a section in which each bookshelf is labeled Fae Studies . Underneath that title, there are smaller ones such as: Fae History, Fae Religions, Fae Philosophy, Fae Languages, and more.

Jago puts hands on hips and regards the shelves as if they’re his enemies. “Are you sure we need to do this?”

“There’s more to life than leisure, sex, and parties, Jago.”

“Maybe, but books?”

“Quit complaining and let’s take a closer look at all the sections, so we can decide where to start.”

We walk up and down the aisles.

“Here is a section marked Fae Magic. I say we start here.” Jago calls from two aisles down.

“ Shhh ,” the rebuke floats from across the way.

“Sorry,” Jago says.

“ Shhh ,” once more.

I walk around to where he stands. He’s about to say something else, but I press a hand to his mouth and shake my head. Quiet isn’t something Jago does well.

Nodding at the books, I grab a stack. Jago does the same, and we find a place to sit in a corner outfitted with a round table and cushioned chairs.

Sitting, I make myself comfortable and start on a book titled Enchanted Realms: Fae Magic Unveiled . The leather-bound tome is as thick as Jago’s head. I turn the pages and run a finger down the table of contents: Spells and Rituals, Faerie Beasts and Creatures, Riddles and Challenges, Fae Artifacts and Relics.

I immediately jump to this section.

“No pictures?” Jago whispers as he looks over my shoulder .

“Why don’t you grab one of those books and help me?”

“Nah, I think I’ll take a nap. Your bird woke me up early today, pecking at my window like his feathers were on fire.” Jago takes a seat, slumps back with his arms crossed, and closes his eyes. “Let me know when you need more books.”

I shake my head, knowing I wouldn’t trust him to read everything thoroughly anyway.

Eagerly, I begin to read, perusing through the different books, carefully examining the relevant sections. It takes me one hour to go over three of the books in the first pile.

Jago is snoring lightly, looking content while I’m starting to get a headache from squinting at the tiny script.

As I pull a new book closer, I realize I need to hurry or it’ll take me days, if not weeks, to get through a small fraction of these books. I finish the next three books in half an hour. Still not fast enough, but if I move much faster, I’ll likely miss what I’m looking for—if it’s to be found here at all.

I thump Jago on the forehead. His eyes roll as he struggles to wake up.

“I need more books,” I tell him. “You can put these ones back.”

He drags himself out of the chair, picks up the books I’ve finished, and returns a moment later with another pile. He looks at his pocket watch and frowns.

“I take it you haven’t found anything of interest,” he says.

“Not yet. It’s so frustrating. Why is the necklace so important to everyone?”

“I told you that trying to find knowledge here would be a waste of time.”

“Where else can I look?”

He shrugs. “As long as you’re willing to spend a lifetime here, going through all of these books shouldn’t be a problem.” He yawns hugely.

“Either make yourself useful or go back to sleep.” I pick up the next book and dive in.

Jago takes another nap.

We repeat this process for another two hours. With every new pile of books, my frustration grows. After his third nap, Jago complains about being hungry.

“I’ve never seen anyone so consumed by his own physiological needs,” I snap at him.

“We’ve been here too many hours already. It’s unnatural.”

“Leave then. I don’t care!”

He looks guilty at that. “I’ll stay, and I’ll help.” He reaches for one of the books and begins turning the pages, his honey-colored eyes moving quickly from left to right, then back again.

Another hour passes. I find the mention of something that catches my attention and makes my heart leap.

Someone coughs lightly. “Excuse me, se?or, se?orita, it is now closing time.”

I glance up from my thick tome, bleary-eyed. The red-headed man who was servicing the counter earlier is here, looking apologetic. For the first time, I realize the library is quieter than quiet. It seems we’re the only ones left.

Jago lets out a sigh of relief, stands, and stretches his arms to the ceiling, a little roar sounding in the back of his throat. “I guess we’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

I shake my head. “No. Time isn’t a luxury we possess.”

He shrugs, glancing from me to the librarian as if saying what do you want me to do ?

I stand and reluctantly shuffle from behind the table. It was ambitious to think I would find what I needed here, and even more so to imagine I would find it today. Still, I hoped. Maybe if I had a few more hours… a thought occurs to me .

The librarian is staring fixedly at the floor. I stop in front of him, and he startles. His gaze lands right on my cleavage.

I clear my throat.

The ceiling becomes very interesting to him.

“Dear Erudito,” I say, “I very much need to continue my research.”

“I’m sorry, se?orita, the rules are strict.”

“But surely, you can make an exception in my case.”

Jago comes closer and hisses in my ear. “What are you doing?”

The librarian finally looks me in the eye. His gaze roves over my face, and I see the moment he realizes who I am. How could he not when that huge portrait of me hangs in the vestibule so prominently for everyone to see?

“Princess Valeria.” He bows deeply, his right forearm draped across his middle. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I didn’t recognize you.”

“It’s all right… um…”

“Erudito Manuel Pineda, Your Majesty.”

“It’s all right, Manuel. You were busy doing your job as you should be. Now, about overlooking that small rule for me, will that be a problem?”

“Of course not, Your Majesty. I will remain here for as long as you need me to allow you to continue with your very important work.”

“Oh, you’re a dear.”

“And if you need any help, I’m at your service.”

“As a matter of fact, I have just read something very interesting about a beautiful opal called The Eldrystone. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. My studies revolve around human sociology, not fae lore.”

I hang my head. “That’s a shame.”

“But perhaps…”

“Yes? ”

“There is an additional collection of fae texts that are too valuable to keep out here for general use.”

My heart leaps.

He digs in his pocket, pulls out a key, and holds it up. “I happen to have the key to that private section right here.”

I exchange a glance with Jago. If I’m to find the information I need, it will be there. I know it.

“You have saved the day, Manuel,” I say.

He blushes bright red, making a smattering of freckles I hadn’t noticed before stand out.

“Guide the way, please,” I say cheerfully.

He takes us to the fifth floor, past several doors marked with “Eruditos Only” signs. At last, we arrive at a wooden door carved with intricate vines.

Manuel slips the key in the lock and ushers us in. “This is it,” he says proudly. “I will be outside if you need me.”

It’s immediately apparent why this space requires restricted access. Only three medium bookshelves stand in a file, but the large, gilded tomes that grace them rival even the most valuable tomes in Nido’s libraries.

The air feels different, thick with the scent of aged parchment and charged with an otherworldly energy that sends shivers down my spine. I feel as if time itself slowed the moment I stepped over the threshold. These shelves must hold treasures beyond imagination, old knowledge from the fae realm, my mother’s realm. The books are unlike any I’ve ever seen—ancient, ornate, and adorned with intricate engravings of mythical creatures and symbols. Each book seems to hum with hidden power, as if the very words within them yearn to escape their pages. I approach one of the shelves, carefully running my fingers along the spines. The titles are in a script that’s both beautiful and unreadable: Tirgaelach .

“It’s your mother,” Jago says.

I follow his gaze to a spot above the door behind us and find a portrait of my mother that I’ve never seen before. She looks resplendent, her eyes wide and full of light, the way they looked when she dropped her glamour to display her full fae features. Only her pointed ears are missing.

At the bottom of the gilded frame sits a golden plaque.

In memory of Loreleia Plumanegra. Beloved wife and mother.

“She was beautiful,” Jago says, stepping next to me. “I barely remember her face. I mostly remember her kindness.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “I miss her so much.”

“Sometimes I think it’s good I don’t remember my parents. It would hurt to miss them that way.”

I face the bookshelves again, wondering why that unique portrait hangs here, why in this room with all these books.

Stepping lightly as if afraid to wake up the ancient texts from some deep slumber, I approach the shelf, run my fingers along the edge of the wood once more, and allow myself to feel the eerie power that seems to radiate from each tome.

When I get to the end, I continue onto the next bookshelf, then back to the first one. In this last one, a gilded tome seems to shine brighter than the others. I carefully remove it, lay it on the lonely table in the center, and lean over it.

“This one speaks to me,” I say as Jago comes behind me.

“If it said it likes your boobs, it’s a dude and you shouldn’t trust it.”

“A little respect, please.”

He groans. “I’m nervous, all right? And when I’m nervous, joking makes me feel better.”

I turn to look at him. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

“Um, feel what?”

“There’s… power in this room. ”

“Is that what it is? I thought it was the smell of old dust making me dizzy.”

“Sit and be quiet.” For once, he doesn’t argue. He sits at the table and bounces his knee.

I ignore the nervous tic even if it makes the table rattle a bit. Instead, I focus on the book, too nervous to sit. I turn the pages slowly. They are soft and shine like mother of pearl.

My gaze roves over the words. They’re written in the blackest ink, in a scroll I can hardly comprehend.

Tirgaelach became a dead tongue centuries ago—the same as Castellan. Fae and humans alike speak Tiran now.

For the first time, I regret all the lessons I ever skipped. If I’d been present, I might be able to comprehend more than an odd word here and there.

The tome contains illustrations. They’re skillful beyond belief, lifelike depictions that play tricks on the eye, artfully melding shadows and light to convince the reader that the objects portrayed are tantalizingly within reach, as if one could touch them.

“I’ve never seen illustrations like that,” Jago says.

“Me neither.”

I keep going, admiring the images, representations of royal crowns, daggers, swords, suits of armor, and more.

Jago leans closer. “Is it some sort of military book?”

“Maybe. Too many crowns and tiaras, though. Could be about their monarchy.”

A few pages down, my theory is confirmed.

“Look, it says Theric.” I point out one word that seems to jump off the page, and I immediately recognize from my history lessons.

“That’s the surname of their royal family, right?”

“I’m surprised you remember that.” Jago and I sat in lessons together when we were little .

“I did pay attention. Sometimes.”

The fae king at the time the veil disappeared was Korben Theric. In our lessons, we learned that he was a fair king, the great-grandson of Aldryn Theric, the male who found the rip in the veil and opened it wider.

Vaguely, I wonder what King Korben thinks of the veil’s disappearance. Is he glad contact with humans has been cut off? Does he worry about the fae folk trapped in this realm and unable to go home?

Father said that when humans and fae used to cross the veil freely, things were better. Per his account, things weren’t perfect. There was still tension between our races, but the benefits far outweighed any squabbling. Trade was good. Espiritu flowed freely from their realm into ours, giving our family the power to maintain a peaceful kingdom for centuries. Now, we’re in constant conflict with the fae and are being attacked in the south by our old enemies, who wish to regain control over Castella and its vast resources.

“So this book is about the fae royal family and their accoutrement?” Jago says.

“It appears so.”

As I continue to flip through the pages, my heart suddenly seizes in my chest when I reach the midpoint. There, before my eyes, is an incredibly detailed rendering of Mother’s necklace, nestled within the pages of a tome of untold age.

“That’s it!” Jago exclaims. “I haven’t seen the thing in a long time, but I remember it.”

I nod, breathing shakily. My eyes rove over the page. The Tirgaelach scroll unravels before me, but I can only read a few of the simplest words.

Jago points at the book. “You have to take this to Maestro Elizondo. He can decipher it for you. If you can trust him, that is. What do you think it says? Maybe your mother was a Theric.”

“No. She wasn’t. She was born in a small village. ”

“What if she was lying? What if her father wanted to marry her off, and she ran away? It would be perfect symmetry.”

I shake my head. I always sensed that Mother kept secrets. Everyone is entitled to those. Lies, however, it would hurt me deeply if she knowingly deceived me. Could this possibly be the secret Father confided in Amira before he died?

“I need a copy of this,” I say.

“We can just…” Jago goes for the book as if he’s about to tear out the pages.

“No!” I slap his hands away. “Are you mad? Every book in here is invaluable.”

“I was just trying to save us some time.” He rolls his eyes.

After a quick search of the room, I spot a stack of loose parchment, an ink well, and a quill. I gather the materials and begin copying the text with painstaking slowness.

“This is going to take forever. You should let me—”

“I would feed you a pound of strawberries before I let you hurt this book.” Jago is allergic to the fruit. He breaks out in horrible hives and struggles to breathe if he eats them.

“Are you saying you value that old parchment more than you value your favorite cousin’s life?”

“You’re my only cousin, Jago.”

“Exactly.”

“The strawberries wouldn’t kill you, but they would teach you a lesson.”

“I will never forget how little you value my life.” He stomps away, presses his back to the wall, and slides down to the floor to wait while I fill up the sheet with the tilting scroll.

It’s only the second hour of a new day when we leave the library. We are bleary-eyed, and so is the librarian, but he seems pleased to have helped us.

“I’m forever in your debt,” I tell him as he ushers us out the front door.

“I only did my duty, Your Majesty.” He inclines his head, cheeks glowing brightly.

“Don’t hesitate to come to Nido if you ever need anything.”

His cheeks turn redder still. He remains behind us as we descend the marble steps. A shiver runs across my back, the feeling that someone is watching us making my skin prickle.

I glance all around, but the streets are deserted at this hour. There’s only a slight breeze that caresses the leaves in the trees and makes them sing.

“What is it?” Jago asks.

“Nothing. Let’s go. We should get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us.”

We hurry down the sidewalk, headed back to the inn. I hold my breath at every corner, afraid a band of veilfallen will assault us. I have nothing of value with me, but the pages I’ve carefully folded and slipped down the front of my dress. I doubt River would see any value in dry ink and parchment. He only cares about stealing and causing chaos.

But luck is on our side today in more than one way, and we make it safely back to the inn.