Page 25 of Echoes of the Raven
He stretches his clenched talon and releases the amulet. Leaving the dagger behind, I snatch it up and run out, my fear swollen, satiated after feasting on my doubts, while one question burns in my mind: Can I use The Eldrystone to break Rífíor the way I broke Orys?
When I get to Amira’s chamber, I stop in front of Capitan Quiñones, breathless and clutching the amulet in my hand. His gaze focuses on the chain dangling through my fingers.
He frowns. “Is that—?”
“Yes. This is what he wants.” I cut him off and only pause long enough to regain my breath.
Concentrating on calming my racing heart, I approach the door. Instead of slowing down, however, its beat runs faster. Yet, as I knock and announce my presence, my hand is steady, for which I’m grateful.
Amira bids me to enter. I step quickly into the bedchamber and shut the door behind me. Rífíor and Amira are standing in the same spot as before, my raven dagger still pressed to her throat.
A hungry glint in his eyes, he focuses pointedly on my hand. His hand, unlike mine, shakes visibly. Afraid of the blade, my sister flinches and pushes to her tiptoes.
“Careful,” I say, lifting the amulet which rests on my open palm. “Step away from Amira.”
He shakes his head. “Place it on the desk.”
“Not until you let her go,” I insist.
He doesn’t bother answering. He simply tightens his grip on the dagger.
My fingers wrap around the amulet. Our gazes hold. I expect fear to bloom in his expression, but other than a hint of avarice, I find little else. Resignation perhaps? As if he’s been pushed to the edge of his wits and morality and is now ready to take his chances with whatever may come.
Without making a conscious decision, I will Rífíor’s body to collide with the wall. The thought is fierce, yet nothing happens. No warmth spreads through my chest, and he remains on his feet, the dagger gripped just as tightly.
A rush of breath escapes my lips. Is it relief that The Eldrystone has once again refused to do my bidding? It did the same before, when I attempted to free my sister from Calierin’s espiritu as the sorceress threatened to drop Amira to her death.
But what if there’s another reason? What if the amulet craves crueler deeds?
You pathetic, weak fool, I chide myself.You need to end him. It’s what he deserves.
I shake my head. It’s not my job to condemn him. He should stand in front of a jury and answer for his crimes. He should hang while all of Castella bears witness. These thoughts are logical, fair even, but most of all… they’re weak. I showed no mercy for Orys, and Rífíor deserves even less. Yet something prevents me from exerting my full will.
I still see traces of Bastien in him, still feel ensnared in the depths of his black eyes and magnetized by his presence whenever he’s near. I can’t deny it.
Anger and self-loathing flood over me.
Puta madre, Valeria! Kill him! Kill him!
Clenching my teeth, I redirect the bulk of my emotions toward Rífíor. It is not I who has erred. It is not I who should hate myself.
The darkest side of me awakens, embarrassed at my weak attempt to incapacitate him rather than obliterate him. He doesn’t deserve such consideration. He deserves the worst I can unleash.
I let the rancor boil and reach new levels. I think of the way he seduced me. I think of how he ordered his lackey to dangle my sister like a puppet in order to blackmail me, and how he subjected me to torture hoping to break me.
The Eldrystone grows warm in my palm, its power slowly traveling up my arm until it reaches my chest. A smile stretches across my lips, and I flick my hand downward, imagining Rífíor collapsing to his knees, every single one of his bones shattering into countless pieces.
11
RÍFÍOR
“I was wrong. We’re not safe.”
Reina Amira Plumanegra (Casa Plumanegra) - Queen of Castella - 21 AV
Desperation brought me here, and now it is too late to turn back. For twenty long years, I have searched for The Eldrystone, losing hope so many times, thinking I would never hold the amulet in my hands again, and I would forever be trapped in Castella.
Then I saw Simón Plumanegra’s portrait hanging in a cheap tavern. He wore a crown and velvet cape. Never could I have imagined that the man who helped Loreleia Elhice slip through my fingers was the King of Castella himself.
