Page 64 of Echoes of the Raven
“I need your help to reopen the veil,” I speak the words quickly, enunciating every syllable to make sure he hears me correctly.
I wasn’t wrong. I get a reaction right away. His head turns slowly, the surprise in his expression undeniable.
Moving like a mountain waking up from a dream, he rises to his feet and takes two long steps to the threshold. There, he stops, his inscrutable black eyes fixed on mine.
First, he scans my face, and next the area around my neck. I know he’s searching for The Eldrystone. I wonder if solitude has renewed his desire to possess it. Nothing in his features tells me one way or the other.
“Why?” he asks simply, his deep voice a rumble that skitters over my skin and makes me think of whispered words...
Lies.
“I don’t have time to discuss that,” I say. “All you need to do is come with me.” I extend a hand, inviting him to walk down the hall.
He glances in that direction, and I look at his profile. It’s made of sharp dark shadows and cruelty. Slowly, he turns to look at me to appraise me once more. His nostrils flare as a million thoughts seem to cross behind the barrier of his eyes. I can’t fathom any of them. He’s worse than a blank canvas. He’s the deep darkness between the stars. Unreadable.
After a moment’s thought, he says, “You really intend to do this.”
It’s a statement, not a question, so I offer him no reply. If he remembers anything about me, I hope his memories are of a woman who isn’t afraid to act when necessary.
He stands there a little longer, and I want to ask him if he thinks it’ll be possible to reopen the veil, but I hold the words back. If he says it is, I won’t believe him, anyway. That’s the only answer that will get him out of here, after all, so he might lie in order to go free. Even with that knowledge, however, I know I would embark on this journey and hold on to whatever hope he offers me. Any kind of hope is better than the nightmare in Amira’s plans.
With a flick of his eyes, he glances down at the dagger and my hand wrapped around its hilt. Not too long ago, he and I fought on Nido’s rooftop, and I bested him. The difference was he was pretending to be human. Now that I know he’s Fae, that he’s Rífíor of theVeilfallen, I realize I wouldn’t stand a chance against his speed. The threat of my weapon means nothing. If I take him on this journey, it won’t be at the point of a dagger. He’ll come of his own accord and do everything in his power to make my goal a reality. Returning to Tirnanog is what he wants most in the world, after all.
I let my hand drop, and I would be lying if I said I don’t feel as vulnerable as a child in front of a rabid wolf.
One of his dark, perfect eyebrows goes up as he stares at my now-empty fingers. Without blinking, I lift my chin to show him I’m not afraid of him. Yes, I know he would best me in a fight, but I wouldn’t shy away. I would make sure to leave my mark—maybe one to match the scar in his right eye.
“As I told you, I didn’t close the veil. Your mother did,” he says, “so I don’t exactly know how to reopen it.”
Something about the evenness of his tone makes it sound like the truth, but that only means he’s a good liar. The best.
“But The Eldrystone can be used to reconnect our realms, correct?” I ask.
He nods without hesitation, a lock of midnight black hair falling forward. “Yes.”
“And you know exactly where to go?”
“Yes.”
“Then we must go. Here,” I remove the cloak I’m wearing, “put this on and let’s get out of here.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Like I said… no time for explanations.”
He hesitates, and for a moment, I think he might remain at the threshold, unsure and maybe even afraid. But at last, he takes the cloak, throws it over his shoulders, and follows me.
Giving a cursory glance at the guards, we walk out of the dungeons. At this hour, Nido sleeps, and few walk the corridors. Those who do areguards, and we’re careful to avoid them. I know the palace better than anyone, so it’s easy to find the right hiding spot to escape their notice.
We’re in the process of crossing a wide vestibule into the west wing when Rífíor suddenly stops, cocking his head to one side and listening.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Steps. Many.”
His fae hearing is sharper than mine, but it only takes a couple of beats for me to notice what he’s talking about.
Shit!
