Page 103 of Echoes of the Raven
I agree with Rífíor. Her influence is unmistakable. Even now, I sense her hand at work, shaping our path toward an objective that eludes my understanding. I’m afraid of where she may be leading us, but what other choice do we have?
Outside the window, I hear excited voices, people going about their lives without a care in the world.
For an hour, I wait for Rífíor to return, but he doesn’t. Without thinking, I start pacing the room from one end to the next, so preoccupied that I don’t notice how quickly the pain in my side is subsiding. Gingerly, I press the spot and find that there’s only a small ache. Nothing I can’t handle. Francisca was right. The healer’s power is still at work, steadily mending me.
Finding my clothes clean and folded on top of the dresser, I change quickly and leave the room in search of Rífíor. The noise from the tavern on the first floor grows louder as I approach. I’m surprised to find people dressed in costumes, wearing masks and moving about in excitement.I quickly make some mental calculations and realize that La Feria de Zafra takes place around this time of the year, and the farmers and livestock owners of Leonesa—the western-most region of Castella—come together for trade and other festivities. The latter seems to be in full swing.
As I come down the steps, the man behind the counter notices me and points with his chin in my direction. His wife’s eyes widen, and she quickly approaches, weaving through the crowd.
“I’m so very glad to see you on your feet,” she says. “May I help you in any way?”
“Thank you. Um, yes, have you seen Rífíor, my companion?”
She gives me a rueful smile. “Yes, unfortunately. He’s drunk.” She points at a far corner in the back, where Rífíor sits slumped on a chair, three bottles in front of him. His head lolls to one side.
“Fantástico,” I mumble.
“Maybe he’s letting out steam,” she says. “He paid the price to heal you. It couldn’t have been easy.”
I want to ask her what she means by that, but she walks away before I can. I approach Rífíor and nudge his boot with mine. He doesn’t stir. I do it again, this time harder, more of a stomp on his toes than a nudge. He deserves it.
Groaning, he pulls his foot back and squints at me. At first, he doesn’t seem to recognize me, but then his mouth turns downward, as if the mere sight of me causes him pain. He sits up and glances around at the masked revelers.
“What in all the hells?” he slurs.
“It’s La Feria de Zafra, I figure. It’s that time of the year. We’re in the Leonesa region, after all. Badajos, right?”
He grunts in response, then stretches to his full height, picks up one of the bottles, and drains it to its last drop. Setting it down with athud, he pushes away from the table and heads for the door,stumbling.
“Where are you going?” I demand. “We need to finish our conversation.”
Weaving precariously, he makes it outside, where the noise is considerably louder than it was just an hour ago. The residents of Badajos are starting to come out in full force to celebrate.
Standing on the narrow wooden porch in front of the inn, Rífíor makes a face of disgust at the sight of all the happy people. Swaying only slightly, he runs stiff fingers through his silky hair. It’s standing on end, and the maneuver makes it worse.
“Damn, useless human wine,” he complains. “If I only had some feyglen.”
The three bottles he drank could easily knock a large man out, but it barely seems to have had any effect on him. The fae process alcohol a lot faster than we can.
“Are you backing down now?” I ask. “Will you not tell me what I need to know?
“You don’t need to know anything. Leave me alone.”
Under other circumstances, I would probably yell at him and demand that he does as he promised, but something about his harried expression makes me feel sorry for him. There are things in my past I can’t bear to talk about, so I understand how he feels. Of course, this only makes my curiosity bigger, for what could affect him so? Still, I feel like the right call is to let him be and allow him to tell me on his own terms. Besides, he did save my life and watched over me all night. He has earned a break.
Even if I understand, I don’t need to show him I’ve decided not to be hard on him. He never makes anything easy for me, so why should I?
I step off the porch and onto the road with the revelers. “You’re a coward.”
Holding my side as I walk, I blend with the crowd, following the sound of distant music. At the end of the street, I reach a plaza where a bonfire burns in the center and people dance. Some of their sequin masks blinkin the light, dazzling the eye. The music is lively and makes me want to dance. Odd, considering everything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a cart with masks for sale. Their intricate design draws me closer. I pick one up. It’s black with golden filigree, and black feathers lining the top. That’s probably the one I would buy, if I had any coin with me.
“That one would look pretty on you,” the seller says. “Would you like to try it on?”
I consider putting it on just for fun, then decide against it. “No, thank you.”
The seller looks at me with narrowed eyes, focused on the white streak of hair hanging in front of me. His mouth opens and closes, and my heart picks up its beat. Is it possible that he recognizes me? No, we’re far from Castellina. There are no portraits of me here, are there?
