Page 119 of Echoes of the Raven
He appears troubled by my answer.
“What is it, Enrique?”
Uncertainty etches his features.
“You can trust me,” I say. “Please… what’s on your mind?”
His uncertainty morphs to concern, and deep worry lines form across his forehead. After a moment’s hesitation, he takes a few sideway steps, coming closer. His back is ramrod straight, and he stares ahead, the perfect picture of a Guardia Real.
“I was born in Castellina,” he says. “On the west side.”
He lets that sink in. The west side is the poorest area of the city.
“Growing up, my best friends were fae,” he goes on. “They are good people and, pardon me for saying this, but they don’t deserve what your sister is doing to them.”
A knot forms in my throat, and next to me, Rífíor releases a breath along with a deep sound of anger rumbling in the back of his throat.
“What… has happened?” I ask, terrified of the answer.
“I’ve always been proud to be a Castellan, but after what I witnessed… Well, I don’t feel so good about it anymore.”
Tears prick the back of my eyes.Oh, Amira!I fear what she has become, fear she will never be the same again.
“Keep going, Enrique,” I say because I need to hear this, and Rífíor does, too.
“The queen sent Castellina’s Guardia in the middle of the night. They pulled fae folk from their beds at sword point, even children, all of them born in Castella. Those who dared resist were cut down without mercy. I don’t know how many were killed.”
A strangled gasp escapes me, and I don’t dare glance at Rífíor.
“They emptied the old Monasterio de San Corvus de la Corona,” he continues, “herded them there like cattle, and locked them up. They call the placeLa Haderianow. They’re offering gold—a reward for those willing to point a finger at their fae neighbors who ran and hid.”
We’re quiet for a long time. Horrible images dance before my eyes: brutal hands shoving people out of their homes, terrified cries echoing in the night, the glint of steel cutting down parents as they try to protect their children. It’s a nightmare.
“I’m sorry, Princess Valeria,” Enrique clears his throat, “but I thought we were better than that.” A pause. “I kept wondering why the queen sent us after you, but I understand now. You oppose her.” It’s not a question, but a statement that I don’t need to confirm.
Enrique cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, as if working up resolve. Setting his jaw, he pulls his dagger from his belt, crouches, and saws at the rope that binds me.
“Open the veil, Princess Valeria,” he says. “I will help you.”
The tension around my shoulders gives, and my wrists are blessedly free.
“Thank you, Enrique,” I say.
He smiles sadly, then his eyes widen as someone wraps an arm around his neck and drags him back, pulling him into the darkness of the trees behind us. I scramble backwards, kicking, and nearly end up on Rífíor’s lap. He struggles to get free, alert to the danger. Panic snaps down my spine as a figure moves in the dark, approaching.
“Boo!” Jago says in a mock whisper as he peeks from around the trunk.
I nearly jump out of my skin from relief. My teeth clamp down on my lower lip, stifling a cry of joy. Quickly, he proceeds to cut Rífíor’s rope.
When he’s done, I wrap my arms around his neck. “You’re all right!”
“It was the damndest thing,” my cousin says. “My handcuffs just came undone, the wagon’s door sprang open, andno onewas watching. I practically strolled out of the camp.”
“The guard.” I peer with concern into the dark.
“He’s fine. He might wake up with a headache, though,” Jago says. “Here, take his rapier.”
“This is a very pleasant reunion,” Rífíor says, “but we best get moving before they notice us.”
