Page 29 of Echoes of the Raven
I shake my head adamantly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“And what would you suggest? You want to keep treating it like a toy the way you have all these years?” There’s an edge to her voice that makes me take a closer look. At times, she seems so different from the sister I know, so severe and angry.
But I can’t blame her, not after what she’s been through, not when I feel much the same way.
“There’s power in it, Amira,” I say, my voice quiet. “I’ve felt it. I killed Orys with only a thought.”
“Then why didn’t you killhim?” She points at the spot where Rífíor knelt before they took him away.
“I tried.”
“Did you really?” Once more there’s an accusatory ring to her voice.
“Yes,” I say emphatically. “It didn’t work, but it didn’t work for him either. He tried to use it. You saw it, but it didn’t respond to his command.”
“Like I said… dangerous. And if those damn fae want it so badly, it will serve them well if we destroy it.”
“Something tells me that’s easier said than done.”
She narrows her eyes. “You don’t want to, do you?”
“It has nothing to do with what I want. He said it can reopen the veil.”
“Rífíor, you mean?”
I nod.
She shrugs. “More reason to get rid of it.”
“What… what do you mean?”
“You can’t honestly wish to do that?”
I cock my head, confused. The possibility of the veil remaining closed when given an opportunity to open it has never entered my mind. The idea is simply wrong.
“They hate us, Val,” she says. “They killed our parents.”
“Our mother was fae. Are you forgetting that?”
“Not like you will ever let me.”
I was always closer to Mother than Amira. As the future queen, she spent most of her time with Father, learning everything she could about governing Castella, while I happily remained at our mother’s side, making jewelry, growing flowers, helping her with charitable work, sewing tapestries, and memorizing anything she ever shared about her life in Tirnanog. I imagine that is the reason Amira doesn’t identify with her fae heritage as much as I do.
“There are humans trapped in Tirnanog,” I argue. “They deserve to come home.”
“It’s been twenty years. The ones who would miss Castella are either dead or too old to matter.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe you would say that.”
“It’s reality, Val, and even if it sounds harsh that doesn’t make it any less true. Besides, it doesn’t appear as if there’s anyone who can wield thatthing.” Suddenly, she turns her face to one side and winces. Grabbing the wrist of her injured hand, she squeezes it.
“You have to get that checked.” I point at her wound.
“Yes. It hurts like the devil. I will ring for the maid. She can find a salve in the kitchen, I’m sure. You should go and try to get some rest. There will be much to do when the sun comes out.”
I stand and take a few steps toward the door.
“Leave the amulet,” she says.
