Page 41 of Echoes of the Raven
I sigh. “No. They won’t come. In fact, they’ll probably go into hiding.”
They live among us now, but the moment they hear we’re trying to round them up, my idea won’t sound any better than Amira’s.
Mind racing, I pace the length of the table several more times before I propose my next idea. “I open the veil, cross to Tirnanog, shut it again, then talk to King Theric and broker a peaceful solution.”
“San Miguel protect you, cousin. I doubt you’ll get a warm reception.”
“Maybe I will, if I hand him Rífíor on a silver platter.”
Jago’s gaze flicks from side to side as he considers. “It’s risky, but it might work. Our family always had good relations with the Therics. But do you think Amira will allow it?”
I consider for a long moment. My mind tells me that she will. Amira is reasonable, logical. But my gut tells me something completely different.
“Your survival instincts are in your gut,”Father told me more than once. “If you don’t listen to them, you’re inviting disaster.”
Even as Father’s words echo inside my mind, I try to convince myself that my sister’s heart remains unchanged, that it still harbors goodness. If I’m wrong, the fate of Castella may be in jeopardy.
17
VALERIA
“We can’t have two incompetent women in charge of Castella. Good thing I’m here to do something about it.”
Don Justo Ramiro Medrano - Master Mason - 21 AV
“Treasure!” Cuervo exclaims happily that night on the balcony of my bedchamber when I call him and give him back the amulet. Odd how The Eldrystone feels safer in his care than in my sister’s.
“Hide it well, my friend. I may need it again.”
Bobbing his head, he hops across the railing, then leaps into the sky, flying in the direction of the observatory. He quickly disappears into the night, and I go inside and lay my head on the pillow, tempted to remain there for another week.
The realm will be fine without me. Won’t it?
Morning comes too fast. I don’t bother to put on a dress for my impending meeting with Don Justo. I asked Renata to arrange it, knowing I can’t put the task off without angering Amira. Instead, I wear my most comfortable, well-loved leggings and tunic—my recovered raven dagger strapped to my side.
I stare at my image in the mirror and smooth my hair into a braid, then plump my cheeks in order to look alive, not attractive.
My complexion is dull. I spent nearly all night tossing and turning, thinking of what to say to Don Justo and how to talk to Amira about her proposal for the fae. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep.
For hours, I considered both conversations, imagining what they would reply back, then adjusting my words based on their likely responses. Deciding how to approach Don Justo—a man I barely know—should have been the hardest of the two, but it was my imaginary conversation with my sister that took strange turns and left me feeling at a loss.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but in the end, I’ve come to believe that the proposal is just that. She’s toying with the idea. Once we talk, and she understands what a betrayal to Mother a holding compound would be, she will see things differently.
To my shame, I would be lying if I didn’t admit it wasn’t my sister or Don Justo who truly kept me awake. There was someone else on my mind occupying more space than he deserves.
Rífíor.
Bastien.
Bastien.
Rífíor.
Both separately, then together, merging into one perplexing figure I can’t seem to eradicate from my thoughts.
Every time I closed my eyes, Rífíor’s scarred face and pointed ears morphed into the human semblance of a man I decided to trust, a man who made me feel so much.
The memories of the night we spent together, the way he touched me, kissed me, and looked at me are carved into my mind as if in stone. And being here alone—on the bed where he was mine for the briefest moment, and I felt nothing but the exquisite rightness of it all—I’m weak, so weak that if any trace of Bastien lingers in Rífíor, I’ll be lost.
