Page 42 of Echoes of the Raven
In those feeble moments, anger rises, and I hate myself. Rífíor is a monster. Anyone capable of torturing another can’t possibly be any good and deserves to rot in a dungeon for the rest of their life.
Shaking myself and pushing all these thoughts and worries aside, I leave my bedchamber and head to my meeting.
I still have an escort that follows me around wherever I go, but I hope that soon, as things return to normal, their presence won’t be necessary anymore.
My meeting with Don Justo is in the largest, most impersonal waiting room I could think of. When I enter, asking my guardias to remain outside, I find him inspecting a portrait of my grandfather, Rey Vicente Plumanegra. In this particular painting, he’s in his early thirties, surrounded by four pointers, a bow held casually in one hand, and an empty quiver hanging from his back. A dozen rabbits hang from a pole to his left, displaying his hunting prowess.
Don Justo turns to face me, a forced smile plastered on his face. Slowly, his intense blue eyes scan the length of my body and pause at my scuffed boots. His smile falters. In contrast, he wears a tailored doublet of rich velvet, its deep hue catching the light with a subtle sheen. Beneath, he sports a crisp linen shirt, the collar adorned with delicate embroidery.
“Princess Valeria?” he says in the tone of a question, as if he thinks they have sent an impostor in my place.
“My grandfather loved murdering innocent creatures for sport.” I gesture up at the portrait of the exacting man.
Don Justo is clearly displeased by my comment—no doubt he likes murdering little creatures for fun, too.
“I hear your favorite dish is cochinillo,” he replies, sharp with his verbal swords.
One cannot feast on meat without murdering an innocent creature. My preference for suckling pig is a detail I shared with his mistress of keysin Alsur, and I’m surprised he’s aware of this. He must have thoroughly interrogated her about me.
“Touché,” I say, allowing him a win since I’m about to cause him a loss.
He smiles, self-satisfied, then takes a step closer. “I’m so relieved you’re all right.”
I take a step back to ensure he stays at a safe distance. “Thank you.”
“If those responsible weren’t already dead, I would make sure they met the end of my sword.”
The possessive tone in his voice makes me want to say something rude, but I restrain my temper and, instead, reply in the friendliest tone I can muster. “You’re a veryprotectiveman, Don Justo, a valued denizen of Castella. We appreciate everything you do in the south to defend the realm from the threat of Los Moros.”
“I do no more than a man who loves his realm would do.” He inclines his head as if he were doing it all for honor and not personal gain.
“The whole of Castella thanks you, including me,” I say, running a finger over the back of a gilded sofa as I meander further away from him. “I also thank you for fighting so valiantly during the veilfallen’s attack on Nido.”
Yesterday, Jago told me that the exact details of what occurred have not been made public, for obvious reasons. It wasn’t hard to come up with a lie. No one can possibly guess that Orys had the queen under his spell for weeks and was working to undermine not only the Plumanegra rule but also the human rule. Therefore, the official report states that the sorcerer infiltrated the palace, tried to supplant the queen, but failed.
“No more valiantly than you, my dear princess. I’m rather impressed by the fact thatyouended the sorcerer. You must tell me how you did it.” His eyes narrow with interest.
Only the veilfallen and my sister bore witness to my confrontation with the sorcerer, and the report excluded any mention of the amuletand the espiritu it lent me to accomplish the deed. It’s only natural for Don Justo to be curious.
I gesture vaguely with one hand. “He exhausted his powers, and I saw an opportunity. That is all.”
A sound in the back of his throat expresses his enduring skepticism. Yet, I’m not here to address his doubts. He has no business asking questions that only concern my family, so I swiftly come to the crux of the matter.
“Before my father died,” I say without preamble, “he and I were contemplating your proposal. However, we never arrived at a final decision. After his death, Amira was overwhelmed and a little distraught. She wasn’t clear about Father’s intentions regarding my autonomy in determining my own future.”
Don Justo’s eyes narrow, an edge of displeasure tainting his features as he begins to suspect where this is going.
“I’m sorry to say,” I go on, “that she refused to listen to me and sent me to Alsur against my will. That is the reason I left shortly after arriving to your villa. My sister wasn’t happy and ordered me to go on with the engagement. But then the veilfallen took me, and her fear for my life caused her to see things more clearly. I—”
“She cannot break our agreement,” he interrupts, his words firm and spoken between clenched teeth.
“You can’t fault the queen for wishing for her sister’s happiness. Though I want to make clear that I bear full responsibility for the final decision.” I pause so that my next words have the desired effect. “I donotwish to marry you.”
His nostrils flare, and his hands tighten into trembling fists. “If you deny me, you may find our southern enemies soon knocking at your very door.”
“What ever happened to your love for Castella?”
He comes around the couch, trying to reach me, but I move to the other side, keeping the piece of furniture safely between us.
