Page 73 of Echoes of the Raven
And did that include seducing the naïve princess?I want to ask, but I have to leave all of that in the past. I can’t let what happened between us cloud my judgment and actions from here on out. It won’t be easy. He stirs so many emotions in me, hatred and anger the strongest of them, but there’s also… desire, which I fear.
“I thought I would be able to use it for this very purpose,” he continues. “To guide my people back to their homes, to save them from living their long lives as pariahs.”
“Do all those lies help you sleep better at night?” I ask. “You wanted to destroy us, not save your people. The moment you laid your hands on the amulet, you tried to use it against us.”
I hold his gaze expecting him to deny my accusation. He keeps eye contact for a few seconds, then looks down, a sure admission of guilt. If The Eldrystone had responded to him in Amira’s bedchamber, I fear the entirety of Castella would be a pile of rubble right now.
“You’re a monster,” the whispered words are out of my lips before I can stop them.
He doesn’t try to deny it. Instead, he looks up at me, and in that moment, I understand I’m not the only one who believes it. He does too.
“Why?” I ask.
His already hardened expression grows even more stern. Whatever events shaped him into who he is… he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Despite his youthful appearance—perhaps around twenty-seven or twenty-eight—his dark eyes, unchanged by any glamour, betray a different story. He could be a hundred, two hundred years old. More? Only the gods know what trials and tribulations he might have endured over such a lengthy existence. Still, I don’t think anything can justify his desire for destruction.
“Thewhydoesn’t matter,” he says at last. “I am who I am.”
Closing his eyes, he reclines his head and crosses his arms, acting as if he’s finally decided to go to sleep. I sit there quietly, my mind turning with possibilities. I don’t sleep, and I know he doesn’t either. It’s easy to see he’s wide awake, his own thoughts whirling after our conversation.
If I could take a glimpse into his mind and read all his secrets like a book, would I understand him? Would I forgive him?
Inevitably, I turn the question inward.
To Amira, I’m a traitor. Would it change her mind if I were laid bare before her? I’d like to think so.
But if you want Amira to give you a chance, shouldn’t you do the same for him?The voice of fairness asks within my mind.
29
VALERIA
“If only I’d persuaded Esmeralda’s ma to join us. She might not be safe if what I’ve foreseen for Castellina comes to pass.”
Gaspar Patrach - Romani Diviner - 21 AV
Aseries of loud knocks startles me into a sitting position, jolting me from uneasy dreams. Jago also seems alarmed and as disoriented as me. Only Rífíor is calm, though I have the feeling he was already awake.
“Get up, you lazy fucks, if you want to break your fast,” a familiar voice calls from outside the wagon. Esmeralda.
I feel drunk as I strap La Matadora on, open the small door, and place a foot on the first step. I wince at the bright sunshine seeping through the canopy of a large oak. Birds chirp overhead and bright green moss pads my steps better than a Catalunyan rug. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I marvel that the world is still this beautiful when everything else around me feels like decay and rot.
Jago and Rífíor follow, stretching like cats. Though in the latter’s case, the analogy might work best with a lynx. He appears more ferocious and intimidating, while Jago makes me think of a cuddly kitten. I smile inwardly at that. Jago wouldn’t like this comparison at all, but he doesn’t have to know.
“You can’t be smiling after that miserable night of sleep,” Jago says.
I shrug and follow Esmeralda. Her hips sashay, and her collection of bracelets tinkles as she goes. She’s dressed in a layered, tattered skirt of green, yellow, and purple—her feet bare, leaving dainty indentations in the moss. Jago’s eyes follow her, tracking her every move with a frown.
She guides us around the oak tree, where Gaspar sits next to a crackling fire, tending to what appears to be a pot of oats cooking over the flames.
I glance around, searching for the rest of the troop. “Where is everyone else?”
“Up the road.” Gaspar drops a stick of cinnamon into the porridge, breaking it into smaller pieces. “They know we’re carrying precious cargo… they just don’t know who yet. We would rather keep it that way for as long as we can.”
“I see.”
The oats roil, releasing the sweet scent of cinnamon, making my stomach growl. Esmeralda passes around mugs of tea. I raise my cup to my nose and inhale deeply, enjoying the smell of chamomile.
“Fancy us putting cinnamon in porridge,” Esmeralda says.
