Page 125 of House of the Raven
My free hand goes up, palm towards Orys.
“No,” I say simply. Certainty and power surge through me, suffusing every single corner of my body.
My word is law.
Orys’s arm freezes, his espiritu sputtering, then flickering out like a candle.
He shakes his head, confused. “You are a half-blood. Unworthy.”
“And you’re a murderer. You killed my mother. You destroyed our peace, my father’s spirit. You willnotharm my sister and our legacy.”
I advance a single deliberate step, my eyes locked onto his. “You will die. Today.”
The words carry a weight that seems to saturate the air, heavy with my deadly intent. With a swift, almost casual motion, I flick my hand downward, and Orys crashes to his knees, and the dreadful sound of bones cracking fills my ears.
My sister crumples next to him, free of his magical hold.
Orys struggles to his knees, making a strangled sound as if he’s choking on his own incredulity. His eyes bulge as he stares at The Eldrystone in my hand, his greed to possess it palpable. Desperately, he weaves his hands in a spell that doesn’t come.
“This is for my sister,” I say, jerking my hand to the left.
His right arm snaps, and he cries out in pain.
“This is for my father.” I bend my hand right this time.
His left arm cracks and bends at an odd angle. He nearly falls on his face but manages to stay up. Through his pain-twisted face, his hatred still pushes through. I feel it like the slash of a dagger over my skin, stinging and true.
“And this is for my mother.” My hand makes a cutting motion, like my rapier slicing the air.
A wound opens across Orys’s neck and blood spills like water from a fountain, soaking his clothes and staining the marble floor crimson. He falls limp to the side, eyes open, wound agape and seeping. I stare numbly as the crimson puddle grows bigger and bigger. It reflects the light from the lonely chandelier left above.
I’m dimly aware that all the sounds around me have died out. As my vision slowly expands to encompass more than just that ever-expanding puddle, I notice movement at the fringes of the ballroom.
In a daze, I lift my gaze. Hooded figures stand in a circle all around me. Right in front of me, a tall and commanding veilfallen, whom I immediately recognize, takes a deliberate step forward. He’s twenty yards away, but I feel his presence like a change in pressure all around me: River.
Don Justo lies at his feet—dead? Or unconscious? I have no idea.
My sister stirs. She blinks her eyes open. It takes her a moment to focus, but when she does, Amira weakly kicks back, pushing away from Orys’s discarded husk of a body. He is now pale, his pink-stained teeth showing through his disfigured, half-open mouth.
“W-what… what…?” Amira stutters, unable to finish her question.
Does she remember what happened in the last three weeks? Does she know that Father is dead?
“Amira,” I say.
She looks up, and at first, I’m afraid she doesn’t recognize me, but then she glances around the room, takes in the horrible tableau, and asks, “Val, what happened here?”
She’s barely finished uttering this question when her body goes stiff, then slides backward at a prodigious speed, pulled by some invisible force. Before I can even think of what to do, she’s in the grip of a veilfallen’s magic, the same female who confronted Orys just moments ago.
Despite being smashed against the floor and her obvious injuries, the female’s espiritu remains undaunted as she propels my sister upward and sends her soaring toward the towering fifty-foot ceiling.
Amira’s legs kick, and she cries out for help.
Renewed rage takes hold of me. I grip The Eldrystone tighter. “Let her down, or I’ll kill every single one of you.”
River’s voice rumbles in that calm way he has of speaking. “Try anything and the queen falls to her death.”
“She won’t,” I assure him, a wicked, lopsided grin stretching my mouth. The amulet’s power stillzingsthrough my veins. I can do anything I want.
