Page 16 of House of the Raven
All around the courtyard, the parapets possess a repeating design that resembles Cuervo’s perch. Father says that when he was young, he would shift, land on those perches, then propel himself into the open sky. Hours later, after soaring high above the city, he would return, feeling exhausted and exuberantly alive.
“I wish you could know how it feels, mis amores,” he would tell Amira and me while we listened in awe, mourning the espiritu we should have inherited from him.
I yearn to fly. I do so in my dreams as if my body craves it, and it feels like the pain of a missing limb.
At this hour, the sun shines gently, and a summer breeze blows through the bushes, rustling their leaves. The air is like a warm caress, and it’s times like this I thank the gods I’m not the firstborn, and the job to govern falls to Amira.
She’s late again, and I’m starting to wonder if she will come at all. Whenever we spar, we always do it at seventeen hours to avoid the heat of the day. I decided to postpone talking to Father until tonight. It’s not something I look forward to.
Guardia Bastien Mora stands off to the side, peering curiously at Cuervo, his harsh expression showing the first sign of any emotion. For a second, I think he’s going to ask me about the bird, but then he goes back to looking like one of the saint statues at the Basilica de Castellina, stiff and polished. He would probably be one of those saints who are supposed to protect you like San Miguel or San Benedicto.
I’m curious to know if he perceives himself in that way, one of the devout adherents of the principal Castellan religion. Some of its members can be quite unbearable. Fortunately, following the arrival of Los Moros and the fae and their respective faiths, Castella now embraces religious freedom, allowing us to worship whichever deities we choose.
For my part, I prefer the fae gods Mother taught me about. I like the idea of multiple gods, all of them walking among us.
“I found Cuervo at the Realta Observatory a few years ago,” I say, deciding to be friendly.
Like Amira, he’s not to blame for any of this. It must be frustrating for him to be among the top new recruits and yet be tasked with guarding what he likely considers a pampered princess.
Even though he shows no sign of interest, I keep going.
“He was hurt, so I brought him home and repaired his wing. I thought he would fly away once he was healthy, but he stayed.”
Guardia Bastien keeps up with his impersonation of a stiff wooden saint. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His black hair is combed back perfectly and shines like Cuervo’s feathers. I must admit, besides his stiff pose, there’s nothing saintly about him. He is very handsome, and his full lips spell sin with a capital “S”. Then there are his cheekbones and jaw. They’re sharp, likely responsible for cutting more than one innocent hand attempting to trace their beauty. Blood was spilled, I’m sure. And those eyes, even though they seem empty as they stare straight ahead, their deep black is bottomless, able to draw a weak soul in with the purpose of never letting it go.
I glance down and smile at the ground as I cut another slice of apple.
“Guess who’s not a saint, Cuervo?” I whisper. “Me.”
I’m already imagining the poor guard naked. I’m even wondering if his chest is hairy or smooth. Not that I’ve ever lain with a man. I’m supposed to remain a chaste princess, but Nido has libraries. Plenty of them. And some of their books don’t spare any detail.
“Saints and feathers,” Cuervo croaks.
Sighing, I stand and offer Cuervo my last piece of apple. “Tch,” I click my tongue, and he takes it with one talon and bites a piece off.
I unsheathe my rapier and examine the blade.
“It’s just you and me, buddy.” I then point the tip of my rapier at Guardia Corpse. “You don’t count because you’re practically invisible.”
Steps sound on the stairs that lead down from the small, adjoining armory. I turn and see Amira taking two down at a time, hurrying to meet me. I smile as her brown hair bounces on her shoulder, her cheeks flushed. She’s wearing a dress, not her sparring gear like me.
“Late. Late. Late,” Cuervo croaks.
“Shut up, you infernal raven.” Amira comes to a stop in front of me and places a hand on her stomach as she catches her breath.
“Hey, it’s not Cuervo’s fault your tardiness has become a habit.”
“It’s not my fault either.”
“Debatable.”
“There were more petitioners than normal.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re wearing a dress.”
“I’m well aware, but it’s not a problem. I can beat you just the same.”
“Unless you’re hiding your rapier under your skirt, you can’t.” She didn’t even think to grab a weapon as she crossed the armory.
