Page 17 of House of the Raven
She glances around and spots my guard. “You, give me your rapier.”
Guardia Bastien frowns, but he hands over the sword after a beat.
His rapier is a standard issue, but it looks like he takes good care of it. Its sharp edge glints in the sun. Amira takes up her stance and immediately lunges, stepping quickly across the cobblestones. Viciously, she aims for my throat. I step back, parrying aside the rapid attack, then respond with one of my own.
Our blades sing, the sunlight gleaming off our narrow blades. Amira drives me toward the edge of the courtyard. She can beat me by steering me out of bounds of our predefined enclosure. I make use of my footwork to find my way back to the safe zone. General Cuenca taught us both, though he was only aTeniente Coronelwhen he still had time for us. The only reason Amira is slightly better than me is because she’s older and had more time with our teacher.
Cuervo croaks. “Liquefy her.”
Amira gasps. “You’ve been telling Cuervo you’re going to liquefy me? I’m hurt.”
Damn bird!Always repeating everything I say.
“It’s a figure of speech,” I say.
We feint, parry, lunge, and strike like a set of twins. We dance past each other, sweat in our eyes. The red sash around her waist slashes throughthe air as she twirls. The sharp blade glints in the sun once more as she tips it. Its spark blinds me, and as I blink, she sticks the tip of her rapier under my knuckle guard, jerks her hand to one side, and disarms me. My rapier flies off and embeds itself in the soft ground of a flowerbed, not before slicing a few red roses to shreds.
I curse. “Puta madre!”
“Language, Valeria.” She retrieves my rapier and hands it back. “I told you the dress would be no obstacle.”
I smirk without humor and sheathe my rapier. I want to confront her about the secret Father confided in her, but she looks tired and in need of some peace, so I let it go. For now. I shake my head, realizing that it’s the second time someone hands me my ass today. I need a win.
Perhaps, I’ll get it with Father.
6
VALERIA
“When they come for their taxes, I hide the statue of my beloved Saint Agnes in the cellar. She guards our lambs, and their wool puts food in my children’s bellies. What has Los Moros’ god ever done for us?”
Francisca Oliva - Shepherdess - 35 BV
Iwait until after dinner when I know Father is more at ease, unwinding from his long days of ruling Castella. He is a good king, a million times better than my grandfather.
Growing up, I was around enough adult conversations to pick up on different impressions. I hid under tables with Amira when everyone thought we were in bed or otherwise engaged, eavesdropping on countless gatherings—most inappropriate for children’s eyes and ears.
During these occasions, we were glad to hear how beloved our father is, and how everyone thinks he fell far, far from the tree. If only the veilfallen could see that and stop blaming him for all their problems, then life for everyone would be much easier.
I knock on the door to the throne room. Three knocks, then two, then one. It’s how he knows it’s me, not Amira or one of his advisers coming to disturb him with some urgent duty. Oddly enough, he spends a lot of time in the vast room at the end of each day. I often wonder why. Maybehis private bedchamber feels empty without Mother. Maybe it holds too many memories. Though if that is the case, the throne room should be his least favorite place. That was where Mother was murdered.
“Come in,” Father says.
“Stay here,” I order Guardia Bastien.
He looks displeased.
“Unless you want to intrude on my private conversation with the king.”
This works. He hangs back.
I walk into the throne room and find my father standing on the closest balcony, a glass of wine in his hand. He’s peering down beyond the palace walls, at the thousands and thousands of lights that illuminate Castellina at night. Father says that before the veil fell, the streets were lit by fairy lights, not gas lamps. It took a couple of years to replace all of them, and during that time, crime spiked. People were afraid to go out at night. Now, it seems those dark times are creeping back. The denizens are afraid of the random attacks from the fae. These days, many are even wary of coming out during the day.
“Pour yourself some wine,” Father says, inclining his glass toward a small table topped with more crystal glasses and a decanter.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Haven’t we talked enough today? I’m tired, Valeria. It’s been a long day.”
