Page 19 of House of the Raven
He thinks for a moment, then says, “If you leave, don’t think I’ll allow you to come back.”
The words wound me deeply. It seems his pride is bigger than any love he claims to feel for me. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to come back.”
I leave him, fighting back the tears that pool in my eyes. Outside, Guardia Bastien scans my face for an instant, and the attention is enough to chase my tears away. Crying won’t fix anything. As I lift my chin and keep walking, the walls that Father has erected around me begin to melt away, and the feeling is exhilarating. Tomorrow nothing will be able to stop me.
I hear someone headed in my direction. I’m not in the mood to see or talk to some random person, so I quickly slip through the nearest door and end up in a small waiting room. It’s a familiar one. Since it is close to the throne room, Mother often arranged her workspace here in order to be near her husband, which means Amira and I spent a lot of time here when we were little.
Guardia Bastien follows me inside and stands by the door. He glances around, assessing the space, probably searching for exits through which I could escape.
“You don’t need to follow me around anymore,” I say. “You’ll be glad to hear that this humiliating assignment is over for both of us.”
He perks up at this, his bland expression going from dead to moribund. An improvement for sure.
“I knew that would cheer you up,” I say, no attempt to hide my sarcasm.
Pacing along the back of a long sofa, I run a finger over its gold-trimmed back. I open my mouth to tell him I won’t be here tomorrow, then shut it again. It’s not in my best interest to let people know about my plan to leave. It wouldn’t be conducive to anonymity.
With a sigh, I collapse in an armchair. The exultant feeling quickly wears out, giving way to sadness. Hurt taints my decision. I guess I expected Father to tell me he didn’t want me to leave, that he would not force me to marry or expect me to be someone I’m not. Instead, he threatened me. It seems he would rather keep his pride than me.
Worse yet… I still have to talk to Amira and Nana. I can’t put it off any longer. Well… maybe a few more minutes.
My eyes settle on Mother’s sewing box for a moment. It’s still here. No one has dared move it. I used to play with its contents after she died. Eventually, I stopped.
Next, my gaze roves over the painting across the way. The grand canvas is like a portal to the past. In vivid strokes and hues, it unveils a haunting scene, a raven soaring above a battlefield cast in shades of twilight and despair. The land is a tapestry of chaos, where once-bright banners fly bloody and tattered. Forgotten warriors lie strewn on the crimson-stained earth, silent witnesses to the Plumanegra might.
Yet, it is the raven that captures the essence of the painting. Its feathers, sleek and iridescent, appear untouched by the destruction. Its beady eyes, sharp and knowing, are the only real witnesses to the price Castella paid for its freedom from Los Moros. I’ve stared at this painting countless times, conflicted by its meaning, aching to soar and glide over the clouds. I blink, realizing I’m worrying at the key that hangs around my neck. Absent-mindedly, I stick it back under my tunic.
Almost of its own accord, my head jerks up. I listen. My ears begin to ring, and my heart jumps into a frenzy. I feel exactly the way I felt right before the veilfallen attacked this morning.
This time, there is something else… a thrum in the air, one I immediately recognize even though I haven’t heard it in over twelve years.
“No!” I exclaim, jumping to my feet.
Without thinking, I run out of the waiting room and back the way I came.
I dart down the corridor, following the sound. My heart hammers. My feet pound the stone floor, keeping rhythm. Guardia Bastien joins me. I fear he will drag me back, but instead, he runs ahead, hand on the hilt of his rapier.
When he enters the throne room, he halts in his tracks. I watch his features with trepidation, attempting to predict the horror that lies ahead, but his expression is as inscrutable as ever, and that freezes the knot already stuck in my throat.
A second later, I cross the threshold, and it feels as though I’ve plunged into a recurring nightmare, and I’m tumbling head over heels. The scene unfolding before me distorts, melding with memories I’ve long wished to erase from existence.
Shaking my head to clear it, I skid to a stop. Father is standing back to the dais, facing a glowing figure.
“Valeria, leave. Run!” Father holds a hand up in my direction.
No. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m leaving him. I didn’t abandon him when I was younger and he faced a similar threat. What makes him think I will abandon him now? I walk closer, wondering where his guards are.
“Go, Valeria!” Father insists.
I come to a stop next to him and stand shoulder to shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then we’re both dead,” he declares.
“So long I’ve waited.” The figure in front of us says.
At the sound of his voice, bursts of radiant light punctuated by thunderous waves of espiritu dance before my eyes, images from that horrible past.
I know that voice. It belongs to Orys Kelakian, the same fae sorcerer who murdered my mother all those years ago. How is this possible? He should be dead.
