Page 58 of House of the Raven
After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and grabs me by the elbow. “You need to get back inside.”
I cry out as if he’s hurting me. “How dare you touch me? Let me go!”
“Hey, take your hands off her,” the older guard commands, placing his hand on the hilt of his big knife.
My guard lets me go. “You don’t understand. She—”
“She is the future lady of the house, Princess of Castella. Laying your filthy hands on her is a sin.”
“That’s right,” I say. “I don’t need you following me around the house or anywhere else. Leave!” I jerk my arm,shooinghim away. “Don Justo has a battalion of excellent men at his disposal. They guard the villa and the city, and keep everyone safe from harm, including me.” I approach the gate. “Now, I would like to take a pleasant walk to the chapel in the company of these two excellent gentle dons.”
Both the young and older men look satisfied as they lift their chins and glare at my guard down their noses.
“Get replacements to guard the gate, muchacho,” the older guardtells the other.
My guard looks right and left. If I’m being honest, he looks terrified. Guardia Bastien appears to be a shrewd commander, indeed. I feel sorry for my guard and for whatever price he’s about to pay for letting me get out of the villa, but I can’t let that stop me. Shaking his head at me, he takes several steps back, then finally turns and rushes toward the house in search of Bastien, no doubt.
Soon, two new guards take their positions by the gate, and I’m able to leave.
“Which way is the chapel?” I ask, even though I noticed a small building when we rode in last night, and I suspect that’s where we’re going.
“Just down the path, Princess Valeria,” the young guard responds.
I hurry my step. I have to be out of here before Bastien comes searching for me.
The chapel is a quaint little building, tucked under a line of trees that extends behind it. It’s built of ancient stone, its wooden door scratched and battered.
I throw the small door open and look inside. To my relief, there’s no one there.
I glance over my shoulder at the guards. “I would like to pray in privacy.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” they reply in unison.
After stepping inside, I quickly close the door and look around. Shafts of dusty sunlight pierce through the old windows. There are three sets of narrow pews on each side, presided by the carved figure of a saint I don’t recognize. Heat hangs heavily in the confined space, making the exposed beams groan overhead.
Moving fast, I retrieve a free-standing metal candelabra from a corner and use it to brace the door. I secure its top under the handle and brace the bottom securely against an uneven floor tile. With that done, I unlace the back of my dress and step out of it, leaving it in a puddle on the floor.
Shaking myself, I run toward one of the side windows, which, to my relief, is not locked and opens easily. Nerves sharp as daggers, I climb out, land on a patch of grass, and stay still for a few beats, listening. When it becomes clear that the guards are none the wiser, I run, staying right behind the church to avoid being seen. When I make it to the other side of a small hill, I start breathing more easily. However, I’ve learned enough about Bastien to still be wary. Despite myself, I keep imagining him jumping out in front of me like a ground-sprouting demon, moving in that effortless way he has. Cuervo flies ahead to offer a warning, but Bastien already bested him so I don’t rely solely on him.
My eyes dart anxiously, scanning the surroundings, peering behind every gnarled tree for any hint of the man. It’s irrational, I know, I should be worried about him assailing me from behind—not the front—but I can’t help myself. Maybe he’s secretly a sorcerer.
I freeze.Oh, gods! What if he’s Orys?
The question pops inside my head out of nowhere, and it sends my heart into an even greater erratic frenzy. But the thought is ludicrous. Bastien can’t be Orys. He was there when the sorcerer attacked, and even tried to help.But what if it was all a big magical performance?Orys is certainly powerful enough to project an image able to fool anyone, isn’t he? Honestly, I have no idea. Shaking my head, I quicken my step, jumping over falling logs and overgrown brambles. I can’t get carried away with fanciful notions.
I hear a sound ahead, come to a sudden stop, and crouch. I hold my breath to better listen. Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure no one’s pursuing me. Praying to all the gods, I take several deep breaths, obeying the demands of my pounding heart. Once my lungs are pumping steadily, I move forward, taking care to keep each step silent. Once I’m able to see past the trees, I realize that what lies ahead is a street with people milling about. I’m at the edge of town already.
But where is Jago? I search for him but don’t spot him. He’s supposed to be waiting for me somewhere around here. He left the villa an hour ago, riding Furia.
“The tracks go this way,” someone calls behind me.
Oh, no! They can’t be here already. What should I do?
I see no other alternative but to leave the woods. Casually, I recline against a tree at the very edge of the road, acting as if I’ve been there all along. Once I’m sure no one is paying attention to me, I meander down the cobbled path, which is lined by street vendors. It seems like it might be market day today, and it’s to my advantage since many people are out and about, purchasing fruits, vegetables, cheese, tools, clothes, and all manner of goods.
I move away from the woods and to the other side of the street. Quickly, I turn the corner and press my back to the wall. Jago and Cuervo are nowhere in sight. Slowly, I peek around the building, back the way I came. My heart jumps as I see Bastien standing in the middle of the path, those dark eyes of his scanning every face like a hawk. I pull back and desperately try to find a place to hide. The first thing I notice is a closed wagon with a painted sign hanging above its back door. It readsEl Gran Místico.
I hurry up the step stool that sits right below the entrance and burst in, thinking of nothing but remaining free.
