Page 70 of House of the Raven
Does the same happen to the fae? Are they treated just as unfairly?
Some of these Romani are also fae, Val!
Maybe not fully, but could that be part of the reason they’re treated so badly? And if Romani who mostly carry human blood are treated this way, then the fae…
“That head of yours is at work again, huh?” Esmeralda nudges me with an elbow. “Anybody who sees your face would say you carry the weight of the realm on your shoulders.”
I don’t. That’s supposed to be Amira’s job, but what if she’s lost? What if she has veered off course or Orys’s influence has permanently erased her identity?
Shaking my head, I push that awful thought away. My sister isn’t evil, and, one way or the other, she will find her way back.
“I’m glad it doesn’t,” I say. “My own load already feels unbearable.”
“Imagine being Amira Plumanegra,” Esmeralda says.
My heart jumps at the name, and I have to look off to the side to hide my reaction.
“The first queen in, like, two hundred years,” she goes on, “taking over after a murdered king, that’s gotta be tough. Not to mention those veilfallen folk, they’re getting angrier at the Plumanegras every day. I wouldn’t fancy being in her shoes. What ‘bout you? Think you could handle all that mess?”
I shake my head, my eyes still averted. “No, but she can. I’ve heard she’s strong, level-headed.”
“And I’ve heard she’s a spoiled brat, same as her younger sister. Apparently, Valeria Plumanegra likes to pretend she’s a commoner when she gets bored.”
“Does she?” I ask, nearly choking on the words.
“Yes, if you watch closely, you might spot her wandering the streets of Castellina. She paints that white streak on her head and wraps herself in a hooded cloak to hide her face. She probably thinks she’s being all sly, but we aren’t fools. We see her, but we leave her be. No sense in hassling a troubled child, is there?”
My cheeks heat up to an unbearable level. I want to yell at her, tell her that I’m not a troubled child, but I manage to keep quiet mostly because my shame is too immense to overcome.
“She probably thinks she’s being all sly.”Esmeralda’s words echo in my ears, accompanied by a rebuke of my own.
You’re not sly at all, Val. You’re a complete idiot.
In the next town, everything is repeated, except the part where Esmeralda commits robbery. Instead, she remains by her stall, selling jewelry and playing with the kids when there are no customers. This time, at nightfall, we rest. Everyone is weary from lack of sleep, yet there is excitement in the air due to our impending arrival in Castellina tomorrow. The troop has been on the road for over a month, and everyone is eager for a visit to their more permanent stomping grounds.
I feel the same eagerness in the pit of my stomach, like a snake coiling and uncoiling, a snake that at any minute might sink its fangs into me, releasing a paralyzing poison that won’t let me do what I need to do.
The next day, the troop rolls into Castellina from the south. Twilight paints the sky the way a painter must dream of. Different hues of blue and purple bleed into each other, and I try to pretend the heavens are welcoming me, letting me know everything will be all right.
As we pass near Nido, I try to retreat inside the wagon, but Esmeralda stops me. “Don’t you want to see your new home? No one will recognize you here. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
I almost want to say, “Maybe they won’t notice me now that I’m not wearing a hooded cloak,” but I clamp my lips shut and stick close to her as the wagons traverse from one street to the next, carrying us farther from the city’s heart and into regions I’ve never explored, places I never even knew existed.
We’ve traveled west of Nido. That much I know because I can orient myself by the largest pieces of the broken observatory that jut into the sky and refract the dwindling sunlight.
After nearly an hour of driving through the city, we finally come to a stop. The cobbled street has given way to an earthen path lined by small, portable-looking shacks built in a tight row. Several people have come out to welcome the troop back. Most of them are old or disabled in some way or another. They get kisses on their wrinkled foreheads, and tight hugs from little arms clamping around their legs. Everyone is happy, smiling hugely and looking relieved. Do they worry their loved ones will not come back one day? Do they fear they might encounter hostility and violence on the road?
I stand to the side, nearly hidden behind one of the wagons as I twist my borrowed skirt nervously.
“Ma, this is Catalina.” Esmeralda comes close, an older version of herself at her arm. The woman is probably in her late forties, but the gingerly way she moves makes her appear older. White hair frames the sides of her otherwise black hair, and her eyes are large and inquisitive like Esmeralda’s, though they are brown, not green.
“Catalina was in a bit of trouble, so we offered her help,” Esmeralda adds.
“Hello, Catalina. It’s nice to meet you.” She wears an unassuming brown dress, nothing like her daughter’s colorful clothes.
“Nice to meet you too, gentle doña.” I incline my head.
“Oh, so polite, but call me Leonor.” She gives Esmeralda a raised eyebrow. “I’ve tried to teach this one manners, but…” She shakes her head in defeat.
