Page 75 of House of the Raven
“Talk?” I scoff. “Well, you forgot the tea and pastries.” I glance around the room. “You could have dusted, at least.”
There’s no hint of amusement in his eyes. In fact, there’s no hint of anything. He just goes on staring at me, never breaking eye contact as if he were trying to pry my mind open by will alone.
“My condolences on the passing of your father,” he says.
Anger rises in my chest at his sheer audacity. As if he wouldn’t have killed Simón Plumanegra with his own hands if he’d had the chance, as if it’s not a distinct possibility that Orys is working with him, orforhim.
My gaze falls to the dagger strapped to his thigh. What if I went for it and—
“You won’t be fast enough,” he says, guessing my thoughts.
I take a few steps to one side to get away from my vomit. Its acrid smell is making me nauseous again.
“Keep my father’s name out of your mouth,” I say, my eyes still roving the room, cataloging every aspect of it as my brain tries to figure out an escape. There is a set of stairs to my right that might offer a way out since the front door is out of the question. If only I had inherited my mother’s fae speed.
“Fair enough.” He inclines his head. “Let’s talk about you, then.”
“You’re wasting your time. Whatever you want, whatever you think you can accomplish by kidnapping me, it’s not going to work.”
“We’ll have to see.”
I cross my arms. “Talk then. What do you want? I don’t have any money if that’s what you’re after. I don’t have any power. I’ve never cared about befriending council members or gaining political favors of any kind, so I can’t help you there either. And if you hope to use me as leverage with my sister,” I laugh, “good luck. She hates me, and she’d rather be rid of me.”
Saying those words hurts. The last time I saw my sister, I felt the hatred I speak of. What I’ve yet to find out is if it’s real.
“Good thing, I’m not interested in any of those things,” he says.
I frown, confused. What else could he want?
Out of the corner of my eye, I glance toward the stairs, judging how quickly I can climb them and whether or not River can catch me.
“Your mother,” he says.
Every muscle in my body freezes. My mother. My fae mother. Why would this veilfallen bring her up? Did he use to know her when she lived in Tirnanog?
“What about my mother? She’s dead,” I say.
There’s a slight change in the tension around his eyes.
“Did you know her?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
I think I already know the answer, and if I’m right, then I think I also know what he wants. River aims to use that knowledge as leverage. No one, no one can know my mother was fae. It would be chaos. Fae haters in our counsel would immediately work to remove the Plumanegras from the throne, a century-old dynasty that has always served Castella well. Many would seek to install themselves as leaders, and there are few, if any, who would do it out of selfless reasons.
“I did know her,” River says, confirming my fears. “Loreleia Elhice.”
That is her fae surname, which Father erased from our lips the moment Mother revealed it.
“You will never utter that name,” he said, casting Mother a reproachful glare.
“I knew her,” he repeats. “In Nilhalari, sometime before she came to Castella and met your father.”
My breathing is agitated, and the escape I’ve been planning up the stairs is all but forgotten. For the most part, Mother’s life remains shrouded in mystery to Amira and me. While she was alive, she would tell us little stories about her previous life, but always when Father wasn’t around. When he was present, she dutifully followed his orders not to speak of the past. When she died, any knowledge we might have gained died with her. Despite our constant nagging, Father rarely spoke of her again, and when he did, it was only to insist on the lies we were to tell the rest of the world.
Now, standing in front of someone who could tell me the things I’ve always craved to know, I find myself disarmed, my attention completely captured by this male from whom I should flee. There is a side of me I crave to understand better, a feeling of absence that nothing seems to fill.
“What do you know about her?” I ask, my voice a near plea that lets River know he has me in the palm of his hand.
His eyes crinkle a little, and that’s how I know he’s smiling. “I know she had in her possession a very important amulet.”
