Page 8 of House of the Raven
“He has no right,” I protest. “I’m practically a prisoner here. Hells, with a guard at my heels at all times, Iwillbe one.”
“You know the veilfallen have grown more dangerous this past year, and it’s only getting worse. Today’s attack is proof of that.”
Damn veilfallen!A year ago, rumors that they were more organized began, and soon after that, news of a leader who had galvanized the once-dispersed groups of fae rebels was all anybody could talk about. Where did this male, River, come from? It’s as if he sprouted out of the ground. The veil disappeared over twenty years ago. Why did he come to Castellina now? To ruin my life?
“I know how to take care of myself, Amira,” I insist. “I don’t need guards to follow me around the palace. What is everyone going to say?”
“You should have thought about that before you snuck out.”
“You can’t be in agreement with him. You have to convince him that a guard is unnecessary.”
“You know well that when he makes up his mind, there are few who can convince him to change it.” She stares pointedly at me.
Since I was little, I’ve always been the one able to cajole things out of him: a later bedtime, one more piece of cake, a birthday ball for my sister. With her expressive eyes, Amira is asking me, in no uncertain terms, that if I’ve failed to change his mind, what hope could she have if she tried?
“If I were you,” she adds, “I would keep my head low for alongwhile. Maybe he will remove the guards if he notices good behavior.”
I shake my head. “Do you hear yourself? Good behavior? I. Am. Not. A. Child. Whether or not he likes my behavior, I’m a grown woman. I’m not his puppet. He can’t make me dance around to his tune.”
“Valeria, please don’t do anything stupid.”
I huff. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter what I do, you two will think it’s stupid.”
I march out of the study. I want to run to Nana to cry on her lap, but she doesn’t need the anxiety my situation would cause her. Her health has been fragile lately. Besides, I need time to think about what to do next. My life can’t continue this way. What Father wants for me—marriage to a lord with a fortune large enough to befit a princess—can’t be the only path for me. There has to be something more.
There is no way I’ll marry Don Justo Medrano or any of the other men Father has volunteered. I’d rather die.
My heart beats hard as I enter my room. I climbed to the fourth floor practically running. Shutting the door, I notice Cuervo perched on the balcony’s marble railing. He flaps his wings when he notices me. The curtains sway in the summer breeze as I walk past the open balcony doors. I lean my elbows on the railing and peer beyond the palace walls toward the observatory.
The larger pieces of broken glass are still visible from this distance and sparkle like the lost jewels of a giant.
I sigh.
“I wish I had seen it,” Cuervo croaks.
A sad smile stretches my lips. “I do say that a lot, don’t I?”
He hops closer and bumps my shoulder with his head, his way of comforting me.
“I think you understand how I feel better than anyone,” I tell him.
He bobs his head up and down in agreement.
“I was born twenty years too late, my friend.”
What I wouldn’t give to see Tirnanog, to visit my mother’s village, to experience espiritu. Every time I think that this part of my heritage is lost to me, I feel a deep void in my chest, a space that will never be filled. I feel not only half-human and half-fae, but also half alive.
Not for the first time, I wonder why Amira doesn’t feel the same way. I’ve asked her multiple times, and she says it’s all in my imagination, that if I stop reading all those old history books, yearningfor a world that may forever be outside our reach, I would feel much better. I often wonder if she wishes our mother wasn’t fae, if she’s tired of keeping that secret from everyone.
Either way, she’s wrong. Some of thoseold history books,as she calls them, were relevant only two decades ago, for all the gods’ sake. More than that, they describe the place where our mother was born. How can she just…?
Frustration mounting, I whirl and stomp back into the bedchamber. I sit at the edge of my bed for a long moment. My nose itches due to the dust still embedded in my clothes. I rub it back and forth with the back of my index finger, trying to suppress a sneeze.
My mind whirls like carriage wheels, turning over and over and over. My whole future seems to flash before my eyes as my imagination flies with itself. Married to a stuffy, overweight, older man with a twisted mustache (I’ve never seen Don Justo, but this is how I imagine him.) Shipped to a faraway villa tokeep housefor him. Expected to part my legs every time he deigns to pause his duties for an obligatory visit to his burdensome wife. Required to pop heirs, preferably male and on the clock. Forced to ignore his many mistresses and illegitimate children.
At the brink of vomiting what little sits in my stomach, I leave my room, the seed of a decision embedding itself in the fertile soil of my tilled mind. With every step, my conviction grows. This idea has lived in the back of my head for a while now, but I’ve been afraid to look it straight in the eye. The further I walk, the fear that has kept me from taking action seems to peel off like dead skin and fall away in large strips until I feel lighter, and my steps gain a spring I’ve not felt in a long time.
I approach Father’s private study. Here, the absence of guards is deliberate, as the room lies nestled deep within the heart of the palace. Instead, the guards are posted further out, protecting the perimeter doors that lead to this inner sanctum. This is the only way to have true privacy, hesays. Secrets can’t be kept if you have guards or servants roaming around, no matter how loyal.
