Page 106 of House of the Raven
Still restless and itching to tell Cuervo to retrieve the amulet, I return to pacing the length of my bed. My head starts pounding, then I realize there’s only one thing that will calm me down.
Rolling my shoulders, I go into my closet, discard my dress in a pile, and change into my most comfortable tunic, leggings, and boots. Quickly, I braid my hair and tie it with a smooth piece of leather. I leave my room and have to roll my eyes when Bastien follows me at a distance like a grumpy shadow.
In the armory next to the sparring courtyard, I retrieve my rapier and go outside.
From the top of the tower, I realize Castellina is alight in breathtaking twilight. The sun, a radiant orb of molten gold, has begun its descent behind the distant hills, casting a warm, amber glow over the landscape.
The city below seems to settle with a gentle hum, as the first stars twinkle into existence in the gradually darkening sky. The buildings, their windows reflecting the fading sunlight, shimmer like jewels in a sea of stone.
To the west, the horizon blurs into a delicate palette of pastel hues—pinks, lavenders, and soft blues. The sky is a canvas painted by the dreams of an artist. Wisps of clouds catch fire, igniting in shades of coral and tangerine and making me pause long enough to cut my anxiety in half.
Now only a good bout will get rid of the rest.
“Pull out your sword,” I tell Bastien.
At first, he doesn’t react. Instead, he watches me for a moment, then finally obliges, pulling his rapier from its ornate scabbard. The blade emerges with a sharpswish.The sound resonates with purpose, a declaration of readiness. With these rapiers in hand, we are armed not only with steel but with tradition and the unspoken language of combat. For a moment, I stop to wonder if challenging him is a mistake. But really, I don’t care. I need this.
“En guardia,” I say.
He whips his rapier up and down, cutting the air, then strikes a ready pose, his weight evenly distributed, knees slightly bent.
Letting go of all the feelings I’ve been harboring for days, I lunge forward and cry out, “To the touch.”
“To the floor,” he says instead, making this even more interesting than I expected.
31
VALERIA
“Alas, I cannot choose. Our saints, the one god of Los Moros, or the many of the fae. Yet, I’ve made peace with all the choices and so will everyone else. We will not quarrel over religion.”
Rey Alfonso Plumanegra (Casa Plumanegra) - King of Castella - 591 DV
Under this rooftop haven and the burning clouds, our swords clash. The sun sets over the sprawling city below, its warm, golden hue dimming slowly. A breeze sweeps through, carrying the scent of jasmine and rose.
Bastien, rugged in his guard uniform, exudes confidence, his dark eyes locked onto mine. I meet his gaze. I want to make him pay for his relentless pursuit of me, for his inflexible adherence to orders, for the way his lips are always sealed even though his eyes seem to tell me he’s holding back.
I leap back, my off arm extended backward for balance. Members of the Guardia Real have perfect form, and he’s not the exception.
Fluidly, I twirl my rapier, daring Bastien to make the next move. He strikes. I parry, my footwork lithely putting some distance between us. I feint. He retreats a step and makes an approving sound at my display of skill.
He, a highly-ranked cadet, is caught off guard by my agility. What he doesn’t know is that I also learned from the best, and I learned to be precise, but also unpredictable.
Our rapiers clash again, sparks flying. I push the attack, drawing closer. Bastien’s muscled body moves with grace, parrying my strikes. The tension grows thick between us.
Like two dancers following an unheard tune, we move across the courtyard, our feet barely making a sound over the cobbles. Our swords are another story, though. They sing as they meet, their shrill voices gradually growing quiet when we pull apart and reassess.
Sweat breaks along my hairline and trickles down my back. My limbs tingle with energy. I feel alive, and everything else is forgotten. Only this moment matters. Only beating Bastien and making him pay in this small way matters.
A breathless flurry of quick exchanges follows. I anticipate every strike and dance out of the way. His attacks come more swiftly. He aims at my upper chest and springs forward. I react instinctively, redirecting his blade to the side with a well-practiced circular motion.
With his attack deflected, I seize the opportunity. My riposte is immediate, a lightning-fast counterattack. I lunge forward, extending my arm and blade just below his protective guard. My body is fully engaged in the motion, and my blade finds its mark, making contact with the target area with a satisfyingclink. The impact is controlled but forceful, a testament to the hours of training and muscle memory.
“I won,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I said to the floor, not to the touch.”
I huff. “Convenient. But have it your way.”
