Page 12 of House of the Raven
He keeps pace beside me. After a minute, he glances over his shoulder, noticing the guard following us.
“Who’s your brawny beau?” he asks, his voice dripping with innuendo and his mouth stretching widely. The smile disappears when he takes in my displeased expression. “Um, on second thought, he looks like they dropped him on his face when he was a babe.”
“Don’t lie,” I whisper.
“Well, who is he?”
“My personal guard.”
“Since when do you have a…” He trails off. “No, he didn’t!”
“Yes, he did.”
“What a bastardo!”
I nod. Another day, I wouldn’t let him call Father a bastardo. Today… I don’t care.
“I’m sorry, Val. At least he’s a sight for sore eyes.”
“What about you? Has my father decreed your punishment yet?”
He shakes his head, looking worried. “Not yet, but I’m sure he won’t assign a slab of delicious muscle as my guard. He’ll probably order that I fuck an ugly goat every day for a fortnight.”
“Would that really be a punishment for you? You’re such a harlot.”
He slaps a hand to his chest. “You wound me. Deeply.”
We pass under one of the soaring archways that lead from the east wing to the center of the palace. Our steps echo on the marble floor and reverberate off the vaulted ceilings. Sunlight streams through the many rows of stained glass windows, bathing us with colorful light.
As we approach one of the large doors that leads to the inner quarters of Nido, I stop. “Are you busy? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
Jago narrows his eyes. “I’m already in enough trouble, Val. Maybe we should… I don’t know… behave for a few weeks. Months?”
Jago has always been too afraid of my father, and with good reason. Father is inflexible with him. He shouldn’t be. He should show nothing but compassion for his nephew. Jago’s mother died at birth, while his father perished in a battle ten years ago. Uncle Julián was a general of the Castellan Army, and he was ambushed by a group of invaders and executed without quarters.
We are still fighting against this enemy:Los Moros, who come through the Strait of Jabaltariq wanting to retake our country. Two thousand years ago, before my family gained its shifter powers, Los Moros controlled our land. Later, King Anselmo Plumanegra drove them out, making strategic use of his new abilities. After that victory, the Plumanegra dynasty was born. However, since our espiritu disappeared twodecades ago, their incursions have recurred with more frequency than we would like.
Despite the fact that Jago lost both his parents and was, therefore, my father’s charge and only nephew, he receives no special treatment. On the contrary, he is expected to be perfect in all his duties as a royal member of the Plumanegras. When he was sixteen, he was forced to attend the Academia de Guardias, from which he recently graduated, and soon is expected to join the Castellan Army. Something Jago doesn’t want to do. Not in the least.
“I promise this won’t get you in trouble,” I tell him. “I just need to talk to someone about it.”
Just moments ago, I’d been determined to inform Father of my intentions. Now, doubts are creeping in. I could use someone to talk to before I take the final leap.
“What is it?” he asks.
I look in Guardia Corpse’s direction. “Not here.”
Jago considers for a moment. “All right, I have time.”
We make our way back to my bedchamber. I let Jago in, then start closing the door on Guardia Corpse as he stations himself across the way. His onyx eyes hold a similar expression to the one the late king wears in the portrait that hangs above his head, which is to say: blank. Yet, I sense there is much going on behind that indifferent facade. I tear my gaze from him. Yes, he was definitely dropped on his face when he was a babe. I need to convince myself of that.
“Let’s go out to the balcony,” I say.
When we’re standing out in the open, I close the doors behind us.
Jago frowns. “A bit excessive? He won’t be able to hear us even if we talk inside.”
Maybe, but I don’t want to take any risks. I’m also glad Cuervo isn’t here. That bird flaps his beak too much when he’s overloaded with information. I shrug.
