Page 24 of House of the Raven
He takes another step back, still blocking me.
“Valeria, his time is over,” she says to me. “It is our turn to shine.”
What is she talking about? Father is still young and strong.
She goes on. “He keeps you under his thumb like a flea. Don’t you want to be free to do whatever you want?”
“Amira, snap out of it.” I try to circumvent Father, but he keeps me behind him, still making his way toward the exit.
She laughs. “I’m not his puppet like you are, and I don’t have patience for your lack of conviction.” She looks at Orys and says, “Take care of them.”
He doesn’t wait to be told twice and blasts a wave of energy in our direction.
I brace myself for the blast of Orys’s magic, for death.
Instead, I’m hit from the side and go tumbling away from my father. I land on my back, the airwhooshingfrom my lungs. Wincing at the pain, I realize Guardia Bastien is on top of me.
Scrambling, I push him away and sit up. “Father!”
He’s on the floor, lying on his side and twisted like a discarded sparring dummy. I crawl desperately toward him. Grabbing his shoulder, I turn him on his back. His face is blank with death.
“No. No. No.” I shake him. “Father, please.” I press a hand to his cheek. His beard is soft against my palm. “Wake up. Please, wake up.” Hot tears spill onto my cheeks, tracing twin paths that burn to the depths of my very heart. “I promise I won’t leave you.” I kiss his forehead. “I’ll stay here and do whatever you want me to do. I’ll marry whoever you wish.”
He only wanted what he thought was best for me. I thought I would have the chance to show him there could be more than one path for me, but now our last interaction will forever be an argument we both wanted to win.
“I love you, Father. Please.” I press my forehead to his chest and long for his strong embrace.
Amira comes closer. “Don’t be pathetic, Val. His miserable life isn’t worth giving up your own.”
Strong arms wrap around my waist, but they are not Father’s. They belong to Guardia Bastien, who picks me up and drags me toward the door. I fight feebly until I notice Orys walking in our direction. He’s intent on me—his now-clouded gray eyes full of the same hatred I feel toward him.
Limp with grief, I let Guardia Bastien drag me away. We’re almost to the door when it slams shut on a phantom wind.
“Where do you think you’re going, you fraud of a girl?” Orys asks.
Guardia Bastien lets me go and produces a dagger. He stands protectively in front of me, but what hope does he have wielding a mere toothpick of a weapon against the blaze of espiritu? Only a fae-made blade would stand a chance, and there are few of those in Castella, like the one hanging on the wall in Father’s bedchamber, La Matadora. What good is it doing up there?
“Stand down, Guardia Bastien,” I say. “This sorcerer’s quarrel is with me. You should leave and save your life.”
He throws an incredulous look over his shoulder. He seems shocked, whether by the implication that he will flee like a coward or by my honorable offer to sacrifice myself, I don’t know. When he doesn’t run out the door and stands his ground, I decide it’s the latter.
Definitely not a coward, but most certainly a fool.
“You should take her up on her offer, weak guard,” Orys says.
Weak guard? Is he blind? Guardia Bastien is tall with wide shoulders and legs like marble columns. But maybe sorcerers measure strength by the amount of espiritu a person has, which amounts to zero between the guardia and me.
Orys flicks his hand carelessly, and Guardia Bastien’s dagger flies off his hand and clatters to the floor. Fast as lightning, the guard pulls outanother dagger from behind his back and flings it at the sorcerer. One flick of Orys’s hand gets rid of that threat, too.
Next, my surprisingly loyal guard tries to go for Orys’s throat. This time, he ends up frozen mid-lunge, his eyes wide as swiveling big marbles.
“Better,” Orys says, smiling his twisted grimace.
A chill assaults me at the sight of the snake’s amusement. Beyond him, Father’s body lies still. I keep my gaze focused on my enemy, trying my best to keep my anguish at bay. Still, I notice Amira stepping over Father’s prone shape as if he were only a bothersome obstacle.
Orys doesn’t come closer. Instead, he waits for Amira, who casually makes her way to me. She stops a couple of feet away and scrutinizes me from head to toe. Her expression is annoyed, as if this horrible situation has been nothing more than one of the boring council meetings she complains about.
“He’s gone,” she declares. “For good.”
