Page 34 of House of the Raven
Amira’s indifferent expression, which she donned while dismissing me, now tenses. “Eavesdropping is a nasty habit, Val.”
“Don’t act like you’re perfect. We’ve done enough eavesdropping together.”
“It is something I outgrew some time ago. Maybe Father was right to keep treating you like a child.”
I wait for her to say more, hoping to trick her into revealing what Father confided in her, but she remains tight-lipped, giving nothing away.
“Is there a question in all of this?” Amira says, her expression relaxing as she slowly begins to suspect I know little of their furtive conversation.
“What was he hiding from me?” I demand.
She smiles widely, and I realize she’s satisfied and relieved I don’t know the secret Father entrusted her.Puta madre!I just wasted an opportunity to find out more. I need to be more shrewd. What if the secret has something to do with why she killed him? It can’t be a coincidence. But what would drive someone to murder their own father?
“It’s really nothing you should concern yourself with,” Amira says. “Now, leave. I have a very busy day ahead of me, and don’t do anything stupid. I don’t need any trouble from you.”
But what about the necklace?!I want to ask. Why would she send me away before demanding I give it to her? There’s only one possible answer to that question, she found it! My fears kept me from retrieving it last night, and now she has it.
My legs falter as I take a step back.
No, no! She hasn’t found it. She hasn’t.
I take a deep breath and push my panic away. Calmly, I leave, perfectly aware that any further questions I ask of her will lead to more dead ends. I hold my head high as I walk past all of those waiting outside. My steps are firm and unhurried, but as soon as I turn the corner, I run.
Feeling as if my chest might cave in from fear and sorrow, I rush through the halls until I find myself alone in the waiting room by the throne room, the same one Guardia Bastien and I occupied last night.
I sit in the armchair next to Mother’s sewing box. My hands tremble as I lift the lid. Its small hinges creak with age. The top tray contains an array of delicate needles, their tips gleaming like silver. Beside them, spools of thread in a rainbow of colors rest in their slots, each one a potential tapestry waiting to be woven by eager fingers.
Further inside, a thimble, its surface bearing faint scratches from years of use, nestles beside a pair of elegant embroidery scissors with ornate handles.
I lift the tray and set it aside. My heart quickens as my fingers touch the concealed latch, almost imperceptible against the rich wood. With a gentle push, a hidden compartment is revealed.
There, nestled in a velvet-lined cradle, rests Mother’s opal necklace. The jewel shimmers within its intricate golden framework. The metalwork is a delicate array of swirling vines. Carefully, I pick it up and set it on my palm.
“She didn’t find it,” I whisper in a rush of breath.
Then why hasn’t Amira asked me about it? Why is she sending me away without doing everything she can to take it from me? There is only one logical explanation. She, Orys, is afraid to make me aware of its importance, afraid that once I know I’ll never relinquish it.
I turn the necklace over, my eyes roving over the small runic symbols etched on its underside. As I sit there, heart hammering, I wonder about its true origin, its connection to Mother’s past, and the secrets it holds.
Quickly, I hide it in my bosom, replace the sewing box’s tray, and close the lid. I sit quietly for a moment, willing my heart to settle.
Memories of happy times abruptly appear in my mind. Mother sat with me on this very chair, consoling me when I complained about the ache on the tips of my fingers because of my first violin lessons.
“After some time, you will build thicker skin on your fingertips, and playing the strings won’t hurt anymore,” she said, drying my tears with her tender touch.
“But I don’tlike the violin. I preferred the piano.” The piano was much easier and didn’t make my fingertips hurt.
Of course, I was lying. I much preferred the violin, at least when Maestro Clemente was playing it. He could draw the most beautiful melodies from the instrument, melodies that made Mother gaze out the window with a melancholic air. In those moments, I felt she was on the verge of telling me everything about her past, and I thought that if, one day, I could learn to play the way Maestro did, she would tell me everything. Sometimes, I still wonder if she would have shared her entire heart with me had she not died.
Slowly, I gather myself. I will walk through the halls carrying Mother’s necklace with me and giving nothing away. At last, I stand, straighten my tunic, and leave the room.
Amira will not get this necklace, and she will not send me away. At all costs, I’m staying in Castellina.
On my way to my bedchamber, I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder. It’s not easy, but I keep my steps unhurried. The few people I run into watch me closely. My heart pounds as I imagine Orys looking through their eyes. I don’t know if I’m being paranoid, but I feel… stalked.
I dab at my eyes with my sleeve, drying non-existent tears, pretending the pain that rages inside me has reduced me to a pathetic, blubbering woman—just what everyone expects to see.
At every corner, I imagine someone charging out to intercept my path and take the necklace from me. No one even talks to me. Maybe it’s the fake tears. No one likes dealing with disconsolate people.
