Page 38 of House of the Raven
“This is unacceptable! How dare you invade my private quarters without consulting me?” I demand.
The servants freeze. They look to Emerito, their gazes pointing at the culprit.
The little man—he’s a few inches shorter than me, even in heeled shoes—tidies his pointed beard and comes closer. “The Queenordered me to take charge. And if you have a problem with that, talk to her.”
We exchange charged glares, then he whirls, turns his back on me, and continues to supervise the servants’ progress.
“Fine,” I shout, “but I’m taking all the leggings and tunics I want.” I march into the closet, grab an armful of my most comfortable clothes, and stuff them in one of the trucks, making sure to crumple all the dresses. “You, pretentious little leprechaun, will not tell me how to dress. If you have a problem with that, talk to my rapier. I’d like nothing more than to spar against you and reduce your puffy sleeves to mere threads.”
One of the servants turns her face to hide a grin. I give her a wink that Emerito doesn’t notice since he’s too busy straightening his doublet and patting the sleeves down just to have them spring right back up.
Pleased with my work, I stomp out of the room and don’t return until much later.
Everything I’m taking with me tonight fits in a small rucksack. I have one change of clothes, the few gold coins I had lying around the room, but most importantly, my jewelry. Selling it will be the only thing that will allow us to survive out there.
Earlier, I told Cuervo our plan. A glint in his eye told me he understood, and I’m confident he will meet us behind the palace. After that, he can follow us to our final destination, wherever that may be. I will rely on Jago to find an out-of-the-way inn. He knows Castellina better than I do.
It is almost midnight, so I sling the rucksack over my shoulder and take a deep breath. I’m ready to go. My only regret: not talking to Nana before leaving. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I would probably cry, and I don’t want to worry her. With luck, this will be over soon.
Cautiously, I swing open my bedchamber door and cast a glance into the hallway. No one is there. I’ve been expecting Amira to send someone else to guard me and prevent me from doing exactly what I’m about to do. But perhaps she doesn’t think I’m brave enough to disobey her.
She thinks wrong.
I ease out into the hall and silently close the door behind me. I’m wearing all-black clothes, and my long brown hair is arranged in a tight bun at the base of my neck. My leggings are form-fitting and comfortable and so are my supple boots. To complete my outfit, I wear a tunic and a long cloak. The cloak has a hood, which is pulled over my head.
My heart beats wildly and, though my breaths come fast, I feel as if I’m not taking in enough air. There will be guards stationed at different intervals from here to the old chapel, but I know this palace like the back of my hand, and I’ll have no trouble avoiding them.
My boots only whisper as I traverse the long corridor.
“Going somewhere?” a deep, familiar voice asks from an alcove on my right.
Every muscle in my body turns to stone, and I can’t move.
Guardia Bastien steps away from the shadows, his expression as deadpan as I remember. He looks neither angry nor satisfied that he has caught me sneaking out of my bedchamber.
As for me, I feel my own anger rising to my face in a heated wave that settles on my cheeks and betrays my emotions. My hand edges toward the dagger strapped to my thigh. Maybe I can carve some kind of emotion on his indifferent countenance.
But it would be untrue if I said I’m not intimidated by his sheer size. The man is well over six feet tall. Six-two? Six-three? Maybe there is a way to evade him without a physical confrontation.
“It’s none of your business,” I say, then keep walking.
After a few steps, I glance over my shoulder. “You’re following me. It’s uncouthandreeks of scoundrel.”
Maybe he already knows he’s a scoundrel because there is no reaction to the insult, not even the slightest twitch of an eyebrow.
I pick up my step. He does the same.
Whirling on him, I deliver the most withering glare I can muster. “If you don’t remember, my sister,the queen, said I could go about my business as usual.”
“That was yesterday. Today,the queenhas a different opinion.”
“And she toldyouthat? A lowly, fresh-out-of-the-academy guard?”
“Indeed.”
“Why?” I demand. “Why you?”
He shrugs with disinterest. “I have always found success in everything I do. It has ceased to surprise me, so I simply don’t ask.”
