Page 41 of House of the Raven
“I will, once we’re inside.”
He starts dragging me away. I fight to get free, but it’s as if his fingers have turned to stone around my arm.
Cuervo sweeps in, talons extended toward my captor as he croaks in rage.
Guardia Bastien places a forearm over his head. “Shoot that thing.” He points at a guard with a crossbow. The man hesitates.
“Don’t you dare hurt him,” I spit. “Let me go, bastardo.”
Guardia Bastien continues dragging me along, even as I lean back with all my weight, trying to resist him.
Cuervo comes at him again. Guardia Bastien grabs the crossbow from the other man. I lash out and knock it to the ground.
Changing my tactics, I say, “All right, I’ll go. Just don’t hurt my bird.”
I act resigned and start walking, then I perform a maneuver that has served me well in the past. I smash the heel of my boot into his toes. Or at least, I try. He moves out of the way too fast, and I miss him.
With an angry growl in the back of his throat, he shakes me. “Will you stop?”
My brain rattles inside my skull. The man is strong.Damn him!
“Unhand me,” I shout. “You have no right to do this.”
“I’m just following orders.” He doesn’t let me go, of course. Instead, he hurries his step and pushes me through the line of trees that surrounds the back of the palace.
“Is that what you’re doing? Or is it something else?” I demand.
He glares at me sidelong, lips seals. However, I sense he wants to say something.
“Why won’t you answer me?”
“Whatever is between you and your sister is none of my business. Now, shut your mouth.”
In an almost imperceptible movement, he slides my dagger under my satchel’s strap and cuts. It falls to the ground where he kicks it, making the contents spill all over the place.
“Hey!” I protest, while his gaze hungrily peruses the strewn items. Disappointment washes over his face.
I shove him, rage getting the best of me. He’s looking for the necklace. I know it.
He shakes me again. “Keep walking.”
I struggle for part of the way, but my efforts are half hearted. He’s too strong for me, and even if I manage to get away, there are half a dozen guards following behind us.
Twenty minutes later, he delivers me back into my bedchamber, leaving my dagger on a side table. It’s only then that he lets go of my arm. I rub at the sore spot, sure that tomorrow I’ll have finger-shaped bruises there.
I glare at him with the bulk of my hatred. There is no sympathy in his bottomless dark eyes.
“Stay here,” he growls. “I would suggest you rest. You’ll have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
“What do you care?”
“You’re right. I don’t.” He shoves me further into the room, then steps out and shuts the door.
“I hope you burn for an eternity in each separate hell, and I hope it’s very, very slowly,” I yell at the door, feeling as if my head is going to explode from anger. But it’s useless. A lion could roar in that man’s face, and he wouldn’t bat a single eyelash. It’s as if he’s made of rock, and his feelings are shoved so far up his bottom that nothing can get through to them.
I stomp around the room, thoughts racing as I try to figure out another way to escape. If only I could fly like Cuervo, like Father used to do, I would spring wings and leap off the balcony.
Puta madre! How did he know where to find me?
