Page 50 of House of the Raven
Before midnight, I peek through the curtains. After a few minutes, a guard paces into view. Without any pretense of subtlety, I throw the window open. He startles, but I do my best to ignore him and fan myself as if overheated. I can feel his eyes fixed on my delicate nightgown, its slender straps and plunging neckline. He will be lucky if his eyes don’t fall out of their sockets.
Men! So easy to distract.
I pull away from view, leaving the window open. I’m not about to try to escape just yet. Besides, it’s not time, so I sit at the edge of the bed and wait.
Thoughts of my parents assault me. I miss them so much. My sorrow quickly turns to rage as I think of Orys. He paid for Mother’s death withhis disfigurement. He will pay for Father’s death with his life. I will make sure of it.
And Amira? Oh, Amira. If she is doing this of her own volition, it means I never knew her. And if she isn’t, she will be devastated when she wakes up from the spell. That’s if she isn’t already suffering, trapped inside her own mind.
Gods!My heart hurts.
Shaking my arms, I stand up, change out of my nightgown, and throw it on the bed. I won’t be needing such garments where I’m going. I attire myself in comfortable clothes and search through my luggage for the dagger and thigh strap I stored there, but they’re gone. Damn them! They went through my luggage even after it was initially packed. Father gave me that dagger. They have no right. I stew for a long time, doing my best to control my emotions.
At last, it’s time to go. The loud ruckus I hear in the distance is my sign. Cuervo is at the front door, doing his job of creating a distraction. His croaks are surely loud and obnoxious when he wants them to be.
I approach the window as silent as a cat. I don’t see the guard and hope his attention is diverted by the commotion.
With my improvised rucksack tied to my back, I fling my legs over the windowsill and step carefully onto the ridge of the roof. The red-stained clay tiles aren’t the best surface to walk on, but they seem stable enough. My steps are tentative at first, then more confident as the tiles hold. Hands out to my sides for balance, I hurry across the way on tiptoes. When I get to the other side, I stop, trying my best to ignore my heart’s pounding rhythm.
I dare a glance down and around. I still don’t see the guard, but I see Jago.
He’s waiting for me in the shadows of the stables, his shape barely noticeable. He’s mounted on his horse and has Furia with him. A smilestretches my lips. All I have to do is get down from here, run across the backyard, mount my mare, and we’ll be on our way back to Castellina.
There is a tree close to the building. Shimmying down the sloped roof, I make it there. I locate a branch thick enough to support my weight, then jump and take hold of it. My hands hurt from the rough bark, but not too much. I have good calluses from sparring practice. Finding the right handholds and footholds, I make my way down to the ground and land in a crouch without a sound.
I stay there for a long moment, one hand on the moist ground as I watch for the guard. He’s nowhere in sight. When I’m sure he’s not coming, I cut across the yard, feet as light as Cuervo’s feathers.
“Good job,” Jago whispers.
“I think it’s Cuervo you should praise.”
I mount my mare, patting her neck, and calling her a good girl. “Let’s go home.” I pull the reins back.
Furia has only started to turn when I hear a voice from the inn’s direction.
“Stop unless you want me to break his neck.”
My blood turns to ice as I glance back and see Bastien silhouetted against the moonlight, holding a struggling Cuervo by the neck.
“Let him go!” I shout across the yard, the rest of my body turning as cold as the blood in my veins. If he hurts him, if he—
“I will let him go when you get off that horse and stand in front of me,” Bastien says.
Hot rage fights against the cold fear for Cuervo’s life. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” I can’t see his face, but there’s a frigid sound in his voice that leaves me no doubt he’ll snap my friend’s neck if I don’t do as he says.
I hang my head and swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks for trying, Jago.”
“I’m sorry,” my cousin says. “I really thought we would make it.”
Slowly, I dismount and walk toward Bastien. When I stop, I return his gaze with a steely glare, allowing all the resentment I harbor for him to pierce the air like a dagger, every ounce of my disdain unsheathed and ready to fight him.
“Let. Cuervo. Go.” I punctuate each word.
Bastien unclenches his hand with an abrupt stretch of his fingers, and Cuervo weakly flaps to the ground. I fall to my knees and cradle him against my chest. His usually strong croaks sound hoarse and feeble.
“You are despicable.” I slowly rise to my feet and hold the bastardo’s gaze once more.
