Page 52 of House of the Raven
On the fifth day, nearly lulled to sleep by boredom, I feel the carriage veer abruptly to the right. Blinking, I look out of the window and find that we’re passing a small caravan. My curiosity piqued, I climb out, position myself on the roof, and watch the procession—Jago quickly following my lead.
Our guards give the travelers a wide berth as if they’re infected with a disease. I can see from their wary but resigned expressions that they are used to this type of treatment, though no less hurt by its quotidian nature.
Much like the fae, theRomaniare treated as if they don’t belong in Castella.
Their troop consists of three wagons, one in the shape of a rectangle, built from wood, with only one door in the back. The other two have cloth tops that have seen better days. Three starved-looking horses pull the derelict vehicles.
Among the people that I can see are an older man, a middle-aged couple, two young men, a couple of children, and a beautiful woman around my age. There may be others inside, but I can’t be sure.
They are dressed in a rainbow of colors. The women wear long, flowing skirts adorned with intricate patterns, and blouses embroidered with sun-bleached threads. The men, with their strong and weathered faces, wear vests and matching trousers crafted from sturdy fabric. All wear layers of scarves, shawls, and jewelry, as if each piece tells a tale of a distant place they once visited.
The beautiful young woman glares at me as we pass by. She has long ebony hair that cascades in curls down to her waist. Her eyebrows are thick and just as dark. Under them, heavily kohled eyes seem to hold a vast array of feelings: mischievousness, cunning, slight, anger, curiosity, andso much more.
I imagine she’s surrounded by her family and has traveled all over the realm, free as a raven, able to see all the wonders Castella has to offer. I imagine nobody ever tells her what to do or who she should marry. All decisions are her own and for her sole advantage. Briefly, I wonder if she hates her life as I hate mine.
We leave them behind, and an hour later all I see is the dust their caravan stirs into the air.
“Do you think they would trade places with us?” I ask Jago.
“Who?”
“The Romani.”
“Probably.”
I wrinkle my nose. “But they’re free.”
“In one way, but not all.”
I ponder his words and try to imagine in what ways they aren’t free. They are bound to the road, to wander endlessly, I suppose. There is no rest or reprieve from their travels. I’ve seen them in Castellina, performing, trying to scrape a few coins in order to survive. They aren’t free from everyone’s stares and side-eyes, or the ignorance and hatred of those who think they’re better than everyone else.
Jago is right.
“Since when did you become such a wise man?” I ask him.
He blinks and turns his eyes from the road. “Huh?”
I shake my head. Maybe he just knows what to say and when to say it.
The rest of the journey is tedious with nothing to offer any distraction besides fields of crops, expansive vineyards, and the occasional scarecrow.
The next day, we arrived in Aldalous province well after sundown. The town where Don Justo’s villa is located, Alsur, is similar to La Torre with its cobblestone roads, whitewashed buildings, and terracotta roof tiles. However, the place has a different feel to it.
As we traverse the streets, I can feel the presence of the ocean to the east. Though the water remains hidden from view, its essence permeatesthe air. The salty tang in the breeze teases my senses, a reminder of the vast expanse of water that lies just beyond sight: the Eireno Ocean. Every building, every alleyway, is touched by the magic of the sea. Even the walls seem to breathe with the ebb and flow of the invisible waves.
I imagine a tranquil bay where ships gently sway at anchor. Or is it a tempestuous sea, its waves crashing against rugged cliffs? This will remain a mystery. I will not stay here to find out.
Don Justo’s villa is located on the northern edge of the town, with many acres of wheat, extending from his backyard as far as the eye can see.
The villa is surrounded by an extensive white wall that keeps the interior from view. The wide wooden gates in the front are heavily guarded by four men who appear to have just been part of a tavern brawl. They are unkempt, their faces and arms scarred, their teeth missing. What isn’t missing, however, is a wide array of swords and daggers strapped to their bodies.
A shiver goes down my spine, and I exchange a glance with Jago. They can’t possibly mean to leave me here.
Even Emerito stares out the window with caution.
“Emerito,” I lean forward and try to appeal to the wariness brewing in his eyes, “this place doesn’t look safe. Are you sure you know what we’re getting into?”
He swallows thickly but manages to compose himself and act as if he’s perfectly in control. “The queen was clear in her instructions. You have a duty here, and she expects you to perform it.”
