Page 51 of House of the Raven
If he thinks he can intimidate me, he’s mistaken. He will pay for hurting Cuervo, for forcing me into this journey, for keeping me from uncovering this plot, whatever it is. And if he’s involved in any way in Father’s death, I swear to all the gods I will slit his throat.
“Get back to your room,” he says with his usual coldness and indifference.
“You are broken. You are worse than an animal. Who did that to you?” I demand, wanting to hurt him somehow, but getting through to this man is useless. His façade is so hardened that not even a blow from a hammer could break it.
He pushes air through his nose as if it’s all the same to him.
I dig deeper. “I’d wager all that is dear to me that you’re alone and unloved.”
This time, there is a small crack in his expression, but it’s gone so fast that I begin to question if I really saw it.
Without a word, he steps out of the way and extends a hand toward the side path that leads to the front door.
Holding Cuervo gently, I make my way back to my room where I tend to my friend, smoothing his ruffled feathers and caressing his little neck. As I lie down, he huddles in the crook of my arm, his beak resting over the back of myhand.
“Are you going to be all right?” I ask him.
He makes a small sound I know means yes.
“I’m glad. Please forgive me for getting you into this.”
He lifts his head, turns it, and looks at me. “Friend,” he says hoarsely.
And I know he means that he would do anything that I ask of him. A tear slides down my cheek. “I would do anything for you, too.”
14
VALERIA
“I know Castella is where I was born, but I want to see Tirnanog, Mother. Do you think I ever will?”
Lenna Rogetorei - Fae Child - 10 AV
Dawn comes quickly, and after a short rest, Cuervo seems like his old self and jumps from the bed to the night table, looking up at the window. I open it and let him out, glad to see his wing beats are as strong as ever.
I get ready, go downstairs, and join Jago, who’s already there. The guards watch us, and my food tastes like sawdust in my mouth. There is contempt in their gazes as they whisper in each other’s ears. I know they think I’m nothing but a spoiled brat, unwilling to make any sacrifices for our realm and oblivious to the trouble I cause them.
But what do they know?
Soon, we’re on our way. The sun is barely out, but Bastien seems determined to get us to Aldalous in the shortest amount of time possible. I’m sure they’re all eager to deliver me to my supposed betrothed and get back to Castellina.
Well, I have five more days to try to escape.
The days are long, and the nights longer still as I try and fail to find a way to escape. Bastien watches me closer than ever, as if his life depends on it. After the third day of travel, I come to the conclusion I will have to wait until I get to Aldalous. I may not be able to fool Bastien, but Don Justo will be caught unawares. I may not know much about him, but one thing is for sure… he can’t watch me every hour of the day.
While on the road, I hate riding inside the carriage with Emerito, but I hate looking at Bastien’s dead-fish expression even more so I endure it. Jago despises the stuffy cabin too, but he stays with me out of solidarity.
We play cards while Emerito watches in disapproval. He thinks cards are a sin, even if there are no bets involved.
“Games of luck are the devil’s workshop,” he says multiple times.
To me, card games are harmless and fun, certainly more so than Emerito, who only knows how to disparage those who are different than him. I can only imagine what he would think and do if he found out his precious Amira is half-fae.
For hours, I fan myself with a fan the inn owner’s wife gave me in La Torre. It’s made of light wood and lace, and I imagine it once belonged to a flamenco dancer, and she used it to enhance her fiery emotions as she twirled and stomped across a worn wooden floor. The fan isn’t much help, however. Inside the carriage, the air is oppressive, charged with the stench of Emerito’s heavy cologne. It isn’t all bad, though. The little man provides endless entertainment.
Like on the second day, when he entered the carriage wearing a fake beauty mark on his left cheek. Since, he keeps rubbing it off with his handkerchief, and it takes him several minutes to put it back in place. During one of his efforts, the mark ended on the tip of his nose, and Jago and I exploded into laughter, while he demanded to know what was so funny.
For some much-needed relief, I sometimes stick my head out of the window. The breeze feels good as does the change of scenery. I searchthe skies for Cuervo but don’t see him. He’s trying to avoid Bastien, I’m sure.
