Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
There aren’t as many visitors this week, and I wonder if the torrential downpour that’s lasted several hours has put some of them off the treacherous ferry crossing. With only a few of us, it doesn’t take as long to be searched and processed before we’re herded off to the visitors’ room.
Taking the same seat I did last week, I wait for Valdemar to be brought in.
I can’t deny the fear that’s settled in my bones after my encounter with Jupiter Prospero. The risks have always been there. You can’t walk into the lion’s den and not expect a fight, but I hadn’t anticipated tackling the pride as well as the alpha. My anxiety has always been aimed at Valdemar—he’s the one in here on a murder charge.
But he’s caged. For now.
Jupiter Prospero isn’t.
When I’d arrived home from the bar on Monday, I’d recounted meeting Jupiter Prospero to my mother, who was perched on the window seat of my bedroom. She’d listened as she does, her eyes wistful, her skin pale, and even though she’d offered no words of maternal wisdom, she’d smiled, which settled me slightly.
But I’ve been unable to sleep for the entire week, my nights spent scouring the internet for information about the Raven Hands, taking copious notes, and drinking camomile tea. During the past few days, I’ve only managed a few hours of sleep, and even that has been laden with dreams of large ravens with their wings outstretched, their sleek black feathers oil-like in the moonlight, their beaks sharp and shining like razor blades.
My breath is stolen from me as Valdemar is brought into the room by a small but sturdy-looking prison guard. Unsure as to whether I’m reading too much into things, I notice that the guard barely touches him, as if he daren’t lay a finger on him. But I don’t get a sense of fear from the guard. They seem at ease with each other, as if they’re old friends.
I straighten in my chair as Valdemar’s cuffs are removed and he stalks over to our table.
Our table.
He’s alone. No sign of my brother. But I feel Ed’s presence, as if he’s in the walls.
“Angel.” A sharp scent like fresh night-time air accompanies him as he lowers himself into the chair.
“Valdemar.”
Sweat beads between my shoulder blades as he stares at me, the intensity of it too much to look away from.
“You’re still not sleeping,” he says at last.
“I’m fine.” I glance away, hoping he won’t pick up on the lie.
“No, you’re not,” he argues.
“We aren’t here to talk about me.”
“You might not be, but I am. Humour me.” He cocks his head to the side, and a small smile graces his lips.
Swallowing the number one rule of interviewing criminals, I tell him about my encounter with Jacinta and Jupiter. His body stiffens with every word.
“Did he touch you?” Valdemar leans forwards, and I note the guard checking us out.
I shake my head. “No.” This is the first time I’ve seen Valdemar less than relaxed, and it not only accentuates the blue of his eyes but also the snarl to his lips.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“I think I would have remembered if he had.” I replay our meeting in my mind, focussing on Jupiter’s hands, where they were, whether they came anywhere near me, but I’m certain they didn’t.
“Even the slightest of touches, like he caught your hand or brushed up against your shoulder,” Valdemar pushes.
I hesitate.
Sensing my confusion over his overreaction, he says, “It’s important.”
“No, I’m sure he didn’t. But why does it matter?” I’m confused by this insistence about whether Jupiter touched me. What does it mean? Why is Valdemar so bothered by this?
He eases himself back into the chair. “If you’re sure he didn’t touch you, then there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t give me that. Something is going on. What is it?” I ask.
Valdemar grins. “There she is.”
“Who?” I glance behind me.
“My reporter.”
My reporter. Annoyance licks at my insides.
“You’re not being fair,” I tell him. “Am I in danger? What’s going on with Jupiter?”
“I’ll deal with Jupiter.” That phrase again, like he still has command of his flock from inside these walls.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I snap.
Valdemar pauses as if he’s considering his words carefully before he speaks. “Jupiter is looking after the Raven Hands.”
I wait, but he remains silent. “I’m sensing a ‘but.’”
Valdemar regards me. “But there’s been some unrest. The flock doesn’t respond to Jupiter as they do to me.”
This I can understand. When I’d met Jupiter, his stare had been hard, cold, nothing behind it but brutality. But with Valdemar, there’s a hypnotic quality, a lull to his voice, a strength to his stare that makes you want to sit on your hind legs and beg for him. I’ve seen the way the guards are with him, the way I continue to visit even though I want to kill him. He’s a charmer, a seducer, and no one is immune.
“Ten years is a long time. Is Jupiter trying to take over?” I guess.
“I’m the sworn leader, and while I breathe, there will be no other. You can’t just take over. Jupiter is well aware of that.” He says this as if Jupiter is in the room with us and Valdemar is reminding him of the fact.
“How do you become a leader?” I ask.
“There are two ways. One is to have the title bestowed by the previous leader. A ritual is performed and the reign handed over,” he explains.
“And the other?”
There’s a glint in his eyes, reminding me of what he is and why I’m here.
“The other is to kill the head Raven Hand and take the title for yourself.”
I swallow, knowing what path this line of questioning is going to take me down.
“Who was head Raven Hand before you?” The reporter in me is lapping this up, but then I remember that there is no story here other than Ed’s.
“Victor Rue. He was head Raven for many years. He was ruthless, devoted—everything you would expect from a leader.”
He knows what I’m about to ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“So, how did you become the new leader?”
In a blink, the charm, the charisma that has you wanting to eat out of the palm of his hand, is gone, and all that remains is the stone-cold stare of a killer.
“I killed him.”