House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(11)

Not after last night.

Not after I learned the Cauldron decided I was incapable of choosing my own mate. Sure, my track record is far from spectacular, but I’m certain I’d have eventually picked the perfect man.

I try to flip over onto my stomach but I encounter a body—a tall, broad, warm body. I spring upright like a jack-in-the-box. When I catch a curtain of shoulder-length blond hair, a wave of relief crashes over me, followed by a tidal wave of nausea.

I race to the bathing chamber and throw up in the toilet bowl. Just when I think my stomach is empty, more fluid shoots up and singes my throat. I hover over the metal bowl, watching the viscous liquid drain down a fist-sized hole that leads to what Eefah explained was called a septic tank.

Sadly, the septic tank doesn’t lead into the sea. Not that I’d fit through the hole, but holes can be broadened if necessary. Seeing as how the Sky Kingdom’s waste flows into a grotto lined with some precious stone that purifies it before sending it back into pipes that gush water over one’s head, drilling would be pointless.

The Crows’ system is strange but brilliant. Especially since I used the shower on my second day of captivity, and the water does not smell foul. I stare at it now, contemplating slinking underneath it. I probably should.

In slow motion, I peel my desiccated body off the floor and crawl to the wall. Hand over hand, I hoist myself upright and spin a metal dial. As cool water splashes over me, I close my eyes, lift my head, and flatten my palms against the smooth stone.

Cauldron, I am never drinking alcohol again.

The water thins, then stops dribbling. Have I used up the entire Sky Kingdom’s supply? It seems unlikely, but many unlikely things have happened to me, so I won’t put it past my luck.

I find a sparkly-eyed Sybille standing in front of me, armed with fluffy gray cloth and a blinding smile.

“Syb?” I pluck wet locks of hair off my forehead and scrub my eyes to ascertain I’m not confusing my friend with a towel rack. “Someone’s awfully cheery this morning.”

“You realize you showered with your shirt and drawers still on?”

I dip my chin, which sends my brain listing into my forehead and my body hurtling into the wall at my back.

Her smile grows and grows. “Someone’s still drunk.”

I have to close my eyes because her teeth are too bright.

She sighs, and then her fingers latch on to the hem of my shirt and roll it off me. “Need help with the underwear or can you manage?”

“I can manage.” It’s a feat that almost sends me sprawling into the floor, but thanks to Syb, I avoid adding a bruise to my already-thudding head.

Once naked, she wraps me in what feels like a hunk of clouds. I wish she could use her air power to dry my hair, but the Sky Kingdom stifles Fae magic. A shame, for Phoebus’s vines would’ve proved mighty helpful in my grand escape.

“Seriously . . . what’s put you in such a stellar mood? And where did you come from?”

“From Mattia’s room.” Syb waggles her brows. “The good mood is also courtesy of the strapping blond sailor.”

My eyes jolt open, but the movement feels as though Nonna were scrubbing them with her bristly broom, so I drop my lids and squint instead.

“Gods, I should’ve confiscated the pitcher of wine when you decided that matching Riccio glass for glass was a sound idea.”

“I was feeling competitive.”

“Is that what drove you to drink your weight in Sky wine?”

“Absolutely.”

“So it wasn’t Imogen’s mussed hair and makeup?”

“Her hair and makeup were mussed? Didn’t notice.”

Syb sighs. “You may be able to pull off lying with most people, but I know you too well. You took one look at that female Crow’s face, and you dunked yours inside your tankard.”

I toe a small puddle that has yet to vanish down the slender grooves in the stone floor. “I do not care about that female Crow or her sex-tossed hair.”

“Wind-tossed. I have it on good authority she was scouting the Fae lands and not Lorcan’s private chambers last night. Speaking of whom . . . you’ve yet to relate your conversation with the fearsome monarch. Spill. I’m dying to know.”

Still processing that Imogen may not be the sex-fiend I thought her to be, I say, “He just told me how important I was to his curse-breaking, and that was why he couldn’t let me leave, yaddy yadda.”

“Yaddy yadda? New expression?”

“You’re all abandoning me.” I add a little pout because one, I hate that she’s leaving, and two, I want to steer the conversation off Lore before I reveal the mating bond I’ve zero intention of upholding.

Her smile melts away. “You asked me to go check on your grandmother and mother and to pack your clothes. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

I sigh. “No, no.”

“Fal . . .”

“No. Go. Just come back quickly. Maybe with them? You think they could be convinced to move here?”

She smooshes her lips together and side-eyes the lump of wet fabric on the floor. “Don’t get your hopes up, all right?”

I nibble on my lip as we reemerge inside my bedroom where Phoebus is still dead to the world. At least, he’s staying. I try to take comfort that I’ll have one friend and ally in Reebyaw’s realm.