House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(111)

I’ll see that you are fed before then as well.

His insinuation makes everything inside of me blaze hotter.

He commandeers a larger table and has a mountain of food set before me. Well, before all of us—Phoebus has made his way back to my side—and a few more members of the Siorkahd have taken seats. Only my father, Cian, and Bronwen departed.

Although Lore drinks, he doesn’t eat. He merely strokes up and down my spine with his fingertips, which earns me a rather dour look from Imogen, who sits across from us. In the past, I would’ve labeled it jealousy, but she seems more upset with me than anything. A lot like Reid.

“Reid?” Lore’s murmur smacks my lobe.

I pretend not to have heard him by asking the man beside Imogen—Erwin—about life in Nebba since that is where he and my father were stationed for the last few days.

What has Reid said to you?

Nothing, Lore.

Clearly. I guess I will have to ask him myself.

I clap his leg to keep his ass glued to the bench. He said he hopes you will stay whole.

And . . .

How do you know there’s an and?

There’s always an and with you.

What is that supposed to mean?

That your interactions are often layered. Now, tell me, Little Bird, what else did that boy say?

I hold his golden stare but let go of his leg. He suggested I abstain from heading back to the Fae lands so I don’t put you in harm’s way.

Is that all?

It is.

He tilts his head to the side as though an incline will help him pluck Reid’s insinuation from my brain. It must because he stands. Excuse me.

Lore, please . . .

Do you prefer the Fae lands, Fallon?

Once upon a time, I did. So you see, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Perhaps, but he was out of line. I will not have anyone speaking to my—

I’d prefer they speak honestly.

He interrupts Erwin’s monologue, which I’d meant to listen to, and nods to the entrance. “A word.”

You swear you’ll leave Reid alone?

Although he grinds his jaw, he does end up acquiescing.

“Thank you.”

Aoife, who arrived at the same time as my silent altercation with Lore began, gapes in absolute wonder between the king and me. “I hope it will not take as many centuries for me to find mate.”

As she and Phoebus discuss if there’s a way to speed things up, I follow the movement of Lorcan’s lips, attempting to make out the quiet words he is having with one of the men who went missing in Nebba for a few hours. However hard I concentrate, though, my espionage is useless for he’s not speaking Lucin, and I’m still far from fluent in his tongue.

Which reminds me . . . “How do you say crow in Crow, Aoife?”

“Chréach.”

“Kreyock?” My eyebrows bend. “I thought— So what does kraw mean?”

“Khrá?” Aoife smiles. “Where you hear that word, Fallon?”

My shoulder blades tighten. “Why?”

Phoebus grins so wide I’m seized by the sudden urge to smack his pec because that smile is totally at my expense.

“I heard it nowhere. Forget I asked.” I drown the sudden spike of my pulse in my wine.

Aoife’s eyes glitter just as brightly as the garland of glass lanterns over our heads. “Khrá means love.”

I flip my gaze over to Lore, who is staring right back at me, one corner of his mouth tugged up. Ready to retire . . . mo khrá?





Fifty-Three





My cheeks are still flaming, and yet it’s been a full minute since Lorcan suggested we leave together and called me . . . called me . . .

You haven’t even eaten, I deflect.

I will.

When?

When we get to my bedchamber.

Should I make you a plate?

I’ve an appetite for something other than food.

I choke on my sip of water, then hack up what feels like a lung.

“You all right there, picolo serpens?” Phoebus taps my back.

I snatch his goblet of wine, since mine is empty, and upend it.

We’re not going to war, Little Bird, only to my bedchamber.

I know this, and yet it feels like one and the same.

Lorcan sighs. I’m not sure if he does so out loud or in my mind, but his expelled breath is so strong that it feels as though it fans across my flushed skin. Come. I’ll walk you to your room and then depart for mine.

My pulse skips over a beat at the out he gives me, and although my skin still feels hot, a glance at my collarbone shows my mottled complexion is finally receding. “Pheebs, where is your room?”

“Mine? Aren’t you more interested in knowing where—”

I flick his bicep before he can finish that sentence. “I want to know on which door to pound after I’m done bonding with my father.”

“Cathal made it back?” Aoife asks.

“Oh yes.” Phoebus replenishes the glass I set back down. “And he’s in a jolly mood.”

“It’s great honor for him that daughter is mated with—”

“Phoebus was being sarcastic, Aoife.” I finally hoist myself from the bench. “My father is not in a pleasant mood. I’ll let Phoebus fill you in since he so loves to gossip.”