House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(125)

“I’ve got an offer for you. One that would allow you to remain in the Sky Kingdom for as long as you’d like.”

“What of the prophecy?”

“Although I’m not in the business of doling out false hope, we are still masters of our fate. At least, that is my belief.”

Bronwen’s crumpled skin crumples some more. She obviously does not share Lorcan’s mindset.

“So you’ll allow me to remain in a cell until I decide I’m ready to head back into the Fae lands to die my hero’s death?” Gabriele’s voice has acquired a bitter edge, one I’ve never heard the even-tempered Faerie use before.

“Those lands will not belong to the Fae for much longer. Once they’re ours again, I will see to the dissolution of Dante’s administration.”

I imagine that dissolution is a euphemism for Lorcan’s true intent, but I suppose his true intent may frighten a Faerie.

“As for your accommodations, it’ll be a cell at first, but once you’ve proven yourself a friend to my people”—Lore gestures to the Faeries sitting beside me—“you’ll walk freely amongst them.”

Gabriele’s pewter gaze finally lifts from the inanimate block of aged goat’s milk. “What is it you’re offering me, Lorcan?”

“My protection against the Lucin Crown’s secrets. All of them.”

Gabriele closes his eyes.

“You should not interfere with prophecies, Mórrgaht.” Bronwen’s voice is low yet cracks over the table like a whip. “You will anger the Great Cauldron, who will lash out with a crueler fate.”

“If I wanted your opinion on how to rule my kingdom, Bronwen, I would’ve asked for it.” Lore’s retort and tone snap Bronwen’s mouth closed.

“Very well.” She presses away from the table, and without anyone’s help—perhaps, because no one offers her support this time—she makes her way toward the giant archway of Murgadh’Thábhain.

I watch her leave until her form is gulped down by the shadows. I understand that she’s been given a gift which she’s been using for the good of Lore’s people, but being the designated soothsayer shouldn’t give one the right to disrespect one’s king, especially in front of others.

I nibble on my lip as I recall the number of times I’ve disrespected Lorcan in front of his people. I whisper a quick but soul-felt apology through the bond.

Although he doesn’t answer me with words, he steals my hand off my lap and cocoons it in his. “So, Gabriele? Will you work with us or against us?”

“With you, Lorcan Ríhbiadh of the Sky.”





Sixty-One





Lore decides to move the conversation to a more private part of the kingdom—his rooms. Although he invites me to join him, I choose to spend time with Sybille and Phoebus. I’ll learn all that Lorcan does later, once he is done squeezing Gabriele’s mind like a lemon.

I wrinkle my nose at the visual.

“Oh come on, it’s not that revolting,” Phoebus says, and I think he must be addressing Sybille since I haven’t spoken in a handful of minutes, but when I find them both looking my way, I realize they’re mistaking my grimace for a response to one of their many topics of conversation.

My mind is in such disarray from the emotional upheaval of the day that I’ve been having trouble keeping everything straight. It has not helped that I’ve projected myself into Lorcan’s war chambers twice, startling myself more than him. After quick touches to my face and neck to calm my striking pulse, and murmured promises of a tell-all later, I returned into my body that is, at present, sandwiched between Sybille and Phoebus on my bed.

A bed that smells so strongly of Lorcan that my body, when not transporting itself into Lore’s chambers, has begun to replay the evening.

“I’m sorry, but what is not that revolting?” I ask.

“A finger in the ass,” Syb says.

My cheeks heat so fast that I’m tempted to roll away from the two bodies hemming me in.

“I’m personally not a fan,” she adds, “but Mattia is.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I did not need to know that.”

“Yes you did, Picolina.”

“Why did I need to know Mattia’s kink, Pheebs?”

He grins. “I meant the fondling a man’s ass part.”

I try to wriggle out from between them before I begin to sweat from how hard I blush, but the mattress is so soft that I merely get bogged down.

“Are we getting you hot and bothered?” Phoebus all but cackles.

“No,” I reply, while my face steams. “This bed is huge. Must you crowd me?”

Phoebus turns onto his side, and so does Sybille. They both wrap one arm around my torso, extending their hands to reach each other’s waist, until we are bound as tight as the Crow tome on my nightstand.

“And some men like more than a finger—”

“Phoebus,” I hiss.

“Just trying to teach you ladies the way to a man’s—”

“—ass?” Syb interjects.

He shoots her a crooked grin. “I was going to say heart.”

“Sure you were.” Sybille lets out a rickety laugh that peters out too fast, replaced by a lung-racking sob.