House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(129)

“You wound me, Little Bird. Comparing me to that spineless, guileful male who cares about no one other than himself.” He runs his fingers through my damp locks, which he insisted on washing while we soaked in my tub.

It was divine—both the bath and the feel of Lore’s long fingers kneading my scalp. I could get used to how much he spoils me. “He and Gabriele were truly close once upon a time, Lore. He’s still thick as thieves with Tavo it seems.”

“And mark my words, he’d probably dispose of Tavo in the blink of an eye if the fire-Fae went against his will.” He untangles our hands to scrub his palm down his face which is bare of makeup. “When Mórrígan made me, when she gave me the responsibility of a kingdom, I not only brought my friends along, but I also kept them close because they had integrity and loyalty in spades and because they never hesitated to knock me down a peg when my ego required it. Especially your father.” Tangible fondness colors his tone.

“How many of your Crows are stuck behind the wards?” I ask, tracing the silver scar beneath his bruise-colored nipple.

“Too many.”

“More than half?”

“Far more than half. Before surrendering to Marco so he’d spare the humans in the cavern, I urged my people to flock to Shabbe. Only the stubborn remained.” His skin is cold again, as clammy as his voice.

“The tunnels . . . Are you planning on storming them?”

“We tried.” He swallows. “We cannot enter them.”

I pick my head off his arm and twist to look up at him. “Why not?”

“Obsidian doors. Antoni was trying to blast through them when he went missing.”

The information floats inside my skull before settling like silt. “Do you believe he’s dead?”

“I don’t know.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes for a long moment as though worried I may try to tiptoe into his mind to glimpse his true opinion on Antoni’s state of existence.

“You told Sybille you had no news from Cian. Was that the truth?”

“No.” He stares at the timbered beams over my bed, his fingers drifting off his face.

“You have news?”

“The negotiations continue.”

“Can you be any more vague? What did you offer Tavo?”

“Gold.”

“What does he want?”

Shadows puff off Lore’s skin like grains of Selvatin sand during my furious gallop across the desert with Furia. “Nothing I am willing to give.”

My fingers pause against one of his many scars, one that is perfectly round and slightly concave, probably leftover from an obsidian spike. “Tell me.”

“We should sleep. In case your father decides to beat down your door again at fuck o’clock in the morning.”

“For someone so intent on making me speak properly, you’ve a filthy mouth, Your Highness.”

“You love my mouth.”

“I do love your mouth, Lore, but I’d love it even more if it offered an answer to my Gia question.”

“Fallon.” His sigh lifts his chest, which in turn lifts my hand.

“Did he ask for Gabriele? Is that it?”

Lore’s lips flatten, and his fingers halt their slow-slide through my dark locks. “He asked for a pint of your blood.”

“I thought he believed me dead?”

“Giana, under the influence of salt, let it slip that you weren’t.”

Ah . . . “Does Dante know of my undeadness?”

“I’d imagine the news has found its way to wherever he hides.”

I roll fully atop him. “Does my blood have a special scent or taste?”

“We’re not giving Tavo—or any fucking Faerie, for that matter—your blood.”

“I repeat, you obtuse man, does my blood have a special scent or taste?” I remember his crow darting out his tongue to taste his bloodstained talon the first time we met.

“It contains iron, so it tastes metallic, unlike Faerie blood.”

“Like Crow blood, then?”

“Somewhat, but saltier.” His nostrils twitch. “I had to drink a filled goblet to activate Mórrígan’s spell.”

I wrinkle my nose at the idea of drinking blood. “Does Crow blood have any magical properties once outside the body?”

His eyebrows bend. “No.”

“So let’s give him a pint of my”—I add air quotes around the preposition—“blood. We’ll just add some salt, then you’ll taste test it, and voilà.”

“You crafty female.”

“How did the idea not cross your mind?”

“My mind was busy deciding how best to murder Tavo without using my beak or talons.”

“Or hand, since you’re not to leave your kingdom.” I kiss the scar on his chest, the one on his right pec, and his nipple tightens when my lips meet skin. “Right?”

His molten eyes have slipped to mine, to the narrow space between his pebbled skin and my parted lips.

“Right?” I repeat, running my mouth along his sensitive skin before flicking his nipple with my tongue.

The gold in his eyes flares in time with his pulse.

“Lore?” My hot breath wafts against the bead of dark skin, sharpening it some more. “You will not leave these walls, right?”