House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(135)
However hard I try, the valley doesn’t fade, and Lore’s face doesn’t overtake Dante’s. I blink away my frustration. Why is the bond not working? The answer hits me at the same time as vines tangle around Aoife’s stone body. The tea Bronwen made me ingest wasn’t for my womb, it was to hush the bond! That has to be it.
I’ve hated the sightseer many times in the past, but never more than at this moment.
As Aoife is dragged into the cavern, I stare at the arrow protruding from her waist. If I sprinted, I could reach her and pluck it out. At least, she’d be saved.
One of the Fae must sense the direction of my thoughts because the second I leap to my feet, vines tangle around my ankles and send me sprawling face-first into the ground.
Dargento crouches beside me, simpering. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself in a bind, Crow-charmer.”
My chest beats with such fury that I roll onto my back and shriek at the top of my lungs, hoping a passing Crow will hear my distress.
“Quiet her, Silvius,” Dante hisses, just as rain begins to pelt the valley.
The former—current?—commander shoves his hand against my mouth. “You so much as make a peep and I roast your face.”
I roll my wild eyes, trying to glimpse Dante’s expression. Is he on board with torching me? Does he want me dead? Why bring me into the tunnels if he wants to snuff out my life? So that Lore doesn’t find my remains out in the open and massacre every Fae involved?
“Do not use your fire on her, Silvius.” The Faerie King’s gaze is taped to the howling sky. “Get her inside. Now!”
When Dargento heaves me onto his shoulder, I clobber his back with my fists. If only I had talons . . .
“Can one of you bind her fucking wrists?” he growls.
“Right away, Commander,” one of the green-eyed Fae calls out.
Of-fucking-course he’s regained his position. The question is, did he regain it before or after Gabriele took refuge in the Sky Kingdom?
As he walks me toward the mouth of the cavern, my fingertips graze the jeweled hilt of the sword strapped to the man’s waist. I’d have called myself lucky but I don’t believe in chance.
I crane my head to see if anyone stares my way, but the few soldiers who accompanied Dante have penetrated the cavern. Only he still stands out in the open, lightning glazing his stern face and dripping off his golden breastplate. His gaze is turned toward the forest, and although rain lashes at my eyes, I don’t miss his head bobbing with a nod.
Who is he nodding to?
I squint as shadows slink between the dark trunks. Oh my Gods, a whole army stands there in wait, garbed in dark uniforms to blend into the night.
Merda. Merda. Merda.
My heart, which had begun to drop because of my potato-sack position, squeezes right into my throat. LORE!! I scream into the mind link right before Dargento strides into the cave, snuffing out my view of the world beyond.
Remembering Dargento’s sword, I stretch my fingers and wrap them around the hilt, and then I arch my back, level the point at his spine, and swing my torso to drive steel into the monster.
Sixty-Six
Hot blood sprays my face.
Dargento freezes. I can only imagine his chin dropping to watch the point that protrudes from his navel. If only my blow had nicked his heart . . .
As a choked, “Maezza,” curls from his lips, my fingers tighten around the ruby hilt.
Is Dante near enough to hear Dargento’s garbled voice over the smash of thunder?
“Wheel the obsidian door into place!” I hear the cruel monarch bark. “NOW!”
I drive my shoulder into my lids to clear my sight of Faerie blood, then blink up to find Dante filling the grotto’s entrance, the jewels speared into his braids and ears gleaming like the toxic plants in Xema Rossi’s fabled grove.
The ground gives a hard shudder that makes dust and small rocks plink off the ceiling. And then raucous grinding fills the blackened hull of the mountain as a giant panel of stone begins to descend like a giant maw over the opening in the rock.
The only opening.
“Move, Dargento!” Dante barks.
My insides turn to ice while my lungs fill with fire. I cannot even rejoice when Dargento’s knees finally buckle and he lists to the side. I brace myself for impact, injecting my biceps with all the strength I possess, unwilling to lose my grip on the sword.
The momentum of his collapse tears the blade from his abdomen but not the pommel from my fingers. As we go down, my torso unfurls and smacks against something jagged.
Again, I see stars.
I blink them away, then kick at Dargento’s heavy body with my bound feet until I’ve managed to squirm out from beneath him.
My temper burns so hot that I plot to kill every last Faerie in this colossal coffin.
You will kill Dante. You will plot and plan his death.
Oh my Gods . . . Is this why Bronwen brought me here? Because she foresaw me murdering the Fae King under this mountain on this dark night?
The thought does not quell my anger. Yes, there may be a reason to her madness, but she is still fucking mad. The second I get out of here, I will punch my aunt. In the heart.
“What the underworld?” Dante murmurs. “Dargento?”
I’m glad that his heightened pure-blood senses have yet to kick in.
Quietly, quietly, I snip the vine off my ankles with the steel blade. Before using it on the one binding my wrists, I roll onto my knees and pat the ground until I find the lump that is Dargento’s head. I skim my palms across his back until I locate his right shoulder blade. I’m glad for the darkness, for as much as I crave to see the life bleed out of Dargento’s eyes, I don’t care for the sight of flesh tearing and blood gushing.