House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(136)

“Maezza?” someone calls out, probably one of the Fae who dragged in Aoife.

Dante must sense something is going on because he doesn’t answer. I strain to grasp sounds—breathing, heartbeats, anything that will pinpoint his location. But between my lackluster hearing, the tempestuous drum of my pulse, and the rolls of thunder jarring the mountain, I hear nothing.

Sensing I have mere seconds left, I position the steel tip beneath the bladed bone and the knobs of Dargento’s spine, then, praying that I’m at the right spot, I rise to my feet and put all my weight and rage into the sword.

It plunges straight through him.

A wet rattle disturbs the deathly stillness. Merda. I must’ve pierced one of his lungs instead of his heart. I pull the blade out and slam it back down. This time, Dargento doesn’t even squeak.

Arms snag my waist and hoist me up, tearing my boots off the floor.

Possessed, I fling my head back, and my skull smashes against my captor’s face. Racked with adrenaline, I feel no pain, but my jailer must, because he growls and his grip slackens.

I jump away from him, then wheel around, sword extended. When it strikes armor, I know who grabbed me: Dante. I grunt as the force of my blow reverberates inside my arms. I suddenly wish the cavern would flood with light so he could see what his betrayal has done to me . . . who it’s turned me into.

Although I stand my ground, sword held aloft, my arms shake so hard I worry Dante will spot the bob of the gleaming steel or hear my chaotic swallows. I keep my lips sealed to avoid producing a sound and begin to back up.

My foot crunches against something, and the pop echoes through the noiseless blackness.

As Lore would say, focá. A surge of anguish rushes up my spine when the ground shakes. I pray it’s his thunder. I pray it’s because he’s violently angry with me for having left the castle. I pray it’s not the hoofbeats of Dante’s army.

The silence thickens until I think I may choke on it.

Suddenly, a flame erupts and chews away the cloak of night. Cold fear slickens my skin, because the only amber-eyed Faerie I spotted around Dante was Dargento. Did he—did he survive?

When I catch flames steaming off a torch, and Dargento’s supine body sprawled at Dante’s feet, I begin to expel a sigh, but then my breathing shortens because . . .

Because the fire splashes two faces I haven’t seen in weeks.

One I revile.

One I adore.

“Goccolina,” Nonna chokes out as Justus’s arm tightens around her long, slender neck.





Sixty-Seven





“Nonna?” The blood drains from my cheeks so fast that I feel lightheaded.

Lore said she was in Shabbe.

Gia said . . .

Did they lie to keep me from storming Luce to find her?

Tears gloss her green eyes and spill, coursing down her pallid cheeks.

“Drop your sword,” Justus says calmly, “or Ceres dies.”

This cannot be happening.

This must be a trick.

I swing my attention around the cavern, my gaze striking Dargento’s limp body before lifting to Dante’s stern face.

“I’d do as Justus asks, Fallon. My general is a ruthless man.” He stands closest to me but not close enough for my sword to reach his head, the only part of him not covered in armor.

“General? You’ve replaced Tavo, too?”

He doesn’t bother answering me.

“You could’ve chosen peace, Dante.” My voice is as strong and sharp as the sword I hold, even though everything inside of me is melting like sunbaked snow.

“Peace? Come on, Fal. Peace was never an option. The demon you awakened would never have settled for half a kingdom.”

“The only demon I awakened was you, Dante,” I spit out just as the vine tightens around my wrists, and motes of dirt spill from the cavern ceiling.

The soldiers who bound Aoife gawk from the low ceiling to the enormous slab of obsidian propped against the entrance.

Dante’s blue eyes shine with horrible delight. “The heroic vulture must’ve finally joined the party. A little late.” To his green-eyed soldiers, he says, “Take the Crow down into the tunnels!”

They jump to attention, then heft Aoife past where Justus stands, and tip her black body into a wide pit. Stone bangs against stone as she clatters out of sight, the two soldiers clambering down after her.

Lore is here, I tell myself. He’s here.

Even though a mountain stands between us, I want to weep in relief. How long will it take him to breach the stone walls if he transforms into smoke?

Does he need a crack to glide through or can he penetrate— Dante knows how to make forever-Crows. The memory glides through my mind, popping my fragile hope. Oh Gods, he cannot come inside.

“You have ten seconds to toss away my sword or your grandmother perishes, Fallon.” Justus’s ultimatum tears my attention off my pissed-off mate. “Ten.”

I stare at Nonna’s wet cheeks.

“Nine.”

I swallow hard but the lump in my throat is so jagged that my spit doesn’t slip past it.

“Eight.”

My grandmother’s green eyes flare.

“Seven.”

“Stop! Don’t hurt her!”

“Six.”

“Let her go and I throw down my sword.”