House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(138)

No.

My mate may thirst for vengeance but he cares about his people and would never doom them to save me. Right?

Not to mention—but I will mention it for my sanity’s sake—Bronwen foresaw him becoming a forever-Crow only if I died. As long as my heart beats, his human one will, too.

I steel my spine and hike up my chin. “So what’s the plan, Faeries?” I speak the word like one would say ‘ladies,’ with poised contempt.

Throwing me a venomous glower, Justus pounds ahead of us in the tunnel to shout orders at the soldiers.

“The plan is that I’m about to make your dream come true, Fal.” Dante’s unctuous voice slithers against my eardrum.

“You and Justus are going to drop dead at my feet?”

His grip tightens around my throat, and he yanks me backward until my spine is flush with his armor and the lump on my skull throbbing in the crook of his neck. “You, Serpent-charmer, are about to become Queen of Luce.”

Since I doubt he’s offering to let me go wild on his jugular with Justus’s sword, my eyebrows dip. “And you brought me down into this obsidian maze for what reason? To throw me an impromptu gilding revel before my nuptials to Lore?”

His hold grows harsher, along with his timbre. “That animal is no king, only a peasant with feathers. I am the true King of Luce.”

When he runs his nose along my cheek, I growl like a cornered wildcat. “Don’t fucking touch me, Dante.”

His lips curve against my earlobe. “A king has every right to touch his queen.”

“I’m not your queen!”

“Not yet,” he murmurs.

“Not ever,” I hiss.





Epilogue





LORE





I’m no stranger to rage but never has it blistered my heart like tonight.

Around me, the valley is littered with corpses, the earth saturated with Faerie blood, the sky gashed by the dregs of my wrath. I’ve killed before, but never so many.

Every last Nebban soldier that sprang out of the Racoccin woods to attack us has fallen. Some on this battlefield; others in the forest as they beat a hasty retreat, pleas of mercy trembling upon their lips.

I showed no mercy. None of my people did.

After all, the Fae robbed me of my single most precious possession.

As my boots squelch against the blood-soaked mud, I imagine Fallon grumbling that she belongs to no one. Instead of ferrying a smile to my lips, it floods me with such vehemence that I take it out on the sky and land.

My Crows swerve and dip as I whip the mountain with my tempest. The enormous trunk they felled almost slips from their talons. Somehow, perhaps because they’re used to my storms, they manage to fly through the wet gusts.

I watch as they reach the cavern. As they slam the wood into the obsidian wall blocking the entrance. The din matches the furious bangs of the scarlet muscle barely contained by my iron armor.

Cathal stands beside me, silent in his anger. I realize that I, too, haven’t voiced many words. The last ones I propelled into my people’s minds were the warning Fallon managed to slip me before our mind link went dark.

Again.

If only I’d sought her out earlier when she hadn’t answered my invitation to nap.

If only Erwin hadn’t insisted on one more round of practice with our swords.

If only I hadn’t listened to Cian’s entreaty to preserve the staircase for his wingless mate.

If only I’d freed the horses Fallon’s friends rode up on.

If only I’d heeded Bronwen’s advice and headed to Shabbe to break the curse.

The obsidian barrier groans as it finally tips and smashes into the ground, cracking into chunks that glitter like a rug of glass shards.

Fallon! The foolish tendrils of hope that she’d hear me once we tore down the door unravel as her silence lingers. With her name poised on my cold lips, ready to flock from my lungs, I take a step forward.

Cathal flings out his arm to stop me. “We wait, Lore.”

I shove his arm and stalk forward. I’m done waiting.

My friend streaks in front of me, more smoke than flesh, and plants his boots wide. “You take one more step, Lorcan Ríhbiadh, and I will carry you to Shabbe this very night.”

I glare at him but stop advancing.

We don’t possess many weapons—we’ve never had need for more than our talons and beaks—but thanks to Antoni and Vance, we’ve begun to amass a sizeable arsenal. Firearms that shoot iron bullets, hallucinogenic powder they’ve nicknamed ‘dust,’ and liquid salt that can be injected into veins or mouths, depending on the need.

I’ve had all three brought into the valley tonight.

Connor sets fire to a burlap sack filled with ‘dust’ that his son snatches with his talons and hurls into the grotto. There’s no explosion. After all, it’s no cannonball. But there is smoke. At first, only a lavender trickle escapes, but that trickle swiftly thickens into a cloud of glittering purple.

If Fallon is in the cavern, this will not hurt her.

Behach ?an? I whisper into the void that stretches between us.

My lids slip closed when her beautiful voice doesn’t irradiate the gathering darkness between my temples. But then a dull cough comes, and my lids snap open.

Take to the sky, I command my people.