House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(25)
“Leave the fighting to people who enjoy it, Picolina. Please. You’re not immortal.”
“But I could be.” I gaze up at the ceiling from where I lay sprawled on the bed, my head cocooned in the crook of Phoebus’s arm, my left hand intertwined with his right one over his gurgling stomach. “If I found Meriam and made her unbind my magic, I could be.”
“You could also be dead.”
My intent, when bartering for my freedom, wasn’t to partake in this fight between Shabbins, Crows, and Fae, but the more Phoebus and I talked—after he was done with his heated monologue—the more I realized that I could make a difference.
If she dies, so does her evil magic.
My mother will be free.
Shabbins will be free.
Perhaps Meriam wants me dead, but to kill me she needs to find me, which makes me the perfect bait.
Thirteen
I jolt awake to the sound of thunder.
I groan and turn into the warmth of Phoebus’s body, attempting to fall back asleep. My neck creaks from having spent the better part of the night being propped on a hard bicep.
I reach for my pillow and stuff my face against it, but I know there’s no going back to sleep. My heart is up and racing even though my body has yet to pare itself from the sheets that smell a lot like a distillery. I realize, with abject horror, that the smell is coming from me.
With another groan, I walk my carcass over to the bathroom, each step sending needles of pain inside my heels and bone-deep aches inside my calves and thighs. The temptation to spend the day holed up in bed is strong, but my desire to accomplish something useful is stronger.
Not to mention, I fought hard for my freedom, so it would be nonsensical to delay it. What if Lorcan reneged on his deal? Unlike the Fae, Crows aren’t held to their bargains with rings around their arms and marks over their hearts.
If he went back on his decision because I failed to jump on the opportunity to leave, it would ruin more than my mood. It would ruin my fledgling plan that grows and grows as I scrub every corner of my body with scented oil.
When I smell like a rose dipped in cream and honey, I turn off the shower and walk to the closet. Giana’s pants have not reappeared and neither has her blouse, but I wouldn’t have worn them anyway.
Today I feel like wearing something that fits, something that was made—apparently—for me. I select gray suede leggings which I pair with a blouse that could almost double as a dress. I cinch the breezy white material with a belt studded with silver coins. On closer inspection, they look like Lucin coin, what with the emblem of the sun stamped onto the surface.
I wouldn’t put it past Lorcan to have clothes woven from actual Fae money.
The outfit is different than what is fashionable in Luce, but I’m different, and as hard as I once tried to fit in, I’ve no desire to anymore. The girl who left Luce isn’t the one who’s returning to it. I comb my hair, then plait it and secure it with a black ribbon I steal off one of the dresses.
Ready for the next chapter in my life to begin, I wake Phoebus, who mutters for me to go away. So I do. I give him one extra hour of slumber while I go off to find us some breakfast.
The tavern is mostly deserted at this time. Either Crows sleep in, or they’re off, flying around, gathering small prey to warm their bellies.
I wrinkle my nose at the memory of the rabbit Lorcan tried to feed me when we were ascending Monteluce, before I explained I couldn’t stomach meat or fish of any kind. I didn’t ask if it was a Shabbin trait. I haven’t asked many questions.
Someday, I will, because someday, Luce will be at peace, and Shabbe will be free of Meriam’s yoke.
As I take a seat at the table where I ate with my friends, my mind strays to the news that Lorcan delivered last night—the one about Meriam. Did the Queen of Shabbe torture her location from one of the Fae castaways or did Lorcan’s people find her using their own methods? And if they found Meriam, then why is my father looking for Daya? Why isn’t he interrogating the Shabbin sorceress who started this whole mess? I thought Meriam was holding her prisoner.
Connor comes over, and although he doesn’t smile, he mumbles good morning with such a strong accent that it takes me a moment to realize he isn’t speaking Crow.
“Buondia indeed,” I say with a smile. “Can I please have a platter of cheese, fruit, and brown bread? Oh, and a jug of coffee?”
Connor nods and retreats toward the bar set against one of the curved walls. I see him exchange a couple words with a fellow Crow server whose light-brown hair strikes me as odd. Not everyone has black hair, but as far as I know, none possess hair so pale. The same way none have eyes any other color than deep brown. Well, besides Lore.
The brown-haired Crow lifts his eyes, which are black, and stares at me, and although I may be misreading his expression, his features seem stamped with disgust.
Sure, I’ve not been as sweet as gelato since my arrival, but I doubt I deserve such loathing. Peeved, I draw my attention away from him and his condemnatory mien.
Sybille would roll her eyes and tell me not to give his mood a lick of thought. I concentrate on the fact that I’ll see her soon. And Nonna and Mamma, wherever Giana has hidden them. They’re probably out of hiding by now. After all, Marco is dead. Perhaps I’ll even visit Antoni’s new lodgings. A house on Tarecuori must be so grand.