House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(26)

In spite of the storm raging outside, rainbows begin to tinge my mood anew. By the time Connor brings out the food, I am buoyant.

I grip the edge of the table to drag the bench closer. As the wood creaks against the stone, my fingertips sink into shallow grooves. I think they may have been carved by iron talons, but the furrows are rounded and vary in size. I don’t bend to look under the table, but I press my fingers deeper into the wood before carrying them to my face.

My tongue palpitates with heartbeats when I make out three letters on the tip of my middle finger.

Someone’s whittled words onto the underside of the table!

I suck in a breath as I realize I sit where Antoni sat during the one and only meal we shared. The poem still tucked beneath my mattress pricks the backs of my lids. Although I don’t remember it word for word, I recall him saying something about a knife scoring words into his heart and his injunction to sit at his table.

It was no love poem!

It was a missive to lead me here!

The wood is so dark and the light so dim that unless I slide underneath the table with a candle, I won’t be able to read his clandestine message. But crawling under the table would attract attention, and I don’t need anyone reporting my odd behavior to Lorcan. Not only would he keep me locked up, but he’d also surely go after Antoni.

If what my friend wrote is insurrectionary. Perhaps it’s just another farewell note, a sort of little treasure hunt to keep me from growing bored.

Even I realize what utter serpent shit that is.

Sensing the paler-haired Crow’s attention, I snatch a cheese stick and nibble on it while I brush the underside of the table to feel where the message begins. Once I’ve located the first word, I press my fingers into it.

By the time I’ve collected all the words from the first line, I’ve wiped the plate clean of cheese. The food sits like damp sand inside my stomach that clenches when the next letters begin to imprint on my fingertips—STA. I know how the word ends before I’ve pressed it into my flesh.

My stomach has become one giant knot by the time I finish deciphering Antoni’s missive. He may not have signed it, but a Crow would know it was written by a Fae, because Crows have no need for stairs, what with being endowed with wings.

A secret staircase inside the esplanade column . . .

Does Lorcan know of its existence? Did he have it built? Isn’t it a safety risk for his people?

I try to recall the one and only time I wandered on horseback across the esplanade. The columns had all seemed so smooth. How did I miss the seam of a door? Because Lore rushed me away from the top of the mountain, or because I was too busy gaping wondrously at the castle?

“I was hoping to catch you before you took leave of us, Fallon.”

I jump at Bronwen’s voice, smacking my knee into the dark wood. The metal cutlery jangles against the black ceramic plates and knocks into the tumbler of coffee that’s long gone cold.

“May I?” My aunt gestures to the bench beside mine as though she can see it.

“Of course. Do you need help?” I start to lean over to slide the bench out but stop when she shakes her head.

“I know the Sky Kingdom like the back of my hand; every nook and cranny, every knot in the wood and furrow in the stone.”

My pulse prickles. Is she hinting at the hidden staircase? Is she aware that I’m aware of it? Can she see what lurks inside my mind? “Have you come to sway me from leaving?”

“No. I’ve seen your destiny, and for it to unfold the way it needs to unfold, you must leave.”

My skin prickles for a whole other reason now. “Do tell what my future holds, Bronwen? Perhaps the Glacin crown this time, or is it the Nebban one?” My tone is salty, but how could it not be when she led me astray with a prophecy that only served her people?

“It has not changed, Fallon. You will still be queen of Luce.”

“Dante is marrying his brother’s betrothed. You said so yourself.”

“Luce has only one true king, and that king isn’t Dante,” she all but yells.

Sheesh. Could she speak any louder? “Old-me may have been interested in crowns, but new-me longs for a small life.”

“You are the curse-breaker, Fallon.”

“I’m aware.” The Cauldron only knows how, I’m succeeding at keeping my cool. “And I will curse-break, but I’ll do so calmly and quietly, without exchanging oaths of eternal love.”

“After you kill Dante, you will get your calm and quiet life.”

Fire. My blood becomes fire. “Kill Dante? You must have me confused with some other curse-breaker because I could never kill him!”

But Bronwen, unlike Connor and the six other Crows present, isn’t listening. “You will plot and plan his death.”

Like a kettle heated past its boiling point, rage gushes through me. I palm the table and jerk to my feet, the legs of the bench screeching as I shove it backward. My fingers dig inside the grooves Lorcan’s talons left behind the night he confessed to our mating link. “I may not love that man anymore, but I certainly will not plot his death.”

Her purple-tinted lips remain shut, and her glazed white eyes fixed on the stone wall behind me.

Although tempted to storm out, I’m suddenly struck with a thought—clobbered, more like—and a snort escapes me. Of-fucking-course. “Lorcan put you up to this. It’s a ploy to get me to stay put, isn’t it?”