House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(28)

“I’ll be staying here until the wards fall, in case Lorcan has need of me.” Lazarus plays with a sapphire brooch pinned to the stand-up collar of his midnight-blue tunic. It’s only when he lowers his fingers that I notice the two entwined letters—L and A. Is the A for Andrea, or does Lazarus’s family name begin with an A? “Then I’ll head to Shabbe.”

His destination makes my gaze spring off the shimmering sapphires.

“Shabbe, huh?” Phoebus crosses one outstretched leg over the other and stretches his arms, which makes the black blouse he borrowed from my closet yesterday rip at the seams.

I briefly wonder what Lorcan will do with all these clothes once I’m gone. Gift them to all those girls who throw themselves at him because he runs a kingdom? Girls like Imogen?

Instead of dragging the shirt off his head, Phoebus tears off what remains of the sleeves until he’s left with a chemise that displays the rounded knobs of his shoulders. “I’ve heard your healing crystals come from there. Is that hearsay?”

“No. It’s accurate.” Lazarus raises his hand to the thirty hoops that line the shell of his right ear as though to ascertain that the little colored beads, which contain magic, are still speared through. He doesn’t check the other ear which is fringed with just as much hardware. “That’s the reason for my visit, actually. Phoebus, I brought you an earring that will counter the effect of iron on your blood and help you heal, as long as the injury isn’t to your heart.”

As Lazarus approaches, Phoebus sits up straighter, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for one.” My friend presses his hair aside to give Lazarus access to one of the many holes he’s kept free of the baubles worn by the moneyed Fae.

Back in school, his ears dripped with expensive gewgaws, but ever since he rebelled against the Lucin caste system by cutting off his ties with his family, along with his waist-long hair, he’s barely ever worn anything other than the occasional gold stud.

“How does the gem work, Lazarus?”

“You rub it between your fingertips, then smear the salve on your injury.”

I wonder why he’s equipping Phoebus with one only now. Why not when we were transported into the Sky Kingdom where more iron exists in a square meter than in the whole of Luce?

Lazarus flicks his gaze my way. “I have a crystal for you as well, Fallon.”

I cross my arms. “I’m immune to iron.”

“Not to counteract iron. Merely to heal your injuries in case anyone hurts you.” The silver-haired Fae strides toward me, his silken blue pants and fluid shirt snapping around his limbs like seawater.

“You make it sound as though our return to Luce will be met with violence.”

“I don’t know how you’ll be received, Fallon. I’d hope Dante will prove fair, like his father”—his throat dips with a jagged swallow—“and protect you and your friends, but he’s young and eager to be popular, and most rise by stepping atop others.”

I want to defend Dante but I’m no longer the na?ve girl who thought him incapable of wrongdoing. All I can do is take care not to stand in his way for I’d prefer not to be used as a stepping stone—again.

The healer inspects my ears which are on full display since I’ve bound my hair back. It strikes me that I’ve stopped being preoccupied with their shape, what with being surrounded by people with similar ears.

“My lobes aren’t pierced, Lazarus.”

“By choice?” he asks.

“Yes.” Why adorn something you prefer not to attract attention to?

“The crystal cannot rest on your skin or its magic will wear off.”

I tip my head to give him access to my right ear. “I’m no longer opposed to piercing them.”

Phoebus gawps at me because he’s one of the only souls aware of my former reticence. “Are you certain?”

I nod, and his surprise turns to an emotion akin to misty-eyed pride. I don’t think it deserves pride, but my decision is rather momentous. Today marks the first day Fallon Rossi Bannock ceases to be ashamed of what she is not.

Lazarus unhooks the sapphire pin adorned to his collar, then rubs one of his many crystals—a purple bead—and slathers whatever magic he’s extracted from it onto the brooch’s stem before aiming it at my lobe.

I shake my head and tap the cartilage up top, right where a point would stand had I been born a pure-blooded Fae. “Here.”

Phoebus’s mouth goes soft at my request, because he understands that will draw attention to my curved shells.

“Very well.” Lazarus pinches the top of my ear between his large fingers. “It’ll sting, but only for a moment.”

Before my next swallow, he stabs the bar pin through the cartilage, and although the pain is shallow, I hold my breath as he slowly slides the needle-sharp accessory back out and produces the definitive hoop. He rubs the translucent amber crystal hooked onto it between his thumb and index finger and applies the magical salve to my new hole.

My skin burns before cooling almost immediately. I release the air trapped in my lungs as he spears the hoop through and secures it. Although it weighs next to nothing, its presence fills me with renewed bravado.

“Knock, knock.” The chirpy voice emanates from Eefah, who stands in the doorway, black hair plaited into two long braids that start at the crown of her head. “I come to fly you to Luce. Are you all pack?”