House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(29)

“Yes.” I crane my neck and shoot Lazarus a smile. “I hope I’ll one day be able to repay your kindness.”

The tall healer inclines his head, his heavy silver locks draping over his shoulder, swallowing one shapely ear whole. “Stay alive. That’ll be payment enough.”

“I’ve no intention of dying.” My lips remain curved in spite of the dread gaining traction inside of me.

“Andrea had no intention of passing to the next world either.” His grief-stricken tawny gaze scrolls over my features one last time before he turns and ambles out of my borrowed room, vanishing into the abounding darkness.

“Nice earring.” Eefah’s smile is all crooked teeth and genuine sweetness. “When you getting Crow tattoo?”

I blink at her. “Um.” I sense that saying never would collapse her delight, so I swap the word out with a vague declaration. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Here I assumed you were all born with it.” Phoebus stands, his new green crystal glittering as brightly as his eyes, in spite of the purple circles rimming them.

I’ve no doubt that the second he gets home, he will slip under his bedsheets and hibernate for a month.

“No. We receive when we fly the nest.”

As he slips his huge feet into the green suede moccasins that somehow survived his swim in Mareluce, he asks, “How come Bronwen doesn’t have one?”

The corners of Eefah’s mouth turn down. “Because Costa Regio sent Fae-fire on Bronwen when she choose marry Cian.”

I startle. “Wh-What?”

“So that’s why she’s disfigured . . .” Phoebus murmurs. “How crazy that she knew Costa Regio personally.”

Eefah’s eyebrows join. “Costa is father to Bronwen.”

My jaw drops in time with Phoebus’s.

“You did not know?” The female Crow swings her inky eyes between our two startled faces.

My ears buzz, and although I don’t feel duped, I do feel foolish for not knowing of their kinship. “Is Dante aware of it?”

“I do not know.”

“Her ears aren’t pointed,” Phoebus remarks.

“Because Costa cut tips off with steel blade. He was cruel man. An uhlbheist.”

“Ulbeeheist?” Phoebus repeats.

“A monster.”

I’m still reeling over the fact that my aunt is also Dante’s. Which means she’s a Regio. Which means— “Bronwen is the rightful queen!” I whisper-gasp.

Eefah wrinkles her button nose. “Cian is mate. Not Lorcan.”

It takes me a moment to make sense of her comment. “There’s more than one throne in Luce, Eefah.”

“Only for moment.” She makes her index fingers kiss. “One day; one throne.”

Has Bronwen broadcasted her newest prophecy? I hope not, because I stand by what I told Bronwen—I will never murder her nephew.

The air churns with wingbeats, then heaves with smoke as a second Crow materializes beside Eefah—Connor.

As he exchanges a few quiet words with Imogen’s younger sister, Phoebus’s slack jaw snaps closed, and he rushes to put order in his pillow-mussed hair. Under other circumstances, I would’ve grinned at his preening, but my staggered brain is incapable of bending my lips, much less shutting them.

Eefah turns back toward us. “Imogen not free, so Connor come with us. I hope okay?”

While Phoebus proclaims that we’ll make do, my lips tighten, and I stare at the wall that separates this room from Lore’s, imagining Imogen’s unavailability is due to being caged by a certain someone’s bedsheets.





Fifteen





My teeth have been welded shut since Eefah and Connor flew us out of the Sky Kingdom.

However hard I try to find joy that I’m headed home—and by sky to boot—I get assaulted by another image reel of Imogen and Lore tangled together that dampens my mood like the storm dampens my clothes and the vibrancy of the Racoccin woods.

The only reason I can come up with for why their coupling infuriates me is because it proves that Lorcan Reebyaw is no better than Dante or any of the other monarchs—all of them philanderers with loose morals and looser slacks.

I’m starting to believe that loyal men are an endangered species. Perhaps Sybille is right and I should lay to rest my romantic aspirations of finding the one. I’m done reading romance novels.

I’ll visit the Great Library in Tarecuori, the one Nonna forbade me from entering because blood is needed to gain access. Though she hadn’t known the true nature of mine, she’d known there was something curious about it.

There, I’ll borrow medical, religious, and political journals. Essentially, any story that contains plenty of gore and a healthy dose of horror instead of heartwarming banter. I might as well harden myself to the world and prepare my mind for the battle I plan on participating in.

The prospect of stepping into the five-storied temple of knowledge smooths over my prickly mood, which smooths over some more when laughter rolls out of Phoebus as the wind whips his hair into a blond stormcloud.

“We’re flying, Fal! FLYING! Look how small that marsh looks!” He jabs at the air with his chin, arms bound tightly around his winged steed’s neck. “And those people! They’re sprite-sized!”