House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(30)
Through the jumble of raindrops, I catch the upturned faces of Racoccins wading about, up to their knees in mud, harvesting their drowned crops. I’m uncertain if Lorcan is behind the storm, but if he is, he needs to let up or he’ll end up ruining the humans’ source of income and food.
Phoebus hollers a, “Hello!”
While no adult shouts back a greeting, a gaggle of children wave, running as fast as their little legs can carry them, splashing through the mucky field, soiling both their skin and ratty clothes. Though their faces are grimy, I don’t miss their cheeks lifting into smiles at the sight of our giant mounts.
Like a cloth against fogged glass, their wide-eyed delight clears away the rest of my irritation.
To think that, one day, I’ll be able to soar without the aid of another Crow.
To shift into smoke and feathers and cast spells using droplets of blood.
My heart skips from rib to rib, and I thrum with absolute exhilaration that wanes when a fleet of white-garbed sprites swoop through the air and form a roadblock in our trajectory. “Corvi, you’re trespassing on Lucin soil. You are requested to stop immediately!”
“They’re carrying us to our homes. In Luce!” Phoebus’s golden hair is plastered to either side of his face now that we’ve stopped. “Because we”—he points between me and him—“are Lucin citizens.”
“By decree of the King—” The sprite barking this gets walloped in the face by a massive raindrop, which causes his head to twist sideways and his slight body to sink.
“No Crow is permitted beyond the Racoccin Forest!” another sprite, one wearing a jacket with garish gold buttons, finishes. I take it he’s the battalion leader.
“Cauldron, calm your wings, sprities. These kind birds are merely dropping us off—”
Phoebus’s quip is cut short with a shrieked: “Kind? They chop our people in half!”
My stomach lurches because I remember Lorcan slicing them in half. At the time, I’d believed he’d killed them to protect me, but really, it was to protect himself. To ensure I could go on collecting those scattered pieces of him.
“Land immediately, corvi, or we’ll use obsidian darts to make you land.”
Ten sprites have already produced black sticks as slim as needles from the quivers strapped to their waist.
To avoid breaking the tenuous amity between Crows and Fae, I nod. “We’ll land. Eefah?”
As she begins to swoop down, I swipe my waterlogged lashes against my shoulder. Beyond the white cloud of buzzing faeries unspools the islands of Tarelexo—home. We’re so near, I can almost smell the wisteria vine that hugs my little blue house. In no more than thirty minutes, we’ll reach the ferry that’ll sail us across to the wharf in front of Bottom of the Jug.
One of the sprites tapers his eyes on my winged escort. “And the birds go back to where they came from.”
Eefah’s head swivels toward Connor, and she releases a caw that the rumbling sky seems to amplify. She tucks her wings in time with Connor, and we drop so fast that my stomach jounces into what feels like my throat, even though I’m fully aware that is anatomically impossible. I cringe, dreading that her landing will cost me a few bones, but her wings deploy, and her talons kiss the muddy ground.
She fans out a wing to help me down. As soon as I’m steady on my feet, I brush back the hair that’s escaped my braid.
Two sprites hiss in unison, “It’s a girl!”
It takes me a moment to realize why they assumed I was male—the pants. I really need to make these fashionable amongst Fae, for women deserve to discover the comfort and convenience of trousers.
“The Serpent-charmer. It’s the Serpent-charmer! Warn the king!”
Before my next breath, every winged soldier positions a dart stick in front of his mouth.
Eefah morphs into skin. “We go back, Fallon! Connor—”
“No.” I shake my head because I fought too hard to come home to fall back at the first sign of tension. “We come in peace,” I tell the battalion.
The sprite with the gold buttons sniggers. “The King-killer comes in peace?”
Phoebus breaks away from Crow-Connor and springs in front of me and Eefah.
I try to press out from behind my friend to glare at the sprite, but Phoebus takes his role as my shield exceedingly seriously. “I did not kill Marco Regio.”
“Fallon, please. Lorcan turn me into forever-Crow if anything happen to you.” Eefah’s voice squirms with nerves.
Although the sprites keep their distance, they fly higher to get a line of sight on me behind Phoebus, but Connor spreads his wings, screening Phoebus and me.
Eefah mutters, “Don’t like this.”
“You’ve got your information wrong. I did not murder your former monarch.”
“We know what happened. All that happened.” Gold-buttons’s taunt exacerbates my anger.
“You’ve obviously been misinformed, you stunted canker-blossom,” I mutter.
Phoebus snorts. “Canker-blossom?”
“I heard the doxies discussing them,” I mutter.
“You do know what they are?” A smile sounds in Phoebus’s voice.
“I’m imagining it’s no flower.”
“No, indeed.”
Although silly, our discussion helps quiet my nerves. It does nothing for Connor—whose feathers heave with black smoke—or for Eefah—whose skin keeps losing its solid edges as she attempts to shield the parts of me that Connor and Phoebus don’t shelter.