House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(32)
With a sigh, he drapes his arm around my tight shoulders and hugs me to him, finally growing as quiet as me.
When we reach the dock, I’m soaked to the bone. To the marrow. And although it’s still summer, my body is racked by shivers.
Phoebus holds me tighter, water running over the slight dusting of gold hair plastered to his tanned skin. “I don’t think I’ve been this wet since Dargento tossed me into Mareluce to swim with the serpents.”
My blood heats at the memory of what my friend endured at the hands of the evil commander. My vengeance will be so fucking sweet.
“I hope he’s rotting in Filiaserpens.” The corners of his eyes are crinkled as though he’s remembering the pain and the fear. “Or better yet, in Shabbe.”
Fearing it may panic my friend, I don’t confess that the hateful man’s alive and in Luce. Unfortunately, the sprite nearest us publicizes both.
Phoebus’s grip turns crushing. “What?”
“The brave commander made it home.”
“Brave?” Phoebus chokes out. “The man is a smarmy and scheming brute!”
Although I still tremble from cold and grief, I squeeze my friend’s rigid fingers and murmur, “He’ll be dealt with, Pheebs.” I stare over my shoulder in the direction of the Sky Kingdom buried beneath gray billows of rain. When I look back at Phoebus, his green eyes are wide with shock and trepidation.
“We’ll have a war on our hands if the Crows get involved,” he whispers back.
War is already on our doorstep because Lorcan Reebyaw isn’t satisfied with the lot he was given. I bite the depressing confession off my tongue before it springs off it and scores Phoebus’s face with more worry. “Not the Crows. Dante owes me.”
We stop to let a horde of grimy-faced, bald Racoccins pass. Although the sprites yell at them to keep walking and keep their stare turned downward, many pause to catch a glimpse of who could warrant such a dense escort. When one of the humans sucks in a breath and elbows his friend, I assume they’ve figured out who the auburn-haired girl with the round ears and violet eyes is.
“You struck a bargain with Dante?” Phoebus’s clammy fingers dent my skin as we start up again.
“Not exactly. I’m not a Faerie, remember?”
He swallows, the rumples of worry and fatigue deepening in spite of the miniature smile tugging at his mouth. “How could I forget, picolo serpens? Or should I say, picolo corvo?”
His ribbing blows away some of my tension. “You should say neither.”
He smiles down at me as we pad out of the cypress forest toward the waterfront. Our boots squelch against the coarse hodgepodge of sharp rocks and broken glass that make up the Racoccin beach. When a strip of gauze bearing a maroon stain catches around my ankle, I wrinkle my nose and hinge at the waist to pluck it off. A malodorous gust snatches it from my fingers and carries it back into Rax where waste makes up a good deal of the scenery.
I focus on breathing solely through my mouth as I attempt not to step into anything dubious. I hope that one of Dante’s first orders of business will be to clean up this part of the kingdom. I hope he’ll prove himself worthy of the sunray crown I helped place upon his brow.
After being flogged by more noxious gusts and washed-up debris, we finally reach the splintered pier that sags into the dark waters of the Racoccin canal. The ferry is fast approaching, bobbing toward us like a tavern patron after one too many jugs of wine.
A soft cry lifts out of the boat as a woman springs up, attempting to catch the unraveling bands of her turban, but the wind snatches it out of her grasp.
“Take your damn seat before you end up in the drink along with your headpiece, human!” the Fae captain barks at her.
How I wish I had magic to help her, but I . . . “Phoebus! Help her.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I’ll buy her ten new turbans but there’s no way I’m diving in there.”
“I mean, grow a vine or something.”
“Oh, that I can—”
“There’ll be no frivolous use of magic,” a sprite spits out, lurching in front of us to make sure he has our attention.
I gesture to the bobbing red fabric that resembles a river of blood. “Then fly and get it.”
The little man jerks back his head, upper lip retracting in disgust. “Do you know what floats in these waters?”
“Yes, waste that water-Fae should be gathering and fire-Fae should be incinerating!” I don’t realize how loudly I’ve spoken until I notice everyone’s face angled toward me.
“Humans need to learn to clean up their own filth.”
My temper spikes. “When one is concerned with one’s survival—”
“Shh.” Phoebus squeezes my forearm. “Let’s not start a riot on our first day back.”
“I forgot how unfair and senseless Lucins can be.”
“Fallon,” Phoebus warns. “If you don’t settle, we’re going to end up in Isolacuori before Tarelexo, and I really, really want to soak in my tub for a century and sleep away another before I head out on more adventures with my favorite outlaw.”
Fluorescent scales slice through the brown surf, ripping my focus from Phoebus and the injustice of the Faerie world I’d been so adamant of returning to.
The flash of pink stops both time and the carousel of my thoughts, but the shriek that resounds over the storm snaps me out of my trance. The woman, who’s still attempting to fish out her fallen headdress while a man holds her around the waist, stumbles back, taking her affable anchor down with her.