House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(6)

The air beside Kahol darkens and heaves with more smoke as another Crow appears. I know, before the person has even firmed up, that it will be Lore. I’m not sure why or how, for his misty shape isn’t darker or denser than other shifters’. Perhaps I merely expected him to come since he so loves to hover.

I do not hover; I watch over you, Lorcan has the audacity to murmur into my mind.

I’m not a child, Reebyaw, and I’m no longer in danger, so feel free to let me fucking be.

Lorcan’s expression blackens at my use of the foul word. I decide to use it frequently from now on.

“Shall we take this reunion to a more private place?” His voice is low yet resonates everywhere.

“I’m fine right here.” I only say this to pester him. In truth, I’d prefer not to be ogled by a bunch of strangers.

“Very well.” His eyes flash with something both molten and chilling. “Fihladh!” Lorcan’s command echoes over every glass lantern and windowpane, springing people from their seats. To my tablemates, he says, “Until further notice, Adh’Thábhain is closed. Please exit the premises.”

I take it that the word he bellowed—feelaw—means leave, or something along those lines.

Bench legs scrape the stone floor as Mattia presses away from the table to ease himself up.

Only Syb remains seated. I don’t realize she’s snatched up one of my hands until I feel her long, calloused fingers fold over mine. “If you want me to stay, I can.”

“Me too.” Phoebus hovers, half-standing, half-sitting.

I’m uncertain what I want.

“Leave. Please.” Kahol’s voice is so thick and raspy it sounds edged in sorrow, but I must misconstrue the emotion because this man looks as capable of weeping as I look capable of fitting through those tiny openings in the rock.

I may have tried.

Good to know.

I narrow my gaze on Lorcan’s as I squeeze Syb’s hand. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Although hesitant, both she and Phoebus head toward the large doors that Connor pulls shut behind him once the room has emptied.

Lorcan lays a palm on Kahol’s shoulder, making the massive male jerk, then nods toward the bench across from me. Without glancing away from my face, he circles the table and drops so heavily onto the wood that it groans.

As Lorcan lowers himself into the seat that Phoebus vacated, my stomach gurgles, and although the scent of food is alluring, I don’t think I could swallow anything. Except wine. That would probably go down nicely. And help.

I reach out for the pitcher but Lorcan beats me to it and pours some dark, fermented juice into the goblet in front of me before filling one up for my father.

I drink while my father stares and stares at me as though I were the oddest creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

“I thought you died the night Regio and his army ambushed us in the Isolacuorin temple. I heard his general say—” He closes his eyes. “I heard him tell Marco that Daya bled the child out. That it was done.”

Although I sit here, proof that it wasn’t done, my father’s features remain crinkled as he relives his nightmarish memory.

“But of course, she’d find a way to save you.” When his lids reel up, his eyes are wet. “Thank Mórrígan that Agrippina was there. Thank Mórrígan she kept you a secret.”

“Why was she there?”

“She was there,” Lorcan says, “to warn Cathal and Daya that it was an ambush.”

“She arrived too late to save us.” The saddest smile contorts my father’s mouth. “But in time to save you.”

“How did she save me? Did she fish me out of the puddle of blood?”

“Daya placed you inside Agrippina.” Lorcan says this slowly, as though believing that the pacing of his delivery may help my mind make sense of his ludicrous explanation.

“What do you mean, she placed me?”

“Your mother sent you inside Agrippina’s womb.” At my rumpled brow, Lore adds, “With magic.”

Wait . . . what? I look between my father and Lore a great many times. I was magicked from one body into another? Although I sensed I was a changeling, the news of how I swapped wombs is stupefying. It does explain how my grandfather saw me come out of Agrippina, though.

I’ve lived my entire life surrounded by people with elemental power, yet the concept of being transferred like a virus is utterly mind-blowing. “How did she do it? Did she click her fingers and poof?”

Lore smiles. “Shabbin magic comes from your blood, so there’s no clicking of fingers. There is much pricking of fingers, though, for sigils are drawn with blood.”

I study my fingertips, expecting them to shimmer, but all that shines is the coarse skin atop my calluses. Although I doubt my father or Lore will wrinkle their noses at my decidedly unfeminine hands, I slot them beneath my thighs. “How do you know I’m truly Daya’s daughter?”

Lore drums his fingers. “Besides the fact that you share most of her traits?”

“I used to think I shared many traits with the woman who birthed me.”

Lore shifts forward in his seat, making his leathers creak. “Daya sent Bronwen a vision before Meriam bound her magic so that your aunt could look after you and send you to wake me when it was time.”