House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(62)

Although Imogen stares straight ahead, I don’t miss the pulse of a vein at her temple. “No.”

“Is he still searching for my mother?”

“No.”

“Then what is he—”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss him with you.”

“He’s my father, Imogen. I’ve a right to know—”

“You’re neither a Crow nor part of the Siorkahd. You have no rights. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be wasting what little manpower we have on protecting a flighty girl who’d rather have peaked ears.”

“Cauldron, tell me what you really think,” I grumble.

“I just did.”

I pick up my pace. “It’s an expression. And for your information, I’m perfectly content with the shape of my ears.”

We traverse two more bridges in wrought silence.

It isn’t until we come around a leafy bend that Imogen addresses me again. “When Lorcan returns later, he may be willing to answer your questions.”

That would entail sitting down for a chat with him. “I’d rather sail to Nebba with Pierre.”

She hisses, and I think it’s because she mistakes my irony for truth, but her attention isn’t on me. It’s on the two Crows who broke away from the wreath above our heads to slam down on the footpath we’re traveling.

As they morph into men, my pulse takes off like a comet, streaking across my rib cage. “What’s happening?”

“Better keep your distance for we’ve instructions to pierce your heart if you come within breathing distance of Fallon,” one of my guards growls.

I cannot glimpse who stands behind the wall of brawn and iron armor, but I’m guessing it must be Dargento. Unless it’s my grandfather? Could Justus have finally surfaced, or is he resting at the bottom of Mareluce being snacked on by serpents?

In the narrow space between my guards’ bodies, I catch a flash of amber eyes and narrow face. “I’m not here for the Shabbin cunt. Not today, anyway.”

Cunt? I wonder what Dante would do if I marched over to the prissy turd, snatched the steel sword from his scabbard, and skewered his neck? Would he hold Lore accountable or just me?

“Such dignified creatures, Faeries.” Imogen mutters under her breath. “I cannot wait until Lore reclaims our kingdom.”

As Silvius sidesteps the Crows, giving Imogen a wide berth, his scalding stare latches on to mine. “I will have to report your comment to the king, corvo.”

“By all means, communicate my sentiment to your monarch. You can be certain I will be doing the same about the slanderous expression you used to qualify Fallon.”

Silvius smirks. “You’ve threatened the Lucin crown; I merely used a part of Fallon’s anatomy to refer to her.”

“And I’ll back the commander for I’ve heard it all,” a sprite who hovers too close adds, puffing out his chest.

I raise an eyebrow. “Commander?”

“A slip of the tongue.” The sprite smiles, displaying teeth that seem too wide for his tiny mouth. “Although I’ve no doubt Silvius will earn the title back. Moriati is too soft for the job.”

I cannot imagine that Dante would ever replace Gabriele with the vile Fae who lingers beside Imogen, a cruel smile slashed across his mouth. “Until our paths cross again, Signorina Rossi.”

“I’ll be sure to pack some steel for our next run-in.” I sweeten my tone to add, “prick.”

Silvius’s palm drifts toward the ruby-encrusted pommel of his sword that looks a mighty lot like . . . like—

I fling my gaze back up to his face. “Where did you get that sword?”

Silvius’s fingers freeze just above the faceted rubies. “I pried it off your grandfather’s dead body. I didn’t think he’d have any more use for it considering one needs a head to command a hand, and one of your beasts wore his on its tusk.”

Each pulse of my heart feels like a stab.

Justus is dead.

A serpent killed him.

I wait to feel a wave of relief clap over me, but it doesn’t come. Perhaps it’ll come later. “A shame another of my beasts didn’t adorn their tusk with your head.”

Silvius’s grin grows in cruelty as he backs away.

As soon as the foliage fences him off, Imogen barks at the soldier leading us across the isle, “How much farther is your godsdamned healer?”

“Just over the next bridge,” the man replies, voice as tight as the lines of his body. Although he doesn’t touch his own sword, his gaze keeps flicking between my Crow guards.

“Did you know my grandfather was dead, Imogen?” I ask as we start up again.

“No.” Imogen mutters something about being led in circles.

Since everything in Isolacuori is round, from its five islands to its canals, I’m guessing we are walking in circles. But it is true that we’ve walked for quite some time. Perhaps we really have been taken for a loop. Why, though? To annoy us?

I trip, then come to a standstill.

What if they didn’t take Syb to the healer?

What if—

“We’ve arrived.” The soldier points to a wooden one-storied structure with stained glass windows and a door baring the sunray insignia.

Imogen shoves it open.