House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(63)

The second my gaze lands on my friend’s black hair and mint-green dress, I breathe out a sigh of relief. Perhaps my worry was unwarranted, yet I cannot help how antsy I felt.

“Fal!” Syb exclaims, startling the Nebban princess, who is inspecting the dusty vials lining one of the many shelves.

I frown, wondering why Syb is propped on the exam table and Eponine is the one walking around. And where is the healer?

From the tight press of both women’s lips, I fathom I’ve interrupted a conversation. “Ready to go home, Syb?”

“Yes.” She hops off the exam table. As she bustles toward me, she looks over her shoulder at Eponine. “We’d be honored to attend your gilding revel. Thank you for the invitation.”

My jaw slackens. The princess’s gilding revel? Syb better not have included me in the we. There is no way in Luce I’m attending festivities to celebrate the arranged marriage of my ex-lover and his tanked-up Nebban princess.

“I hope the healer finds herbs to help soothe your headache,” my friend adds before turning her attention back to me.

As soon as the door shuts behind Syb, I ask, “She’s invited you to her gilding revel?”

“She’s invited us—you, me, my sister, Catriona—as well as whichever Crows guard you that day.”

Imogen’s dark eyebrows slant. “I will have to run this invitation past—”

“No one,” I say, “since I do not plan on attending.”

“Oh come on, Fal. Dante apparently wants to keep it super exclusive. Just family and closest friends. And we get party favors. Regal party favors. Which means jewels.” She flaps her eyelashes.

“Syb, we haven’t returned to Luce to paint Faeries gold so they may live an even more gilded life!”

“Let’s discuss it later.”

“No. Let’s not.”

She pats my forearm as though I were being childish.

“Actually, Syb. We totally should discuss it later. I cannot wait to hear what Giana thinks of attending the Regios’ gilding revel. I bet she’ll be oh so enthused.”





Thirty-Two





When Sybille mentions the revel over dinner that evening—a dinner that the boys don’t attend, having elected to spend their evening moving merchandise in Rax—Giana glares at her sister as though she was nuttier than the fruitcake Catriona baked and which I’ve single-handedly demolished—after Aoife tasted it and gave me the go-ahead to eat it, of course.

“Gods, Syb, what went through your mind to accept?” Gia hisses.

Sybille raises both her palms and blows air against the keys of the grand piano in Ptolemy’s living room, making it play discordantly.

I smack my palms over my ears, but Syb catches one of my wrists and yanks it down. “She said she knows where Meriam is.”

“Where?” I ask, at the same time as Giana snorts. “And you believed her?”

“Unlike you, sis, I don’t assume all purelings are evil.” My friend trusts too easily, and yes, I’m aware I’m the pot calling the kettle black, but I like to think that my avian pilgrimage has taught me a modicum of discernment.

Giana’s head rears back as though Sybille has slapped her, but the only thing Syb slapped are those damn piano keys that are starting to give me a headache.

“As for where,” Syb continues, “Eponine has conditions.”

“Of course, she does,” Giana mutters.

“She’ll tell us if Lore agrees to”—she raises one hand to her neck and mimics a knife slash—“her father the night of the revel.”

I must’ve stopped breathing because my lungs are cramping.

“Why the night of the revel?” Gia asks.

“Because the whole fam’s going to be bare chested. In other words, not a scrap of armor.” Syb momentarily stops hammering the piano with her wind magic. “Have you never attended one, Gia?”

“No, Syb. I tend to stay away from inane pureling ceremonies. When did you attend one?”

“Last Yuletide with Pheebs. It was for one of his third or fourth cousins.”

I’d been supposed to go as well, but the ceremony took place in Tarespagia, and Nonna forbade me from traveling to that part of the kingdom without her. Although she never outright said why, I sensed it had to do with running into Domitina—the daughter who turned her back on us when Nonna picked Mamma and me.

As a matter of fact, upon their return, Phoebus and Syb reported that my aunt had been amongst the guests. They also reported that Nonna was as sweet as custard in comparison to that woman. Since Nonna was many things but sweet, I took it Domitina was wretched. And yet, na?ve me had held out hope to be proven wrong. My visit to my great-grandmother’s estate had efficiently squashed that hope.

Xema and Domitina were plain horrid.

“Catriona, you’ve been to the palace several times.” I turn toward the courtesan, who is sipping her tea quietly, pinkie raised like a pureling. “What can you tell us about Eponine?”

“She despised Marco.” With a curl of lip, she adds, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she loathes Dante as well.”

“Oh, she definitely does,” Syb says.

Giana scrapes back her springy curls. “But that doesn’t mean she likes Shabbins and Crows.”