House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(65)

“Instead of calling your sister and Fallon fools, you should applaud them both, for it takes courage to join a battle.” Catriona says this pleasantly enough, but I don’t miss the irritation fragrancing her tone like rose oil fragrances her skin.

“Is it courage that also brought you to our doorstep?” Gia flings back her way.

Catriona lowers her gaze to her hands, which she is wringing in her lap. “No.” Her glossy mouth puckers before smoothing. “It’s cowardice.”

The woman, who’s always filled Bottom of the Jug with her jubilance and beauty, seems suddenly so small, as though the brocade couch upon which she sits is gobbling her up, one kilo of flesh and satin at a time.

After Giana leaves to clean the kitchen since no one else can be bothered, I go sit beside Catriona and gather her hands in mine. A shudder goes through her at my touch.

“You’re not a coward. Cowards don’t willingly join a bunch of outlaws.” I will the drooping corners of her lips to lift, but all my words do is filch a tear from the woman’s mossy eyes.

Catriona squeezes my hands once before slipping them from my grip and getting to her feet. “Time for me to retire.”

I know her well enough to realize that it isn’t fatigue that tows her from the room but modesty.

She pauses in the doorway, one dainty hand clasping the sculpted wooden frame, the other kneading the skin over her heart—or rather, rumpling the sky-blue satin of her halter dress. “I may disagree with Gia often and on everything, but perhaps you should—” Her throat jolts with a swallow that makes her lids slam shut and her nostrils flare.

“I should what, Catriona?”

“Perhaps you should head back to Monteluce, micara.” Her voice is no more than a choked whisper. “Perhaps you should keep yourself hidden until Meriam is found.”

As she rips her hand away from the frame, I don’t miss how hard her jaw contracts and how energetically she massages her chest—like someone reneging on a claimed bargain. Except no dot—that I’m aware of—glows on her chest. I would’ve noticed one considering her propension for low-cut, sheer frocks.

Which, come to think of it, she hasn’t been wearing . . .

The doorbell chimes before I can ask Syb what she thinks. Because the hour is late and the boys all have keys, my heart jounces into my throat.

“I go check who here. Wait.” Aoife pivots sharply.

After she leaves the room, Syb asks, “Was it me or was Catriona acting really strange?”

Goosebumps pebble my skin. “She totally was.”

Before we can dissect what could be the matter with our blonde housemate, Aoife’s voice plinks off the glass and jade stone entrance hall. “Fallon! For you.”

Frowning, I rise to my feet in time with Syb and head out of the living room. Aoife shifts to the side, revealing Gabriele.

He stands on the threshold of our house, and at his back . . .

My heart trips over itself at the same time as a whinny cuts across the torchlit air.





Thirty-Three





The gold silk of the dress I’ve yet to slip out of snaps around my legs as I race to the front door. I’m about to burst out onto the street and throw my arms around Furia’s neck when I freeze.

The horse behind Gabriele is dun-colored, not black, and scrawny in girth and height, with vines laced around his muzzle and neck that it keeps trying to shake off. It lifts its head as I approach, nostrils flaring and brown eyes widening in alarm.

No, not eyes. Eye. Singular. The other socket is concave.

What’s happened to this poor animal?

“That’s not my stallion, Gabriele.” I don’t reach out, unsure of why he’s come to my door with this horse.

“I’m aware.”

The horse whinnies and shakes its head, then rears back and attempts to lift itself onto its hind legs but the soldier who tethered the vines around the animal yanks so hard, it drives the horse down onto its knees.

When the vines begin to dig into the animal’s coat, reminding me of the day Nonna strung Minimus up over the bridge, I pounce forward and smack the soldier’s wrist to clip his magic before he lacerates the frightened horse’s flesh.

“Did you just assault me, Serpent-girl?”

“I tapped your wrist. Hardly an assault, but hey, take it up with your commander if your ego’s bruised.” I hold out my hand for the animal to sniff. When its velvety nose pulses against my palm, I raise my other hand and stroke the areas on his neck not tangled in vines. “Why did you bring me this horse instead of Furia, Gabriele?”

The new commander of the Lucin army shifts on his shiny boots, his gaze running over my hands and the somewhat calmer creature. “Furia fractured his leg on the way down the mountain.”

“He’s been immobilized?”

The soldier I tapped—not hard enough, unfortunately—snorts. “That’s one way of saying it.”

Dread pulses at the back of my throat. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Gabriele’s front teeth sink into his thinner bottom lip. “We had to—we had to—”

Syb frowns. “You had to . . .?”

“I’m sorry, Fallon,” he murmurs. “He was limping. We had no choice.”