House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(71)



“So we should attend her gilding revel?”

“We?”

“Didn’t Aoife tell you? We were both convened.”

“She may have mentioned it, but I’ve been a tad taken by other . . . things.”

Things or person? I force my mind not to even creep to Glace.

“Enlighten me, Fallon. What is a gilding revel?”

“A pre-wedding ritual where gold paint is brushed over the betrothed’s skin, as well as their family members’, to wish them a happy fortune.”

“Faes and their tawdry rituals.”

“Are you telling me that Crows don’t have bizarre mating rituals of their own?”

“We have rituals, but we do not trim each other’s bodies in gold.”

“Do you roll around in mud?”

I catch a flash of teeth. “We are crows, not hogs. As for Eponine, if you feel like gilding her and her future mother-in-law, then by all means, attend the party.”

“Men are painted, too.” My eyebrows slide nearer to each other. “Am I not allowed to ornament Dante or Pierre?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You know perfectly well why I don’t want you brushing paint over those two men.”

“Because you think they’ll use the proximity to prick me and collect my blood?”

His pupils tighten. “There’s that.”

I picture Pierre striking me with a dagger and flinch. Giving my head a small shake, I say, “I wouldn’t actually go there to paint anyone. I’d be going because she said she knows where Meriam is. However, she’ll only tell us if you agree to”—I drop my voice to the faintest murmur—“kill her father.”

Leather creaks and fabric rustles as the Sky King unfolds his legs and rolls his neck.

“Giana thinks it’s a trap.”

“And what is your opinion?”

My eyes are slowly getting used to the obscurity, and I manage to make out more of him. “I don’t trust my judgement anymore.”

“But you trust mine?”

“I trust that you want to keep me alive. At least, until you pin down Meriam, and Bronwen figures out how I break your curse for good.”

“She has.”

Surprise makes the sheets slip from my fingers. “How?”

“We need Meriam.”

“Meriam is the key?”

“Meriam is the key to many things.” His gaze draws low on my body.

I stare down to find my nipples poking through my chemise. Since his senses are far keener than my own and my nightgown is on the sheer side, I grip the sheets and tug them back high. “How’s my father?”

“Busy.”

“Too busy to pay me a visit?”

“He doesn’t know you’ve come down to the Fae lands.”

Well, that explains his silence. “What is keeping him so busy?”

“I am.”

“You’re keeping him busy so he doesn’t find out I’ve left your kingdom?”

“I know this may come as a surprise, but I prefer my neck talon free. The news of our mating link has already made me slip from his good graces.”

“Except you’re engaged to another. That must’ve reassured him.” When Lore doesn’t say anything for a protracted amount of time, I ask, “You’ve told him about your upcoming nuptials, haven’t you?”

“Naturally.”

“Have you decided on a date?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Are you in a rush to see me married, Fallon?”

The question sounds innocent and yet feels loaded. But loaded with what? “Will the ceremony take place in Glace?”

“The location has yet to be decided.”

“What exactly has been decided?”

“Come home, and I’ll give you all the answers you desire.”

Home . . . I don’t have a home. I’ve got places I sleep and store clothes—clothes that aren’t even mine—but I don’t have a place to call my own anymore.

I nibble on my lip. “Speak them into my mind so no one overhears.”

“Except you no longer want me inside your head.”

“I may not want you there, but for the time being, we still have a connection, so you may as well make use of it.”

He grows quiet again.

“Lorcan, please don’t keep me in the dark.”

“You want answers, you come home.”

“Stop calling it home! Your nest is not my home.”

Fabric tears. Is he gouging something with his talons? “And Antoni’s house is?”

“No.”

“Then why in Mórrígan’s name are you staying here?”

“You know why. I’m trying to find Meriam.”

“Because you think she’ll just knock on your door? Come on, Little Bird. I know you’re smarter than that.”

“Actually, you think me a fool.” My eyes sting.

“Fallon . . .” he murmurs on a sigh.

“And yes, I realize telling Pierre I’d marry him in exchange for his help was impetuous, but that doesn’t give you a right to shit on me or on what I’m trying to achieve. Now, unless you have anything constructive to add, show your fucking self out of my bedroom.”

Olivia Wildenstein's Books