House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(84)

The second he swipes it from her fingers, her eyes cut to Eponine, and she smiles. “Want to hear a story about a certain someone?” She nods to Tavo.

“Always.”

Syb crooks her finger, and Eponine changes position to bring her head closer to my friend. I dash my fingers between my breasts and pinch out the pouch. My hands shake so hard that it tumbles onto my lap. The second I clasp it, my gaze vaults back to the gondola passengers.

Only Aoife catches my lackluster stealth.

Catriona is too busy staring upward, fingers wound so tightly around the stem of her crystal goblet that her knuckles are white. Her distress gives my chaotic pulse and blundered scheming pause, and I consider dropping salt in her glass first, but Eponine is target number one.

I dip a nail under the silk strings and loosen the knot, then spread the pouch open. As Syb spills a long-winded tale into Eponine’s ear, Diotto’s eyes narrow on their bent heads, tapering on Syb’s mouth, which she’s painted the same pink as her headpiece.

I pinch some salt, then envelop the pouch in the gauzy chiffon of my dress, and scoot toward Eponine. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, to have been a fly on the wall of your tavern that night . . .” Eponine muses, lips bent into a smile that is blinding in comparison to the black hue of her mouth.

My gaze surfs between her green eyes and the glass she holds aloft. Syb leans forward again and drops her voice, which forces the princess to tilt her head to offer Syb better access to her ear.

Heart walloping my rib cage, I raise my fingers to the princess’s wine and release the truth-telling flakes just as a laugh booms from her mouth and she swings her arm. Wine sloshes from the rim.

I measure the amount left—three sips—then worry the salt may not have had time to dissolve.

As Eponine reclines back against the throw pillows, her eyes meet Diotto’s, and she smirks. “Not much to shorten with steel, I hear.”

Tavo flinches, and although I positively loathe the male, I cannot help but feel a little bad that the story Sybille chose to relate involved his anatomy.

“I’m not often glad to have been born a woman, what with the automatic lack of consideration that comes with our gender, but at least we’ve no need to worry about what sits between our legs.”

The general’s face turns a shade of vermillion that surpasses that of his hair and eyes, and almost matches the burgundy of his uniform.

To put the man out of his misery, I shoot my glass upward. “I’d like to propose a toast.”

I wait for Eponine and Syb to lift their glasses, then call out Catriona’s name. My voice jerks her, which makes the embellishments in her wig tinkle.

“To the women who deepen our days and brighten our nights.”

“Such a pretty sentiment.” Eponine raises her glass to her mouth.

The ligaments running down the length of my throat tauten when her nostrils flare. Can she smell the salt?

My gaze wants to go to Syb’s but remains fixed on Eponine who still hasn’t drunk. Come on. Come on. My heart begins to tremble as hard as the rest of me. Come the fuck on.

When her eyes flick to mine, the blood drains from my face.

She knows . . .

Oh, Gods, she knows.

She tilts her glass and drinks. As she licks her lips clean, her nose crinkles.

All right, so perhaps she didn’t know, but now she must.

She holds out her glass to Tavo, rings sparkling on each one of her fingers. “Change my glass, Diotto. The serpents have flicked seawater inside.”

If she really believes the serpents responsible for the salt, why is she staring fixedly at me?

After he takes her glass, she leans back into the cushions, and strokes the velvet tassel on one of the cushions. “Better ask your questions before it wears off.”

My heart comes to a screeching standstill. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I don’t like to steal secrets, but I cannot wait another week to know.” I swipe my tongue over my lips, then lower my pitch so that only she will hear it. “Where is my grandmother?”

“In Shabbe.”

I startle, until I grasp she is speaking of Nonna. “Meriam. I meant Meriam.”

She crooks a finger my way, and although I’d prefer to keep my distance, I inch closer. “Near.”

“How near?” My voice judders like the rest of me.

“In Luce.”

“But where?”

My heart beats six times before her mouth finally shifts over words that firm my decision to leave Antoni’s home, but not in favor of the Sky Kingdom.

No. I must go west, back to the land of beaches and jungles, to the land guarded by women who wear the name I used to believe belonged to me as well. Here I’d hoped never again to cross paths with the terrifying Xema Rossi . . .

Still reeling that my return to Luce wasn’t all for naught, I touch Eponine’s knee. “I’ll see that you still get what you desire.”

I set aside my resentment toward Lorcan to transfer the confession I coaxed from her lips into his mind. Xema Rossi hides Meriam.

I don’t expect a, Well done, Little Bird, but I am hoping for some sort of response. An, I’ll send some birds to check out her claim. When no answer penetrates my mind, I realize that he must not be present after all, and a touch of . . . something corrodes my joy.