House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(86)

I may have laughed were it not for the fact that I’m still a tad salty about her secret keeping.

“I wasn’t aware I was marrying into such an impoverished family,” Eponine says. “Nebba will be more than happy to foot your renovations, but please do carry on with your search for the culprits, Diotto.”

The general’s cheeks hollow. “I will bring your offer to the king.”

“Oh, it wasn’t an offer.” She looks around at the rest of us. “Did it sound like one?”

Her compassion heightens my guilt of having dosed her drink.

As we finally sail away from my desecrated house, I steal my hand from Minimus’s reach and finger the string of the salt pouch that is still nestled in the folds of my dress. I want Catriona’s secrets almost as much as I wanted Eponine’s, and debate whether to spell her drink now or at the restaurant. Considering how distracted the courtesan is, I doubt I’d even need a diversion.

I watch her watch Tarelexo as the bard intones a new song, a melody I barely decipher over the drum of my thoughts.

When the gondola glides in front of the Tarelexian wharf and the purple awning of Bottom of the Jug comes into view, I glance toward Sybille whose thin throat keeps tossing down swallow after swallow. I press away the lingering shreds of my annoyance and reach over to clasp the hand she’s buried in the folds of her white-and-pink dress. She jumps at my touch, but once she realizes it’s me, a pained smile dashes the downturned edges of her mouth and she grips my hand tight.

I cannot imagine how heartbreaking it must be for her to be within walking distance of her parents’ home and yet be unwelcomed. I imagine Nonna and Mamma will want nothing to do with me once the wards fall, but I keep hoping that I’m wrong, that they won’t shun me like the Amaris shunned their daughters.

Bottom must be terribly quiet because the bard’s song makes what few customers loiter inside swivel their heads toward the canal. In one of the windows, Defne appears, toting a steaming casserole. After setting it down, she, too, looks out the small glass panes. New lines frame her eyes and mouth. Lines put there by me. By what I brought down onto those closest to me.

Does she recognize us beneath our masks and wigs? Does she see our hearts breaking over the chasm that stretches between us? Although it would hurt if the Amaris never forgave me, it would hurt far more if they never reconciled with their daughters.

When the flapping purple awning slips out of view, Syb squeezes my hand and upends her wine.

I tip my cup into hers and she drinks my ration. “They’ll come around,” I murmur softly.

She flashes me a grief-stricken smile. “From your lips to every gods’ ears.”

“What am I missing?” Eponine asks.

As Syb explains the situation, I go back to studying Catriona. She seems elsewhere; lost in her mind. Her gaze keeps flicking between the rooftops and sidewalks. I wonder what she is watching for—Crows? Sprites?

If only I’d sought her out before this boat ride instead of spending a useless hour dwelling on the fact that my monthlies have yet to come.

The heat of Aoife’s gaze scores my cheek. I swivel my attention to hers. Although no words pass between us, I don’t miss the flutter along her neck and the tension crimping what few features aren’t obscured by her mask. It seems no one is quite serene tonight.

My own sentiment of victory has long withered, superseded by a dread that coils around me like thorny nettle.

“What a lively neighborhood.” Eponine’s observation snips my gaze from Aoife’s and my mind off whatever hangs in the dark.

“It used to be livelier.” Sybille’s gaze tracks the scraggly throngs of sunburnt, overworked, and turbaned people who tread our cobbles and wooden bridges. “I cannot believe this is your first time in Tarelexo.”

“Marco didn’t want me traveling through his kingdom. He probably feared I’d form an opinion on how he treated the lower castes.”

“And have you?” Does she hear the strain in my voice?

“I’ve opinions on everything, and everyone.” She stares at Catriona when she says this.

I want to defend my friend, but she is hiding something. If only I knew what . . .

Although the courtesan’s shoulders square beneath all the black she wears—an indication that Eponine’s taunt didn’t go amiss—she merely keeps gazing at the rooftops that are growing taller and brighter as we travel back east, toward the pureling side of the capital.

“Are there restrictions on halfling magic in Nebba?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“The only restrictions that exist apply to both pure-bloods and half-bloods. Magic cannot be used to cause harm, though it must be said the law regards claims of self-defense issued by pure-Fae with much more lenience than claims issued by half-Fae.”

“So anyone can use magic to facilitate day-to-day tasks?” Syb’s eyes have grown in volume and presently fill the entirety of her mask’s eyeholes.

“Absolutely. They’re even encouraged to do so. Anything to increase productivity.”

“Maybe I should move to Nebba,” Syb says on a sigh.

Eponine smiles. “We’d be glad to have you.”

I wonder what Lore’s views are on the subject. Will he put restrictions on Faeries or will he encourage the use of magic as well?