House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(94)

I do not wonder if he’s rattled for Alyona. Nope. The thought absolutely doesn’t cross my mind because it’s absolutely none of my business.

I stroke the serpent’s head with so much gusto that I end up submerging him. The creature just shakes harder before popping his head back out and sweeping his forked black tongue across my jaw, coaxing a smile from my cold lips.

Lore is still working on my belt. Each time his nails skim one of my ribs through the thin fabric, I hold my breath. Each time his fingertips dent my waist, I push my breath out. I sound like the women in labor who’d come to Nonna for a dose of her homemade pain relievers. How their eyes would shine as brightly as their sweat-slicked skin when the medication took hold. As I’d held their hands through their spasms, I remember wishing that I’d been born with green eyes so that I could’ve grown medicinal plants like the woman I so admired.

The woman who lives an ocean away.

I stare in the direction of Shabbe as Lorcan adjusts my belt, now that he’s finally finished tying it. Not that I’m in any rush to step out of this starlit ocean, but how long does it take a person to belt a robe? One that is presumably his?

Just making sure no part of your body will be on display when I fly you back. Speaking of . . . “Would you prefer to sit astride my back or hold my talons?”

“I’d prefer to walk.”

“Not one of the options I just presented you with.”

I work my lips from side to side.

“Shall I have one of my people retrieve our treaty, Little Bird? The one that promises me your unremitting cooperation?”

I give my new serpent friend a final pat on the head, then turn toward the gray cliffs that rise toward the ebony sky like a sunflower seeking the sun, winged figures darkening its crevasses, watching, waiting.

I raise my hands. “I’ll hold your talons.”

The male tips me a satisfied smile before morphing into the most frightening beast in the kingdom and carrying me back into his nest where I’ve accepted to stay.

Willingly.

What little freedom I had dissolves like smoke, but when the smoke clears, Catriona’s beautiful face burnishes the backs of my lids, reminding me that this cage of stone and glass is a haven and not a prison.

A place where evil cannot penetrate.

When we land, I inhale deeply, scoring myself with the scent of this place—this unlikely home. The only one I have left.





Forty-Six





Lore starts walking in the direction of his rooms but stops when I don’t follow.

I wrangle back a stubborn lock of hair that insists on falling across my face. “I thought we were heading to the tavern.” The lock springs out from behind my ear. I suddenly wish it were longer, not because of Lucin fashion but so that I could bind it in a tight braid.

“I assumed you’d want dry clothes.”

I look down at myself, at the black robe that sticks to every nook and cranny of my body, and puddles water at my feet. “Right. Yes. That’d be preferable.”

Will I be handed another ill-fitting robe, or will Lore have someone fetch me something in my size? Of its own accord, my gaze wanders to the door at the end of the darkened hallway. I imagine he’s given the room away. Probably had it prepared for his new bride.

“All of your clothes are still in your closet.”

My pulse trips. “My closet?”

“The one in your room.”

“My room?” I repeat like a dolt.

“Yes.” He holds my stare as he rolls the hem of his wet shirt and squeezes the excess water. “Your room, Fallon.”

The reason that he hasn’t given my room to anyone else hits me hard and fast. What need would Alyona have for a room of her own when she’ll surely be sharing her husband’s? My stomach churns and churns. I’ll have to put in a request for a room on the other end of the kingdom.

“Come.” He tips his head toward my door. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

The idea of catching a cold is laughable, yet I don’t laugh as I stride through the darkness alongside the quiet king.

Once I’ve crossed the threshold of my borrowed room, he tells me he’ll be right back. I stare around me, and although little has changed, it feels entirely different. It’s too quiet and somber and neat. I’m no slob, but the sheets hug the bed without a crease and the pillows are plumped to perfection. Even the knit coverlet rests in a too-perfect rectangle at the foot of the bed.

As I travel toward the closet, I reach behind me, ready to struggle with the intricate knot Lore tied but find it loosens with the gentlest tug. I peel the waterlogged fabric off my skin and drop it into the laundry chute so I no longer have to lay eyes on it. Although not imbued with terrible memories, it belongs to a man who does not belong to me.

After showering, I wrap myself in a towel and pad over to the closet that is smaller than the one in Antoni’s Tarecuorin house but packed with just as much finery, albeit in muted shades of creamy-white and bluish-black. The brightest garment inside is an indigo shirt that reminds me too acutely of the dress I wore the night I got shot.

How many days have slipped by I wonder? Does Phoebus know I’m here? And my father? Is he back? And Syb?

I clutch the doorframe of the closet as the avalanche of questions topples over me, blurring the row of garments. It suddenly feels like too much of a feat to get dressed, but then I remember Lore saying he’d be back, and I’d prefer not to make towel-wrapped chats a thing.