“They’re saying it’s you. I thought—I thought . . .”
“You thought what, CathalBáeinach? That I’d murder the only person in Luce willing to support our people?”The voice is so thick and velvety that I almost miss the two foreign words.
Kahol Bannock.
Kahol is a man.
“Assemble the Siorkahd, Cathal.”Although spoken with little volume, the command stirs my very marrow.
I spin around to catch a glimpse of Kahol’s interlocutor but drop from the vision.
Before my next breath, I’m back on Furia, back in the trench underneath a dome of stars blunted only by the outstretched wings of a black crow.
My mind reels from what the crow has shown me. I’ve no more doubts that it was his doing. After all, I asked him what Kahol meant, and he presented me with the answer.
The first time I met Bronwen, she called me Fallon Bannock. And then tonight, Antoni said—
I can hardly complete the thought, and yet my mind ties both ends until I’m left with a conundrum more baffling than statuettes that can shift into animals.
Even though the word daughter was never mentioned, what else could I be to this man?
“Kahol Bannock is my father?” I try to come to terms with the shocking discovery that my absentee father is a frightening giant with a penchant for eye makeup. I think of my mother with all her soft angles and bright coloring. The more I picture her and the man from my vision, the more I find it impossible thatshe, of all people, had intimate relations with a man who looks like he could crush a person’s larynx and remove his head with a mere swipe of his pinky.
A chill vaults up my spine. What if it isn’t the ear-culling that broke her mind but this man? What if he was a monster who forced himself upon her? Who destroyed her by putting me inside her womb?
I squint at the crow. “Did you know Kahol Bannock personally?”
Morrgot, who flies just above me, regards me with his citrine eyes.
“Was he—” I lick my lips. “Was he a good man?”
I wait for the crow to transport my mind someplace else. For Monteluce to fade and for Kahol to reappear. But none of that happens.
Perhaps my words got lost in the air that separates us.
“Did Kaholhurtmy mother?” I cannot pronounce the wordrape. It tastes too vile upon my tongue. And the idea of being a product of such a union . . .
Cauldron, I’d prefer being a changeling a million times over.
I try another question: “Did you show me the past or was that the future?”
I will Morrgot to send me another vision, but however many times I ask, my mind stays blank. Has he exhausted the amount of images he can send me?
Unless, he doesn’t know which king died . . .
Left alone with my thoughts and the steady clicking of Furia’s hooves, I replay the vision, and although Kahol is the man I see, the one I keep hearing is the male he rumbled at, the one with the tenebrous timbre that pebbled my blood.
You thought what, CathalBáeinach? That I’d murder the only person in Luce willing to support our people?
Ourpeople.
Who are these people? Revolted Lucins? Fae from a warring kingdom?
My father’s hair was shorter than how halflings wear it, but longer than humans are allowed. Is he human like I’ve always been told, or a halfling? But if he is a halfling, then how come my magic hasn’t made itself known?
I gasp.
The battle of Primanivi was waged by a tribe of mountain dwellers assisted by crows decked with iron talons and beaks.
