I avoid looking at him, inspecting the walls surrounding the ravine for a path down. The flutter of black feathers beside my cornea drives my lids lower still.
I cannot look at Morrgot. Not until I’ve fashioned a new plan.
Morrgot doesn’t let me ignore him, though. He flaps his wings so close to my face that he brushes my cheek. Since his feathers are as soft as silk, it doesn’t feel like a slap, even though that was surely his intent.
Heaving a sigh, I finally look up at him.
He swoops into the ravine, not low enough to touch his friend, but low enough for me to note, with trepidation, the absence of shiny pewter amongst the foam and rocks.
Forty-Seven
Where—
Out of the foam rises a sooty cloud. I drive the heels of my hands into my eyes, blinking wildly, because this mustn’t be real.
Was the arrowhead whole? Did I imagine the blemish? Or did the stream carry the residual obsidian from his body?
The smoke coils to the top of the boulder and sets into flesh and feathers. Lore’s second crow.
Oh my Gods. I’ve managed to free Lore’s second crow!
Since Morrgot cannot touch obsidian, I’m left with two theories—either the black arrow broke during the bird’s collapse, or the current dislodged it.
However it happened, joy and relief make every one of my extremities tingle.
I did it.
I. Did. It.
The magical relic tucks its wings in and rolls its neck before tipping it upward. Instead of staring toward his friend, the crow stares at me with eyes as luminous and golden as Morrgot’s.
After a couple of heartbeats, it spreads its wings and takes off.
Two crows down, three to go.
“Where to now, Morr—” The last syllable in his name withers in my throat as the crows dematerialize and meet, their shadows melding, giving birth to a larger blot.
When they solidify, they are no longer two but one.
A single bird that’s twice as large . . .everywhere.Its iron talons are almost the size of my fingers, and its beak looks like it could slip through my throat and come out the other side.
I live amongst people who wield magic, yet I’m astounded.
After I collected Morrgot, I realized Bronwen had been miserly with details. But now . . . now I’m wondering what else she’s kept from me. And why? Will thissymbiosisoccur with each crow? And if so, how large will Morrgot become? As large as the crows who killed Dante’s father and attacked our people? Will Morrgot end up dwarfing me?
The only thing which makes more sense now is how five crows will get Dante on the throne. Any Fae faced with a monster bird outfitted with an iron beak and talons will shake in their boots, the King of Luce included.
Morrgot soars out of the ravine toward me. I scrabble to my feet and back away so fast, I trip over my own boots. My arms windmill, trying to keep my body upright, but in the end, it’s the pressure of Morrgot’s body against my shoulders that keeps me from falling. Once steady, Morrgot circles me, flapping his wings to remain level with my face.
As I stare at the black crow, I once again wonder if what I’m doing will doom my kingdom or better it, but then remind myself that once Dante is king, he’ll take me as his queen. There’s no one to swear an oath to in this empty field, nevertheless I utter one beneath my breath.
“When I sit upon the Lucin throne, I swear to be a beacon for justice and equity.”
“The throne? What an ambitious woman you are.”
I freeze and gawk at Morrgot, before pivoting and scanning the field in search of the owner of the voice that just rumbled through the air. “Who’s there?”
My heart has deserted my rib cage and is slow-crawling up my throat. If I’m caught with magical crows, I will neither sit on a throne nor live to see another day, no matter how ambitious I may be.
