The water knows the way to the ocean.
“What does that even mean?”I toss a hand in the air, then think better of releasing Furia and snatch a clump of his black mane.
It means that the land won’t be inundated.
“And the toxic moss? What will happen to it? Will it poison the serpents? The crops? The wells?”
Salt nulls the toxin. The second the stream meets the sea, the moss carried down with the torrent will become no more toxic than a mint leaf.
My anger recedes like a tidal wave. “So that poisoned child could’ve been saved with salt?”
Morrgot’s chest pumps hard beneath his blue-black feathers.Yes.
I fall silent as the earth continues to rage like a fitful child. Only when the tremors beneath Furia’s hooves ease and the gush of water is replaced by a fast-moving current, do I sweep my leg over my steed’s rump and jump down.
Not that there’s anyone to watch, but my landing is inelegant. It could’ve been worse, of course. I could’ve gonesplatand bled out all over the stone.
I press a steadying palm against the saddle as cramps rattle my thighs, attempting to upend my body. I wait for the ache to vanish but all it does is dwindle. I sense I’ll have to live with it for the time being.
Hesitantly I remove my hand from Furia to fish out my canteen. I drink the last of the water, then start for the source. May as well make use of Morrgot’s dirty tactic.
He flies into my path.You cannot drink this water. Not until I find a solution to eradicate the moss from the stones.
“Right. No salt.” I turn away from the forbidden source, my insides wilting. Gulping down my own saliva, I ask, “Did you plant that moss to keep away intruders?”
He scoffs.And poison my people?
Hispeople? Antoni mentioned mountain dwellers domesticated crows, but Morrgot makes it sound as though it’s the other way around. “I suppose poisoning your human followers and their pet birds wouldn’t be all that smart.”
Pet birds?He spits the words inside my mind.
“My apologies. I shouldn’t have called them pets.”Note to self: refer to his crows as people.
Nibbling on my lip, I study the smooth ceiling that looms three stories high. “Did someone plant the moss, or did it just start growing on its own?”
Costa Regio planted it in the hopes it would kill off the half-bloods. The only thing he succeeded at was poisoning the inhabitants of Racocci.
Horror drives my gaze back to Morrgot.
Thousands died before we managed to erect the dam and squeeze the antidote out of the vile man. And yet . . . and yet it’s still deemed one of his most brilliant ploys.Timbre dropping, he adds,The start of the Magnabellum.
My lashes skim my browbone. “You were—you were around then?” Why I’m surprised by anything concerning Morrgot is beyond me, but still . . .
Yes. I was.
I replay his words, wondering if they’re true or if he’s feeding me a sob story. “The Magnabellum was a war between Shabbe and Luce.”
No. It was a war between the Crows and the Fae. The Shabbins were our allies.
“But that’s not what the history books say.”
Because history books are written by the victors, Fallon.His gruff tone vibrates my skull.Costa’s blame incensed the humans, who were, until then, loyal to the Crows. Your father suggested I take the fickle faerie out, but I refused, because Costa had the backing of both Nebba and Glace, and I feared they’d come to our shores to aid his coup.He grows quiet, but it isn’t a calm sort of quiet, it’s a tempestuous one.If I’d listened to Cathal when he told me Costa learned of our obsidian curse, Luce would still be ours.
“How did he learn of your curse?”
From Meriam, his Shabbin lover. The one he later sacrificed to create the wards around the queendom.
The great Fae king, who detested Shabbe, had an affair with a Shabbin?
