I brush my palms along my velvet skirt, which has picked up so many moss stains that if any guard did arrive, I could lounge on the jungle floor and blend in.
Morrgot sighs.You, Fallon, are incapable of blending in.
I pay his dig no mind because, in truth, he’s right. I don’t blend. My last name may be Rossi, but my ears are round, and let me not get started on my odd first name that isn’t Lucin. Why Nonna allowed Mamma to baptize me Fallon is beyond me.
Your name is Crow. It means raindrop.
My lips part.Nonna calls me Goccolina, which means raindrop in Lucin. Does that—does she—
She does not know.
Then how—
Furia’s here.
I spin to find my beautiful black horse circling the black dome. He arrows straight for me, shouldering past Dante—good horse—stopping only when his flaring nostrils hit my collarbone. I cradle his head, and press a kiss to his muzzle before hoisting myself atop him with surprising nimbleness.
“Serpent-charmer. Horse-charmer. Crow-charmer.” Tavo’s face is glossed in sweat, like his horse’s maroon coat. “Is there an animal that can resist your charm?”
“No. I control them all. Better watch your back.” I throw in a saccharine smile that makes his eyes narrow. “And your front.”
The sky rumbles and marbles with lightning, stealing my attention off Tavo. Wind whips my hair as clouds rush across the stars and tear. Rain lashes the jungle and whips my skin, blurring the darkness until I can hardly see past Furia’s ears.
I’m sorry about the storm, Behach Éan, but it’ll hide your riding party and wash away your tracks.
I suck in a startled breath and squint around me.You can create storms?
It’s my newest—what is it you called my abilities again? Party tricks?
My awed gaping transforms into a smile that warps off my lips as a hand snakes beneath my forearms and latches on to my saddle. I blink waterlogged lashes at Dante who swings himself behind me.
“Gaston, be my eyes and ears in the Rossi household. Report back if they visit the grotto and notice the crow’s been dug up. Gabriele, Tavo, we ride south.”
Through the driveling rain, I catch a vein stuttering alongside Tavo’s temple. “South?”
“To the galleon,” Dante barks through clenched teeth, gusting away his friend’s furrowed brow. He reaches around me, attempting to pluck the reins from my fingers. “Let me steer.”
“If you want to steer, climb atop your own horse.”
His chest hardens against my spine. “Stop, Fallon. Stop fighting me. Not only am I your best bet for getting out of Tarespagia alive, but also, I’m on your side.”
He must dig his heels into Furia’s flank because my stallion whirls before streaking off like a launched firework, skirting the dome and continuing on the path. Gabriele’s and Tavo’s horses gallop close behind, Dante’s horse tethered to Gabriele’s.
“I’m not taking that chance, Corvo.” Dante’s snarl vibrates my eardrum.
“What chance?”
“That you and your winged companion leave without us.”
I attempt to put some distance between our bodies, but between Furia’s speed, the narrowness of our seat, and our rain-slicked skin, it’s an impossible feat. “So you’re going to keep me hostage until he sets the crown atop your brow?”
“Precisely.” His Adam’s apple slips against the back of my head.
My lips pinch. That he lacks faith in Morrgot is one thing, but in me?
“You’re a worryingly talented liar, Fallon,” Dante breathes into my ear as we cut through the rain-soaked grove, across sinuous trails framed by stalks fledged with glossy, heart-shaped fronds that brush against my legs.
Although I miss my pants, I’m glad for the length and thickness of my dress. Perhaps the plants aren’t poisonous in these parts, but I prefer not taking any chances. “What lie are you accusing me of now?”
