“Let me see . . . Cresting the mountain without noticing the flooded riverbed or that pretty nest his species calls a castle. That you came to Tarespagia for a social call. That you slept with me when all that interested you was Isolacuori and the crow imprisoned in my brother’s trophy room. Shall I go on?”
I turn my head as far as my neck will allow, hooding my eyes to protect them from the pelting rain. “I slept with you because I was crazy about you, Dante, not because you were my ticket onto the royal isle.”
It strikes me that I’ve used the past tense. Did it strike him?
We emerge from the grove, but it takes us another fifteen minutes to reach the Rossi gates. Dante commands the Fae guarding them to let him pass, and they do, because he’s the king’s brother.
Our horses’ hooves clack against the slick sandstone as they race down the broad avenues, away from the ocean, away from the pure-blood district. Before we’ve even reached the checkpoint, the gates are flung open.
After cantering past the same guard who let us through earlier, Dante drops his mouth to my ear. “If you cared at all for me, Fallon, you wouldn’t have brought back the greatest Fae killer behind my back.”
“That Fae killer will fetch you a throne.”
Dante slides his nose down my damp cheek, and although my skin pebbles, it isn’t with lust. “Until my brother’s dead, I’ll hold my breath.”
“Dead?” I sputter. “Morrgot said he’d carry him to Shabbin shores and letthemdeal with Marco.”
“I may hate my brother, Fallon, but I’m merciful enough to give him an honorable death rather than a sadistic one.”
Merciful? I’m so shocked by his admission that my lips part, but a lungful of rain reseals them. I cannot believe Dante’s ready to end his brother’s life. That he speaks of it with such detachment.
“Where will your loyalties lie once the deed is done?” he murmurs.
“With you. They’ve always lain with you.” Did Morrgot not show him the vision of me at his side, wearing a matching crown? “How can you ask me that?”
“Because you called that crow Your Majesty. Which makes me question your allegiance.”
“What are you talking about? When did I call him Your Majesty?”
“What do you think Mórrgaht means?”
“It’s— That’s his name!”
Dante laughs, and the sound is despicable because he’s laughing at me. “Fallon, that corvo’s name is Lorcan. Lorcan Ríhbiadh.”
“Lorcan?” I sputter as we streak past broken homes and broken people. “But— I—”
“Also referred to as the sky king. Or, by his intimate circle, as Lore.”
Sixty-Eight
My brow knits. “The crow is named after his master? That must get confusing.”
“His master?” This time, Dante’s the one who sounds baffled.
“Lore. The master of the five crows.”
“Don’t you know anything about the Crows?”
I know my father was one of them. I now know they have a king, whom I’ve been calling His Majesty.
I glower up at the steel-gray sky, hoping Morr—I mean, Lorcan intercepts it.How could you let me call you that? Did you need your ego stroked? Is that why you didn’t correct me?Not for the first time, I feel duped.
I wasn’t trying to mislead you, Fallon.
Then why? Why did I have to learn of your true identity through Dante?
In case you spoke my name out loud, which you did, on multiple occasions. Few people have heard the term Mórrgaht, but everyone is familiar with the name Lore.
