“What the ever-loving Cauldron is wrong with you, Crow?” Dante roars just as the patch of rock we’d been hurtling toward crumbles into the sea.
He’s just saved our lives.
Well, mine, because falling a dozen of meters onto jagged rocks wouldn’t have killed Dante.
Tell the princeling to fucking concentrate on the road instead of on your body, Fallon.
Seventy-Three
Our near spill into the ocean has made our riding party extra-vigilant and extra-silent. Rock doesn’t crumble because of sound, and yet no one speaks, not even the sprite perched on Gabriele’s saddle.
Since sprites are only quiet when they’re asleep or dead, his silence speaks volumes on the precariousness of this road. Especially considering that he has wings, and we do not.
The cliff is so chalky and slick in these parts that we’ve had to slow the horses to a walk, and still, the rock disintegrates like dried leaves more than once. It feels as though we’re teetering on the brink of the very world as we move deeper south.
I’d heard this area of Luce was inhospitable, but I’d never imagined the extent of nature’s hostility. I hold my breath when the passage narrows and only release it when my lungs begin to scream for breath.
Are we almost there?I cannot bring myself to use my voice to ask Dante, too afraid it’ll affect the solidity of the path.
Almost.Lorcan’s voice is sharp as a blade, with not a hint of its former suppleness.
I suppose that he’s as tense as the rest of us. He’s so close to regaining his humanity. His people. His kingdom.
I cannot believe he bartered to keep so much of Luce for himself, the same way I cannot believe Dante accepted. Then again, did the prince have much of a choice? What will the neighboring monarchies think of a realm split between a Fae and a shifter? Will they accept its new geography? Will they ally themselves with both kings?
Two kings.
The sky has grown brighter, the rising sun having sucked the shadows from the world and painted it in grays and blues. Lorcan’s twin smudges of black are so vivid in the light that I worry a passing ship will spot him.
“Look up.”
I jump when Dante speaks because those are his first words since he yelled at Lore before understanding the crow’s intent.
“Lorcan has blown our manufactured cloud cover away and unveiled his city for all of Luce to see.”
What a bold move.
Dante’s voice is barely above a whisper when he adds, “Marco must be livid.”
I crane my neck and look up.
And up.
And then I slow-blink because windows are carved into the cliff face. This must be another part of the Sky Kingdom. How far does Lore’s home reach?
I must’ve asked my question out loud because Dante says, “They’ve built their nests inside every summit on this longitude. This peak is said to house Ríhbiadh’s personal quarters.”
“I’m surprised it still stands.”
“Marco tried to destroy it, but the stone is magicked to be unbreachable. Ropes and Fae-made vines turn to ash. Arrows and cannon balls bounce off. Fae-fire doesn’t crack the windows.”
I glance away from the windows that shine in spite of the salt coating, toward Lore’s crows.You’re almost home.
Both crows pin me with their golden stare. I frown at the intensity and the anger seeping from him. I assumed Lorcan was tense but seething . . .?
I won’t fail you,I whisper through the bond.
His eyes hold mine a heartbeat. Two. And then his lids swoop low. When they rise again, he’s no longer looking at me, he’s staring past me, at the ocean draped in morning gold that bangs against the craggy walls of Luce as though to shake us off.
