I watch it too, my gaze lingering on the pink shores of Shabbe in the distance before traveling back to our shores, to a beached ship whose wooden bow darts out from the foam, while the rest of its coral-crusted body remains immersed beneath the surf.
My eyebrows tilt because Antoni has managed to dredge up the ship!
I look for him, catching sight of Mattia’s blond mane first, then the baked skin of the sea captain’s arms and shoulders, Riccio’s deep-brown locks plastered to his head as though he’s just emerged from the ocean, and . . .
And . . .
“Sybille?” I yell.
Seventy-Four
All four turn their faces skyward.
Oh my Gods. Sybille knows about the crows? Since when? Although I’ve no reason to feel betrayed, I cannot help but wonder why andhowshe kept it from me.
Look at me calling the Cauldron black.
Bronwen must’ve frightened her into silence the same way she frightened me.
I don’t breathe once during Furia’s trek down the sinuous path that leads to the cove below, and not because I’m frightened—although admittedly, the path is too narrow for comfort—but because Sybille is here.
Because the galleon is near.
Because we’re about to change the course of history.
The second we reach the beach, I jump off Furia and race toward my friend, clasping her in a hug. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”
Antoni’s arms are folded, his biceps bulging with both muscle and bargains. “My thoughts exactly, but this one stowed away on my ship. Imagine my surprise when our boat hit that reef, and she popped out of the hull.”
“Sybille,” I chide her, even though I should probably be more focused on the fact that Antoni’s boat sank. That boat is his life. His livelihood.
“Puh-leeze. You fed me a story about bonding with long-lost Bisnonna Rossi. Imaginemysurprise when I learned what utter serpent doodoo it all was.” She sounds angry. Really angry, and yet she’s hugging me back. “You crazy, crazy girl.”
“Not to interrupt this heartwarming reunion”—Tavo hops off his mare—“but Gaston’s just spotted a ship coming around the western point flying the royal flag.”
“Fuck, it’s going fast.” Riccio shoves a wet lock off his brow. “Did the king gather every air-Fae in the kingdom?”
I unclasp my arms and step around Sybille, squinting. Sure enough, the royal vessel is carving up the ocean alarmingly fast.
“Another one’s coming from the east,” Gabriele announces. “Traveling fast too.”
Time to get to work. “Where’s Lore’s crow?”
“All the Crows are inside the hull.” Antoni scrapes a hand through his hair, eyeing the prince and the other two men I’ve arrived with warily. “Altezza.”
Dante gives Antoni the faintest nod. “Greco.”
“Oh my Gods, that’s really him.” Sybille’s whisper stirs the hair beside my ear.
I tip my gaze up to the source of her awe. “That’s really him.”
She sucks in her bottom lip, eyes so wide, her curled lashes skim her browbone.
“Can you sense your crow, Mórrgaht?” Antoni asks.
Hearing him speak the Crow title sends me back to the night in the woods when Antoni snapped at Bronwen that I had a right to know. Was he speaking of the fact that Morrgot wasn’t the crow’s name? That Lore was his own master? That there was an actual man beneath the feathers?
Lore’s two crows fly low over the galleon. I hold my breath when a serpent jumps, horn gleaming like fresh snow. Lore shifts to smoke and the serpent falls right through him. We may have a connection with animals, but the serpent doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that Crows aren’t the enemy, which makes my skin prickle.
