“Long live the king!” Gaston bellows as Tavo and Gabriele swoop into bows and holler their joy.
I can barely breathe, much less bow. If Lazarus wasn’t still holding me, I would’ve joined Syb by the tree.
Dante’s eyes find mine through the bright noon day. “Thank you, Fallon.”
It feels like he’s thanking me for his brother’s death, and I don’t want gratitude for that. I flick my gaze to the side, stomach in a vise.
“I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. For Luce.”
I don’t nod. Don’t say a word. My throat is too clogged by horror to speak.
“We should go. We’ve a kingdom to rule, Dante.” Tavo swings himself onto his horse.
I narrow my gaze on the soldier with the delusion of crown ownership. “We? Luce belongs to Dante and to Lore. Not to you.”
His amber eyes flare. “Lore, huh? Where’s the almighty buzzard anyway? Fishing out his warriors?”
I blink away from the hateful male and squint at the sea, searching for black feathers. Or black smoke. Or whichever form the sky king has taken. When I can’t spot him, I begin to panic. Where is he? Where did he go? If he left without saying goodbye, I’ll—
You’ll what, Behach Éan?
The sound of his voice soothes the erratic muscle pounding behind my ribs.Get really angry at you.
Ah . . . for a change. Makes me impatient to return.
The corners of my mouth kick up but then flip down when I finally spot him lurching from the chaotic waves of Mareluce, a body balanced between the talons of his five crows. Blond hair swings from his charge’s head.
Even though there are a million blonds in Luce, I know that body.
I know that hair.
I know that apple-green shirt.
My eyes mist over. “Sybille!”
“What?” she croaks.
“Sybille!” A sob blots my voice’s power.
“What?”
“Syb!”
“Oh my Gods, what is it, woman?”
“Phoebus.”
“Is she having a meltdown?” Syb’s footfalls plod closer. “Why is she calling out everyone’s names?”
I point to the listless form dangling beneath Lore.
A breath whooshes from Syb’s lips. “What—What the— Is that—Phoebus?”
“He must’ve been on Silvius’s ship,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Maybe he stowed away like some other person I know,” Riccio quips, which earns his arm a slap from an unamused Sybille.
