“Did Fallon just give someone the finger?” I hear Phoebus ask as Tavo spurs his horse forward.
“Her Crow side must be manifesting.” Sybille sounds borderline proud.
“Ríhbiadh.” Dante’s attention rises to the thickening cloud of birds. “We shall leave you to your reunion.” He taps his heels to Furia’s flanks, and my traitorous steed shoots forward.
“Expect a visit from me within a fortnight.” Lore’s black hair swirls around his head as his fellow Crows begin to descend.
“We’ll be waiting with bated breath,” Tavo mutters before the three males take off down the mountain, sprite in tow.
I turn toward Lazarus, whose gaze is taped to the storm cloud of black birds blunting the sun. Like their ruler, they are beastly. “Lazarus, are you staying or heading back to Isolacuori?”
The healer blinks away from the dark swirl. “I’m staying.”
“Can I take your horse?”
“You—”
A whinny cuts across the hum of feathers as his horse rises onto his hind legs and takes off down the mountain.
I ball my fingers. I don’t know if it’s Lore’s doing or an unfortunate coincidence, but I won’t let it deter me. “I guess I’ll walk then.”
“Fallon, are you crazy? You can’t walk back,” Syb yells over the swelling hum of stirring air.
Phoebus links arms with her to block me. “She’s right, Picolina. You can’t walk back. You don’t even have shoes.”
“I don’t need shoes to walk; I need feet.”
Phoebus sighs. “Sweets . . .”
“How are you two getting home?”
Syb glances toward Antoni. “Lorcan is replacing Antoni’s ship. It should arrive in a day or two. He’ll take us home then.”
A day or two . . .
I’m not spending another minute here. I try to sidestep them, but they shuffle as one. “Get out of my way.”
“Not happening, Fal.”
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” I grit as a whirlwind of dust and feathers churns around us, spraying grit into our eyes and lifting our hair.
Iron and down recede, making way to flesh and hair. Phoebus’s and Sybille’s mouths grow slack as men and women with dusky eyes and inky hair stretch up and fill out. Although my gaze strays to the strangers, I use my friends’ distraction against them and lunge around Phoebus.
I succeed in taking two steps before I bang into a wall of black leather and iron armor. I tip my chin up and channel my indignance into the golden eyes staring down at me. “Move.”
The Crow King does not budge.
“I’m done here.” I refuse to fall back. “You and I are done, Lorcan Reebyaw.”
The gold ringing his pupils seems to churn. “You and I are just beginning, Fallon Báeinach.”
Epilogue
LORE
Fallon’s pupils shrink in the violet depths of her irises. “I’m no more a Báeinach than you are worthy of being called a king.”
I cannot help the smirk that cocks my lips. I’ve met many women in my long life, but none so full of . . .verveas Cathal and Zendaya’s daughter. Her character should come as no surprise, considering her lineage.
