After putting away my dress, I nod to the armoire. “I’m going to leave the door open, so you can nest inside. My grandmother usually doesn’t come into my bedroom if the door’s closed, but if she hears noise, she might.”
I back up to better see the object of Bronwen’s prophecy. If only she’d explained what to do with these crows once collected. Will they all come to life? Will my bedroom turn into an aviary? One crow may be concealable, but five? Nonna will find out for certain.
A military vessel passes beneath my window, and my heart holds very still, because aboard is Commander Silvius Dargento.
I grip my floral curtain that lays wilted alongside my closed pane and tug it. “Whatever you do”—I barely shift my lips—“don’t move a feather.”
Silvius barks out my name, then barks out an order at the man steering the boat.
Thousands of goosebumps spring across my skin.
He’s spotted the bird.
Oh, Gods, he’s spotted the bird.
I should’ve rammed the curtain shut immediately and quickly. The material may be thin but it would’ve hidden us from view.
“Signorina Rossi?” He motions for me to open the window.
My heart ramps up, sending so much blood hurtling through my veins, that my cut throbs and my bandage dampens.
Opening my window is a most terrible idea.
“Signorina Rossi? The window!”
“I can hear you just fine, Commander,” I thunder back.
Annoyance strengthens the point of his jaw. “I have orders to collect you and take you to the palace.” A tad mockingly, he adds, “You have a date with the monarch.”
“I . . . do?” I thought Dante wouldn’t be able to see me until next week. Not to mention it’s the middle of the afternoon. “Isn’t it a little early?”
Silvius’s black eyebrows dip. “It’s two in the afternoon.”
“Isn’t Dante busy. . . soldiering?” Or whatever it is he does with his days.
The only thing I know about military life is that the soldiers exercise in the mornings. I’ve watched them enough times over the years from our windows, admired the sheen of sweat on their skin, the bulge of their muscles, the fluidity of their swordfight.
The boat sidles against the thin strip of land belting our house.
“Soldiering?” Silvius grunts. “More like dallying with a certain foreign princess.”
Jealousy ignites my belly.
“Must I come to collect you from your bedroom threshold, or will you come downstairs of your own accord?”
“I’ll come! Give me five minutes!” I snap my curtain closed.
I squander one minute trying to steady my breathing, then another searching my room for a way to trap the crow, because I don’t quite trust the animal. Could I shove the bird back inside the bag? If I managed, then I could clip the satchel closed and hide it under my bed.
My brain throbs again. I thought I’d have more hours to get acquainted with the crow, possibly figure out a method of understanding each other. The urge to cancel my date seizes me but then I remember that one of the relics isinsidethe palace.
This must be Bronwen’s doing again. If Dante leads me to the crow, then I’ll be a hundred percent certain of her preternatural involvement.
“Okay, Crow, time to get down from there. Either you hide inside the armoire or inside the bag. Your choice.”
It doesn’t choose.
As I unfasten my dress, I try to calculate how to capture the thing. If it starts flapping around my room, the men on the docked vessel will spot movement through my too-thin curtain.
