“Even though he swears he’ll never speak to you again, he misses you greatly and is counting the days until your return.”
My heart fires up a series of erratic beats, because I don’t know when that’ll be. Soon, if Eponine isn’t attempting to lead us astray. “Can the Nebban princess be trusted, or is she as despicable as her father?”
“Few people are as despicable as King Roy. As for whether she can be trusted, she dislikes both Dante and her father. The enemy of our enemy is our friend.”
“So we should attend her gilding revel?”
“We?”
“Didn’t Aoife tell you? We were both convened.”
“She may have mentioned it, but I’ve been a tad taken by other . . .things.”
Things or person? I force my mind not to even creep to Glace.
“Enlighten me, Fallon. What is a gilding revel?”
“A pre-wedding ritual where gold paint is brushed over the betrothed’s skin, as well as their family members’, to wish them a happy fortune.”
“Faes and their tawdry rituals.”
“Are you telling me that Crows don’t have bizarre mating rituals of their own?”
“We have rituals, but we do not trim each other’s bodies in gold.”
“Do you roll around in mud?”
I catch a flash of teeth. “We are crows, not hogs. As for Eponine, if you feel like gilding her and her future mother-in-law, then by all means, attend the party.”
“Men are painted, too.” My eyebrows slide nearer to each other. “Am I not allowed to ornament Dante or Pierre?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You know perfectly well why I don’t want you brushing paint over those two men.”
“Because you think they’ll use the proximity to prick me and collect my blood?”
His pupils tighten. “There’s that.”
I picture Pierre striking me with a dagger and flinch. Giving my head a small shake, I say, “I wouldn’t actually go there to paint anyone. I’d be going because she said she knows where Meriam is. However, she’ll only tell us if you agree to”—I drop my voice to the faintest murmur—“kill her father.”
Leather creaks and fabric rustles as the Sky King unfolds his legs and rolls his neck.
“Giana thinks it’s a trap.”
“And what is your opinion?”
My eyes are slowly getting used to the obscurity, and I manage to make out more of him. “I don’t trust my judgement anymore.”
“But you trust mine?”
“I trust that you want to keep me alive. At least, until you pin down Meriam, and Bronwen figures out how I break your curse for good.”
“She has.”
Surprise makes the sheets slip from my fingers. “How?”
