Us.There is no us. There’s only him and Alyona.
He studies my face, probably studying my thoughts.
“I’m not interested in being the other woman, Lore.”
I don’t miss the corners of his mouth tipping up right before he shifts to smoke and merges with the shadows of my bedroom.
I’m serious, Lore.
You looked it, Behach Éan.
I cross my arms at his reply.
Reminded me a lot of your father, actually. You’ve the same vertical groove between your eyebrows when overtaken by the desire to throttle me.
I raise my hand to my face and, sure enough, feel the slim indent between my gathered eyebrows. It’s silly, but the comparison eases my disquiet.
You can imagine how often he’s wanted to strangle me seeing as the skin between his eyebrows is permanently grooved.
Another gust of warmth envelops me.
Your mother called it his ‘resting crow face.’ He wasn’t fond of the term, but he was so fond of her that he took it in stride. What he did not take in stride was when I made use of the expression.
An unexpected bubble of laughter ruptures the tight seam of my lips.
Such a lovely sound. I request to hear it more often.
Request, huh?I shake my head, a smile digging into my cheeks.You’re giving my sanity whiplash, Lore.
I wait for his answering quip.
And wait.
As silence stretches between us, I sink into my pillow and wonder if he’s already reached Nebba. And then I wonder if he’s located his missing men.
The sun rises and sets twice, and although I ask whichever Crow is stuck with me for news, I’m not given any.
By day three, I’ve grown so worried that I’ve bitten my nails down to the quick. Not even my daily strolls through the garden with Syb and Arina have helped vanquish my anxiety. I start imagining horrific scenarios and inspect my guards daily for signs of obsidian gangrene.
On day four, I leave Antoni’s home and wander the Tarecuorin harbor marketplace arm in arm with Catriona in the hopes that my grandmother will decide to show herself—she doesn’t—but someone else does.
“Fallon Rossi, just the girl I came to the mainland to find!”
Thirty-Seven
Long brown hair whipping in the midday breeze, Eponine stands at the bow of a gondola lacquered with so many coats of varnish that it reflects the tall forehead she’s adorned with an amethyst circlet.
My guards—two in skin and two in feathers—box me in as the vessel docks and royal guards, some in white and some in forest green, spill onto the Tarecuorin wharf.
“You came to the mainland to seeme, Princcisa?” Although I do not bow, I do nod as Eponine walks toward us in a gown that seems fashioned from real wisteria clusters. Only the sequins that glimmer amidst the blooms betray they are made from ribbon and taffeta.
“I’ve booked us an appointment at my favorite tailor.”
I momentarily find myself hoping it’s the same tailor who stitched the dress she is wearing for it is by far the loveliest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, but then I snap out of my shallow contemplation because I cannot imagine the princess is that desperate for companionship that she’d seek me out for a shopping spree.
She probably came to discuss the gilding revel and find out if Lore is willing to do the deed.
“You’re not too busy to come shopping with me, are you?” Eponine stares between Catriona and me, her gaze lingering on the golden-haired beauty whose arm is still wound through mine.
