“Aoife’s right, Syb.” Giana stands in the doorway, arms folded. “Instead of spending— How many gold coins did you pitch away this time?”
“None. The headpieces were a present from the princess.” Syb pinches her lips together as she removes the headpiece and sets it down with the tenderness of a mother setting down her newborn babe. “We all got one. Even you. Catriona dropped it off in your room.”
Giana’s lashes rise so high they skim her brow bone. “Why?”
“Because I managed to convince her to go out for a girl’s dinner tonight at Terramare, that’s why.”
“It was Lore’s suggestion,” I add, because the Sky King can make no bad decision in Gia’s eyes. Unlike Syb and I.
Giana stares between Syb, Aoife, and me. “Was it?”
“Absolutely.” Syb nods, laying it on a little thick.
Before Gia can call our bluff, I say, “It’s really too bad we couldn’t have hosted the dinner here, but I understand that we cannot have her sniffing around the cellar.”
Gia sucks in a breath and swings her attention to Aoife, but Aoife misses the look because she’s busy gawping at me. I deduce my handler is on the insiders’ list while I am, well,not. Thankfully, Syb is not only dating an insider but also incapable of keeping a secret from me, so I’m up-to-date on all things resistance.
“You cannot tell anyone about what’s inside, Fal. I mean it.” Giana’s complexion has turned the same gray as the dirt streaking her jaw and neck.
“I wouldnever, Gia.” Who would I even go blab to about Antoni’s stock of pixie dust, or whatever it is they call the drug the human rebel Vance manufactures in Rax? “Plus, I’m immune to salt.”
“I’m sorry we kept it a secret, Fal, but Lore didn’t want you involved.”
“I bet,” I grumble. “I am, after all, sodreadfullyunreliable and childish.”
“Fallon.” Giana sighs. “That’s not—”
“You said so yourself the day you left the Sky Kingdom, Gia.”
Syb sets her hand on my shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. “Eponine’s picking us up by gondola in two hours. You may want to bathe, sis.”
Gia scrubs a finger through the dried mud graying her pointy jaw, then peers down at her no-frills white shirt and sturdy canvas trousers—both caked in Racoccin muck. “Come get me when it’s time.” And with that she retreats into the hallway.
“Syb, can you help me pick out a dress?” I get up so suddenly that I knock my knee into the underside of the table. The dull throb matches my mood.
Syb snatches my hand and hauls me from my chair before marching me out of the living area, through my bathroom, the door of which she slams shut, and into my closet. “What the actual fuck?” she hisses. “Lore?”
“What about him?”
She sticks one hand on her hip. “You do realize that if Aoife can get through to him, he’s going to tell her the dinner wasn’t his idea.”
“So?”
“So I’d prefer not to be gutted.”
I roll my eyes. “He would never dare gut you.”
Although she’s still breathing hard, clearly not convinced, she says, “Did something happen between you and him while I was gone?”
“I haven’t seen him in days, so no.” The male cannot even be bothered to mind-stroll, which just goes to show I haven’t crossed his mind once.
“Okay, so what the underworld is eating at you?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
Her eyebrows writhe. “So learning to speak insults in Crow was—”
“Educational.” I rifle through the plethora of gowns, the wooden hangers clinking jarringly.
