“So anyone can use magic to facilitate day-to-day tasks?” Syb’s eyes have grown in volume and presently fill the entirety of her mask’s eyeholes.
“Absolutely. They’re even encouraged to do so. Anything to increase productivity.”
“Maybe I should move to Nebba,” Syb says on a sigh.
Eponine smiles. “We’d be glad to have you.”
I wonder what Lore’s views are on the subject. Will he put restrictions on Faeries or will he encourage the use of magic as well?
Something gleams in the night sky, and I think it may be the Crow King’s eyes since no other Crow has metallic eyes, but I’m wrong.
It isn’t Lore.
It’s the tip of an arrow.
One that is sailing straight for our gondola.
Forty-Three
“Aoife, shift!” I shout. “Princcisa, watch out!”
Eponine has already encased herself in a tangle of vines, but my friends have yet to coax out their magic, so I launch myself off the divan, arms extended in order to bowl them both down.
As I flatten them against the deck, I gasp. Not from the impact of falling but because something bit the back of my thigh. A glance over my shoulder reveals an arrow protruding from the delicate indigo. Although the rush of adrenaline coursing through my body nulls the pain, when I shift my leg and the arrow doesn’t fall, I imagine it’s nicked more than the folds of my dress.
Are more missiles about to rain down on us?
Did I bring this upon these women?
Merda, merda, merda.
I hear Tavo shout at the gondolier to change course and the princess shriek through her cocoon of branches. Has she been hit? Who was the archer’s target?
The boat rocks and water sloshes over the low rim, drenching my back, just as the air darkens with massive wingbeats that blunt out the stars and lanterns. Spine-tingling caws erupt in time with brassy shouts. Both echo against the choppy canal and smooth limestone walls.
“Syb, are you okay?” I ask.
“Watch out!” Gray eyes as wide as twin moons, Syb grips my nape, yanking my body down just as another arrow whizzes over us.
I don’t dare move as I wait for the attack to end. My pulse has become such a violent thing that it distends my throat, and I cannot catch my breath.
“Is it over?” I croak, since Syb is facing up.
“I th-think s-so.” My friend is trembling so hard that it shakes my body.
Levering myself on one forearm, I reach around myself and pluck the arrow out. I almost black out from the scalding pain, but the whimper that falls from Catriona’s lips keeps me alert. Tossing the arrow aside, I whirl my attention toward the courtesan just as another soft mewl falls from her lips.
A scream claws its way up my throat as I stare, in horror, at the arrow embedded inside her cheek.
“We need a healer!” For all the horrible things I think of Diotto, his enlarged gaze and waxen complexion tells me he’s in just as much shock as the rest of us. “Tavo, did you hear me?”
He jerks a nod.
I crawl nearer to Catriona, the back of my leg burning like a mother. The courtesan’s eyes glitter like the shards of the wineglass that shattered beside her shoulder.
Cauldron, the pain she must be in . . .
Although conscious that this might make it worse, I pull the arrow out, and blood spurts from the wound and flows in rivulets down her beautiful face, soaking into her silver wig.
