I let the information settle.
“Nebbans don’t possess Shabbin crystals,” Lazarus goes on. “And Glacins have turned over what little stock they had.”
“And the Lucins?” I wonder out loud.
“The Lucin supply, which I diligently kept track of until I left, has mysteriously vanished.”
Thoughts fester. Has it really vanished or does Dante not want me healed? I dislike this theory almost as much as the wildling who shot arrows at me.
I wonder if she lives, but then remember Lore mentioning something about bringing her back to life. I wonder who killed her.
Imogen.Afterthe savage confessed to the identity of the man with whom she had dealings.
It wasn’t Gabriele, right?
It was not.
Although relief seizes my body, so does a fresh wave of anger and murderous intent. As soon as I’m healed, I will unalive Dargento.Unless—
He still breathes.The smoke around me thickens as whichever remaining crow of Lore’s dissolves.
I slide my chapped lips from side to side, ambivalent as to whether I’m glad or annoyed by the news.
Not for long, though. I’ve sicced my best trackers on him.
“It’s just a matter of time before the Lucin hoard is located.” Lazarus finally steps into my line of sight. “After all, our Majesty has offered Dante the assistance of his people in the recovery of these missing crystals.”
I imagine that assistance isn’t quite what Lorcan offered.
My teeth begin to chatter. Although my skin is feverish, I feel as though I’ve slipped into a canal in the middle of Yuletide. “La-La-Lazarus?”
The large healer inclines his head. “What is it, Fallon?”
“Have you tried to get the serpents to heal me?”
The old man runs a hand through the silver hair that’s come loose from the knot in which he’s bound it. “No.” He stares at the shadows reassembling into the shape of a man. “We were afraid salt would anger your lesions.”
My temples prickle, this time from a memory on a past conversation. “Isn’t salt the antidote?”
“Only when the toxin is ingested. Not when it’s in one’s blood.”
I try to roll onto my side . . . and succeed. The effort feels monumental. So much so, that stars dance at the corners of my vision, threatening to tip me right back, but I bolster the pillow beneath my torso.
I finally catch sight of my surroundings, and my cheeks warm at the realization that I am in Lorcan’s room, the one I’ve only ever mind-walked through. Which means I must be in his bed.
“Take me to the ocean.”
The Crow King crosses his arms in front of a black top that clings to the many muscles that contour his chest. “No.”
“I’m not asking.” I move my gaze to the window, to the darkness lacerated by lightning beyond. “Don’t you want your curse-breaker to live?”
“You’re alive.”
I narrow my gaze on his. “Don’t you want her not to suffer?”
“She may suffer more if seawater gets into her wounds.”
“Why must you outshine me in the stubbornness department?”
