I snort.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t have an opinion on the gown.”
“I was just going to point out that it was sheer, which will allow everyone to see everything. And black. I don’t usually wear black. Black is for funerals.”
“What color do you think you’re wearing at the present moment, sweets? Yellow?” He nods to Lore’s top. “As for black, it’s the color of Crows. Besides, you agreed to my terms. If you prefer to pick another outfit, then by all means, browse away, but know that you’ll have to pick another friend, and best of luck finding someone of my caliber.”
I cannot help the grin that overtakes my face at his dramatic declaration. “Fine. Dress me like a first-class harlot.”
He hesitates for a second. “Fal, even with tawdry makeup and tits spilling out, you could never look like a harlot. Besides, I checked and the bodysuit beneath will cover all those essential bits that you’re saving for the eyes of a certain handsome, lethal king.”
My cheeks warm, and my heart takes flight.
“And, no, I am not referring to Dante.”
My mind hadn’t even wandered Dante’s way.
“Now, tell me everything.”
I wrinkle my nose and squeeze my lids shut.
“Picolina, I assure you, nothing you did down there will shock me.”
I am fully aware of Phoebus’s breadth of experience. Most of Luce is. Keeping my eyes shut, I confess, “I stumbled onto his lap.”
“Clever. I may recycle your trick.”
My lids reel up. “It was no trick, Pheebs. I was trying to climb out of the pool, and I slipped.”
“A shame you didn’t stumble onto his cock. He looks like he’s in possession of a substantial one. Not that size mattersallthat much, but . . .” He wrinkles his nose. “Was your target his penis but it was too small?” He looks suddenly so anxious that I cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of me.
“My target was neither his cock—which would’ve been, I assure you,unmissable—nor his leg. My target was the exit.”
“It’s a much better story that you fell into his lap because you thought falling onto his giant penis was too forward.”
“Forget that friendship manifesto; you should write erotic booklets, Pheebs.”
He blinks, and his eyes acquire a glazed sparkle. “That is a brilliant idea. Almost as brilliant as awakening the Crows. Gods, life was dull before they flapped back into Luce, wasn’t it?”
Life may have been dull, but it was safe. Now nothing is secure, save for this kingdom in the clouds.
“Back to you tumbling onto Lorcan Ríhbiadh’s lap.” Since Phoebus is like a sprite with a coin, I know he will not stop asking me until I tell him everything, so I do, and by the time I’m done, he’s finished doing up my black gown.
As I stare down at my legs that are on full display thanks to the sheer material, I ask, “We are going to dine at the tavern next door, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure this is appropriate? The last time I went, everyone was wearing battle armor and pants.”
He points to himself, to the fluid black trousers that sit low on his waist and the soft white shirt that shows off a good portion of his torso. “Am I wearing armor?”
“No, but you’re a Faerie and I’m a Crow.”
“You’re also a Shabbin, and from the book I’m reading about Shabbe that Lore lent me from his private library—you can thank me later for my thorough research—Shabbins favor silken, barely-there gowns. They weave most of their material from the iridescent excretion of a land mollusk. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
Worries that I am underdressed flee my mind. “Incredible.”
Phoebus heads into my bathroom and returns with a block of black clay, the same that Lore rubbed between his palms. “And now for the finishing touch.”
