I blink at my friend.
“I’m just thinking out loud. Maybe no bargain was struck.”
“If Meriam struck a bargain with Marco,” says a gruff voice, “it’ll have expired.”
The apple in Phoebus’s throat climbs as high as my pulse as I spin in my chair to face the man I haven’t seen in two weeks.
“You left the Sky Kingdom,ínon?” My father’s growl flutters my lashes.
“I, um, will—” Phoebus vaults out of his chair. “See what’s taking our food so long.”
I allow Phoebus to escape, since that’s clearly his intent.
“I’m going to kill Lore.” My father says through barely separated teeth.
I’m about to spring out of my seat to latch onto my father’s arm before he can go hunt Lorcan down when black shadows congeal between us and firm into a man-shaped shield.
“A feat many have failed at, Cathal,” I hear Lore quip beneath his breath.
My father’s large fingers close around the Sky King’s neck and flex. “I trusted you and you let her leave the Sky Kingdom?!”
“And she’s returned.” I’m honestly not sure how Lore is keeping his cool. “Now unhand me before I break your nose, for what, the fourth time?”
My eyes go as bulbous as my father’s.You’ve broken his nose three times?
All in good fun.
You’ve a strange definition of fun . . .Before any bone-breaking can occur, I speak up. “I forced Lore to let me go,Dádhi.”
My father glances over Lore’s broad, fuming shoulder at me. His hand drops, not because he’s released Lorcan but because the Crow King has dissolved into black vapors that knit back in the very same place a moment later.
As Cathal’s heavy arm flops back along his side, the buckles on his vanguards clink against his chest plate.
“And I was the one to encourage her, Cathal.” Bronwen steps into the tavern on Cian’s arm.
“You encouraged her?” Lore seems to grow more rigid in spite of the wisps of smoke leaching off him.
My father spins around to face Bronwen and barks something crude in Crow, which I fathom must mean: “Why in Mórrígan’s name would you do that?”
“She needed to leave.”
“She needed to leave?” Lorcan repeats in a tone that makes the air feel as solid and chilled as a block of ice.
I’m admittedly surprised. Here I’d assumed Lorcan had been kept abreast of Bronwen’s latest prophecy.
His gaze whirls to mine, ramming into me with a force that makes my heart take refuge behind my spine. “What new prophecy?” he growls, and although his rage should really alarm me, his timbre has a completely different effect.
Not the time.
Not the time.
“Did you just—” Cian looks between Lorcan and me, his eyes growing wider and wider. “My niece is your mate, Lore?”
Fifty-Two
If someone were to drop a pin inAdh’Thábhain, the whole of the Sky Kingdom would hear it plink. That is how quiet it’s become.
Phoebus, who retreated behind the bar when my father swooped into the tavern like a bat from the underworld, mouths: “Mate?” Or maybe what he says is: “Merda.” Both would be appropriate.
