“Vance is human,” Bronwen counters, “and humans are weak.”
“What if a Faerie—” Phoebus’s cheeks grow pink when everyone’s attention presses against him. “K-kills—”
“Don’t even think about it.” I shake my head.
“I suppose a pure-blooded Faerie could stand a chance—”
“No!” I all but shout at Bronwen before the insane seed can take root in Phoebus’s mind.
Bronwen stares in my direction, and I stare back. My anger is so potent that I’ve no doubt it leaps off me and into her.
“If a Faerie—other than one you’re attached to—can do away with my nephew, thenperhaps, you and Lorcan can steal away to Shabbe to break his obsidian curse. I’d need to ask the Cauldron.”
My eyebrows scrunch. “Shabbe? I thought we needed to find Meriam to break his curse?”
“Your grandmother has nothing to do with—” Bronwen stops talking so suddenly that I suspect Lorcan or Cian have asked her not to spill more secrets. Because a Faerie is present . . . or because I am?
I turn toward Lore.Please tell me.
Lorcan’s eyes close briefly. When they reopen, they burn a path straight into Bronwen’s skull. “If Fallon and I head to Shabbe, we’ll be stuck behind Meriam’s wall.” His smoke thickens like the icy mist that rolls over Tarelexo in the dead of winter. “I will not abandon my people.”
“Then you will doom them all, for if a single one of your crows falls to obsidian dipped in Shabbin blood, you will never be whole again, Mórrgaht.”
“Oh my Gods.” I take a step back, because I have Shabbin blood, and yes, at the moment, all of it is contained in my veins, but I will not risk—
Your magic is bound, and unless I’m mistaken, you’re in possession of no obsidian stake.To everyone else, Lore says, “I will use a sword to remove his head. I was good with swords once upon a time.”
“You’d risk all our lives?”
“You give me too little credit, Cian.”
“I did not mean to slight you, Lore.” My uncle drags Bronwen closer even though little space exists between their bodies. “But my mate has finally found a way to remove our weakness. It’s been a collective dream of ours for centuries, and your unwillingness to heed her words baffles me.”
Rain lashes at the mountain, filling the cavern in which we stand with the sound of a thousand drums. “I took an oath, Cian.” Lore’s gaze cycles around the room, over the wide-eyed black stares fastened to him before stopping on the door that leads to the rest of his kingdom. “An oath to guide and protect each one of you until you decide to live out your days as forever-Crows. What sort of king would I be if I hid behind a magical wall and let you fend for yourselves?”
Colm shakes his head. “You cannot call it hiding when—”
“The Crows who took refuge in Shabbe still cannot shift,” Lore rasps. “My call does not carry through the wards.”
“I stand with Cian and Bronwen,” my father says.
“Of course, you do, Cathal. Your daughter would be safest in Shabbe. In truth, I should send her—”
You’re not sending me anywhere.
Lore’s mouth thins.I could not, anyway, for I am too selfish a man.
The Sky King is many things: impossible, controlling, possessive, infuriating—
Do I haveanyredeeming qualities?
You’re nicely muscled?
He must not have been expecting that because, in the middle of the storm he is waging both outside and inside his realm, his mouth curves with a smile destined only for me.
I’m so lost in the white glow of his teeth and honeyed shine of his eyes that I fail to register that Lore’s smoke has turned into an arm and a hand that are towing me into the body attached to them. The realization sets my cheeks ablaze.
Like you said, Behach Éan, the crow is out of the bag.
