I glance up at Lore, struck dumb by his confession. I hadn’t realized Crows could create wards.
“They were created by the Shabbins,” he explains.
Syb is staring so hard at our linked hands that her eyes look about ready to bug out.
“Why don’t we all take a seat? Lunch is served.” Lore nods to one of the communal tables set with a river of steaming dishes.
My father guides a still-blindfolded Gabriele and orders him to “Bloody sit his Faerie ass down.”
The Lucin commander obeys, feeling out carefully for his chair before sinking onto it. “I understand why you want me to wear a blindfold, Ríhbiadh, but I swear I will not bring your secrets home.”
“Many men have sworn oaths to me, Moriati.” Lore steers us to the table. “Few have upheld them, even when those bargains were stitched into their skin.”
“How is that possible? Faerie bargains—I meansupernaturalbargains are unbreachable.”
Lore pulls out the chair in front of Gabriele and tips his chin for me to sit. “Most preferred death to repaying their dues.”
Gabriele inhales a sharp breath, probably imagining his life cut short by an iron beak.
“Where’s Pheebs?” Syb asks, about to take a seat beside me.
“Right here,scazza.” Both Syb and I whirl to find our friend standing there in dark trousers and a gossamer pink shirt that brings out the blond in his hair. “Since breakfast didn’t come to me, I had to go to it.”
I mouth a quick,Sorry,just as Syb smacks his pecs, muttering a watery, “Scazza, really?” before throwing her arms around his neck and towing his tall frame into hers.
Phoebus’s eyebrows arch high when a wail bubbles out from her lips. “Did you expect me to be reduced to Faerie jerky?”
A new sob lurches from her throat.
“Cauldron, you really did . . .” He strokes her back. “As you can tell, I’m alive and in tiptop—”
“Riccio is dead, Pheebs,” she cries. “And Antoni is gone. And Gia was arrested.”
Phoebus’s good humor vanishes like footfalls in wet sand, and he blinks at me over Sybille’s head before moving his attention toward Mattia who white-knuckles the back of a chair, vacant gaze fixed on a plate.
Once Syb releases Phoebus, he places his hand on the blond sailor’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Mattia doesn’t look at him as he nods, the bumpy movement exhorting new tears from his puffy eyes that noiselessly trip off his trembling chin. His quiet sorrow makes me knead the skin over my heart. The only muscle unharmed by last night’s activities now aches like everywhere else.
Phoebus’s gaze skates over the table that is dotted by Crows. He smiles at Arin, who’s taken residence farther down since every seat in Lore’s vicinity has been snagged by members of theSiorkahd. Well, besides the one I sit in.
As Lore takes the seat beside mine, my father drops into the one beside Gabriele. On the commander’s other side sits Erwin, a male just as huge and frightening as my father. The Faerie resembles a pamphlet stuck between two hefty tomes. He’s better off blindfolded.
“So tell me, Moriati.” Although Lore’s voice is placid, the commander jumps. “Why is it you helped two outlaws escape? What were you hoping to gain?”
“Nothing.”
Lorcan rubs the sharp edge of his jaw. “The truth.”
“It is the truth. Don’t you think I’d have bargained with them if I’d wanted something?” After a breath, Gabriele says, “Give me salt if you don’t believe me.”
“Salt no longer affects your king,” Lore says as Phoebus drags a chair between mine and Syb’s.
The apple in Gabriele’s throat rolls. “I’m not Dante.”
“So you have not been ingesting the same poison he has?”
“What poison?”
