“You’ve just bartered my obedience against my freedom. That’s called a bargain.”
He doesn’t tell me I’m wrong because he knows I’m not even though bargains do not register on Crow skin like they do on Fae flesh. “There’s no catch.”
“So I won’t be guarded by your Crows everywhere I go, what with being your curse-breaker?”
“We’ve found Meriam, so we no longer have need for you.”
His answer feels like a slap.
Twoslaps.
“You’ve found Meriam?” When he stays quiet, clearly uninterested in sharing any more information with someone outside his inner circle, I say, “She stabbed you with obsidian once before. You expect she won’t do it again?”
“I expect she’ll want nothing more than to turn me into a block of iron, but I’ll have rid her body of blood, which will end her and her malefic magic. The wards will come down, and the Shabbins will be free. I’ll ensure to keep plenty in my employ to combat our curse.”
“You’ve got everything figured out, haven’t you?”
“I’ve had time to strategize.”
We study each other in silence for a long moment. I may know his Crow form well, but I haven’t let myself study his human form at length.
And now . . . now it’ll forever stay unfamiliar because we’ve reached a fork in the road we’ve been traveling together since Bronwen sent me on my fool’s errand, and I—fool that I am—accepted, few questions asked, none answered.
The fight drains out of me. “If Bronwen ever figures out how I can break your curse, come and find me, and I’ll help.”
Although he knows the shape of every one of my features, his gaze lingers on them all. “Tapath.”
I fathomtapoffmeans thank you. “How do you say, you’re welcome in Crow?”
“Sé’bhédha.”
“Shehveha,” I repeat as the storm begins to ease, outside and inside.
Twelve
Lorcan transforms into a Crow. Instead of snatching me, he drops low and extends his wing, and although I cannot imagine it feels nice to be stepped upon, he doesn’t flinch when I use his wing as a ladder. Gripping the handknit coverlet draped over my shoulders with one hand, I curl the other around his neck, my skin sinking into his black feathers.
I try not to squeeze too hard but end up strangling him when he lurches from the cubby hole in the rock to carry me back down to the flickering torches and effervescent crowd. We land beside the communal table at which Arin and Phoebus have taken residence.
Where she smiles, he gapes at me with the same amount of horror and distress he regarded me with that day in his family vault when we unhooked Lore’s first crow from the wall.
I sink onto the seat beside his and squeeze his thigh under the table to reassure him that I’m all right, but he must not be reassured because his knees keep bouncing.
Crows from every market stand come forth with earthenware bowls filled with creamy dips and thinly-sliced fish, wooden chopping boards topped with roasted meat and plump vegetables flecked with herbs, and baskets of flat bread browned and streaked with oil.
Arin speaks to us, but since she speaks in Crow, Lore has to translate. “I hope you have a large appetite because every vendor plans on bringing you their specialty.”
I return her smile. “Trekking across your home has cleaved a pit in our stomachs.”
Phoebus, always so quick with niceties, remains too perplexed to pitch one in.
A jug and metal goblets are set before us and filled with Crow wine. Although I said I’d never drink again, I drink, mostly to take the edge off my raw nerves.
The nectar is just as delicious as I remember it to be. “You should sell this wine in Luce.”
Although most of the Crows farther down the table from us use their talons to spear and cut food, Lorcan picks up a fork and a knife, as does Arin. “Why would we do that?”
“For profit.”
