Overwhelmed by the attention, I burrow into Phoebus’s side and tug him toward where Syb sits with Antoni, Giana, Mattia, and Riccio. “You didn’t warn me there’d be people,” I hiss.
“Not only is it mealtime but it’s a tavern. Since you used to work in one, I assumed you’d figure that out on your own.”
For some reason, it didn’t strike me that we’d run into anyone but my friends and a couple casks of wine. Said friends are watching me just as quietly as the rest of the patrons. Although it’s only been three days, I feel like Giana, Antoni, Riccio, and Mattia have aged years. The stress of the last few weeks have clearly taken their toll on the lot of them.
Sybille shoves Riccio aside so I can slip onto the bench between them.
Giana smiles at me from across the table where she sits beside Antoni. “So, what do you think?”
“Of?”
She gestures to the tavern. “The Sky Kingdom.”
“I like our earthly one better. It’s more colorful.”
Phoebus, who lowers himself beside Riccio, flips his shoulder-length locks back, exposing his peaked ears. Although proud of my friend for not hiding what he is, I worry a Crow will morph into a bird and peck off the points. “She’s only traveled from her bedroom—”
“—cell,” I correct.
Phoebus rolls his eyes. “From hercellto here, so she hasn’t seen much of it.”
“I’ve seen more than enough.” I pile my hands in my lap, atop the scratchy pants Giana lent me after she arrived with Bronwen. They balloon around my thighs, which have grown as reedy as they were before my first blood cycle.
Even though Nonna is not a curvy woman, my thinness would horrify her. All things considered, though, my gaunt body would probably give her little pause in comparison to the news of my lineage. My heart gives a painful squeeze at the idea of her finding out.
“How have you been?” Antoni’s voice springs me out of my glum contemplations.
“Deeply annoyed. And you?”
“Impatient to receive my boat.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. Lorcan doesn’t need you anymore, so he has no reason to get you a boat.”
The few conversations buzzing around us stop after I utter the Sky King’s name.
Mattia’s bushy blond eyebrows bend. “He promised us one, and he’s kept his other promises. Why so negative?”
“I don’t know . . .” I shrug. “Could have to do with the fact that he’s holding me hostage.”
“Because you’re the only person who can handle both obsidian and iron, Fallon.” Riccio raises a tankard of something to his lips.
Thanks to Sybille nudging her drink in front of me, I find out it’s wine, but it’s not bubbly like the one we drink in Luce; it’s flat and earthy, like sun-warmed berries crushed against loamy soil.Delicious.
Obviously, if asked, I’ll pretend to thoroughly dislike it. I drain the contents of the metal goblet before smacking it down on a tabletop that’s so black I assume it’s obsidian, but the surface is grainy and full of knots like wood. Not to mention that obsidian is poisonous to Crows.
“Hey, Connor,” Phoebus calls out to the brown-skinned male with blackened eyes who’s carrying a platter of drinks to a nearby table. “Tuiladh fìn ag bìdh mars’adh.”
As Connor replies with a nod, my fingers tighten on the stein, the foreign syllables running on a loop inside my mind—twilaw fine ag bye marsaw.Not one is familiar, but then again my knowledge of my father tongue consists of ten words or less. “Since when do you speak Crow?”
“Since yesterday. Connor is giving me lessons.” Phoebus trails the barkeep—tavern owner?—with his eyes.Doesanyone own anything in this realm or does everything belong to Lore?
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I thought it was the congenial thing to do while we live amongst them.”
Sybille presses her mouth to my ear. “Also, Pheebs is trying to get into that male’s pants.”
I blink at Phoebus. “What about Mercutio?”
