“According to what Bronwen saw the night Meriam kidnapped Daya”—Lore’s timbre is as grave as his expression—“Meriam portaled your mother someplace. Someplace she surely planned on heading to before Marco seized her and tossed her in the palace dungeon. Lazarus was the one to tell me about this underground prison, and I was the one to disclose its location to Dante.”
Marco shared Meriam’s location with Lazarus but not with his own brother?
Marco murdered his father, Fallon. I’ve no doubt that if Dante had gotten in the way, he would’ve disposed of him permanently.The outline of Lore’s body has softened and shadowy wisps coil around my trembling hand.
I fist my fingers to stop their tremor. Lore must believe I closed my fingers to rid them of his comforting touch because his smoke glides up my wrist before vaulting back toward his body and firming the broad shape of him.
“Wait.” Gia’s gray eyes begin to glitter. “If you’ve found the sigil, does this mean it was erased? Does this mean the wards have come down?”
“No.” Lore’s answer snuffs out her hope.
And mine.
Twenty-Six
Gia frowns. “But if her blood is no longer fueling the sigil—”
“My Crows tried returning after Dante washed it away, but they collided into a wall.” Lore slow-twirls the knife beside his plate.
“She painted elsewhere . . .” Antoni’s theory is all breath, yet I miss no word. “Because she doesn’t want the Shabbins to return.”
“Why wouldn’t she want her people to return?” Syb asks.
Gia sighs. “Because they’ll punish her, Syb. She’s locked them on an island for five centuries. Remember when I locked you and Fal in the wine cellar when you were what—eight?—without realizing you two were in there, and I found you the next morning?”
We’d banged our fists against the door while yelling at the top of our lungs before plopping on the dank floor and settling in for a long, cold night. I remember the feel of fur against my cheek when I awoke to find a mouse nestled against me. I’d petted the little creature, then shooed it off before Syb awakened because mice terrified her.
A tiny smile flickers across Giana’s tense expression. “You, Syb, looked about ready to pitch me into Mareluce.”
Sybhadbeen rather murderous. I’d been too exhausted and relieved to contemplate murder. Besides, Gia hadn’t done it on purpose.
Cellar sleepover aside, I get her point. If the Shabbins ever get ahold of my grandmother . . . if my father or Lore find her . . . Gods, they will quarter her.
No if.When.Lore’s jaw is so tight and sharp he could probably cleave someone’s head off without the use of his iron beak.
“Do you think she’s coming after Fallon?” Syb asks. “Since she hates Crows and all, and Fal is the only one who can ‘wake’ you?”
Riccio forks another meatball and holds it in front of his lips. “If I’d been held in a dungeon by a Faerie, I’d have had way more beef with the Fae than with the Shabbins.” He stuffs the meatball into his mouth and chews twice before swallowing it and spearing another.
Mattia snatches the platter before he can do away with all of them. As he spoons some onto his plate, then Syb’s, he asks, “Why keep the sigil fresh all these years? Wouldn’t it have been more pleasant to face her people than to be stuck in Faerie jail?”
“The wards she created with Costa Regio are the only thing keeping Shabbins from coming after her and ending her life.” Imogen’s nails lengthen to iron talons that clink against the armored breastplate of her fighting fatigues as she clutches her thick braid and tosses it over her shoulder.
“Meriam will not rest until she finds a way to undo us.” Lore’s voice crackles through the tense air.
“Us?” Syb asks.
“The Crows.” Lorcan stops toying with his knife and leans back into his chair.
“But you cannot be killed, onlyimmobilized, right?” Syb seizes the jug of wine and fills her cup, then Mattia’s, then leans past him to fill mine.
She probably thinks a buzz will help me digest the news that my grandmother’s alive and surely hunting both me and Lore.
I reach for the glass, but Lorcan snatches it from me, then takes a sip.
You could’ve asked and I’d have poured you wine, Your Highness. You needn’t steal my cup.
I’ve no desire to drink or eat Faerie food.
