I jerk my attention to the seam in the ocean floor. “You heard wrong.” My heartbeats are so strong that each feels like a punch to the ribs. “Meriam portaled her someplace.”
“Someplace in Luce?”
“My father has yet to find her.”
Unless he’s made progress on his quest?
I glance toward Imogen for an answer, but her full attention is on the solid gold pontoon shimmering like the rest of the royal isle.
Imagining Lorcan is nearby—in some form or another—or at the very least, eavesdropping as he does on the regular, I ask for an update. When he does not give me one, I surmise he’s either not listening—for once—or doesn’t know.
As the boat slows, Gabriele asks, “Don’t the wards magnetize Shabbin blood?”
“They do.” The surface of Mareluce is so placid that it looks as though a god has taken a hot iron to it.
“Then she must be in Shabbe.”
“She isn’t.” I turn to stare at the stately male. “Lorcan believes Meriam may have bound her magic.”
“Like she bound yours?”
“Meriam didn’t bind mine. My mother did.” Or another Shabbin witch. Unless itwasMeriam?
Lore never did say who stripped my blood of its magic. Granted, I never asked.
Who bound my powers, Lore?
I wait for him to answer.
And wait.
When we dock, the Sky King still has not answered me. I surmise that he must be out of range or busy. Perhaps he’s in Glace, wooing his princess and her father. After all, he’s not only marrying a woman; he’s also marrying her kingdom.
To think that she will become Queen of Luce . . .
Well, of a significant part of the land.
To think she will hold the title I once believed was meant to be mine.
“So, tell me, why am I being summoned, Gabriele?”
“For a diplomatic lunch.” Dante’s voice reels my gaze toward where he stands on the pontoon, shimmering like a Fae idol in his golden tunic and sunray crown.
Here I’d believed he’d elect a more sober outfit than his brother’s. “Good morning, Maezza.”
“Morning has come and gone, Fallon. Just like your grandmother.” He’s replaced the gold studs lining his peaked ears with graduated black diamonds . . . or are they chiseled obsidian?
“So I hear.”
He neither edges closer nor does he proffer his hand. Then again, why am I expecting Dante to offer me a hand? He’s king now, and kings offer nothing to no one.
I can just imagine Lorcan grumbling that my judgement is harsh, but the Sky King does not complain. He does not speak a word, which reminds me of the night in Tarespagia when his voice disappeared from my mind for excruciatingly long minutes. Terror that something had happened to him had seized me then. Anxiety seizes me now.
What if I’m here because Dante has staked his enemy and is looking to do away with me next? I should’ve listened to my friends and stayed tucked away in Monteluce.
What am I going on about? If Lore had been immobilized, his people would be as well, and none have turned into statues.
Still, I try to sense his heartbeats but I do not know how to tune into his pulse.I’m about to ask Imogen, whose body steams as though she were about to burst into her bird form, before remembering what asking would reveal. Unless all Crows can sense their king’s heartbeats? I decide to assume he’s all right since no bird-shaped stone is plummeting from the sky.
