“The—rest?” My voice is thready and barely noisier than my ratcheting breaths.
He tilts his head to the side. “Did I fail to mention one of his five crows is presently a block of iron?”
Numb.
I go numb.
Blood rushes into my eardrums, heightening the sound of my distressed breathing.
Iron, my mind yells. If Lore transformed into iron, then he’s not a forever-Crow. “Did your soldier forget to baste his blade?” I croak.
Dante stares at me, his eyes twin pools of muck. “It wasn’t my soldier who drove his obsidian blade into the Crimson Crow. It was my commander.”
My body teeters. “Your—” I whip out one hand, flattening my palm against the cold stone wall. “Dargento survived?”
“Dargento?” Dante sounds genuinely surprised. “No. That male didn’t survive your wrath.”
“Then . . .” My heart misses a beat.
He cannot be saying what I think he’s saying.
He cannot mean—
Four
“Did you really believe Gabriele took refuge in the Sky Kingdom, Fal? That he’d double-cross me, his dearest friend? His king?”
My mouth goes so slack that I choke on my next inhale.
“Unlike you, my friends don’t betray me.” Dante ambles back toward me, his gait downright leisurely. “Such a good friend that Catriona was, huh?”
I can hardly focus on his condemnation of the poor courtesan who got caught in the crosshairs of Dargento’s vendetta, too busy reeling from the fact that I misread Gabriele. That I brought this upon Lore when I begged him to give the Faerie a chance.
Horror weakens my knees and I list. As the ground rushes to meet my bloodless face, I squeeze my lids shut. Instead of obsidian, air pillows my body, breaking my fall, and then hands wind around my biceps and gently pull me back upright.
When I crack my lids open, Cato stands before me, a slash of white against the darkness. Even his eyes appear uncharacteristically pale, reminding me of eyes I loathe, eyes that landed me here, in this Underworld with the Devil himself.
“Make sure my betrothed makes it to Meriam’s chamber unscathed. And before fucking daybreak!” Dante’s voice splinters the deep silence, yanking me out of my stupor.
Cato releases one of my arms but keeps ahold of the other. I want to shrug him off, but I’ve not the energy to fight him. Besides, if I’m held up by anyone, I prefer it to be him.
“How did he do it?” I ask Dante, seeking holes in his story. “There’s no way Gabriele could’ve smuggled in obsidian without the Crows noticing.”
“You overestimate your little vultures.” Dante’s voice is so near that I crane my neck. Slowly his brown skin and mahogany tresses replace Cato’s lighter coloring.
Instead of grating, his pettiness settles my nerves, because I’ve discovered that people are only petty when they’re insecure. “How?” I repeat.
“You really want to know?”
“No. I’m just asking to make small talk,” I deadpan.
His jaw sharpens. “He ingested the obsidian weapon and shat it out.”
I stare at Dante, waiting to spot a tell that he’s lying, but the man has schooled his expression into an unreadable mask.
“Gabriele will go down in history as a great hero.”
Not if the Crows win. And they will. Bronwen saw it.
