Justus blinks at the black-glass pitcher. “Only one way to tell.” He holds out his hand.
Erwin swings it out of his reach.
“For the last time, I don’t wish harm upon any of you.”
Erwin cocks a brow, then must decide he trusts Justus because he upends a little blood onto my grandfather’s palm. Justus swirls his finger inside, then turns to the crate and draws an arrow that faces down. The crate shrinks and shrinks before popping into sawdust.
It’s Meriam’s blood, all right.
“I found it in the box with the pellets.” Erwin’s mouth puckers as he realizes how close his fellow Crows came to true death.
Had the pellets penetrated their hearts instead of just their bodies . . . I shudder just thinking about it.
“Can you go wake Colm, ínon?”
I nod, staring between Meriam’s blood and Justus’s face.
My father crouches, ropes my calves, and lifts me like a Jack in the Box. As I press my palms against the deck to hoist myself the rest of the way, I tip my face toward the sun and inhale until the bright scent of the ocean replaces the dark reek of the ship.
Colm’s surgery is quicker than Fionn’s since he flipped over as he fell. In under a minute, I have him back in feathers and then in skin. Like Fionn, his eyes are haunted and reddened, until he sees the man he loves striding for him. With a hoarse croak, he wraps his slighter mate into a fierce hug.
My heart swells at the sight of so much affection, but then shrivels when I spot a sallow-faced Gabriele leaning against the ship’s mast while Aoife—fully visible again—binds his leg to a piece of wood with rope. I walk over to them and crouch, helping tie a snug knot.
“You lucky to have big ears, Moriati.”
Gabriele winces. “They didn’t help break my fall.”
She stares at him in bafflement, but then a laugh trips past her curved lips, kindling a smile onto Gabriele’s wan mouth and a soft chuckle from my lungs. Unfortunately, the sliver of joy that penetrated my breastbone dims fast because everyone’s back on deck, gearing up to turn tail and flock back to the continent of ice and snow.
I sit back on my heels and crane my neck, willing the sun to warm my chilled blood.
I think of Bronwen’s prediction, the one about Lore turning to iron, and his people, to obsidian. Either the Cauldron was wrong—like it was wrong about Gabriele—or this will not be the final showdown, for Lore cannot fall when two of his crows are safely tucked away in Luce.
Right?
Seventy-Five
As rapid-fire Crow is spoken around me, a hand grazes my arm. “Fallon,guhlaèr?”
I inhale a rattling breath. “Yes, Aoife. I’m okay.”
“Then why you cry?”
“Nerves. Exhaustion.” I shouldn’t complain considering she’s been flying back and forth.
She squeezes my forearm. “We here. You not alone.”
“Thank you, Aoife.” I close my hand over hers and squeeze her fingers. “I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.” My voice is as wooly as the turtleneck I wear beneath my armor.
Her black eyes reflect her smile. “Yes. Especially after you give me many heart stops.”
I smile at her expression.
“Transparent trick was cool. When we back in Luce”—she gestures in the direction of our kingdom, which is so far away, it’s not even a blip on the horizon—“you need make me air, so I can spook Immy.”
My smile widens as I imagine Aoife creeping up on her unflappable sister.
She holds out her palm. “Deal?”
