“My father must be champing at the bit to head to Shabbe with Daya.”
“He is. Just as I’m champing at the bit to hear your answer to my question.” He nods to the ring.
I grin, because I thought my answer was self-evident. We’re mates, after all. Not to mention that we will someday have a daughter, and though families—if I’ve learned anything from the patchwork of individuals that make up my own—aren’t always conventionally constructed, I absolutely want to marry this wonderful man.
When he doesn’t glide the ring onto my finger, apparently waiting for my consent, I say,Yes, yes, andyes.In case he missed my first three yeses, I shout an extra one into the golden air for all to hear.
With a quiet smile, he slides it over my knuckles. “Shall we go gather the family and share the happy news?”
The stone is so long and wide, it cloaks half my finger in its dazzling pink splendor.
“Yes, but first . . .” I reach between his legs and wrap my hand around his girth. As I slow-pump him, I watch my new ring sparkle as though filled with a million little fires.
“It looks so good”—a husky breath escapes from my mate’s tipped mouth—“wrapped around me.”
I laugh as he bends over and nips the sound of my bliss from my lips and makes it his.
Ninety
I’m uncertain how many Crows arrived today, but the Sky Kingdom population has, at the very least, increased tenfold. Though the crowd is considerable, the noise level is not, for the new arrivals cannot speak.
“In day or two,” Aoife explains to Sybille and Phoebus, “they will find voice again. And then you will need plugs for ears because Crows screech a lot.”
I smile as I take in the shifters that eddy around my mate like planets around the sun.
Aoife nudges my arm. “You really understandeverythingI say?”
“Yes. Everything.” I know she’s veered to Crow because her diction is perfect again. “You can have no more secrets from me.”
She grins, and it presses a dimple into her cheek. “I’m going to miss our lessons.”
“I’ve still got lots to learn, Aoife. For example, flying. I’m terrible at that.” I stroke the beveled edges of my diamond, disbelieving that something so precious could belong to me and me alone. “Do you think you could teach me now that the war is over?”
Her dark eyes sparkle. “It will be my honor, Fallon.”
Phoebus and Sybille, who are seated across from us, stare like spectators at the theater, their eyes huge with wonder.
“I still cannot believe you speak fluent Crow.” Phoebus reclines and drapes his arm over the back of Syb’s seat.
“It’s totally insane,” she agrees, slurping down a forkful of crustacean linguini, just as the chair next to hers groans from Mattia dropping into it.
“What a day. What. A. Day.” The whites of his eyes are pinker than my grandmother’s irises. “Gods, I need a drink. Or ten.” He inhales a deep breath, wrinkling his nose at the smell that lifts off his black shirt as he reaches for the jug in the middle of the table. “Sorry. I should’ve changed after—”
I sniff the air, catching a trace of smoke.
“After?” Pheebs prompts.
Mattia lowers his eyes to his lap. “After we burned the bodies.”
My heart jounces. Lore mentioned Crows buried their dead in the sky, but I didn’t—I didn’t realize he meant— “They incinerated Bronwen?”
“And Gabriele,” Aoife murmurs. “He lived like Crow. Fought like Crow. Only right he go to next world like Crow.” Her lips barely move over her murmur. “He was so kind man. I not believe—” She squeezes the bridge of her nose. “I not believe he gone. I not believe Bronwen be right. I not believeshegone.”
Sybille snares her bottom lip and presses away the mound of pasta dotted with clams and baby shrimps, appetite, like my aunt and friend, gone.
“Was Cian there when they . . .? When they . . .?” A hiccup of grief jostles the expanding lump in my throat, making it impossible to finish my sentence.
Mattia nods. “He was so stoic. Didn’t make a sound.”
