You know how strongly I feel about challenges, Little Bird.
I smile into our mind link because, yes, I certainly do know.I believe the day I told him he had no chance at winning me over kindled his fervor to prove me wrong. And, Great Cauldron, how he’d succeeded.
Suddenly, he thunders,Land, my Crows.
I retract my wings so suddenly that my body pitches forward.Shit, shit, shit.
With a chuckle, he swoops beneath me and straightens me out with his giant wings.My love, try not to landinsidethe Cauldron.
It would certainly make for a memorable entrance.
Lore laughs.That, it would. But I fear the Cauldron may keep you and I’m unwilling to share you, my love.Lore’s tone is so light it springs through my mind like the reflection of the sun on the mirror-smooth pool below.Perhaps avoid calling it a pool untilafterit breaks my curse.
I suck in a breath and whisper,It can hear our conversation?
Yes.
Even if I whisper?
Lore laughs.Yes, Little Bird, even if you whisper.
Though I cannot bite my lip in this form, the second I land, I chew on it, almost biting through the skin when I notice that we are ringed by people. Women in liquid gowns and men in elegant linen suits stand in the trellised shade of the castle’s circular patio.
I whirl on myself, and the dress Phoebus insisted I wear—after promising it wasn’t fashioned from actual bird feathers, but from velvet and satin replicas—puffs around my legs like one of Lore’s storm clouds.
Great Mórrígan, mate . . .
What? Have I done something wrong? Oh my Gods, did the Cauldron reseal because I called it a—I drop my voice and murmur—pool?—before remembering whispering is useless.
I tear my gaze away from the jewel-eyed Shabbins to stare over my shoulder at the molten surface of the source of all magic. When no iron lid slams into place, my ribs relax around my heart.
Although . . . although perhaps the Cauldron doesn’t seal with an actual lid like other soup pots.
I slap both my palms over my mouth.Oh, Great and Mighty Cauldron, forgive me for likening you to a pool and a soup pot. You are so much greater than both.
A single bubble pops at the surface. Its version of a snort? I want to ask Lore but when I turn his way, he seems lost in the acreage of black feathers that glisten a deep sapphire like his hair.
I smooth my palms down the bustier top.Too much?
You look . . . You look . . .
Well-feathered?
His hypnotic laughter eddies through the jasmine-scented air.
Like the human embodiment of a crow?I supply since he’s yet to finish his earlier sentence.
Like aqueen, Little Bird.He steals my hands off my waist and carries them to his mouth for a tender kiss.Myqueen.
Epilogue
LORE
My mate’s violet eyes haven’t shut once since we soared over the ramparts of Shabbe. Nor have they stopped glittering.
Though it’s been centuries since I’ve flown over Priya’s superb queendom, I barely glanced at it as we flew, much preferring watching its splendor spool over my mate’s eyes and unspool inside her vociferous mind.
“Welcome back, Lorcan Ríhbiadh.” Priya’s voice pares the stillness that envelops the Vale. “It has been far too long since your last visit.”
