“So what does your ideal world look like?”
“I do not—”
“Now, now. Don’t deflect.”
“My ideal world isn’t ruled by Faeries or by Crows.”
“What is it ruled by? Surely you don’t picture yourself in a crown. Or do you?”
“I believe it should be run by a group of learned people.”
“You’d be amongst them?”
“Yes.”
“Who else would you choose? The Amari sisters? That remaining cousin of yours? What’s his name again? Madden?”
“Mattia.”
Dante gives a slow bob of his head. “Would you pick Fallon?”
Antoni drops his eyes to the salt on the table, and although he whispers his answer, I don’t miss the hushed word: “No.”
Even though this questioning about a new regime is pointless, I cannot help but feel a little offended.
“Whyever not? Don’t you find her intelligent?”
Antoni’s jaw judders.
“Halfling, I’ve asked you a question.”
He still doesn’t answer.
Dante nods to Justus who pulls his sword from his scabbard and takes a step closer to Antoni.
Antoni finally growls, “My choice has nothing to do with her intellect.”
“What does it have to do with?”
“Her allegiance.”
“To Ríhbiadh, I presume.”
Antoni narrows his eyes on the glass. “Yes.”
“I know you want me dead, but what of the Crow King?”
My ribs cinch my lungs, cutting off my breaths, and a dull buzzing erupts against my eardrums.
“Do you want Lorcan Ríhbiadh gone, Greco?”
Antoni’s lips are so strained that it awakens his wounds and dribbles blood from their corners, accentuating the downturn arc of his mouth.
“Let me rephrase my question: Do you want Lorcan Ríhbiadh, the almighty ruler of the sky, dead?”
Antoni shuts his lids and delivers a confession that tightens the muscle in my chest. “Yes.”
“So our ambitions align. Now the question is, do you want him dead more than you wantmedead?”
