My body lists back from the force of Dante’s revelation. I fling out my arm, clasping the nearest bar to keep myself upright. “That’s impossible.”
My father felt her, didn’t he? Cauldron . . . I can’t remember.
“Did you believe Shabbins to be invincible, Fal? All creatures can perish, though some are trickier to kill than others.”
“No. But—but . . .” A shudder rolls up my spine, spreading until all of me trembles. But I also believed my mother to be alive.
As I try to make sense of all that Dante’s lobbed at me, he steps into the tunnel. “Let’s go. I don’t want to risk waiting another moon cycle for you to come into your power.”
Even if I wanted to follow, I cannot, for I’m frozen in shock.
My mother is dead. My heart cracks for my father. Oh, Dádhi.
Lore said mates don’t do well without each other. Will Cathal Báeinach choose to go on with his life, or will he choose to become a forever-Crow? I selfishly pray he chooses life, because I yearn for him to be part of mine. I’m suddenly glad for the obsidian walls because they’ll keep this horrific secret from entering Lorcan’s mind a while longer.
Cato steps into my cage. “Fallon?” He doesn’t tack on anything else. Doesn’t ask if I’m all right or if I desire help, but there’s a hard glimmer to his gray eyes that makes me think he might care. It’s probably my imagination. Even if the sergeant’s heart isn’t as sharp as his ears, he still chose the Regios.
He’s not your friend, I remind myself before I can latch onto yet another male undeserving of my trust.
“You don’t want your magic? Fine.” Dante does not sound fine about it. “We’ll just stay holed up underground for another month. Here I thought you’d be glad not to sleep in a cage.”
My eyes sting. I blink, but it does nothing to whisk away the moisture slickening them. “Gods, you’ve just told me that my mother is dead. Give a girl a minute, you unsympathetic codpiece.”
“What did you just call me?” His voice is low yet reaches me just fine.
I don’t bother repeating what I said, not because I worry about retribution, but because I’m certain he heard me just fine. After all, heisa pureling.
“I’ll let your slight slide. I’ll even help you retrieve her body from Filiaserpens”—Dante makes a vague gesture with his wounded hand, as though motioning toward the trench that runs from Isolacuori to Tarecuori—“and allow you to give her a proper burial if you follow me now.”
The memory of Gabriele’s speculation the day he escorted me to Isolacuori for my luncheon with Dante hits me square in the heart. He’d mentioned my mother laid in Filiaserpens. To think it was no theory.
I fasten my heated eyes to Dante’s form. “How magnanimous of you, Maezza.”
Although steeped in shadows, I don’t miss the tick of his jaw.
“Fallon,” Cato says softly, and I think he’s about to chastise me, but I’m wrong. He crooks his elbow and tips his head to his proffered arm.
I’m done leaning on men. Perhaps I’m being rash to discard Cato. He truly might possess an excellent reason for aiding the Regio cause, but I currently don’t have the mental wherewithal to figure out where his allegiance lies. Especially not when we’re surrounded by so many soldiers.
I shuffle past him and then past the rest of the prison guards. “There’s something I don’t understand.”
The Faerie King watches me approach, his expression inscrutable. “And what is that?”
“Why in the world do you deem freeing my magic a sound idea? You must realize that, the second it’s unbound, I will paint a death spell over your heart.”
A haughty smile coils his lips.
I cross my arms. “It’s not an empty threat, Dante.”
His gaudy boots jangle as he takes a step in my direction. I wonder how sharp his metal spurs are. Sharp enough to slice through skin? Granted they aren’t made of iron, but surely if wedged inside his throat, they’d cause some damage.
“I’ve no doubt that’ll be the first sigil you’ll ask Meriam to teach you, but you see, Fallon, my grandfather was not only a formidable king but also a prescient man.”
“All Costa Regio was is scum. Just like the rest of his bloodline.”
Dante presses his palm to his gold plastron, over the spot where a heart should’ve beat. “You wound me, Fal.”
“Stop using my nickname.”
