Huffing, I whirl and walk toward where Lastra simpers, entirely convinced by Justus’s act. As I sidestep him, I cannot help but flip him off and call him a puckered sore.
Under his breath, he hisses, “Careful, strega . . .”
“Or what?” I hiss as I reach my loathed cage. “You’ll slap me?”
His eyes become as hard as jade. “Someone should.”
“What was that, Lastra?” Justus’s voice booms over the acres of bottles.
“Nothing, Generali.”
I flash the cowed soldier a glacial smile and add, “My mate will have such fun with you.”
“Your mate is down three birds.” Lastra’s green eyes flicker like the flames burning in the sconces. “Two more to go, and Luce will be Crow-free.Forever.”
I look toward Justus so quickly that my neck cracks. “Is that true?”
Justus’s eye twitches. “Lorcan Ríhbiadh cannot help looking for you himself. You’re proving the finest lure we could’ve dreamed of. Now shut your door.”
I’m so busy scouring his expression for the truth that I cannot get my hands to curl around the bars.
A gush of water shoots out of Justus’s palm and slaps my cage door closed, leaving me blinking waterlogged lashes at his retreating figure. I scrub the droplets away, yelling out his name, but he doesn’t return.
He leaves me to stew in my little cage for so long that I think I will go mad. Perhaps riling me up is part of the plan. After all, when Cato arrives hours later to replace the Faerie twerp Justus left me alone with, I’m foaming at the mouth to sink a blade not only into Lastra’s neck but also into Dante’s.
Luce will never be his.
Never.
I will myself to flock to the Sky Kingdom through the only conduit I have—Bronwen’s eyes—but however hard I try, I stay locked inside my body that is festering with rage and aching from lack of food.
I’m past mad; I’mferal, made even more so by the fact that my blood magic doesn’t work on the cursed bars of my cage. I reassure myself that for twenty-two years, I lived without any powers and I made it out alive. No reason my streak will change. Especially now that I’m immortal.
As long as my mother and grandmother don’t get themselves killed, I should be fine.
A low roll of thunder cleaves through my darkening thoughts. I jerk as lightning forks across my vision.
“You should’ve carried him through the Shabbin wards when we still had the chance, Cian. He’s going to end up dooming us all.”
Oh my Gods,Bronwen? I want to scream her name and ask her for news of Lore, but I’d only garner my guards’ attention.
My uncle blocks out the sight of Lore’s storm, his face pale beneath his black makeup. “If I’d lost you,ah’khar, do you really believe I would’ve stayed tucked between these walls?”
“I understand his—” She must finally sense me because she sucks in a breath, and then she murmurs, “Hurry, Fallon. Hurry.”
There’s such anguish in her tone that my heart trips over itself, forgetting to beat, and I swoon not only out of the vision but also against my cage wall, creating such a ruckus that the sprites and Faeries in the cellar all gawp at me.
Palms clammy, I try to heave myself back upright, but my fingers slip, and I slump against my mattress.
“Sugar. Need sugar,” I croak.
I don’t. Well, in truth, I probably do, but what I need more than anything is to return to Bronwen.
I run what she said on a loop through my mind, dissecting each word.He’s going to end up dooming us all.
Going to. . . Which means, he hasn’t.
He may have lost some crows to his obsidian curse but not a single one fell to Shabbin blood.
