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Started reading
January 6, 2025
He unsheathes his sword and lifts it. The serpent latches on to my middle and drags me backward, to the heart of the canal, then lifts its head and hisses at Cato.
Tentatively, I try to squirm away, but the creature’s head swivels. I freeze. Although it doesn’t hiss at me, its tongue darts out and swipes the underside of my jaw. Did it just—did it just . . . lick me?
it does it again, its velvet tongue lashing up my throat to the underside of my jaw. When my palm connects with its scales, the creature stills, stares at me, then laps the broken flesh of my knuckles. My
The creature pushes its stubby horn against my palm as it continues to lavish my skin.
I think the serpent is healing me.
I let my fingers drift down its retracted dorsal fins. The animal’s eyes drift closed, and its long body rattles, the vibrations breaching my skin and rattling me in turn.
Nonna claims shadows will keep me safe, and perhaps she’s right, but they also keep me invisible, and I want Dante to see me.
“Free the five iron crows, and you will be queen.”
“I’m aware the Regio male you love is another.”
Why would anyone trap a statue? Several, at that? Because they’re made of iron? And why in the world would a blacksmith model them after the pet birds of the mountain tribe that attacked us two decades ago?
“Did someone die in this vault?” Or does something live in it?
“Gold. Acolti.” My head spins so madly I half expect it to unscrew itself from the rest of my body. I don’t realize I’ve repeated Mamma’s mutterings out loud until Phoebus clucks his tongue.
Bronwen watches. Find the five iron crows.
Mamma sent me to Phoebus not for a coin but for a crow. She knew! How? Did Bronwen whisper it into her ear? Impossible. Bronwen confessed to knowing the location of just one.
“These birds were trained to kill and had a taste for Fae hearts.” I press my palm against my agitated insides. “Why would anyone create an effigy of this bird?”
“Obsidian. It’s toxic to humans.” “Except, I’m not human.” “You’re half-human, so paws off.”
“I’m immune.” I keep my voice low, yet it feels like I’ve hollered it across the Lucin rooftops. “What?” The sword tip clanks into the stone. “I’m immune to iron.”
“How does a statue and its duplicates get a prince onto the throne?”
I freeze as a shallow vibration nips my skin.
Was that a pulse? Impossible.
my pulse goes wild when I spot a small depression. I dart my finger against it, then spring backward, expecting the statue to detonate.
I, Fallon Rossi, have just groped a statue’s crotch. This is a new low, even for me. Thank every Fae god that Phoebus wasn’t around to witness my fondling.
I’m about to turn the crow back over when the large holes in its wings shrink before vanishing entirely.
When I lower my fists, not only are the hollows gone, but the iron body has also filled with color.
The crow plants its claws into my bed to right itself, then pivots its head and sets its cold gold eyes on me. Oh . . . My . . . Gods . . .
What have I released? What have I done?
Not only have I robbed a Tarecuorin household, but I’ve stolen a mythical, murderous creature.
