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The princess of Glace’s ship docked in the harbor a little over an hour ago. Your prince was on it. My eyes widen. “He came with her?” Why so surprised? Rumors abound Luce of their involvement.
Some have distended bellies; all have toothpick legs.
We’ll discuss the matter later, Fallon. Oh, you bet your feathery ass we will.
He may have come with some other woman, but I affect him.
“What did I promise?” “Not to get into any trouble.” “And you promised not to kiss another woman.” I wait for him to tell me he didn’t, but the words never come, and his silence is a punch to the heart.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but strays are homeless. Since I have a home, one I love terribly much, I’m afraid the term you’re looking for is visitor. Or guest. As for being dragged, I assure you, I came willingly.”
Insults may roll off our round ears, but they also trickle inside and round other parts of us. I will not be rounded.
Although I will never sit on your shoulder, once I’m whole, we can revisit teaching them some manners.
“In case you haven’t heard, I work at a tavern, so I’m quite adept at pouring wine into goblets and gullets. Or wherever it is our customers want their wine poured.” I let the innuendo hang.
“That’s enough, Fallon,” he repeats quietly.
“Fal, stop. You’re acting—you’re acting unlike yourself.” Except I’m not. I’m speaking my mind and heart. “I’m sorry you preferred the doormat version of me best.”
“Please.” I roll my eyes. “If I sank the royal fleet, Nonno, I’d make sure you were on board one of the boats.”
He is the first animal I dislike, and I picture him becoming Minimus’s snack.
I’m not defective. Great Cauldron, I’m not defective.
I’m not defective. My lids burn. My chest hurts from how chaotically my heart beats. I’m not defective. I want to cry I’m so relieved, but I also want to rage for having been tampered with.
“I’m not talking about you snubbing my help. I’m talking about your lies and your attitude. The girl I knew before going to Glace was sweet and soft.” As I scan the dome, I spot him making a vague gesture. “The girl I returned to is calculating and barbed.”
Your name is Crow. It means raindrop.
You can create storms? It’s my newest—what is it you called my abilities again? Party tricks?
“What does Beyockeen mean?” He repeats the word, breaking it up into two distinct sounds—beyock and een. “It means dumb bird. Why?”
Because I swallow pretty lies like Fae swallow wine.
You forget that you’re one of them, Fallon. One of my precious Crows.
And that is exactly what I am. A tool. A pawn. A thing to be used and discarded by these men.
Bronwen never mentioned I’d be Dante’s queen, only that Luce would be mine.
“Perhaps not, but the more you look at me like I’m a monster, Dante, the more you make me feel like one.”
“I roused him for you, you pointy-eared dimwit. I roused him so you could sit on a throne, so stop questioning my allegiance!”
Tell the princeling to fucking concentrate on the road instead of on your body, Fallon.
That you, Little Bird, belong to the sky. The crow emerges fully from the rocking surf, dark and huge, larger than I’ve ever seen it, a monster of down and iron. And that the sky . . . it belongs to me.
No one owns the sky, the same way no one owns the sea, the same way no one owns me.
Mamma didn’t suffer because she lost the love of her life or the peaks of her ears. She suffered because someone stole her child and gave her . . . me.
The gold ringing his pupils seems to churn. “You and I are just beginning, Fallon Báeinach.”
