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It felt like centuries ago when a featherless crow fell from the sky and landed broken and twitching at River’s feet. Cloud—or Cielo, as he was called back then—had been missing from Elphyne for decades. They’d all thought he was dead.
River should have known someone who breathed through sheer willpower alone would survive decades of torture in Crystal City… from a human who said she loved him. River had scooped up the tiny, trembling body covered in scars. He refused to shift—or couldn’t. So River did the only thing he could. He nursed the broken crow back to health, caring for him until his feathers grew thicker and more robust. He kept the secret about the love who’d betrayed him. He talked to Cloud as though nothing had changed. Eventually, Cloud learned to shift again. He learned to speak.
But Cloud never once called a Vendetta. He never once asked his friends and family to take arms against the enemy to repay the cruelty he’d suffered.
“Tell me,” River had begged. “Tell me who did this. We’ll call every crow we know—Nikan, Carmine, and Tommas. Your father. My family. We’ll call them all and rain murder from the sky. On them and their descendants. Just say the words, and we’ll paint your enemy’s blood on our faces.”
“No,” Cloud had croaked, his voice raw from misuse, his fists flexing at his side. “Her death belongs to me.”
“Cloud,” River said, trying to smooth the tremble in his voice. “What happened?”
Crows had long memories. They never forgot the faces of their enemies. And when one of their own painted a V of blood on their face, every crow knew it was a cry for help—a vow to inflict pain on their enemies tenfold until no more blood was left to spill. Only then was the Vendetta satisfied, and the crow community could return to their lives… if anything was left.
For this reason, Vendettas were rarely called. Too often, more lives were lost than saved.
But something was missing in Cloud’s stark blue eyes as they met River’s gaze.
“They killed her,” he intoned, eyes glazed.
“Killed who?”
“Aurora.”
“But… I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“She wasmineto kill.” Cloud beat his blood-stained heart with his fist. “Mineto reckon with, and they ruined that for me. They stole—” His voice cracked with emotion. Agony flashed across his face as he sucked in a breath. It was as though the very air cut his lungs like razor blades. “They distracted me.”
Pain meant feeling. Pain meant being alive. So long as Cloud felt something, there was hope. But then his eyes dulled. His expression deadpanned. He beat his wings, and it sounded like a war drum in River’s ears. Faster, and faster, Cloud beat them, gathering momentum and filling himself with raw power until energy crackled along every surface of his body, oil-slick tattoos igniting with fireworks. Lighting consumed his eyes, making them glow white.
River’s instincts told him to run, but he stood his ground. If the object of Cloud’s obsession was dead, then this wasn’t going to end well. The storm above their heads grew, gray clouds rolling and blooming out to cover the lake. The sun disappeared altogether.
“Tell me who the Vendetta is against, and I’ll join you,” he shouted. “You’re not alone!”
Lightning gathered in Cloud’s hands. It was as though every atom, every spark, every breath in the world rushed to his bidding. Then he unleashed it at River’s feet, splitting the airship in half.
ChapterFifty-Five
Nova stood guard before the two women relinquishing everything that made them fae. She gripped her borrowed bone sword, one eye on the battlefield and one on the dying creature who once had tentacles. He appeared more human now, but misshapen and twisted, still whimpering and clawing at the ground to get to his maker, leaving tracks in the sand with his useless legs. But Maebh and Alexandra were locked together, on their knees, oblivious to his pleas as they committed to their promise. White strands in the queen’s hair multiplied with each passing second.
A screech overhead drew Nova’s gaze. She feared the dragon had returned, but nothing blocked her view of the sky. Whatever it was had left already, but her pulse wouldn’t return to normal. Far beyond the battle, lightning flashed in a distant storm. God, she hoped it didn’t come here. A battle was frightful enough during the night, but to add rain and storm clouds now, she wasn’t sure her courage would last.
Leaf’s confidence and position filtered through their bond. She knew exactly where he was and how he was doing. A small smile tilted her lips when she realized he was probably thinking the same thing. He’d be here in an instant if she freaked out too much.
Another screech. Her gaze darted to and fro, looking wherever the loudest sound came from. Most of the fighting was now closer to the center of the field. A cry. A scream. A gurgle. A snarl. She lifted her sword each time something breached the cluster closest to her on the battlefield. But a soldier always pulled the danger back into the fray. The more the Well rebalanced, the faster the tide of the battle turned. Unseelie soldiers loyal to Maebh continued to fight nearby but no longer fought against the Seelie. The fae pooled resources to eradicate the horde, regardless of which side of the war they were on.
After a time, the manabeeze slowed in their glittering ascent. Nova’s sword dropped to her side, and she grinned, realizing what that meant.
“You did it!” Nova exclaimed to the women. But when she turned, neither responded. They drooped against each other, hunching. Heart pounding, Nova ran to them. “Hey! Hey, you did it. Look.”
She fell to her knees and placed a palm on each woman’s back, fearing the worst. But their ribcages expanded. They breathed. They wheezed. Maebh’s hair was completely white, now matching the Prime’s. Age spots covered their hands. Skin sagged. Lips sank into gummy mouths. It was almost as if two thousand years had caught up with them. Slowly, Maebh lifted her heavy-lidded gaze to Nova. She tried to speak, but nothing came out.
“You did it.” Nova smiled, hoping it kept the alarm from her eyes.
Maebh whispered something. It sounded like a hiss. Panic gripped Nova’s throat when she couldn’t make out the words. They seemed important, urgent.
“I can’t understand you,” she said, holding back tears.
More ineligible whispers. Aleksandra squeezed Nova’s hand and rasped, “Tell our daughter. What we did.”
