Page 165 of Lana Pecherczyk
“I thought I saw Tommas swimming to you.”
“He did. But if it weren’t for River and you, he’d have been eaten. Me too.” Her eyes watered, and she cleared her throat. “Anyway, these gifts are beautiful. I think you actually have a few valuable items here.”
Blake glanced at her marketplace treasures. The beaded silk caught the afternoon light, scattering tiny rainbows across her failed drawings. “At least we did something right yesterday.”
“Youdid.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Corvus will offer you a debt for saving his son’s life.”
“But not you?” Outrage flamed Blake’s cheeks.
Lark held up her palm. “Before you lecture me about the unfairness, let me tell you something else about crow economics. There is only one winner. River might be brave, but that’s expected from Guardians. You’re the one who will receive the glory.” Her hand dropped to the silk scarf, and she stroked it. “But I’m not angry. It’s well deserved. A win for you is still a win for the kettle.”
Shouting erupted outside, voices crescendoing with volleyed insults.
“ForCrimson’ssake,” Lark groaned, reaching for her walking stick. “The Cardonas have pitched their camp right beside ours.”
“That’s not normal?”
“Usually we’re relegated to the end of our murder’s territory, but this year the Cardonas have been ordered to camp here too. I think Cloud’s unsanctioned Vendetta is affecting their social standing.” She paused near the door, shoulders tensing before she met Blake’s eyes. “Sera and Ma are also arguing with Carlotta. I’ve never seen them all filled with so much … hatred.”
Pain bled from those dark eyes. Blake would be the worst person in the world if she ignored it, even feeling as shitty as she did. “You want me to come with?”
Hope filled Lark’s round eyes. “If you’re not too busy.”
“Babe, you saved me bacon at the market today. Of course I’ll come.”
Lark’s tentative smile felt like the beginning of something Blake was too afraid to name, but desperately wanted. Needed. She followed her new sister outside, blinking against the slanting afternoon sun spearing light through the trees. The Umbria roost buzzed with activity. Distant cousins erected colorful awnings farther down. Winged children darted between supply stacks. Sentinels perched in nearby trees, watching their territory while in crow form.
But the most beautiful sight was the dam in the distance, caught between two mountains. Water trickled down the ancient wall and uneven ledges, glittering like falling stars into random pools before spilling over. Fae splashed about playing or sat dangling their legs. Blake imagined family reunions, tales of adventure being passed on, and boasts around their latest scores. It looked far more inviting than the disturbance shaping up here.
As Lark mentioned, the Cardona kettle had begun establishing their camp next door in rigid, precise rows at the boundary line. Their black caravans created a stark, military presence against the Umbrias’ bohemian sprawl.
At the contested line, Talo faced off against Carlotta’s wingmate, Salvatore. The two couldn’t look more different. Talo wore his usual colorful garb, while his opponent sported a leather vest with bone studs. Salvatore had dark, slicked-back hair that emphasized his sharp, ageless features and thick beard. He seemed like the kind of man Blake avoided at the local pub in Perth, the kind with an unlawful firearm tucked into his Harley’s saddlebag.
“Your central post stands six inches over the boundary,” he growled and thrust a measuring cord against the dirt beside the stake. “Move it back.”
“Ah, but what’s six inches between old friends?” Talo hammered the stake in deeper.
“That’s what he tells all the ladies,” Ravi joked, emerging from Blake’s neighboring caravan with a tray of filled crystal goblets.
“We’ve used this exact configuration for centuries,” Carlotta said, walking up to stand behind her wingmate. Somehow she made a simple black pair of windways and wrap top look stunning.
Tommas sat above the Cardonas on a branch, legs dangling, wings drooping, gazing longingly at Lark.
Talo’s smile tightened. “You Cardonas might be new to this … distance from the Corvus, but the boundary markers remain precisely where my grandfather established them.”
“Precisely?” Salvatore snorted, his massive knuckles whitening around the cord. “Precisely a fucking joke.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s why your roost resembles a military encampment designed by a drunken pixie with a ruler fetish.”
“At least we maintain order,” Salvatore grumbled. “Not like this…” He gestured at the Umbria encampment. “Rainbow vomit.”
Something pinged near Ravi. She ducked as a pebble ricocheted off the caravan roof, feathers puffing. Scanning the opposing roost, she located the culprit and pointed. “Your son is throwing rocks at our caravan!”
Another Cardona—same dark unruly hair, handsome features, and menacing eyes as the rest of them—launched another pebble from his perch on a black caravan’s roof. Sera arrived with a tray of moonshine, saw the projectile, and swatted it away with a deft flick of her wing. Her grimace transformed into smug satisfaction when the stone ricocheted into a Cardona hanging lamp.
