31. Isla
31
ISLA
“ I ’ll be right back,” Konstantin calls over his shoulder before leaving with an agitated Ilya.
Although tempted to learn what has made Ilya so jumpy, I leave the brothers to chat in private, don my leathers, then melt into shadows and streak out of my skylight. As I fly toward Lachlano’s room, the patrolling soldiers peer up at me. They don’t reach for their weapons or flip crackling palms toward the heavens—they must’ve been reminded that Crows aren’t the enemy.
Once I reach his side of the castle, I peer through the convex glass to find his bed made and his lights off.
Lach? I call through the pack link, springing off the castle roof and taking to the sky.
Yes?
Where are you?
Um…just strolling around.
Where around?
Over, um, trees.
Which trees?
Why?
Why are you acting so freaking shifty?
Because he didn’t want to involve you in our manhunt, Aodhan says.
What manhunt?
Well, womanhunt, to be gender specific, Aodhan adds. We’re following a lead about Mestyla.
Where are you? I peer around me, my gaze clocking the Lodge which, from my vantage point, resembles my eight-sided diamond.
Konstantin’s, not mine.
Unless he turns out to be my mate, but wouldn’t I already know it? The contemplation tweaks my heart.
We’re flying over the forest that separates the capital from Voshna, Imogen says.
I press all thoughts of mating bonds aside and refocus. So, everyone’s involved except me?
You were busy, Lachlano adds, his tone no longer irresolute.
Doing what? Imogen asks.
It isn’t a what, but a who , Zia. The grin in Lachlano’s voice makes me roll my talons until they click.
Two laughs roll through the bond—both masculine.
Imogen doesn’t laugh. Even though she isn’t the most demonstrative Crow in the nest—not demonstrative in the least, actually—her worry echoes down the bond, layering itself over my own worry.
I may still be unworldly about many things but not of the intensity of mating bonds. I know that the day I get one, I will never look or think of another man, no matter how much I might’ve loved him.
The glint of sliding glass has my mind clearing and my body dipping. I beat my wings until I’m level with the Lodge and peer within. No fire blazes in the glass pillars, which plunges the lofty space in full shadow.
Did I imagine the window moving?
I circle the Lodge slowly, hunting the obscurity for movement. And then I peer at the snow-lined terrace for depressions in the snow. I find many. Some old; some a little fresher. I even find hoofprints.
A brisk thrill hits my bloodstream. Could those have been left behind by those elusive, flying reindeer? I rise higher and squint at the land, but no animal stirs.
I see something! Lachlano cries out.
I swerve at his sudden shout and head toward the forest. What?
I spot my fellow Crows immediately and soar in their direction.
What does he see? I ask the others, since Lachlano has shifted and can no longer hear me.
He seems to have exhumed a discarded liquor bottle, Imogen says.
A curl of smoke pierces through the tree line, expanding into the shape of a Crow. It’s a bust.
Unless Mestyla hydrates herself on vodka and has left us a trail of bottles, Aodhan drawls.
Did you find anything else, Lach? I ask. Footprints? Burnt kindling? A cloaked figure?
If I’d spotted a cloaked figure, do you really think it wouldn’t be wedged between my talons right now?
I glance from the sapphire sound, to the patch of woods over which the three others cycle, to the congested thoroughfare below.
Would she have walked a straight path? I ask, as annoyed voices and whinnies erupt from the thruway, where an air-Faerie-powered luge overtakes a bulky chariot drawn by two shaggy-coated horses.
A sailor spotted the wanderer, Aodhan says. So whoever it was must’ve been close to the sound.
If they realized they’d been spotted, Imogen pitches in, they would logically have moved inland, even if it added miles to their trek.
I slow and angle away from the road to scour the spill of pines below me. If only it weren’t so dense. When did this sailor spot the wanderer?
A few days ago, Aodhan says.
Where? I ask.
Near Voshna. At the western tip of Voshshur Beach.
So why are you all clustered so far from the capital? Even if they pursued their journey on foot, they’d be closer to where I am, no?
We had reports of a sighting yesterday around these parts, Aodhan explains.
Because of the ridiculous bounty, which Salom has already paid, Imogen murmurs. I suspect you will get news of many more sightings like this one.
Aodhan grumbles. We still need to take all of them seriously.
Realistically-speaking, if Mestyla had departed from Voshna for the capital the night of the fire, where would she be? I ask.
Barring a heavy snowstorm, the use of magic, and stopping to rest, he says, it takes two full days of hiking to reach the capital.
So if she’d taken off the very night of the fire, she’d already be in the capital, Lachlano muses.
I twirl back toward the castle and hover in midair, surveying the cobbled streets beyond the city ramparts. Could Mestyla be hiding right under our noses?
Good thing Vance has been adorning the streets with listening— Imogen’s voice cuts off so suddenly that I whirl back.
What is it, Immy? I ask, my feathers vibrating with heartbeats.
Vance. Ilya apparently needs a lift to West Sheva.
To West Sheva or from ? Aodhan asks.
To.
He’s back? the Glacin Crow asks.
Yes, I say. I saw him before joining you all. He seemed shaken.
When Aodhan increases his pace and overtakes Imogen, Ilya’s gaunt face scores my lids anew.
Instead of asking Aodhan what could’ve happened, I head back to the castle to find out for myself.