Crow (Faeries of Oz Book 2) Read online

  If Crow knew one thing about Reva’s current feelings, it was that she seemed to loathe him with every fiber of her being. He couldn’t blame her—and yet he did blame her. Crow settled his elbows on his knees and hung his head. Locasta had cursed her, taken away her daughter, but she had also cursed him. Taken his daughter. Reva had been completely aware of the risks when they’d gone into hiding together. Their entire relationship was spent with the threat of Locasta looming over them like a guillotine, its blade edging closer, but Reva had repeatedly assured him their love was worth the risk.

  Crow ground his teeth together and shoved up from the floor. He would simply have to earn Reva back. Make up for everything that had happened. Somehow. Beginning with a nice, hot breakfast. It was a different meal than he’d meant to give Reva that fated night, but the thought was the same. Perhaps they could begin anew. Their daughter was back, their curses broken…

  With fresh determination, Crow hurried down the stairs and through the foyer to the kitchen. Glinda’s magic continued to keep the palace running even after Langwidere had killed her, and the room was full of baked goods. Stacks of buttery croissants, sticky buns, steaming muffins, and a variety of fruit-filled turnovers with syrupy filling covered the rose-gold marble countertops.

  And, leaning over the various delicacies, loomed a shirtless Tin, his silver hair pulled back in a messy bun.

  “Morning, Father,” Tin said stoically without looking up from the turnovers.

  Crow winced. Dorothy was far too good for someone like Tin—once a ruthless assassin with a stone heart. The Gnome King’s curse was broken, but something told Crow that Tin was broken too. It was going to take a lot to get over the fact that Tin had brought Dorothy back specifically to hand her over to Lion and Langwidere. It would be a lie to say Lion’s path hadn’t come as a surprise, that he would willingly kill the female who’d once helped him—saved him.

  Crow would try to forgive Tin for Dorothy’s sake, but if the bastard ever hurt his daughter, Crow would kill him without an ounce of guilt.

  “Don’t be a jackass,” Crow grumbled. “Also, put on a shirt.”

  Tin smirked, the iron scar on his cheek pulling his skin with the movement. “You look like hell. Did you get any sleep?”

  “Did you?” Crow threw back at him, then paused at the thought of why he wouldn’t have slept. “No. Don’t answer that.”

  Tin snorted and lifted a full plate of pastries. “Thelia already ate, so the rest is all yours. I’d hurry before they disappear.”

  Crow’s stomach growled at the reminder of last night’s dinner. After he’d dragged himself inside from burying heads, he’d just sat down to a plate of gravy-smothered chops when every piece of food had vanished. Magic kitchens weren’t all they were cracked up to be. “Who is Thelia?”

  “Your daughter,” Tin replied as if it were completely obvious. “You talked last night, didn’t you? She remembered her true name.”

  They had talked, but it was mostly about the task Reva had given Dorothy—no. Thelia. The name fit her so well, so perfectly, that he should’ve known who Tin was talking about the moment he’d said it. Thelia, Thelia, Thelia. The name echoed through his mind, dragging a knowing feeling from the depths of his memory. He’d almost thought it on the night of her birth, but then Locasta… He had begun to think Dorothy’s true name was lost forever due to his curse. Thelia. He smiled to himself.

  “Guess she didn’t tell you,” Tin muttered at his silence. “It was a long night, with a lot of life-changing shit, so don’t go getting angry with her.”

  “I’m not.” Her name was incredibly important, but not as pressing as other things. He moved around the kitchen counter. “I’m going to cook up some eggs and sausages.” Assuming there were any, but Lion had lived in the palace only days ago. Given his vulgar hobby of chopping off heads, he struck Crow as a meat eater. Reva certainly was. It was something they bickered about at least once a week when they were together. She always wanted hot, filling breakfasts while he wanted something light, like a bowl of fruit or oats, and she refused to allow Whispa to make more than one meal—even if it was simply tossing some fruit into a bowl. Unfortunately for him, Reva was an early riser so she nearly always won. Crow grinned, remembering her victorious, smug smile when he would finally stumble down from the bedroom. It was a smile that left him eating whatever Whispa made instead of preparing his own meal. “Reva prefers heartier breakfasts.”

  Tin tensed. “You’re making Reva breakfast?”

  “Of course.” He picked a large skillet off a hook on the wall.

  “Umm. Happy cooking.” Tin eased away from the pastries with his lips pulled back in a grimace. Then he spun on his heels and bolted from the room.

  “Tin!” Crow yelled, but the other male was gone. Something about it was suspicious, but Tin was nearly impossible to figure out, so he turned back to the task at hand. Pulling his hair away from his face, Crow studied the two dozen cupboards. “If I were a mixing bowl, where would I be?” he mumbled to himself.

  “Crow?” Thelia asked from the kitchen doorway.

  A smile instantly spread across his face. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” She hurried to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Tin passed me in the hall and said you were up.”

  Crow nodded and motioned around the kitchen. “I want to make Reva breakfast. She and I need to talk a few things out.”

  Thelia stood silently beside him, eyes fixed on the floor, wringing her hands.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “You’re safe now.”

  “That’s not it,” she said with a halfhearted smile.

  “Is it about us leaving then? You seemed upset when you explained your mother’s plan to travel. As much as I would love to spend time with you—and I know Reva does too—we need to fix Oz.”

  “I know.”

  “Trust me, your mother is extremely powerful, and I’ll protect her with my life.” Like he hadn’t last time.

  “Crow, stop talking,” Thelia snapped, then sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be harsh. It’s just…” She exhaled, her eyes blinking one too many times.

  Crow patted her shoulder. His daughter’s entire existence was new to her, and he didn’t want her to worry about hurting his feelings. “We’ve all been through a lot.”

  “She’s gone,” Thelia whispered.

  His hand fell from her shoulder. That couldn’t be right, could it? His stomach sank. “What do you mean?”

  Thelia rubbed a hand over her mouth as if she regretted opening it. “I promised not to tell you, but the thought of Reva out there alone, crossing through the Emerald City to reach Locasta in the North, terrifies me. She and Ozma left together, but will be separating to go fight their own battles while I stay here as she requested. I can’t lose her before I’ve had a chance to get to know her, especially after I somehow banished her to darkness when she was the Wicked Witch.”

  Reva left? How? When? He’d slept outside her door all night, specifically so she couldn’t leave without him. It didn’t matter if she wanted him to travel with her and Ozma. There was no way he was going to let Reva go to the North alone to face Locasta, especially when everything that had gone wrong in the past was because of him. If he had simply escaped the Northern palace and gone into hiding on his own… If he hadn’t gone to Reva for help in destroying Locasta. And what good had it done? They’d failed to stop Locasta from brutalizing her citizens in the end.

  Crow might not have magic that could inflict the same sort of damage as Reva or Locasta, but he’d done more than train his brain over the last ten years. He’d learned how to fight, and fight well, so that one day he could take Locasta down himself. Reva coming back from the dead was never an option he’d thought possible, though he’d searched for answers about what exactly happened when Dorothy threw the water at the Wicked Witch. There was no record of a simple pail of water melting a faerie—even with the silver slippers, it had seemed strange to him. If he knew Reva hadn’t been dead at all, he would’ve found a way to bring her back so they could destroy the Northern Witch together. Hell, he should’ve killed Locasta years ago when he ventured back to her Northern palace. His desperation to find the real Dorothy Gale had driven him to visit his ex-lover, but he hadn’t been strong enough to fight her then. Escaping was the best he could do, and that hadn’t come without sacrifices. His only ally in the palace—a human changeling Locasta kept as a pet—had created the distraction he needed to cross the border into the West. The man’s agonized wails fading to deathly silence still echoed through Crow’s mind.

  “How long ago did she and Ozma leave?” he asked. His throat bobbed, his palms sweating, but he made sure to keep his voice even for Thelia’s sake.

  Thelia took Crow’s hand in both of her own. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  “I’m not angry with you,” he promised. With Reva, yes, but not Thelia. “How long ago?”

  “A few hours. It was just past dawn.”

  Crow nodded once, placed a kiss on his daughter’s warm forehead, and left the kitchen.

  “Where are you going?” Thelia called after him.

  “To find your mother,” he called back, and hurried to gather his belongings.

  He was going to find Reva and keep her safe. Something he couldn’t do twenty-one years ago.

  Chapter Four

  Reva

  After two days of traveling on the yellow brick road in the Southern territory, Reva’s endurance remained high. She was used to constantly being on the move in the dark place, avoiding the trees that would attack and hiding from the creatures that wanted to rip them apart. Some days in the dark place they could rest for longer than others, and that was when hope had been
the loudest.

  Reva and Ozma ate, slept, and chatted on their journey. They walked around the areas of the yellow brick road where the Wheelers had left their bloody victims, torn apart and mangled. None of the bodies were new, though—perhaps a few days old. The deaths only made Reva more determined to heal the Land of Oz.

  To Reva, the grave markers she’d passed of Langwidere’s victims were a true punch to the gut. The South wasn’t supposed to be this way. She and Glinda’s parents had owned this territory, kept it flourishing—Glinda had continued the tradition. And now it had gone to shit. The colorful cottages were still intact, but that didn’t mean anything because mostly everyone had left or was dead. The South isn’t dead, though, she told herself. The Southerners could return to make it thrive once more. Thelia could do it. Reva and Ozma would help if she needed them. She would always help her daughter.

  “What are you scowling about now?” Ozma asked, bringing a bright red faerie fruit between her lips. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  Reva needed an apple, but they didn’t grow in the South. They were her comfort. She had a lot going on in her head, too much, and she was tired of thinking about the Land of Oz and how broken it had become. She hadn’t seen what the other territories looked like yet, but from what Thelia had told her, the East was run down, and the Emerald City was full of dangerous, destructive fae.

  “You chew too loud,” Reva said, avoiding the question.

  “You’re going to make me dig for the answer, aren’t you?” Ozma smiled and glanced up at the moving clouds.

  Reva sighed. “I know the rest of Oz is going to be even worse than this.”

  “This isn’t so bad.” Ozma’s gaze connected with Reva’s. She was a dreamer and always one to see the positive in everything. Ozma would probably even find the good in the Wheeler she’d stabbed through the heart by saying the fae was better off dead—which was true.

  “I think all the headless fae buried across this territory would have to disagree.”

  “What I mean is,” Ozma said slowly, “it can always be worse. Those deaths will not be for nothing. They are the start of something, and that includes Glinda.”

  Reva’s chest tightened at her sister’s name. As young fae, Glinda would parade around in her frilly pink dresses and Reva would wear dark clothing. Glinda was the light and Reva was the dark but neither were wicked—only their personalities were different. Glinda was bouncier, Reva more demanding, but both made their territories a priority and took care of them.

  The memory of Locasta barreling into her room after Thelia was born crept into her mind. Reva could once again feel the cracking, twisting, and manipulation of bones, muscle, and skin. Her nose stretching and curving, the pustules bursting over her flesh, causing the green color to spread.

  Clenching her jaw, Reva tucked away that anger to use later when the opportunity came. “You’re right, this is the start of something.”

  It had been Reva and Ozma together for so long. Now she was ready to see the fae from the West, or at least the ones who had survived her wrath as the Wicked Witch. But that would have to wait, too.

  It didn’t take long before they entered the Eastern territory. There wasn’t much to see besides forestry and no apples. They trekked farther and farther, and Reva kept her guard up for creatures that might attack, but all remained silent.

  Right as the sunlight was about to die for the day, Reva spotted a small village. Blue and black cottages, along with larger buildings, were tucked and covered by pine trees on either side of the yellow brick road.

  Lit lanterns guided their way as she and Ozma passed the buildings. In the triangular windows, flames bobbed atop candlesticks. Outside an inn, two fae, with curled horns atop their heads, held each other close and walked inside. Next door, a nymph stood in front of the entrance to a brothel, drinking out of a silver goblet. She glanced at Reva and Ozma when they drew closer.

  “I know you,” the nymph said, ticking her finger back and forth as she stepped into their path. Dark hair, with ribbon laced throughout, framed her delicate features, and a yellow dress of spider silk hugged her lithe form.

  Ozma’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You do?”

  “No, no. Not you.” The nymph shooed Ozma away and inched closer to Reva, pointing at the Good Witch’s chest. “You. I’ve seen you before.”

  Reva watched as an unreadable expression crossed Ozma’s face. Possibly disappointment? Even if Reva had met this nymph before, nobody would have recognized her friend since no one knew she existed. All the years she’d spent in Oz, she’d been Tip, not Ozma. Enchanted to look like a male to hide her identity and keep the Wizard of Oz in power. Mombi had been the one to do the Wizard’s dirty work—she’d stolen Ozma away as a baby and raised her to not know who she really was. If Reva could snap that witch’s neck right then, she would. But it was best no one knew who Ozma was yet—she was without her power and throne.

  Reva squinted her eyes, not recognizing the nymph in the slightest.

  The fae leaned in closely, her breath reeking of ale. “You’re Reva. How are you back? You’re not monstrous anymore either.”

  The blood coursing through Reva’s veins came to a halt. She couldn’t breathe. With hurried motions, she grasped the nymph by her shoulders and shoved her against the outside wall of the brothel, knocking over a clay pail.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Reva whispered, the lightning within her already crackling, creating waves of thunder in her ears. “It was a curse and the curse is gone.”

  “Reva,” Ozma warned.

  “Don’t worry.” The nymph smiled, not the least bit afraid. “No one will recognize you in these parts. Most who live here have never been to the West. But I was at Glinda’s palace when you last visited, remember?”

  Releasing the nymph’s shoulders, Reva’s brow furrowed. That would have been twenty-two years ago. The last time she’d gone to Glinda’s palace, she’d only stayed the day and was supposed to return the next season, but had never gotten the chance. Things had heated around Oz because of the witch in the East, Inora. The Eastern Witch would slaughter anyone who came into her territory who wasn’t from there, including families of Easterners who visited. But the last time Reva had walked into Glinda’s room, she remembered her sister being pleasured by— “Oh, you were the one in her bed!” The nymph’s hair had been in a braid that day, and she’d been naked except for a pink glittering choker.

  “How is Glinda by the way?”

  “She’s...” Reva shook her head.

  The nymph seemed to understand as she nodded with melancholy sparkling in her eyes. “And Langwidere?”

  “Dead.”

  “Good.”

  “We need a place to stay for the night,” Ozma said, peeking through the window, lips parted in surprise.

  The nymph stared at Ozma’s odd motions and turned back to Reva. “I’m Falyn.”

  The name—she’d heard it recently. Reva lifted a dark brow. “You gifted Dorothy a machete. She saved the South.”

  Falyn gave a small smile. “I knew she would do something great again.” She turned, opened the brothel door, and motioned them forward. “Well, come on. Enough chit-chat because I have money to be making.”

  They followed Falyn inside the brothel, where sex and incense filled Reva’s nose. Her body normally would have tightened at the scent but she was too drained to feel aroused. She hadn’t had a lover in years. Yet there had been the nights where she’d been asleep, high up in a tree in the dark place, and dreamt of Crow. His hands on her waist, sliding up to cup her breasts. Him so tender, her so wild. His mouth on hers, her fingers drifting down to—

  Fuck Crow, she thought, shaking off the images stirring within her. She focused on several shot glasses on a counter filled with golden liquor. Grabbing one, she tossed the liquid into her mouth and relished the burn as it glided down her throat.

  Reva glanced at Ozma, who stared with wide eyes at the fae around her. Some of them were naked, straddling males as they played games at the tables. Other males were mounting lovers against the walls. She smiled and nudged Ozma’s arm. “Don’t act like you’re so innocent. I know you’ve seen a naked male before.”