He repeats the word, breaking it up into two distinct sounds—beyockandeen. “It meansdumb bird. Why?”
Dumb. Bird?That’s what he’s been calling me?Dumb?Although I suspected it was unkind, I’m wholly unprepared for the surge of hurt that crashes atop the tide of my anger.
Behach does not mean dumb, Fallon; it means Little. The word for dumb, in case you ever fancy using it, is bilbh.
Why should I believe you?
Why would I call the girl helping medumb?
Because I swallow pretty lies like Fae swallow wine.
Fallon, I swear upon Mórrigan that Dante’s translation is wrong.
I don’t know who this Morrigan person is but imagine she’s some Crow deity or he wouldn’t be invoking her name in an oath. After minutes of mashing my molars, I ask,Why Little Bird?
Because that’s what you are.
I’m neither sprite-sized nor a bird.
By little, I mean young. And genetically, you will one day be able to transform into a bird.
The idea of shifting forms, of shedding skin for feathers and growing wings, of flying, buffs the sharp points of my emotions. I’m still angry but I’m also staggered.What if I don’t want to shapeshift?
Then you won’t, but I’ve yet to meet a Crow who doesn’t crave the freedom of flight.
I dwell on that as we travel through the rain-soaked, derelict human land, across endless planes of sand, toward the sweep of green that is the jungle. Although the storm halts when we breach the canopy of palms and other tropical plants, the air remains moist, preventing my hair and dress from drying.
Minutes turn into hours before we come across anything other than exotic creatures not quick enough to camouflage themselves. I wouldn’t call the ride relaxing—it isn’t—but it gives me time to parse through the new information I’ve acquired.
My mind is so adrift that when we pass a house woven from bamboo shoots, I almost miss it. But then we trot past another and another. Unlike in Selvati, the edifices are large and shiny, with windowpanes, thatched rooftops, and plots of cultivated land.
“Is this still Selvati?”
“No. Tarescogli. The western equivalent of Tarelexo.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Because it’s a new settlement that hasn’t been added to our maps. In truth, its name isn’t even official, but people call it Tarescogli because it sits on the cliffs.”
“The Land of the Bluffs. It’s pretty.”
“In case you ever tire of Tarelexo, you could move here.”
Dante’s words travel from my ears to my heart by way of my ego. Even though I’d expect a comment like this from Marco or Tavo, I didn’t expect Dante to suggest I stick to a place crowded with people like me, with rounded ears but magic in their blood.
Sixty-Nine
Bronwen’s prophecy clangs through my mind, reminding me that the only place I’ll settle will be the royal isle. “Maybe I’d prefer an estate in Tarespagia.” I wouldn’t. I merely want to observe Dante’s reaction.
He exhales slowly, deeply. “No one will sell you land in Tarespagia. It would be illegal. Not to mention, expensive.”
“Once you’re king, you can make it legal.”
“I’d have a revolution on my hands. Is that really how you wish me to begin my reign?”
“Of course I don’t wish you uprisings, but there’s so much to change in Luce. Humans need better living conditions, and half-bloods should have the right to use their magic as often as pure-bloods.”
“I agree.”
