A tusk pokes from the water, followed by a large yellow head. The beautiful beast who licked my face jumps, the coils of his long body cutting through the water that now cloaks the beach and outcropping of rocks.
Lazarus approaches, cutting off my view of Mareluce and my serpent. “I hear you have wounds that need mending.”
I bite my lip, wondering who he heard it from. A glance over my shoulder shows a crimson stain on my wet shirt. I guess he saw it.
He crouches. “May I?”
I nod, and he rolls up the hem of my shirt.
Sybille hisses at the sight. “Is that her—is that her—bone?”
Antoni, who’s walked up behind Lazarus, presses his lips together so hard, they vanish. I’m guessing my flesh must look pretty mangled.
The healer touches one of his beads, then presses the pads of those fingers to my wound.
My skin burns, crackles. I grit my teeth and ball my fingers.
“Apologies, Mórrgaht, but pain relievers will slow the healing process. I imagined you preferred to expedite it.”
I lift my gaze to Lorcan’s. “Yes. Expedite it.”
Lorcan, who broke into four crows upon landing, circles us, restless and impatient.
Wasn’t his fourth bird protecting Phoebus? Does that mean Phoebus is safe?
He’s alive.
Except, alive doesn’t always mean safe. Since Lorcan seems preoccupied, I decide not to pester him. My friend is alive, and soon, he’ll be safe—that’s all that matters.
As Lazarus rubs another healing crystal and brings his fingers back to my blistering flesh, I ask, “That day on Isolacuori, you knew there was iron in my wound.” It’s not a question; it’s a deduction. “Did you know it had come from Lorcan’s crow?”
“I guessed it when I smelled obsidian on your skin.” He kneads my skin as though coaxing the tissues to knit faster. “Bronwen warned me a girl would come when it was time, so I was expecting you.”
“Did you know who I’d be?”
“No. That woman guards her secrets more ferociously than serpents guard the riches lining their den.”
“Do they really hoard riches?”
“When the glowing jellies flow across the Channel in the dead of winter, you can see all the way down into their lair, which resembles a vein of gold and diamonds. Have you never witnessed it?”
I shake my head.
“It’s spectacular.” He touches another bead on his ear, then moves his fingers toward my temple, but instead of pressing them to my skin, he brushes away a lock of my wet hair.
“What is it?”
Lazarus lifts his gaze to the halo of black crows. “The wound on your temple. It has already healed. His Highness says it’s a serpent’s doing.”
Oh.Warmth floods my chest at the memory of the beast’s ministrations and at the realization that I truly do have a special connection with the beasts who inhabit our waters.
I look toward the man who nicknamed me Serpent-charmer. He hasn’t moved from where he stands on the edge of the cliff, attention riveted to his brother’s ships. Is he second-guessing his decision to have Marco killed?
No. He’s impatient for his reign to begin.
I understand that you don’t have much love for the male, Lore, but Dante’s not completely unfeeling.
He’s willing to have his own brother beheaded.
