“If you believe it’s a trick, then perhaps Zendaya could lick your wound better?” Kanti smiles at me. “After all, you trust her and she does so love lapping blood, amongstother things.”
I frown, because one, Cathal does nottrust me, and two, I’m no fan of the taste of blood. Also, what else have I lapped? Is she referring to the ward?
Cathal growls something in Crow that makes Kanti’s expression pinch.
“Careful, Crow”—Kanti squares her shoulders—“or I may reconsider playing diplomat between your king and his enemy.”
Cathal’s eyes twitch as though it’s taking every last shred of his strength to repress his reply. Or perhaps they twitch because Lorcan is asking him, through the mind link, not to anger his future ally. “I’ll swim with the serpents.”
The idea of someone else’s tongue on his skin hardens my insides, so I push out of my chair and circle the table toward Cathal. When I start to lower myself to my knees, he melts into smoke and reappears behind Imogen’s chair.
Kanti drapes one arm around the back of her chair. “Huh. She really does understand what we say.”
“She understandseverything,” Fallon snaps.
“Pardon me for doubting it. She’s always so quiet.” Kanti wriggles a hand. “Anyway, let’s see if it works.”
“No!” Cathal says.
Kanti frowns. “Why not? Saves you from getting wet.”
“Because this could hurt her!” Cathal bellows. “Daya’s not just a serpent; she’s a shifter.”
Is it truly my health he worries about, or is repugnance what keeps him from letting me try?
The female healer I met the day after my rebirth as a Two-legs arrives in the company of a silver-haired male twice her size, and with ears so broad and pointy, they skim the top of his head. Though their appearance doesn’t entirely smother the ambienttension, it seems to lower its volume. I suppose that if a Shabbin crystal leads to Cathal’s full recovery, all will be forgiven.
But what if neither crystal nor serpent can mend obsidian injuries? What will happen to the relations between sorceresses and Crows?
“Soorya, one of our guests needs healing from a dagger wound.” The queen nods to Cathal.
“Right away, Sumaca.” Soorya’s pink eyes roam over the shifter in a way that makes me want to step between them.
I realize she’s probably seeking the wound in need of mending, but I find her smile too bright, and her stare, too intrigued. When she looked me over that first day, her expression was as bland as the tapioca pudding Kanti eats every morning.
“Which part of your body needs healing, Cathal?” When he points to his thigh, her slightly hooked nose wrinkles. “What did you stab yourself on?”
“Obsidian.”
The giant Faerie shadowing Soorya blinks. “Obsidian? But I thought—I thought you were rid of your curse!”
“You and us all, Lazarus.” Erwin drags a freckled hand through his red locks. I recall his name because, his hair, like mine is a flamboyant color not worn by many. “Seems like obsidian remains toxic to our kind.”
Soorya’s layered necklace clinks as she hooks one of the six chains, then runs her fingers over the gold baubles dangling from each link until she feels out the appropriate medicinal crystal. According to Behati, they hum to her.
“Kavari,” she says, twisting the ball until the bottom half comes loose. I imagine it’s a land substance, for I don’t have an equivalent in Serpent. She props it in front of Lazarus, who leans over and takes a long whiff. “It counteracts toxins.” She rubs thetip of her index finger against the salve until her skin is as green as a lizard’s. “Your wound, Cathal.”
The Crow grows out his talons and swipes them through the leather cloaking his thigh. When Soorya kneels in front of him and pinches the flap, I grit my teeth and hiss because the veins orbiting around his puckered flesh are black.
“Great Mórrígan, how are you even walking, brother?” Lorcan exclaims.
Soorya traces the extent of the infection with her gaze before tracing it with her healing salve. I will the darkness in Cathal’s veins to seep out as she collects more salve and spreads it over his flesh.
Lazarus crouches beside her. “How aboutturga?”
“Turgaclots vessels. If anything, we need his wound to bleed.” Soorya bites down on her upper lip. “May I try to slice you open with my blood, Cathal?”
My nails aren’t talons, yet they score the skin of my palm just the same. I do not want this female to butcher my sentry’s thigh with her magic. I do not want her to harm him further.
