The air grows quiet and stiff. Unbreathable.
“So we’re just supposed to sit back and watch Dádhi transform into obsidian?” Fallon’s cheeks glimmer with—what had Priya called them again?—shil.
“What if he saws off the infected limb?” ever-practical Kanti suggests.
“I’m not fucking sawing off any of my limbs!”
Kanti rolls her large pink eyes. “Don’t bite my head off, Crow; it was merely a suggestion.”
“And a sound one.” Behati raises her chin. “One which you should take under consideration, Cathal.”
“Does the Cauldron have thoughts on amputation, Behati?” Imogen asks.
“Not that I’ve foreseen, but once Priya calms, I’ll ask her to confer with the Mahananda.”
“I should never have gone through with it.” Fallon wets her trembling lips. “I made everything worse.” Her body flickers behind thickening smoke. I think it’s hers until her mate materializes at her side and cloaks her white-knuckled fist with his hand.
“Like Priya, I trust the Mahananda had its reasons,” Behati says, lumbering toward the pathway on Kanti’s arm, cane clicking.
“Yes. To keep the Crows weak and under Shabbe’s thumb,” Lorcan murmurs just loud enough for us all to hear.
Behati’s pink eyes tighten on him. “Before you motivate the Mahananda to lock itself up for another five centuries, Mórrgaht, take a second to turn over what it’s done and its reasoning. Imagine if it had made your kind immune to obsidian. Your species would’ve become infallible. And even though you’ve proven yourself a noble leader, not all Crows are beyond reproach.” Her rickety voice cuts across the moist air. “The same way not all Shabbins are saintly. Beneath our magic, we all remain animated and consumed by our desires.”
“I’m immensely grateful that it’s made my mate immune.” Lorcan lifts Fallon’s hand to his lips. “Truly, I am,” he repeats, staring over Behati’s shoulder, in the direction of the courtyard. “But I wish we’d been told of the consequences. I wish we could’ve discussed it with our people and given them the choice of whether to preserve our curse as it was or warp it.” His eyes now rest on Cathal, who hasn’t uttered a single word since his earlier outburst.
“What about my blood?” Fallon asks suddenly.
“It didn’t penetrate your father’s skin earlier,” Behati reminds her.
“What if he ingests it?”
“I’m not drinking your blood, ínon.” Cathal’s face is tense and pale, as though the mere thought is turning his stomach.
“Perhaps it could help you.”
Behati’s lashes sweep low before rising anew. “A few drops may slow the progression.”
The answer invigorates Fallon and makes her reach for the mollusk dwelling she wears around her neck. After pricking her finger, she drips blood into Lorcan’s wine goblet and tenders it to her father. “Drink.”
“No.” A drop of seawater glides down the side of Cathal’s face—or is it perspiration?
“Please, Dádhi.”
“No.” I suppose the male, who already trusts almost no one, isn’t about to trust the seer who set all of this in motion.
“We’ll test it on the others, Behach Éan.” Lorcan kisses Fallon’s temple before murmuring, “Come. Let’s go home.”
Moreshilsbrim over Fallon’s lash line. Is she imagining the large male gone from this world forever? Though he and I have our differences, the possibility makes my fingers rise to my neck and trace my palpitating scar.
His love for his daughter and devotion to his king will make him worthy in the Mahananda’s eyes…right?
Chapter 9
Zendaya
Ihug Fallon tightly, my heart aching that she’s leaving me behind.
“I’ll come back any chance I get,” she says, before proceeding to prove this to me with images that she pours into my mind.
