The queen blinks, but then recovers and says, “Technically, it’s one and the same, is it not? The original Crows were created by the Mahananda, but new Crows can only be made through coupling.”
The slant of my brows deepens.
Cathal’s chin dips but his lips stay above the waterline. “I take it you haven’t discussed the birds and the bees yet.”
Birds couple with bees?Shifter-sized birds?
The queen takes a deep breath. “Let’s get out of the water. We’ll talk in my chambers when we’re dry.” When she reaches the stone wall, instead of grabbing ahold of my ladder, she draws a sigil that slants the rock and makes it reshape itself. “Come before my staircase washes away, emMoti.”
I glance at Cathal, wondering whether he will attend this talk I am to have with the queen. Before I can ask, he shifts into his Crow and takes to the sky, then hovers, shadowing my body until I’m back on dry land. Why does he act like my guard when he isn’t?
I end up asking the queen after I’ve changed into dry clothing and joined her in her wing of the palace.
“Because he’s stubborn and stuck in a past that no longer exists.” Her answer does nothing to quell my confusion.
I take her wrists and raise her palms to my forehead. “Explain with picture.”
The servants in attendance inhale sharply and gawk, evidently surprised I can talk.
The queen’s palms don’t settle. They hover. “That story will be for another day. What I will show you today is how babes are made.”
“Babes?”
“New Crows. And new humans.”
When her fingers land, I get flashes of a male and a female rubbing the front of their bodies together, followed by the image of the female’s body rounding and reshaping itself like the cliff earlier. The last image that illuminates my lids is a miniature Two-legs screeching in the crook of the female’s arms.
As the queen lowers her hands, she says, “Coupling is like growing flowers, Daya. The male plants his seed inside the female’s soil, and nine moons later, a small version of them sprouts from the female’s body.”
“What job have bees?”
A vertical groove forms above her nose. “Bees? They pollenate and make honey.”
“Honey is babe?”
The groove deepens. “I’m sorry but I’m not sure I follow.”
“Cathal speak birds and bees.”
The queen stares at me stunned, but then she breaks out into great peals of laughter. “Birds and bees is an expression, emMoti.”
“Expression?”
“An expression is an idiomatic…” She stops talking. “Simply put, it’s a phrase used by way of another.”
Forget confused…I’m lost.
“For example, in Shabbe, we’ll saythe serpent is in your riverwhen we want to convey that it’s someone else’s turn, oras thick as serpents, which means to be very close and share many secrets.”
I doubt I will ever be able to use that one.
“Straddle the wardis another. It means to avoid taking sides. Though truth be told, that expression irks many because Shabbe was imprisoned for five hundred years. Best not to use it, actually.”
“Imprisoned?”
“One of our people betrayed us.”
“Meriam?”
