I shrug. “I feelnotserpent.”
His jaw tightens, flexes, like the line of his shoulders. Like all the lines on his body. Unlike serpents that are all curves, the Crow before me is all edges. “So you’re not champing at the bit to rendezvous with Mister Yellow again?”
I have no clue whatchamping at the bitmeans. What I do have a clue about is who Mister Yellow could be. “No. I no wantsee Mister Yellow.” My lips twitch at the name Cathal gives Sun Warrior. “Call me Mister Pink now?”
He snorts. “NoMissPink in your future. I’ll stick to calling you Princess.”
“Princess? You call me Príona.”
“That’s how we say Princess in Crow.”
“Ah. I think it mean Fish.”
A small smile titillates the corners of his mouth. “Fish? If I was going with an original moniker, I would’ve chosen a more fitting one:Sífair. Serpent.”
“You call me Serpent, I call you Crow.” I push away from him with a smile. “Enough chat. Take off pants.”
His cheeks color as though Asha has rubbed rouge into them.
“You say I swear. Bargain,” I remind him when his fingers still haven’t inched closer to the waistband of his trousers.
“You must be exhausted from your swim.”
“I no tired.” I add a headshake in case he isn’t convinced.
“Daya, I’ve—I don’t—” He grimaces, then mutters words I don’t understand. I think he must be in pain because his hands tremble as they finally grip the cord that secures his trousers over his hips and fusses with the knot.
As he upholds his end of the bargain, I pray to my mother, the Mahananda, that I will be able to help, because I’d like to have a useful power.
Cathal’s throat jostles as he finally pushes down his pants. The crimson flush on his face doesn’t extend to his thighs, which are moon-white beneath the sprinkling of black hair. Manifestly, the Crows do not wax. Is that why he didn’t want to show me his legs?
In case that was his concern, I say, “I no have wax in room, Cathal, so no need afraid.”
He blinks. “Wax?”
I gesture to his legs, then drag my long skirt up to display my hairless shins. “You scared wax, no?”
His eyes grow infinitesimally larger.
I tilt my head. “Reason you red. You scared…no?”
His mouth curves with a full-blown smile that transforms into a rough, marvelous boom. Although his laughter has neither color nor temperature, it feels golden and warm like sunshine dripping through water…like a drizzle of syrup.
He rubs at his mouth as though to force his lips to flatten. “I do not fear an impromptu waxing session, Príona.”
“Then what you fear?”
“I…I…” He sighs. “I just…I’m not used to pulling my pants down in front of people.”
“I am not people, Cathal.”
He swallows, and his lashes sweep low.
“I am healer.” I bite my lip. Let it go. “Maybe.”
The extra limb between his legs bounces as I kneel, and then it juts out and to the side as though demanding I pay it some attention, so I do. And my heart misses a beat because… “Did poison dagger go inside there?”
“What?” he croaks.
