I nod enthusiastically. “Taytah show me that female and male rub front together until seed come out.”
Even though a table rests between us, I see his pupils dilating, the black chewing through the brown but not spilling over. “Did she show you exactly where the seed came from?”
“From male.”
“I meant, from—focá.” One of his hands slicks back his hair while the other tilts the bottle to his mouth for another drink. Once he’s swallowed and swiped his tongue over his lips a few times, he says, “What oozed from my cock”—he grimaces, his gaze going to the forever-filled water carafe—“that is a male’s seed. That is what we plant inside a female’s womb to grow ababe.” Another pass of his fingers through his hair. Another gulp of wine.
“I lick it from finger.”
“I know.” His lids slam shut. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve—I should’ve explained things before. I thought…I assumed?—”
My pulse picks up speed. “I grow babe now?”
He hangs his head low, then rubs his nape as though it aches. “No. You only grow a babe if the seed enters another cavity in your body.”
“Which cavity?”
“A hole located between your legs.”
I untuck my legs from beneath me and grip my dress’s hem to lift it when Cathal lets out a strangled, “Please, Daya, this is hard enough as it is. Don’t—” He swallows. “Please inspect your body after I’m gone, all right?” His eyes are bright, but not with mirth; they’re bright with pain.
I wonder why, but decide not to ask. He’s already answered so many of my questions. “Thank you for talk.”
He goes back to rolling the bottle. “You’re welcome.”
I stand and go toward him. “I promise I no touch cock this time.”
When I reach him, he cranes his neck and stares at me, his expression a mixture of so many emotions that I cannot pinpoint one in particular.
“I look only at wound.” I unscrew the bottle from his fingers and set it down beside the water carafe. “Pants.”
Reluctantly, he stands, towering over me, and pushes his trousers back down. His cock has shrunk again, but the second I kneel, it starts to expand. I assume it’s because he’s cold since mynipplesgrow stiff when the air is brisk. I become convinced that’s the reason when he shells it with his fingers and pins it to his abdomen.
I study the wound. It’s deep and black, as though the stone left a layer of dust that’s climbing into his veins. “Pain?”
He swallows.
“Cathal?”
He shakes his head.
“You consent I touch leg?”
The tendons in his neck strain. “Yes.”
I lightly grip the outer edge of his thigh, making sure not to touch the infected skin. The muscle is so hard and jagged, it feels like a ledge. As I bring my head closer, my stomach spasms because the smell… It is terrible.
You are better than those serpents, Daya. You can do this.
I curl my tongue and jam it into the oozing wound. The dreadful savor makes my throat clench with the need to retch, but I sense doing so will make Cathal cancel our bargain, so I pool more saliva onto my tongue and into the wound.
“Focá.” His thigh trembles like the surface of the Amkhuti after I dive into it.
I lift my head and look up into his face. “What?”
“Burns.”
I stare at the wound, at the trickle of deep crimson that oozes down his pale skin and mattes the black hair. Did my saliva make him bleed? I swipe it with my fingertips and rub. The texture is grainy, as though sand has mixed with his blood.
