“You had every right to shout at me. I deceived you by keeping quiet about my reasons for remaining in Shabbe.”
I release his shirt and ball my fingers at my sides. “You stay to kill Meriam?”
He runs his thumb up my cheekbone, lingering at its apex where Crows wear an inked feather. “Take your bath.”
I frown and am about to tell him that my bath can wait, that I’d prefer to discuss his intentions, but the male fades to smoke and withdraws beneath my door. Why is he always there when I don’t want him to be, yet leaves when I want him to stay?
I sigh as I knead the skin over my heart to ease the harsh beats beneath, but instead, the press of my fingers seems to make my heart leaven with more pain.
Pain for Cathal and his impossible loss, and pain for Priya who had to imprison her own daughter.
Neither steeping in warm water, nor scrubbing scented oil into my skin manages to dislodge any of it. When I emerge from my bathing chamber, I expect—hope—to set eyes on the Crow, but his face isn’t the one I see.
Chapter 16
Zendaya
Behati must hear the door opening because she turns away from the spectacle of the monkeys swinging from branch to branch in my garden. “Are you feeling better, Zendaya?”
I shrug. My body does, but my heart…my heart hurts, and I don’t understand why. “Why here, Behati?”
“Because Priya refuses to be.” Her pink gaze shines darkly amidst the sweeps of white-gold. “Cathal’s right. Now that you understand everything, it’s only a matter of time until you learn all of it. Especially since you’ll be traveling to Luce tomorrow.”
“I go?”
“Yes.”
“Taytah go?” My hair bleeds water into my white silk sleeping gown.
“Naturally.”
“She still mad?”
“Yes and no. She’s not angry with you, though.”
“Only with Cathal?”
Behati presses her lips together. I’m taking that as a yes.
“You go Luce also?”
Her mouth curves, which makes the outer corners of her eyes crinkle like crushed parchment. “Someone has to stay to guard the Mahananda.”
I wonder if the Mahananda, like me, ever feels annoyed that no one believes it can take care of itself.
Cane clicking, Behati walks over to the sofa and lowers herself onto one of the floor cushions, then pats the spot beside her. “Come close, Daya.”
I don’t especially want to sit, but Idowant to hear about Meriam, so I plod over and take a seat on the wide, coral-hued cushion.
For a long moment, all Behati does is stare at me.
“I listen,” I say to remind her to speak.
“Priya is your grandmother.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Grandmother means the mother of one’s mother.”
