Head bent, he nodded.
Sliding my arms away, I waited to make sure he wasn’t going to fall. When he didn’t, I toed off my boots and kicked them back into the bedchamber. I unhooked the clasps beneath my neck.
“What are you doing?” he rasped, voice hoarse.
“You need to get cleaned up, right?” I let the cloak fall to the floor. “And it doesn’t look like you’re going to be able to do that on your own.”
“And here I thought . . .” He shuddered, muscles along his arms spasming. “I thought you were planning to take advantage of me.”
I froze. “Are you serious?”
“No.” He seemed to shudder. “The room is moving again, na’laa.”
Damn it. I went still, thinking that it might help if I didn’t move. Wait. What did he call me? “ ‘Na’laa’？”
“It’s Enochian.” One arm dropped to rest on his bent knee. “A phrase . . . in our language.”
I knew Hyhborn had their own language, but I’d never heard it spoken before. “What does it mean?”
“It . . . has many meanings. One of them is . . . used to describe . . . someone who is brave.”
My cheeks warmed for some reason.
“There . . . must be . . . a lot of conjurer activity in your city,” he said after a moment.
Thinking of all the times in the past I’d been accused of being such a person, I glanced at him. “I honestly don’t know if there is,” I answered. “I’m not even sure I believe any of what is said to be done with bone magic is possible.”
“Oh, it’s real.” His arms trembled as he held himself there. “Ingesting our blood would kill a mortal, but smooth . . . it over a wound? A scar? It will be healed. Sprinkle it on barren land and crops will flourish. Bury a hand . . . in freshly plowed soil, and crops will flourish there too, ones insusceptible . . . to drought or disease.” His chin dropped even farther. “Our teeth dropped into water can create coin.”
“Really?” Doubt crept into my tone as I realized his blood had seeped through my cloak and stained the nightgown.
“Really,” he confirmed. “But that’s not all.”
“Of course not,” I murmured.
“Keeping an eye of ours . . . near will warn the wearer of anyone . . . who approaches,” he continued, and I didn’t even want to know how one wore an eye. I could go my entire life not knowing that. “Our tongues will force the truth . . . from anyone who speaks, and weaving strands of our hair . . . among yours? It will ensure one remains . . . in good health as long as the hair stays in place. Our bones . . . can restore one’s health.”
“Oh,” I whispered, somewhat transfixed.
“Burying our fingers and toes . . . will bring water from deep within the land,” he went on. “Strips of our . . . of our skin hung above a door will ward off the nix.”
“That’s disgusting.” A chill swept through me, though, at the mention of the creature. The nix were related to the Hyhborn in some fashion and were found in the woods where usually only long game hunters entered, especially in the Wychwoods— the vast sacred forest rumored to have trees that bled. The woods skirted the territories of the Lowlands and the Midlands and traveled all the way to the Highlands. The creatures found within them didn’t look remotely mortal and were more frightening than birdeaters— ridiculously large and horrifying spiders with claws. I’d never seen one, either a birdeater or a nix.
“What do . . . they look like? The nix?” I asked.
“Have you . . . seen a Rae?”
I shuddered, thinking of the Hyhborn riders that were more bone than flesh. “Once.”
“Imagine that . . . but thinner, faster, and with sharp teeth and claws,” he told me. “And they can get in your head, make you think you’re seeing and experiencing . . . what is not there.”
I stiffened, breath catching.
“So perhaps . . . knowing what they look like no longer makes hanging our skin at the doors too disgusting,” he remarked. “Then there . . . are our cocks.”
“I’m sorry,” I choked. “What?”
“Our cocks, na’laa,” he repeated. “Being in possession . . . of one will ensure that the owner . . . has a very . . . fruitful union.”
I opened my mouth, but I was at an utter loss for words for several seconds. “There is a part of me— a huge part of me— that regrets having this conversation.”