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I clench my jaw, silently defying them.
“Fox.” The authority in his tone draws my gaze. “You are the Fifth.”
“Fuck you.”
“Do as you’re told.” Legion storms out.
“I’ll find the wildling,” Bodin sighs, then leaves too.
I glance at Varen, who stares at Willow snoozing softly in my arms. One look at her and every ounce of unease melts away.
“Moisture is bad for bees,” he mumbles.
“Water is okay for Willow,” I reply. “Cricket says she needs the warmth.”
He stares at me. “On severely wet or cold days, bees form a dense cluster around their queen to keep her warm. She can’t have her wings wet.”
“Willow is not a bee, Varen.” It’s hard to hide my impatience. I feel my body tensing, already anticipating his rage. Occasionally, I think he’s trying to tell us something but can’t form the right words and lashes out. But when I listen in on his thoughts, it’s nonsense.
He needs another shave, and I know the others are right. Varen should be fed first. The hungrier he is, the less he makes sense, and the more volatile he is. He scrubs his hand through his hair, a wildness filling his eyes as he stares at the tub water.
“Bees can’t bewet,” he insists. “They gocoldandnumband can’t do anything until they dry and get warm.” He starts pacing, now arguing with himself. “But they can’t shiver their wings to generate heat if wet, so how can they grow warm?”
“Varen,” I grumble. “She’s not a bee. It’s okay if she’s wet. I’m not going to let her drown.”
He strides beside the tub, mumbling facts like a puzzling equation. He won’t calm down at this rate. I glance at Willow and see more color in her cheeks. Her pulse is stronger.
Varen faces me and opens his mouth, but I speak first. “Fine, we’ll get out.”
His jaw clicks shut.
“But first let me feed you.”
He steps back. I don’t know why he constantly resists sustenance, but tonight, he glances at Willow and shuffles closer again. He kneels and grips the tub with white knuckles,then closes his eyes and mumbles, “Adult drones don’t feed themselves but depend on nurse bees to feed them.”
“So I’m a nurse now, am I?” Great. Readjusting Willow to one arm, I slide my hand around his nape. “Give me your mouth.”
He flattens his lips, refusing.
“Varen,” I warn. “It won’t hurt. It will feel good. You need to be healthy to look after our queen.”
Anguish wrinkles his face. He holds his eyes shut, but nods. “A well-reared, healthy drone can produce 5–10 million sperm.”
I laugh. Whatever. I seal my lips over his, and for once, he opens. I release the lid holding the morsels of soul at bay. Varen’s skin warms as he takes what I give. The tension leaves his neck.
I don’t give him everything, despite what the others said. Fuck them. I’ll force it down their throats too. When I’m done, I let go of Varen, and he opens his drunken eyes. Color has returned to his cheeks.
“You good?” I ask.
He shudders, confused, then starts mentioning more facts about wet bee wings.
“Okay, fine. Let’s get her out.”
Together, we lift Willow out of the bath. She whimpers, but Varen is right. She can’t sit in water all night. She rouses enough to hear me ask if she’s okay letting us help her dry and dress.
At first, she stubbornly tries to do it herself, but after she almost slips, she admits she needs help. We peel her out of her wet clothes. I must be a saint, not a devil, because my eyes remain on her face the entire time. I tug a clean, soft shirt from my closet over her head. She only lets go of her pendant so I can secure it around her neck.
While gently drying her hair, I notice a bump on her head and frown. She must have hit it during her fall. I glance at Varen,who looks on with concern. Did he know about this? Is that why he wanted her out of the bath?
