With his words, the possibility of debt rose between us. If I accepted, it was a huge amount, at least as big a debt as I had promised the Mender. But that was because of the huge amount of risk. Cleansing the king wouldn’t kill me outright, but if I developed more wounds that spread the infection, the basmoarte would kill me faster. Though the Mender did indicate there is a cure.
“No,” Falin said again, crossing his arms over his chest. “She can’t cash in a debt if she is dead.”
“I am capable of making up my own mind,” I said, frowning at him. Then I turned to Dugan and studied him. If the king was as close to death as he said, time was of the essence, but I wasn’t following him into the shadow court without a couple answers first.
“Are you scarred?” I asked, and when his eyes widened to incredulous shock, I added, “Under your armor. I know you aren’t hiding any facial scars with glamour.”
“You are my betrothed. If you wish to examine my body, I will capitulate. But now is not the time.” He ground out the words through a tense jaw, clearly upset by the question.
I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m getting at. Do you have any scars prominent enough that you could be called, or have been called, the scarred prince?”
Dugan stared at me, confusion warring with his impatience. “No.”
Falin watched me, and I could feel his curiosity at my questions, but he didn’t intervene. I would have rather have had time to discuss this with him first, but time was not on our side.
I studied Dugan. “Are there any princes of Faerie known as ‘the scarred prince’?”
“I am the only prince in Faerie currently,” Dugan said, his brow furrowing but his fingers flexing, betraying his need to move. He all but buzzed with his anxious agitation. Because of the questions? Or because of the king? My gut said the latter.
I stared at him, aware that every moment I wavered could be the king’s last. Dugan had been with us from the time the sun set and the truce ended until the bodies were discovered. He hadn’t had time or opportunity to behead Lunabella or Jurin—at least not when we assumed their murders had occurred. He wasn’t the scarred prince and I didn’t think he was secretly working against us in this investigation.
I nodded, the gesture more toward myself than anyone in the room, and then I said, “I managed to ask one question of Lunabella’s ghost. She said she was killed by ‘the scarred prince,’ but if you are the only Faerie prince . . .”
“I’m not the scarred prince.”
We’d pretty much established that. But he was the only prince in Faerie, so who could she have meant? We didn’t have time to puzzle it out now. We would revisit the conversation soon. For now, though, I could still feel the potential debt hanging in the air as Dugan waited for me to decide if I would go to the shadow court and help the king.
I nodded again, this time in answer to his request. “I’m not promising I’ll be able to help the king, but I’ll see what I can do. If he is as bad as you say, you might need to prepare yourself to become the new king.”
Dugan’s shoulders slumped. “Our court is already weakened. If he dies, there may not be a shadow throne left for me to rule.”
* * *
• • •
Falin left to dress, and I sent Dugan to wait in my sitting room. Though I dressed in under two minutes, the prince was pacing by the time I opened my bedroom door. The sitting room wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t exactly small. Regardless, his agitated steps made the space feel cramped. I sighed in relief when Falin opened the front door to my suite a moment after I left my own room. It said something about Dugan’s desperation that he hadn’t wasted time arguing when Falin insisted on coming with us.
“So how do we get to the shadow court?” I asked.
Dugan lifted his hands and the shadows hugging the wall beside the fireplace scattered. Once they were gone, the space that should have been a stone wall instead looked into a cavernous room with a hooded figure standing in the center. He was short, no taller than a child. I recognized him. I’d never seen his face, but I’d seen