I pulled inky strands free.
The king frowned, his gaze going distant. “It had to have been at the revelry. Nothing stands out except . . . I did have one odd encounter.” He paused, clearly trying to recall details. “A Sleagh Maith approached me and propositioned me for the title of consort. She said she was skilled in pleasurable magics and my court clearly needed some new blood.” Behind him, Serri went very still. The king reached up and placed a hand on the arm draped over his chest, the gesture affectionate and automatic, not even causing him to pause his narrative. “She attempted to demonstrate these magics, and I remember wondering what she assumed I found pleasurable, because her magic stung. I rebuked her for her presumptuousness and sent her away.”
I looked up from where I was pulling free a strand of fouled magic over the king’s knee, and searched for the wound where the infection had started. I’d done a thorough job pulling the poisoned magic out of his upper half, but there was a darker patch on his arm, just below his shoulder.
“Did she touch you here?” I motioned to the spot on my own arm.
He frowned, considering the question. Then he nodded. “I believe so, yes.”
“What did she look like? Did she say her name?” Falin asked.
“I’m sure she did.” The king’s frown deepened and he shook his head, as if that could jar the memory loose. “She was brown-haired, brown-eyed. Looked to be a fae from one of the warmer courts.”
Dugan reached into the shadows and pulled a handful out as if it were clay. With his magic, he formed it into a small but dark replica of Lunabella.
The king’s eyes widened. “Yes, that was her.”
I hissed out a disappointed breath, and Dugan and Falin deflated slightly as well.
“She is deceased,” Dugan said, and the sculpted shadow dissolved.
“You . . . ?” the king began, but Dugan shook his head.
“We believe she was killed because we were getting too close,” I said, pressing the basmoarte into the small goat. It bleated pitifully and I cringed, hating this, hating myself, but more than anything, hating whoever had masterminded this whole thing.
I was almost finished with the king’s right leg, with his left still remaining, and I fell into silence as I worked. By the time I finished, I was starving, exhausted, and very much feeling the fact that I hadn’t had a proper amount of sleep in days. I stripped my own fouled magic, which had spread like decorative gloves up both of my arms, and then pushed it into the goat. The poisoned magic wasn’t quite enough to kill it outright, so the poor beast lay on its side, breathing heavy as its slitted eye rolled in its head. Dugan put it out of its misery.
I wanted to go home and sleep for a month, but that wasn’t an option. My own basmoarte was going to spread faster now. I needed to find who was responsible for the deaths and the spread of basmoarte. And I needed to locate the cure. I just hoped it all came back to one source.
“My court and I, myself, owe you an enormous debt,” the king said. He’d extracted himself from Serri—though she remained by his side—and he now sat propped with pillows. He was still pale, but his breathing was normal. He would be okay until the fouled magic began to take over again.
I only nodded. I could feel the debt, and I would cash it in eventually, but I wasn’t going to commit to a price for my help. Not yet.
“His Majesty should rest,” Serri said, fussing over the blankets around him. He batted her hands away, gently but resolutely.
“Someone has made an attempt on my life. I don’t have time to rest.” He swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood. Then he swayed.
Dugan approached the edge of the bed and bowed. “Sire, we are looking into the matter. You are still afflicted. Rest would be better. Let me investigate this matter for you. That is why you have a prince, isn’t it?”
The king looked unconvinced, but he also looked like a strong wind would knock him over. At its peak, my own basmoarte had covered maybe a quarter of my body, and I’d barely been able to remain conscious. The king had been much more afflicted. I doubted he’d be back on his feet anytime soon. Or possibly ever, if we don’t