find the cure. I glanced at my hands. Even though I’d just purged them, the tips of my fingers were already showing signs of discoloration.
“Rest, Sire. We will get to the bottom of this,” Dugan said, bowing deeply to his king.
Nandin frowned, but after a moment, he collapsed back onto the bed. We made a hasty exit before he could change his mind, though I wobbled unsteadily as I scurried for the door.
“You need to rest, as well,” Falin said as soon as we reached the hall.
“I’m . . .” I couldn’t say “fine.” That was a blatant lie. I swayed, throwing out an arm to steady myself. Falin caught it, concern heavy in his features. Probably because the arm he’d caught was the one that hadn’t been infected before. But the tips of all ten fingers were a bruised purple now, magical wounds from where I’d contacted the king’s poisoned magic.
“Sitting down would be good. And some food,” I admitted. But I didn’t have time to rest for long. I was going to get worse, and the more magic I used to cleanse the poison, the faster it would spread.
“This way,” Dugan said, leading us through a nearby doorway.
It led to a sitting room. There was a small table with meals already laid out, so apparently we were expected. Falin deposited me in a seat before taking one himself.
The meal was a simple one for Faerie: a half wheel of cheese on one plate, another loaded with salted fingerling potatoes, a basket of rolls, and a plate with some sort of roast on it. After the incident with the goats, I didn’t even want to look at the meat. I knew that most likely it had never been a living animal—in my experience food in Faerie was mostly magic—but I couldn’t eat it. I helped myself to a large serving of the rest.
“I think this proves there is a cure,” I said between large mouthfuls.
Both men looked at me quizzically and I realized I’d started a conversation in the middle of my own thoughts, which I hadn’t been sharing. I drained a glass of water before speaking again.
“Lunabella must have willingly allowed herself to be infected for the purpose of infecting the Shadow King. Assuming she wasn’t a martyr, she wouldn’t have done that without assurances there was a cure.”
“But she wasn’t cured,” Falin said. “It was rampant in her body at the time of her death.”
True. So had the mastermind tricked her? Or had he changed the plan after learning we’d been looking for her? And who was the scarred prince? Was the fae in the gold cloak Lunabella’s scarred prince? Who was he?
“Is there anyone in Faerie who is close to being named a prince?” I asked.
Dugan ran a hand over his chin as he thought. Falin leaned back in his chair, looking contemplative. After a few moments, they looked at each other, as if silently confirming their thoughts. Then they both shook their heads.
“There is a potential princess in spring,” Falin said. Which we all knew wasn’t helpful.
“The only fae there were even rumors of potentially being named prince was the Winter Queen’s nephew. It was assumed he was already practically a prince except the icy old bitch will never relinquish any power,” Dugan said, and I blinked at his description of the Winter Queen. Clearly there was no love lost between cousins. Not that I disagreed with the description, it just surprised me from him. “But he hasn’t been heard of since he was banished.”
And he isn’t scarred.
I paused, a buttered roll halfway to my lips.
“Iron poisoning leaves scars, doesn’t it?” I asked. I had a small scar on my back where I’d been grazed with an iron dart. It was hardly noticeable, but I’d been raised in the mortal realm and had a higher-than-average tolerance to iron—which wasn’t to say the small wound hadn’t been dangerous, but the fae healers who’d cared for me had been surprised by how well it had healed.
Falin lifted an eyebrow. “It leaves the worst kind of scars. And glamour won’t hide them.”
I nodded. “Scars you might wear a cloak to hide?”
“The gold-cloaked figure from the revelry?” Falin said slowly, clearly picking up where I was going with this. “You think it could have been Ryese?”
“Would the banishment on him keep him from the revelry?”
Both men shook their heads.
“Then I think it’s a distinct possibility. I saw only a flash of a hand under the cloak, but the skin