Risa opened her eyes to glare at his amused face. “No I’m not.”
“Yes you are. Frogs don’t have tails.”
“Then how doyousay it?”
He grinned, mischievous. “It’ssana que sana, cul—”
“Actually, I don’t want to hear it.”
“If you’re sure.” His eyes fluttered shut. Sitting this close, she could see how pale his brown skin had turned, the sweat gathering above his lip. “You may continue.”
She closed her eyes again. How different was breaking a spell and casting one? She recalled the way the magic had felt back when Brunhilda had cast her spells. The tingle at the tips of her fingers that made its way along her back. How the magic had sparked in her veins then dissipated like smoke from a blown candle.
“Sana que sana, colita de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”
She held her breath, anxiety pulling her muscles taut. Her fingertips prickled, but nothing changed. Not even his pained expression.
After a long moment, the prince muttered darkly, “Maybe if you said it right…”
A frustrated huff escaped Risa’s lips. “Am I the witch, or are you?”
“I thought you weren’t a witch.”
She wasn’t. But for a moment, she had hoped that perhaps there was more to her than she’d ever thought possible. She wanted to believe that the magic would flow, that she could change things for the better instead of for the worse. Then she wouldn’t need a witch’s help after all.
“Next time, you can heal yourself, then.” Risa glanced up at the moon, then across the river at the rain pattering over the town. “We can go to a healer in the morning.” She returned his doubletand rearranged herself on the ground near him, clearing stray rocks from where she would have to sleep.
“In themorning?”
“I can’t go finding a healernow. It’s near midnight.”
He tucked his chin into his neck. “Fine. I’ll just die, then.”
“Would save me that trip to the healer,” she quipped as she snuggled down onto the hard ground and imagined the warm, comfy bed she’d left back in Barrow.
“You’re very rude to your sovereign,” he chided, though the words were all bark. He made a show of struggling to put his doublet back on.
“You’re the seventh prince,” she said, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around her torso for extra warmth. “There are six more-important ones ahead of you.”
“So youdoknow about me.”
Risa suspected that she might not know much about him at all.
CHAPTER SEVENIn Which the Pair Encounters Far Too Much Singing
A kaleidoscope of light played across Risa’s closed eyelids. A faint, warm breeze stirred the hairs at the back of her neck. She was aware of something warm pillowing against her cheek, a wetness at the corner of her mouth.
She sat up in a blur. While the rest of her long limbs had been fanned out every which way, her face had been smooshed against the prince’s arm, a line of drool running down her jaw. She wiped it with the back of her hand as she glanced behind her.
The Bosque had transformed from nightmare into whimsical daydream. The trees no longer swayed ominously; instead, the leaves rustled with inviting cheer, almost beckoning. A small group of chittering woodland critters gathered a few feet away, observing her with curious wide eyes.
Across the stream, the rain had subsided, and peace haddescended over the clearing. An idyllic town glistened with morning dew. Patches of grass swayed beneath the breeze. Vibrant, red-tiled roofs jutted over the sparse treetops.
Prince Javi slept on. Where moonlight had painted a tragic scene of a beautiful prince in the throes of pain, the sun softened his features into rosy cheeks, a plush red mouth parted by silent puffs of air, the straight slope of an elegant wide nose. Risa had never seen someone so unguarded like this, so unafraid of what terrible thing awaited them the next day.
Eyes still closed, he spoke. “Like what you see?”
“Not really.”
