Page 41 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

I’ve waved smelling salts under his sharp nose, listened to the thump of his still-steady heart, and applied tinctures to his lips to keep them from drying. But no matter what I’ve tried throughout this long, dragged-out day, his condition remains the same.

Of course it does. Nothing in my healer bag of tricks can rival whatever evil ravages his body. I was foolish to think otherwise.

I sigh and lift a spoonful of cooled broth to Darius’s parted lips, dripping the nourishing liquid into his mouth. A drop rolls down his chin. I dab it away with the cloth.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Please wake up.”

He doesn’t stir.

I try again, lifting the spoon. A single drop falls before a harsh voice cuts through the silence.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I flinch. Broth sloshes onto my skirt.

Draven storms into the tent, boots thudding like war drums. His sneer is so sharp it could slice skin.

“Well?” he snaps, loud enough that surely the entire camp hears.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to speak in the face of his terrifying ire. “Feeding him.”

He snarls, “Do you truly believe food will free him from his curse?”

Heat floods my cheeks. The brave words I said to the Elders, claiming I could actually do what the Fae asked, are gone, swallowed whole by a sense of ineptitude I’ve never felt before.

I set the bowl to the side and stare at my soiled skirt, pinned beneath Draven’s furious glare.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, voice thick with contempt. “Get your things.”

I jolt, then reach over and lift my satchel from where it leans against the table by Darius’s head.

The moment the strap is over my shoulder, Draven grabs my arm and pulls me toward the tent flap.

He shoves me outside. “Come back tomorrow with a better plan. Or else.”

I barely have time to right myself before I crash into Jaxon.

The more affable Fae wears a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Shall we?”

He turns on his heel and walks toward the treeline before I can say a word. I glance back through the tent flap. Draven stands over the cot, shadows rippling across his tense shoulders, head hanging low.

“Elara?” Jaxon calls.

I hike my satchel higher and follow him out, ignoring the unsettling stares of the silent soldiers spread throughout the clearing.

The trees loom like silent sentinels, shadows twisting with every step I take, as Jaxon guides me through the Forbidden Forest. Mercifully, he doesn’t speak of my failure, letting the ominous woods swallow our silence and permitting me to wallow in my own thoughts.

By the time I reach the south edge of town, exhaustion clings to me like a second skin. My eyes sting from lack of sleep, but I trudge onward, heading to the northwest corner of Verdanthia where Juniper’s cottage sits. If anyone in town knows anything about treating Fae ailments, it would be my adoptive mother.

I pray to Myrissie, the Goddess of Knowledge, that she does. Because I’m running out of ideas. And time.

The soles of my feet ache as I shuffle through the market square, noting the empty stalls lining the common space. A glance at the sky confirms we’re well past midday. The market is over.

I sigh. I hope Ferria had better luck with her task than I did with mine.

I walk around a man carrying a crate of unsold goods, confusion trickling into my cloudy mind as he rushes out of my path. The trickle becomes a steady stream when others avert their eyes after I meet their frightened stares.

They’re acting like I’m the Goddess of Death herself, tasked with snatching their souls from their bodies and escorting them to the afterlife. As if Velmira would ever debase herself by living in the body of a human…