Page 53 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

The lines around his eyes deepen. “More than a moon cycle. At least, that’s when the first symptom started.”

Two months, more or less.

I chew the inside of my cheek.

That means Darius spent weeks knowing something was wrong with him, likely aware of what awaited him if he didn’t find a cure. A cure, I suspect, that doesn't exist. If it did—if Fae had access to a potion or salve that could cure Darius, they would’ve raced across the continent back to Eranthia rather than drag an entire Fae unit to Verdanthia.

“What was the first symptom?” I ask.

“Fatigue.” He lowers himself onto the dark wood trunk, abandoning his search for the rodent. “Followed by uncharacteristic bouts of rage.”

I purse my lips. Any number of ailments can cause fatigue. But rage? That makes me think something is affecting the Fae’s mind.

“How common is the curse? Is it contagious?” Are all the soldiers in this camp in danger of falling victim to the ailment?

“It is common enough that all Shadow Fae are aware of it and wise enough to fear it, but no.” Jaxon shakes his head. “It is not contagious.”

“Then how did Darius contract it?”

For the first time in this conversation, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

“I’m a healer. We ask questions about patients and their conditions in order to come up with an effective treatment plan.”

He snorts and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “No answers I give will be helpful in devising a method for containing this fucking thing. That, I can assure you.”

I frown. That can’t be true. Information is power. Always.

“It’s late.” He rises, rolling back his shoulders as if rolling off this conversation and his surly mood. “Are you ready to go home?”

I look through the tent flap and see the light is much dimmer than I expected.

“Can I have another minute?” I clear my throat. “I’d like to give Darius more broth.”

Unlike Draven, Jaxon doesn’t make a snarky remark about feeding his friend. “Of course. Call me when you’re ready to leave.”

I hold my breath until his form disappears through the opening, then I hurry to the bed and take out the tome. I clutch the book to my chest and lower myself to the ground next to the cot.

I stare at Darius, watching his breaths, counting them.

One. Two. Three.

I exhale.

Did Rian see the book? I have to assume he didn’t. Otherwise, he would have asked me about it. Or taken it. Or tortured me to figure out where I got it from.

I shudder.

For all their grumblings, sharp words, and frightening shadows, the Fae have not caused me any physical harm. Yet.

But mentally, I’m suffering. Fear of failure and lack of sleep are taking their toll. Though, I must confess, I expected much worse when the Fae crashed through those town hall doors and demanded a healer.

I shake away my uneasy thoughts, lower the book, and pick up the broth. Swirling the pale-brown liquid, I scoop a tiny spoonful and dribble more into the unconscious man’s mouth, telling myself I’m imagining that the gray pallor on his cheeks has lessened.

Once I’m finished, I clean Darius’s cheeks and lips, then tuck the thick cotton blanket higher on his chest, careful not to let my skin touch his, before settling on the ground at his side and opening the book.

I turn to the page with the sword and thorns sigil, trailing my finger over the unfamiliar words, and resume my attempts to find something that I not only understand but that can help me.

The flame in the oil lantern flickers, casting shadows on the page. The darkness on my arms seems to shift. I rub my skin to clear away the odd tingling.