Page 57 of Fae Games

“She’s gone,” I said through choked sobs.

Nobody spoke, and I appreciated the silence. Right now, any words of platitude would push me over the edge. I was glad Sicily hadn’t stayed long in the Otherworld or suffered at the hands of those dark faeries, but she was worse than dead.

Prince Caulden rubbed soothing circles on my back, giving me time to work through my emotions. Sicily was no longer in pain and not tormented, but I couldn’t come to terms with her never existing.

“We also came about another matter,” said Prince Bradwell.

“The girl with the stolen magic?” asked the hag.

Prince Bradwell paused for a second. “Yes. Helenium of Medietas.”

I raised my head and met the hag’s rheumy gaze. For several heartbeats, we were locked totter in mutual curiosity. It was like she was looking into my soul and gathering all its secrets. Whatever she saw, it made the hag close her eyes, shake her head, and pick up the mug of goodness-knows-what for another slurp.

“Please,” said Prince Bradwell. “We need to know if Helenium is still alive and well.”

The hag set down her mug, and it sank into the cushioned arm. “Alive. But not well.” Her gaze flickered to mine. “Do you remember how I said your human sister escaped the wrath of those four dark princes?”

“Y-yes?” I rasped.

“They are working off their frustrations on your Helenium.” She shook her head. “Four strapping lads and a light fae who hasn’t yet had her first heat. It’s not pretty. Not pretty at all.”

“Good Lord,” said Prince Caulden. “How do we get her out?”

“Pyre stones on the new moon is your best bet.” The hag raised a shoulder.

A spurt of hot anger had me yelling, “Helen won’t last until then.”

“True.” She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest.

The hag’s eyes gleamed in that kind of calculation vendors made with a person stupid enough to show too much interest in their wares. It was that I’ ve-got-you-now glimmer with a side order of I’ m-going-to-empty-your-purse.

I glanced at Prince Caulden, who leaned forward, making the pile of wood creak. His jaw was set in a determined line, and he clenched his fists so tightly, the knuckles turned even whiter than the rest of his alabaster skin. On my other side, Prince Bradwell stiffened, his face a rictus of horror.

My throat dried. Usually, at times like this, I would haggle until I got a reasonable price for the information she was deliberately withholding, but Helen’s life was at stake. I couldn’t waste a minute when my friend was suffering untold torment.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“A favor,” she said.

“Elaborate,” whispered Prince Caulden.

Her eyes danced. “Unspecified, and from all three of you,”

My mouth dropped open. That could mean absolutely anything from taking the Wishbone before I got a chance to use it to handing over my firstborn. “I can’t do that.”

“Then I can’t share with you the ritual to extract your friend from unending degradation, suffering, and violation,” she said with a smirk.

“Choose something else,” I said, my temperature rising at the hag’s smugness. “Riches, a pardon—”

“Alright,” said Prince Bradwell.

I twisted around and gaped at the cerise-haired prince. “What?”

He straightened on the pile of wood, looking everything like the noble prince in his Royal Fae Academy uniform. “But on one condition.”

The hag smirk widened, revealing swollen gums. “Name it.”

“That I’m the only person who pays the favor, and you only claim it once.”