Page 162 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

My brows furrow. “Then what?”

He shakes his head and runs his hand through his messy hair. “I’ve been busy carrying out Rian’s business.”

“Oh, yes…” I look at his bed meaningfully. “You looked very busy just now.”

“It’s the middle of the night. I’m tired. I was resting.”

His words carry a ring of truth.

I push off the door and close the distance between us. My healer training takes over, and I scan his face. Note his posture. Observe his breathing.

He’s paler than normal. There’s a bluish tint to his lips. If my power flowed into his veins, I’m certain it would reveal that the curse has spread.

My shoulders sag. “You’re ill.”

“I’ve always been ill,” he quips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What for? Your magic was recovering from your first attempt to heal me and your battle with the Pelagor.” He shrugs. “I saw no reason to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden, Darius.”

“Of course not.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Everyone knows I’m the glue that holds this band of ruffians together. The cadre would fall apart without my influence.”

I purse my lips. “Then you will let me heal you?”

“By all means.” He strides over to one of the chairs situated in front of the roaring fireplace and drops into it with a lazy wave of his hand. “Do your worst.”

I take Darius in. Really take him in.

Aside from physical fatigue, there’s a hollowness in his eyes. A dimness that has nothing to do with a curse.

He’s drained.

It could be as he says. He could’ve been busy with Rian’s tasks—tasks to help the Shadow Fae accomplish whatever goal took us away from Astloria’s shores in the first place.

But my gut tells me otherwise.

Sometimes, physical injuries can damage our minds. Our will. And those injuries are much more difficult to treat.

I sit in the chair opposite him, perched on the edge of the cushion. I chew the inside of my cheek and debate whether to ask the question burning the tip of my tongue.

“Well?” he prompts.

I release the breath I’d been holding. “Tell me about Petra.”

It is as if every speck of light drains out of Darius’s being.

His easy smile vanishes, his jaw tightening.

“No,” he clips out.

His voice is low with a hint of danger.

I press on anyway. “You said I connected with your mind when I healed you.”

His lips twist into a scowl. “I was mistaken.”