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Soraya pushed the thoughts aside. She’d gone to great lengths to keep that image of Ikarus out of her mind, and she would not let it creep in now. He was a monster no matter what he’d suffered, and she had no desire to see him as anything else.

She just needed to endure three more days of this place, and then she’d be free.

Evidently happy with what she saw, Emelda slipped the leaf into her satchel. “So,” she said, voice lovely as a sunrise as she plucked another leaf from her hair and added a few drops of pink liquid from a different vial, “did Mortis do anything in particular to incite the God Killer’s wrath, or was he just unlucky enough to be in your way?”

“You could say that.”

An excited gleam entered Emelda’s eyes. “Care to share?”

“Not with you.”

Emelda clicked her tongue. “You’re dull.” She dabbed the second leaf against Soraya’s neck. This one stung even more.

Soraya hissed as the herbs seared into the wound. “What the hell is this stuff?”

“Just something to draw out any lingering poison.”

Soraya was sure Emelda was lying. It felt like someone was pouring acid directly into her bloodstream.

“Breathe deep,” Emelda hushed when Soraya started to struggle. “The sting will fade in a moment.”

“Like your promises mean anything,” Soraya snapped, thorns digging into her wrists where she was trying to pull away. Fuck, this stuff was painful. Was Emelda deliberately pressing it down harder to inflict more pain? Perhaps she wasn’t as lovely as she looked.

“And what the hell does that mean, anyway? Breathe deep?”

She’d heard it a few times down here. Uttered among fairies flying by her balcony. In the throne room when she’d been captured.

Her eyes remained on the leaf, but a small frown dented Emelda’s otherwise perfect face. “It’s just a saying we have down here. Breathe deep to calm the mind. Breathe deep and all will be well.” She ran a manicured nail over the leaf, seeming to test for something. “It’s a reminder that no matter how bad things get down here, sometimes taking a deep breath can make everything feel much easier.”

“Does it work?”

Emelda cut her a sharp smile. “Why don’t you try it and let me know?” The second leaf apparently having done its job, Emelda packed her things into the satchel and handed it to a nearby branch, which dutifully carried it back to the chair.

“Are we done?” Soraya asked. She really hoped so.

“For now.” Emelda rolled her eyes. “Although I’ll likely need to see you again in a few days to make sure all the poison is gone.” She took another swig from her flask, whatever was in there bitter enough to make her cough into the back of her hand, then studied Soraya curiously. “You’re a short-tempered thing, aren’t you? No wonder Ikarus thought you were part Dar’rak for a little while.”

Despite the thick blanket covering her body, Soraya’s blood suddenly ran cold. “He thought what?”

Emelda chuckled, a high, throaty sound. She scooted a little closer, readjusting her skirts, and leaned in as though they were old friends gossiping over drinks. “Relax. He had his suspicions when you were brought to the castle because you could block him out of your head, so he looked into your family history as far back as he could.” She paused to take another drink. “You’re as human as they come, God Killer—although I don’t know why he bothered. Even if you did have some Dar’rak ancestry way, way, way back before Aleena banished us here, it wouldn’t have made a difference because we aren’t born with our magic. It’s given.”

Again, Soraya schooled her expression, even if she was internally gaping at the fairy. Was Emelda stupid? Or just so enamored by whatever was in that flask that she didn’t realize the importance of the information she’d just let slip?

Before Aleena’s wish, Ramapheal had been the only creature with magic. Given that their powers seemed to be generally similar among the species—fairies were always gifted with varying degrees of plant-based magic, Ethereals with shadow manipulation—the Vordellians had always assumed there was some biological component to their magic.

Was this not the case?

Soraya rolled her eyes, feigning sarcasm. “Enlighten me then, how does your magic work?”

Emelda slid an eye toward her, her answering scoff a little slurred. “Oh, like you don’t know.”

Soraya shrugged, playing along, wondering if she gave Emelda a little information it might prompt her to spill something in return—or at least keep drinking whatever was in that flask that seemed to loosen her tongue. Anyone with half a brain would see straight through this tactic, but Emelda …

“Our scientists have never managed to work it out. And it’s not as though you guys make for very good hostages on account of those kill switches you all have in your helmets.”

Emelda’s brows flickered at that. “The what in their helmets?”

“The kill switches. The wires or enchantments or whatever it is you have inside your helmets that you can detonate when we capture your kind so we can’t interrogate you.”