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A flare of regret wafted off him.
Before he could say anything, though, I said, “You’re feeling guilty again. And afraid.” I frowned. “Yet unbearably sad and—”
“Could you please stop doing that,” he cut in, nearly barking the command. “I’m not a fan of people being in my head.”
“I’m not in your head,” I countered. “If I were in your head, I’d already have the answer I so desperately need right now. And besides, it’s not my fault you’re practically screaming your feelings at me. They’re so loud that it’s all I can hear. Seriously, I had no idea you’d be so emotional.”
“I’m not—” he started, only to stop suddenly. Then he sighed, long and loud.
This journey was wearing on him. And I still had no idea what it was even about.
“You really need to answer my question,” I said with the utmost of seriousness now. “Why did you come for me? And why wait five years? The last time you stole into my land, it was because of a war, to attack my people.”
And Donnelly would very eagerly enter into another fray with Far Shore if they thought Far Shore had taken their princess without her cooperation.
More guilt layered the air around Farrow. I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying not to jump to conclusions, but this was all beginning to look really bad.
Farrow finally said, “Well, that’s not what this time’s about.”
I shook my head, not sure what to believe—the word of my soul mate or my irritatingly persistent instincts.
I had no idea if he was telling the truth. Lying wasn’t an emotion I could read from him, but guilt was, and he was practically drowning in that. Except he’d felt guilty for a while now, so I couldn’t ascertain whether this case came because he was lying or for another reason. I didn’t know what to believe. All I knew was that he was my perfect match in life—the mark said so—so I kept trusting that.
“Then what is this about?” I asked softly.
“My mother,” he finally said. “She…” He took his time, clearing his throat, then finished with, “She’s very sick.”
“Sick?” I paused, squinting, then bluntly blurted, “But I thought your mother was dead.”
“What?”
His surprised voice made me frown up at the hole in the ceiling of the tent.
“You said she had died.”
“I did? When?”
“When you said the flagon was the last thing she’d given you, I thought…” Huh, I guess he hadn’t exactly said his mother had died. I’d just assumed as much.
“I—it—the flagon was the last thing she gave me before she fell ill,” he corrected.
“Oh.” Whoops.
His grief returned. His mother must be very sick, like on her deathbed, because he was already mourning her.
“I’m so sorry.” My heartstrings twisted for him. “What’s her malady?”
“A wasting disease,” he said. His voice was raspy with pain. “I’ve gone to healers and mages across the kingdom, but the only hope I’ve found so far is from a potion brewer. He thinks he can create a tonic, but some of the ingredients are tricky to procure. One element I need is…”
“Is what?” I encouraged.
“The—the teardrop of a princess.”
“A teardrop?”
“Yes. And you’re the only princess I’ve ever met.”
I sat up and peered across the resting horses to gape at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You need the teardrop of a princess?”
