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"You'll need to reapply this once a day," Heron explained, smearing the paste over her wound. "I'll give you a week's supply."
"A month's," Azrail countered, earning a raised blue eyebrow.
"Fine, fine, a month's. You're all very serious and dramatic." Heron grinned inexplicably. "I love it. Adds to the drama. Mind that fire," he added when Ark moved.
Maia's heart leapt into her throat, but her golden mate backed carefully away from the flaming barrel in the middle of the room. She couldn't read the expression on his rugged face, but a tight panic met her soul when she reached for him, and the glade at the heart of her tensed and shivered.
"Thanks," Maia said when Heron stepped back, grabbing a towel to wipe his hand on. "You're sure this will heal it?"
"Positive," he confirmed with a beaming grin, his glasses precariously balanced on his rounded cheeks. "Don't ignore my instructions, though. Once a day, without fail, or it'll get worse. When it's fully healed, the curse will be weak."
"Weak," Maia repeated. "Not gone?"
Heron shrugged, and set about making another batch of healing slop. "Curses never really leave. Their mark fades, but they don't disappear altogether. That's the way of curses. I'd find an expert if I were you."
"Yeah," Maia agreed, frowning.
"You can't know who I am," Jaro said abruptly, his voice quiet.
Maia turned to him, curious. He must have been thinking about that all this time.
He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, but realised he was slouching and straightened. He looked out of place and uncomfortable, his red hair burnished and gleaming, his clothes neat and orderly among all this chaos, and Maia's heart strained.
"You said you know all of us, but you can't know me."
Heron glanced up, looking over the rim of his glasses, silver eyes yet again glimmering. "You have quite the reputation, you know? Spy for the Sapphire Knight. The glittering jewel of Baj’s pillow house. Favourite of Yeven Delakore. Your story has travelled far in certain circles in the Saintlands. Those of us in the know, know you."
Maia blinked—and blinked again. Behind her, Jaro had stopped breathing.
"Say that again," she said. Her voice emerged a dull, emotionless thing. She could barely hear herself over the roaring in her ears.
The glittering jewel of Baj’s pillow house. Favourite of Yeven Delakore.
"Maia," Jaro breathed, his tall body hunched and smaller.
She shook her head, yanking her shirt down over her stomach and ignoring the tremor in her hands. She couldn't tell what emotion was building inside her yet, but it was strong enough to black out the stars.
"Is that true?" Kheir asked, carefully neutral. He rubbed up and down Maia's back between her wings but she couldn't feel it. Her whole body was going numb.
"Oh, no," Heron said, genuinely remorseful. "I thought he'd have told you something so important..."
Favourite of Yeven Delakore.
Her cousin Yeven. Ismene's son; the cruel, sneering bastard who'd never once helped Maia when he watched her struggle every damn day. Yeven—Yevenhad visited the pillow house where Jaro had worked. Had visited enough times to have a favourite.
Something oily and dark frothed in her gut. Maia couldn't even look at Jaro.
She couldn't stay here any longer; numb to the core, she twisted away and pushed past Ark through the healer's shop.
Outside, she gasped down air, the trembling moving from her hands to her whole body. She jumped when a weight settled around her—a heavy wool coat draped over her shaking shoulders—and she realised her hand had still been linked with Azrail's. She'd dragged him outside with her.
She didn't hear any of his murmurs of reassurance. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how to breathe.
