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The healer is back at my father’s side, and I sense her anger. We stressed him out when he needs to rest. We’re being assholes.
My heart aches, but I face my tired father. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”
“I know you will,” he whispers.
But maybe not in time.
My father struggles to say more, and we all hold our breaths. “You all scented her fear. That can’t be faked. We royals are honorable. Don’t do anything to change that.”
“Yes, father,” I say, but I can see it in Drogo’s eyes: he still doesn’t believe Tara.
We leave, and Rinan, Drogo, and I stand in the hall outside the royal chambers, reluctant to leave. The desire to be close to my father is strong, even though we have to keep our distance to not contract the illness. I run my hand down my face, trying to erase everything I’m feeling from my face. I’m worried, but I need to be strong and confident.
“She could have done it!” Drogo shouts.
I whirl to face him. “Are you sure? Would you stake your own father’s life on it?”
He looks like I slapped him.
“Then stop! What you did in there… if you would have forced her to use magic on him the wrong way, you could’ve done more harm than good. Either because she was scared, because she was pissed off and you forced her to use her magic, or because she really didn’t know what she was doing.”
He seems to realize I’m right at the same time I realize I am too. I should’ve never let that happen. Desperation is no excuse.
“She will help us,” Rinan says, and he sounds as exhausted as I feel.
“If she’s not working against us,” Drogo mutters.
“What do you mean by that?” I challenge.
I know. I get it. All of us think the witches made us sick and that Princess Tara has to know to how to cure us. But Rinan and I? We also think there’s some truth in what she’s saying. Maybe she doesn’t want to admit the witches did this, but it really does take time to cure something of this magnitude.
We just don’t know.
Drogo leans in, his face stern and angry. “It is possible the bear attack against her was staged. You guys know that, right? I let it go before, but the fact that I'm right is staring us straight in the face.” He lets his words linger for a moment before continuing. “We’re falling for her lies and tricks, even knowing how slimy witches are.” Drogo shakes his head, like he didn’t just include himself in that we.
He’s softening to her. He doesn’t want us to know, tries to hide it behind anger, but we know.
I draw myself up taller. “Drogo, do you think I’m a fool?”
He looks wary. “No.”
“Do you think you love my father more than me?”
“No,” he says, rushing the word.
“Then trust that I’m doing what’s best for my people.”
I turn to go. He grabs my arm. “Arlys, if she were any other witch, we would have already tortured her and gotten the information.”
Leveling him with a stare, I try to keep my voice even. “And would you be the one to torture her.”
He hesitates, opens his mouth, but doesn’t speak.
“And do you truly think we’d get the information we want faster?”
There’s another moment’s hesitation because the fool is all talk and no thought, and then he says, “I don’t know.”
“And do you think we’d ever have a chance at getting her to help us willingly after hurting her?”
