Page 29 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

I jolt when the tanned Fae’s breath disturbs the loose strands of hair hanging by my neck.

I fight off a shiver and inch closer to the cot, instinct screaming at me to put distance between me and the unnerving Fae.

“And you’ve ruled out that this is some sort of poison?” I ask. “Or perhaps an allergic reaction to something he ingested or came into contact with?”

“We have,” Jaxon huffs.

I take another breath then say in the strongest voice I can manage, “Then this ailment must be caused by magic.”

Silence.

I don’t turn to see their reaction. I don’t need to. I know I’m right.

But then the question creeps in: Why do the powerful Fae think I can help?

Unless…

No.

If they knew what I really was, I’d already be dead.

But just to be sure, I keep my lips pressed together and wait for one of them to speak, unwilling to incriminate myself should they have any suspicions.

After several long, anxiety-spiking seconds, a throat clears.

Draven speaks again, his voice low. “Our comrade is cursed.”

An ache throbs in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he snaps. “Just help him.”

I turn around, wide-eyed. “How? I mend bones. I treat wounds and infections. I don’t undo curses.”

His jaw muscle tics. “Then at least find a way to slow down the decay.”

My stomach twists. “Decay?”

He tosses an arm toward the cot. “His graying skin is just the start. Next, his flesh and muscle will waste away.”

Gods…

I’ve witnessed my fair share of nasty diseases—illnesses that scar and debilitate—conditions I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

But that sort of deterioration? On a body that was created by the Old Gods to be near indestructible? I can’t fathom the agony.

“That’s…” I swallow. “Horrific.”

“It is.” Draven’s eyes flash. “That’s why you need to help him.”

“I wish I could, but⁠—”

“I don’t want excuses,” he growls, hands fisted at his sides. “We didn’t come all this way to be told the renowned Verdanthian healer can’t help us!”

I rear back, wincing when my hip hits the corner of the table placed beside the cot, littered with unfamiliar vials and damp cloths.

Jaxon slams a palm on Draven’s chest, halting his advance.

“You will help us.” Draven rises on his toes and barks over his friend’s shoulder, “Or the Shadow Prince will burn Verdanthia to ash.”