“Have you gotten word from my warriors?”
“No. Just whispers that filtered back on ravens’ claws and fairies’ wings.”
My troubles seem to multiply before my eyes, but I have to trust in Tristano, Charen, Bladin, and Everett. I’ve scattered them to the four provinces to protect my people. I have faith they’ll do just that.
“Oh ho ho, look who summoned me.” Grimelda leans against the wall and picks gristle from beneath her sharp nails. “I thought I was just a witch ‘plying tricks’ as you said, but here I am.”
Brock steps from the infirmary. “Hold your tongue, foul witch. The king—”
“Has need of you.” I cut Brock off.
“Of course you do.” She rolls her eyes. “I saw the changelings pass through Nightsbane. That nasty noble did nothing to shield them.”
“You could’ve cast a ward to protect them.” I advance on her.
“Not without coin.” She grins.
Brock bristles, but I shake my head at him.
“Witch, you will have coin if you ward the two changelings who still live.”
“I’m going to need double, since there are two of them.” She sighs. “And double again for dragging me across your realm. I haven’t rested since your soldiers grabbed me.” She spits at Anolius’s feet.
“That’s enough.” I grip her cold arm and pull her into the infirmary.
She hisses and yanks away. “Your curseburns.” She whistles. “You’ve angered a powerful witch, my lord. Powerful, indeed.”
“What is she speaking of?” Brock follows.
“Witch, go.” I point to the cots where Lucidia and Caltinius—my changeling healer—works to save the nightlings. “Save them. If there truly is a curse on me, which I doubt, then I will pay for its removal.”
“Oh no, my lord. That curse?” She shakes her head. “Beyond my skill.”
I stop as she kneels by the closest cot, the changeling groaning in pain as her skin bubbles and burns, the lash marks all over her body growing tight and permanent. Shaking my head, I think about what Grimelda said. If she’s not after coin to lift my supposed curse, then perhaps she’s telling the truth.
“Spires!” I look up and ask the Ancestors for some sort of grace.
“Cursed?” Brock leans against the wall and rubs his eyes. He’s watched over the injured nightlings since they arrived. For all his bluster, he cares for them, for what they’ve suffered.
The changeling Grimelda is working on shrieks, her cries sharp and stark. Her pain is only a harbinger of doom, the troubles in my kingdom mounting by the day. Perhaps Emma is right. Playing the aloof prince is no longer what my realm needs.
What the day realm needs is aking.
* * *
“It’s too strong.” Grimelda sits back, her multi-colored eyes watering. “I can’t even sense the mark of who cast it.” She wipes her face with one hand and lets out a shaking breath. “It’s all over you, coating you like soot, dulling your senses.”
“My senses are fine.” I go quiet and can hear an eagle soaring through the Day Wood, crying to its hatchlings in a nearby tree.
She slaps her palm on the table. “Yourferalsenses. Has it awakened as of late?” Her eyes glint with mischief.
“Yes, since I became king it’s been—”
“Wrong!” She cackles, the sound raising the hair on the back of my neck.
“Apologies, my lord, but the changelings are awake now.” Lucidia bows, her body trembling.
I catch her before she falls. “Anolius, escort her to her room, please.”
