A muscle in his jaw twitched. “And did you hear anything that interested you, my dearprincess?”
“No.”
“Shame. Next time you should—”
“But Isawsomething.”
He glared at her.
Sephia glared right back. “Your brother’s hands are shaking. And they look…dead.And black and…diseased.”
Tarron started to speak, but he seemed to lose track of his words as the king approached them.
King Deven glanced between the two of them. Sighed, and then held up one of those dark, disease-riddled hands. He spoke a single word—yet another that Sephia did not recognize—and let it linger in the silence. Warmth soon bloomed in the space all around them, and Sephia watched, speechless herself now, as the king’s hands returned to normal. Even the shaking ceased, little by little, until it was barely noticeable.
He gave his younger brother a withering look as he tipped his head toward Sephia. “You can deal with this?” His tone suggested a question, but the look in his eyes led Sephia to believe thatyeswas the only acceptable answer.
Tarron nodded.
“Then I will take my leave,” said the king, wearily, and then he did precisely this.
Once they were alone, Sephia swallowed hard and continued before the prince could speak: “They weren’t shaking when we first arrived here. And they didn’t look likethat. I would have noticed, because he took my hand and walked me to my room.” She glanced down at her own hands now—at hersister’shands. It still shocked her, the way that witch’s magic had changed them, made them grey-tinted and wrinkled. She had to swallow to clear her throat again before she could continue: ”He didn’t catch it fromme. Regardless of what your old doctor might have led you to believe, I am not contagious. I’ve never infected anyone.”
Tarron took a deep breath. “No, he didn’t catch it from you.”
Sephia opened her mouth and shut it just as quickly.
She hadn’t expected him to agree with her about…well,anything.
“So…” she continued after her shock subsided, “he’s been using some sort of illusion magic to hide his illness? Has he been hiding it for long?”
His skin had looked worse than hers—worse than Nora’s.
What did it mean?
Tarron didn’t answer her; something in the distance had caught his attention.
“Whatelseare you hiding from me?” Sephia demanded. “We aren’t completely ignorant in my kingdom, you know. We know of the spells, the glamours and the like that your kind use, and we—”
Suddenly Tarron was moving again, grabbing her roughly by the arm and pulling her down a nearby path.
They came to a crossroads and hesitated. Sephia started to pull away, but he stopped her with an impatient look. His eyes darted to the left, and she followed his gaze and saw that there were two young fae on the next path over, pausing to pick fruit from a flowering tree.
“We need to find someplace more private,” Prince Tarron muttered. He changed direction and continued dragging her along, until they finally came to an open gate.
They left the gardens behind and made their way down a steep hill, stopping once they reached a small stream. The gently flowing water was a beautifully peculiar shade of turquoise. There were little waterfalls, moss-draped rocks, birds singing, butterflies with softly-glowing wings…
It might have been an unbearably romantic spot under different circumstances.
Tarron glanced back at the gardens, and then he turned his back to them and breathed a quiet sigh. He looked as if he might be content to settle down beside the stream, doze off, and never talk about the king again.
Sephia was not as content.
“About your brother—“
“You will saynothingof what you saw,” he said, calmly and coldly and without taking his eyes off the water.
“I can’t just ignoreit!”
