Shouts ring out somewhere inside the palace.
Lorelei rises to her feet. “What the bloody oak and ivy?”
I dart out of the dining room, then pause, listening for more sound. Another shout comes, then muffled, frantic voices.
Lorelei puts a hand on my arm to keep me from pursuing the source. “Don’t. It might not be safe.”
She’s probably right, but I have to know what’s going on. My eyes flash to the guards in the hall, the same two who guard my room. They’ve been following me at a distance everywhere I go since Aspen left, and I’ve given up trying to persuade them not to. Finally, they might be useful for once. “You,” I point to one, a female with bright blue eyes and a distinctly feline face, “see what’s going on and report back to me at once.”
She stands at attention but doesn’t move. Her expression is querulous as she ponders my request.
I square my shoulders, summoning the snobbery I feigned with the wine servant the other day. “As the king’s mate and lady of Bircharbor Palace, I demand it.”
The guard finally moves to obey, and Lorelei nudges her shoulder into mine. “Look at you, acting like a queen,” she whispers.
We remain in the hall, waiting anxious minutes on end for the guard to return. When she does, she brings Foxglove as well. The ambassador’s face is pale, expression troubled. Lorelei and I run to meet him.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“The king has been injured.” Foxglove says. “Gravely so.”
A surge of emotion rushes through me, but I can’t identify what it is. Relief? Worry? Satisfaction? “What happened?”
Foxglove wrings his hands. “I finally convinced the Holstrom father to agree to a bargain. The king would be unarmored and allow Mr. Holstrom to draw blood using a weapon of his choice. The man chose a bow as his weapon and aimed for the king’s heart.”
At the look on Foxglove’s face, Lorelei gasps, bringing her hands to cover her mouth. “Tell me he isn’t dead.”
“He isn’t, but…the arrowhead was iron, of course. It got lodged between his ribs just below his heart. Prince Cobalt tried to free it, but the shaft was ash and burned his hands. He was only able to snap the shaft and potentially drove the arrowhead deeper.”
Lorelei spins toward me and takes me by the shoulders. “You can help him.”
My eyes go wide. “What?”
“You’re a—whatever you call it—a surger.”
“A surgeon,” I correct, “and I, well, don’t you have a fae healer? Gildmar?”
“Gildmar was summoned immediately,” Foxglove says. “She met us on our way back to the palace and has already done what she can, but she can’t get the arrowhead from between his ribs, especially with his blood becoming more and more poisoned with every minute the iron remains inside him. She can hardly go near the wound at this point, much less tend it.”
A sense of purpose settles over me. This is exactly what I’m trained for. “I suppose I could help. Where is he?”
“He’s in the east wing on the bottom floor.”
“Let me get my things,” I say. “Then take me there.”
* * *
I can hear the king well before I see him. As we approach the east wing, moaning echoes from wall to wall, a guttural sound like a wounded animal. We reach the door at the end of the main hall and pause just inside. Aspen lies on a stone table and Cobalt paces the length of it, face twisted with worry. Next to the table stands a short fae with bark-like skin and branches of leafy hair, hand covering her mouth as if protecting herself from a foul smell.
I take a step inside, drawing Cobalt’s attention. “Evelyn, what are you doing here?”
“I think I can help him.”
Cobalt’s brow furrows, either with concern or confusion. His voice comes out small. “You think you…can?”
I wonder if he meant to saywant to. With a nod, I approach the table, Foxglove and Lorelei hovering just behind me. I note the smell of blood filling the air, something I am intimately familiar with. But another pungent odor assaults my senses as well. Tangy. Sharp. Dangerous.
“I can almost taste the iron in the air,” Lorelei says with a cough. “Oak and ivy, that’s strong.”
