Taran sighs, running his hand through his chin-length hair. “You’ve forgotten the part where I explained everything related to your curse.”
No, this has to be some kind of trick. There must be something—
I look up at Taran. He must have used that willbending thing again. He made me forget something.
But there’s no satisfaction on his face. No gleam in his otherwise brilliant green eyes. If anything, he looks tired. Exhausted. Maybe a little sick.
An icy dread pools in my stomach, sinking all the way to my toes.
It doesn’t make sense for this to be a trick. If he could use willbending to make me forget part of this conversation, or mark my sketchbook without realizing it, then he’d have been better off making me forget he could, so I’d be easier to control. Instead, he explained it to me.
As best I can tell, he’s answered every question I’ve asked, and proven I’m under a fae curse in the process.
Where does that leave me now?
I sniff back the emotion threatening to break my voice. “Can you remove the curse? With your willbending? Force me to remember?”
Sorrow fills Taran’s eyes. “Not without breaking your mind. There are others more skilled with curses who may be able to, but not me.”
I nod, trying to control my breathing.Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Tears burn behind my eyes anyway. My father, the Order… They won’t be able to free me, either.
My hand slips into my pocket, squeezing the stray button. Lost and alone, like me.
“So you can’t tell me why you need me?” I ask. If I can actually help him, then maybe he’ll help me find someone capable of breaking it.
Taran exhales, then rubs the bridge of his nose. “You remember the queen?”
“Yes.”
“She was living in Haven, but disappeared shortly after an attempt on my life and the assassination of my father.” The set of his jaw projects strength, but grief fills his eyes.
A pang of sympathy resonates in my chest. I’ve only known a world at peace, but I’ve often imagined what would happen if the war started up again. The risk it posed to my father. Such worries always left my mom sleeping worse when he was away.
I wipe the moisture from my cheeks. “You think they’re related?”
“I do.”
I search his face, seeking any signs of deception. There’s… something about him. Something I should know, like a word on the tip of my tongue that I can’t reach. The way his tousled, raven hair hangs near his eyes. As if I’ve met him before, but I can’t recall anyone who looks at all similar.
Whatever it is, my gut wants to trust him. Or is this simply the fae charm everyone warned me about?
Arandur’s knickers.This is impossible to navigate. But if I accept that he’s been telling the truth and that we can help each other, then maybe I can build more trust by showing some compassion?
I rest my hand on his, like my mom always does when comforting me. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Taran’s gaze drops to our hands, then he pulls away, scooting out ofreach.
So much for that.
He clears his throat. “I believe my mother intends to steal my throne, then force my people into war against yours. There are reasons I expect you’ll be useful in stopping her, but we’ve proven I can’t explain them in a way you can remember. You just have to trust me.”
His face shows no sign of duplicity. For whatever reason, he believes I can help him, and his eyes bleed a desperate hope that I will. That he’s convinced me. That he doesn’t need to fight me anymore.
Even if my gut is wrong, helping himismy best chance to get free of my curse. And if doing so can also save my people from war, it would be selfish not to. Cowardly, even.
But underneath that, something deeper stirs. As if helping him will somehow fill the hole in my heart, like a missing puzzle piece.
