"There has to be something, Lemil. Some experimental remedy the scientists are working on at the university. I'm willing to try anything, no matter how controversial."
He shook his head. "If anyone were developing a medicine, I would have heard about it."
Something about the way he was avoiding my gaze and wringing his hands told me that he wasn't telling me everything he knew, and for a split second, an insidious suspicion entered my mind.
What if Lemil was working with Avren? What if he was part of the conspiracy to remove Arlen from the race?
The healer had lost weight since the last time I'd seen him, and it was evident that he felt guilty. At first, I'd assumed the reason was his insistence on my father resuming his training sessions. That was why my father had been in the gym the day of the attempted assassination. But what if he felt guilty for another reason?
What if Avren was bribing or threatening him into cooperating?
I shook my head even though I hadn't voiced any of my suspicions.
I had no proof that Avren was involved in Arlen's misfortune, and even less proof that the healer was doing anything nefarious.
"Lemil." I leaned on his table and looked into his eyes. "I'm not asking you as a prince asking his physician. I'm asking you as a man who is desperate to save his brother. If there is anything, anything at all, no matter how outlandish, I want to know what it is. I don't care if it's witchcraft or something I can only get from a Sitorian priest. If need be, I'll hunt one down and get him to give me what I need."
He let out a long-suffering sigh. "It's not witchcraft or Sitorian poison, but I've heard rumors about a contraband drug that is supposed to do wonders for people afflicted with all kinds of mental troubles, from addiction all the way to a soldiers' affliction. It's a dangerous street drug, and the rumors might be fabrications." He lowered his voice further, though we were alone. "It's made from a fungus that grows in the deep wet caves down the southern coast of the Catonian Sea. I don't know the process of making the drug, or what else they mix into it, but I heard that it throws the mind wide open. Users report long hours of visions, of connecting to the divine, or the universe, or other realities. Its street name is greycap, and it's highly addictive. At first, just a little is enough to bring about the hallucinations, but over time, more and more is needed to achieve the same results, and eventually heavy users fry their brains. That's why I never mentioned it, and why I don't recommend it. You might help Arlen recover from the soldiers' affliction but doom him to something much worse."
I didn't care about the long-term addiction. I would not let Arlen get so far. But if there was a chance to help him now, I'd take it.
"Where do I find it? I'll pay whatever it costs."
He shook his head. "I'm a court physician. I cannot procure contraband, and a prince of Catonia certainly cannot be seen anywhere near the slums where it's sold." He was still shaking his head and wringing his hands. "I shouldn't have told you. Theking will have my head if anything happens to you out there while you are trying to purchase it."
"I need to know where I can find it, and anything else you know about it."
He insisted he knew nothing beyond what he'd already told me, but I kept pushing, and in the end, he told me that a good place to start would be the lower docks.
"I swear by Elurion that's all I know, Your Highness, but I implore you to forget what I've said and not pursue this dangerous drug."
I pushed to my feet. "Don't worry, Lemil. I will not breathe a word about where I learned about the greycap. But if it helps Arlen, I will reward you generously for throwing me this lifeline."
He uttered a sound that was a cross between a groan and a whimper. "It's not a line, Your Highness. It's a poisonous snake."
I snorted. "At this point, I don't care if the line is made from rope or snakeskin. I'll take anything I can get my hands on."
I waited for dark, not because I wanted to reach the shady part of town at the most dangerous time but because it made it easier to sneak out of the palace wearing my merchant disguise.
I went down through the servants' passages wearing the plain clothes that marked me as neither poor nor rich, but someone who could afford what I'd come to buy. I also carried a short-barreled handgun under my light coat, a dagger at the belt, and another one in the boot. My purse was heavy enough to buy what I'd come for, and, to some, heavy enough to kill for.
I walked a few streets away from the palace before flagging a hover-car transport.
"The lower docks," I said as I climbed in.
"Are you sure, mister?" the driver asked. "It's not safe for a gentleman like you in those parts, especially after dark."
"I'm sure."
He shook his head but drove me to my destination.
When he stopped the hover-car, I leaned forward and held out the fare. "Thank you."
He gave me one last questioning look, then took the bill, and after I stepped out, he drove away.
I'd grown up in Vedona, and yet I'd never been to the docks.
It was strange, walking through a part of my city I'd only seen as a smudge of masts and smoke from a high palace window. The lower city might as well have been another country for all I knew of it.
