Page 80 of The Forgotten Prince

“Eighteen,” he said.

Blood and bloody bones.

The night had gone and come again!

“Spriggan poison, did I hear you say? Did I dream it, or did I also hear tell it was the same that felled Máistir Emrys?”

“It was,” Málik allowed. “Gwendolyn… I did not know they could cross the Veil. It never once occurred to me—nor to Esme—to examine his bruise.”

Or lie to her. She refrained from pointing out again. He’d assured her those creatures did not exist, and clearly they did.

It hurt to frown.

Gwendolyn stifled a sigh, irritated though she didn’t wish to be. She had come so close to losing Málik, and she could not dwell upon dark thoughts. She tilted a glance at the sleeve of her gown, where dark shadows were still visible beneath.

“The poison contains a spore that permeates the veins, congealing blood like sap. It works slowly, but if allowed to spread unchecked, it permeates the muscles and bones, hardening flesh as well.”

“Is that what is happening to me?”

His smile was rueful. “No. Our… bond… saved you. The poison is not deadly to Fae. You will heal quickly,” he promised.

“What about Máistir Emrys?”

“Esme dosed him yesterday. Luckily, he received very little of the poison—a pinprick. Someone perhaps intended it to put him out for a few days more than to kill him. I would guess that same person conceals the antidote, and perhaps intends to administer it once we are gone.”

“Harri,” Gwendolyn whispered.

She knew it. She would wager it was him, and if she could prove it, she would—what? Kill him? Already, too much blood had been shed, though she prayed he would weep actual tears for the men he would burn today.

“It could be,” he said. “If so, Esme will deal with him.”

Esme.

Gwendolyn needed to get up and go find her.

Esme was the only one who could help her now, and no matter what she and Málik had shared, she still, like Bryn, did not trust him to allow her to do what she must—not when he wouldn’t even let her out of bed!

Wincing, she reached for the sleeve of her gown, attempting to lift it to see what the spriggan poison had done to her, and once again, Málik stopped her with a hand atop hers, pushing the sleeve back down.

“You may not wish to look,” he suggested. “As I said, Emrys had only a prick. You received a bit more close to your heart. If we had not…” He gave her a meaningful look, his gaze alighting on Gwendolyn’s shoulder, where his teeth had once pricked her. “You would be—”

A shiver passed down Gwendolyn’s spine. “Dead?”

“Not precisely, though you might wish you were. The spores end life as you know it, but they do not end life. Those who fought here and succumbed to their wounds before the poison carried out its ill effects must be grateful. You may recall that feeling you had in the woods when Loc’s men were in pursuit… still able to see, think, feel, but not move…”

Gwendolyn nodded and shuddered.

“Consider that permanent, irreversible. What I did to you that day was in some way the same, but the effects of my glamour were fleeting.”

Gwendolyn shuddered again, remembering that day in the woods, standing with Málik’s arms entwined about her, like spriggan’s vines.

“What about the men who fell?”

He peered down at his chest, averting his gaze. “There was only one who did not die immediately of his wounds. Esme…”

“You need not tell me!” It was too awful to bear. “Why would your father send these creatures to kill me when I mean to face him? Does he not know?”

“Well… that would seem obvious, Gwendolyn. He does not intend for you to cross the Veil.”

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