Page 133 of Elven Crown

Zida knew Rebecca Knox didn’t actually exist. She knew this elf lying on her infirmary bed was more powerful even when wounded than half of Shade’s most formidable operatives combined.

Why else would she have mentioned the Lost Princess of Cálindor? Because that old wives’ tale and the truth of Rebecca’s real life were alarmingly similar enough to draw an eerie parallel.

Shit.

Now Rebecca had one more person here among Shade’s ranks who suspected she was nothing like the elf she’d claimed to be this whole time.

If she didn’t do some serious damage control, and pretty damn quick, she might even have one more potential enemy standing right here in front of her.

An enemy she’d trusted enough to willingly let the old healer strap her down to the infirmary bed while Rebecca was still too weak to fight her way out of it.

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Rebecca stared the healer down for as long as she could, her mind reeling and her guts twisting in knots over the new glaring realization rearing its ugly head.

Zida was on to her.

But the hairless ridge of Zida’s raised eyebrow made it clear the old woman wouldn’t give anything away. Not unless she felt it was her only option.

Anyone who knew the truth about her only faced that much more danger themselves, not to mention the much higher risk it posed the rest of Shade should any one of its members have valuable information about the missing and long sought after Bloodshadow Heir.

She still wanted to trust the old woman like she’d thought she’d been able to, but that was harder to do when she had no specifics of what Zida thought she knew.

And now Rebecca was strapped to an infirmary bed, panting beneath the pain of her wound and the pressure of all the thingsthat could go so terribly wrong at any moment if she made the wrong call.

She’d rendered herself completely helpless, which was the worst situation in which she could possibly find herself.

The kind of situation she strove to avoid at all costs, and look where she’d ended up. She’d walked—or rather flopped—right down into it out of Maxwell’s arms the moment he’d delivered her to the healer, just as damn clueless as she’d been.

Was Zida somehow connected to Rowan having found her here? Had Rebecca let herself get too close to the wrong damn healer?

She had to know, one way or the other, and she had to go about it very carefully. She had to be smart. She had to play the game on Zida’s level.

Clearly, the healer was no stranger to it herself.

With a bitter laugh that ended in a weak, desperate squawk, Rebecca covertly tested the strength of the leather straps binding her to the bed.

Yup, those were tight as hell.

“What, exactly, do you think I am?” she asked, hoping to goad the old woman into some kind of reveal.

Zida eyed her a moment longer, then tsked and dismissed the question with a wave. “I’m not a fan of conjecture.”

“Bullshit,” Rebecca hissed. “Every time you took out one of those super-powered sniffy vials of yours the last time I needed healing, your knowledge of what it might do to me was nothingbutconjecture.”

“And look where it got us!” Zida shouted, spreading her arms. “That nasty mark on your arm is all healed up, isn’t it? And you wouldn’t be dying right now if you didn’t have a fucking wooden stake through your guts, as you so eloquently put it. Interesting that you’d ask mewhatI think you are instead ofwho, though. Don’t you think? Of course, that’s probably just the stake talking.”

Zida approached the bed again, rubbing her clawed hands vigorously together before wiggling her fingers in preparation.

Whatever the healer thought she knew, she wasn’t going to reveal any of it now. Rebecca was sure. Right now, that felt more dangerous than if the old woman had just answered her question.

“Bite down on something, elf. This is gonna hurt.”

“Bite down? Onwhat?”

Even if she hadn’t been forcefully strapped down to the infirmary bed, Rebecca wouldn’t have had the time to grab anything and stick it between her teeth.

The next second, her eyes widened at the immeasurable agony of Zida clamping both hands down around what little of the wooden shard still protruded from Rebecca’s belly.

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