Page 37 of A Rift in the House of Bruin

“Life-binding, you say…” Maxfield scratched his brow, glancing between us. “Interesting, only?—”

“Yes,” Lucius interrupted, cutting off whatever the old male was about to say. “She needs a more permanent solution to help her transition into her magic safely.”

“The cancer—I mean, the Tribulation—has been coming on stronger. Even life-binding doesn’t last the way it used to.” I said as Lucius reached for my hand. Though my focus was on Maxfield, I could feel Lu staring at me. His concern was palpable.

“Tribulation can’t be cured. It’s not an illness.”

My heart sank. Everything I had been offered a taste of—a future, romantic love, a family of my own—was ripped away in a single breath. And I believed him. I’d heard it my entire life:yourcancer is terminal. Why would Hiraeth be any different?

“You call yourself a healer?” Lucius snapped. “Dove, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Iver Pennington assured us she could be healed.”

“Never heard of him.” Maxfield turned his back on us, busying himself with his wall of jars. “If he can cure Tribulation, then why aren’t you seeking his help, instead of bothering me?”

“Iver died in service to the House of Bruin. He was the royal healer,” I informed him. Maxfield’s lips parted slightly at the mention of the Bruin name, and for a brief moment, his brow furrowed. It was so subtle that if I hadn’t been staring at him, I would have missed it. “He was a kind, gentle soul. Unlike some others I’ve met.”

I hadn’t thought of the old healer in some time. Not because our time together in Neverland didn’t matter, but because remembering him hurt more than I liked to admit. He was the first person who’d given me a real reason to believe a cure might exist—the first to look at me and see more than a lost cause. And for that, he paid with his life. He hadn’t been a warrior, just akind soul who happened to find himself between Tiger Lily and her obsession with ending the Darling bloodline. He chose to protect me anyway. And she chose to kill him for it.

“Shame. He also lied to you,” Maxfield said bluntly.

“Iver had no reason to lie.” I was quickly losing patience. If Maxfield couldn’t help me, then we were wasting precious time. “Lucius, maybe we should go.”

“If a cure is what you’re looking for, then I can be of no help. True remission from the Tribulation must be earned. I can, however, offer you sprite ash.”

“What’s sprite ash?” Lu asked cautiously.

“Just a little something. Stronger than your run-of-the-mill faerie dust.”

“Last time I checked, sprites didn’t produce dust.” Lu’s head tilted, his brows pinching together. “Are you sure you’re not trying to sell us snake oil?”

“I never said sprite dust. Spriteashis what’s left when you use a mortar and pestle on the remains of deceased sprites.”

Lu’s face contorted with disgust. “I wish I never asked. Thank you for clearing that up. I think.”

“Wait—you’re killing sprites? For medicine?” I asked, horrified. I may have been desperate to find something, anything, to extend my time here with the Bruins—but killing innocent fae and desecrating their remains? I had to draw the line somewhere. My life wasn’t worth sacrificing another.

“No one said anything about killing sprites. What kind of monster do you take me for? Sprites live very short lives. Their remains are ethically sourced. By offering their empty vessels, they inherently become everlasting.”

“So their bodies are willingly donated?” I asked for clarity.

“Yes. I told you—I’m not a monster. Do you want the medicine or not?”

“Will it help?”

“It’ll definitely help. You can expect it to act similarly to faerie dust, only its effects are more potent and last longer. The true cure will come from honing your growing magic.” Maxfield held up a jar, revealing a silvery-blue dust.

“But I don’t have any magical abilities. How am I supposed to hone my skills?”

“You have magic, Michaela, or you wouldn’t be going through the Tribulation. Your Divine trial is to figure out what that magic entails—and learn to harness it instead of letting it burn like wildfire, consuming your vessel.”

“You’re an alchemist. You understand magic. Could you help me make sense of my abilities?”

Maxfield sighed. “I am but a healer. And a retired one, at that. I have no time for teaching.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got all the time in the world,” Lucius sneered. “I can reward you handsomely. How much for the jar and your tutelage?”

“The jar?” Maxfield laughed. “No, no. All you’ll need is a small vial. A little smear will do the trick. As for my tutelage—some things aren’t for sale.”

Lucius huffed, unable to hide the irritation on his face. “Let me formally introduce myself: Lucius, Seventh Son of Artos, rightful Prince of the Second Realm.”

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