Page 156 of Burn

After swapping an inspired gaze with Mother, I cupped Nicu’s face. “Like me.”

I’d once vowed to forge my own crown. Yet it appeared, I didn’t need to anymore.

49

Briar

Winter’s silhouette loomed in a dark corner of the infirmary, his height throwing a knife-shaped shadow across the tile floor. In the bleak room, Jeryn’s profile studied a tray of curved, serrated, and pronged surgical tools. His index finger meticulously traced the blades like components to a shrine.

I knew his stomach-curdling proclivities well. Though upon closer inspection, the prince’s expression stood divided between reverence and … something else. I would say my eyes were deceiving me, because for an instant, he seemed haunted.

Physicians sought to save lives. But they didn’t always succeed.

Numerous sections of this wing consisted of clinics and sanitariums. None of them rivaled Summer’s whirlpools and healing waters, much less equaled the advanced medical halls of Winter’s alpine castle. However, our facilities were sufficient to nurse the wounded.

Less than a week had passed since the riot. Knights, courtiers, and town residents currently populated several vast rooms, where our healers oversaw them. For this reason, Jeryn had delayed his journey home, in favor of doctoring the patients and thus relinquishing his sleep. And because of his help, a considerable number of patients would survive their injuries.

Including children. Jeryn had spent a large portion of his hours administering to them.

Yet our appreciation for this only went so far. His actions did not absolve the prince from other atrocities.

Unlike the rest of this wing, nothing but silence filled the vacant space where surgeries were performed. Though it hardly proved a surprise to locate the prince here. Apart from occupying his throne alongside Silvia and Doria, the man spent his days immersed in other obsessions.

Science. Experiments. Torture.

Winter’s medicine resulted from practicing on born souls against their wills. Shuddering, I evicted the image of Jeryn cutting into patients while they screamed.

Currently, a fleet of black carriages and stags waited in the main courtyard. With most patients now stable, Jeryn was free to leave. Apart from his medical assistance, this man’s departure could not come soon enough.

I only wished we could stop Winter from taking Summer’s born souls. After spending days with Mother and Poet, trying to find a loophole in the agreement, reality crushed our hopes.

What would become of the prisoners? What would the prince do to them?

What would he have done to Flare?

At least we spared her from this prince. At least that.

Striding into the room with me, Poet must have sensed my repugnance. “Caution, sweeting,” he advised under his breath. “This wolf can see through stone, and I’d hate to spill Royal blood before dinner.”

“I want him gone,” I snarled.

“Soon,” Poet murmured while facing forward. “Very soon.”

With the jester by my side, I folded my hands into a single fist and willed my countenance into one of decorum. One hour left, and we would be rid of Winter.

Jeryn heard us enter, yet he kept his gaze on the surgical blades. That meant he had something of importance to discuss, which Poet and I had prepared for.

“Leaving us already?” the jester pretended to sulk, right before his voice flattened. “Whatever shall we do without you? Though since this is my last chance, the suspense has been killing me. Finally, I must ask: How many wooly mammoths had to die for your tailors to make that coat?”

Jeryn twisted his head sideways. Those crystal eyes sheared through the darkness. “Who said anything about it being sourced from an animal?”

Poet seethed. Bile washed through my stomach.

Satisfied, the prince directed his gaze back to the tray. “Tell me,” he said while sketching a fork-shaped apparatus. “Did you know this tool is used for extracting a person’s tongue?”

“Did you know tongues were more lasting weapons?” the jester murmured with silken malice. “Perhaps that’s why they’re such a threat, as to require amputation.”

The man’s nostrils flared. His fingers pressed into the blade’s pointed tips. “Where is she?” he inquired with deadly calm.

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