Julia, the other maid, grabbed Fayre’s left hand for what seemed like the thousandth time to admire the diamond ring resting there. “I can’t believe you’re engaged to Lord Ryland! Once you are married, you’ll be Lady Fayre Lyke, relative to the king!”
Mindy’s face paled, and she smacked Julia on the arm to silence her. “I heard about what happened to his parents,” Mindy said, glaring at her friend. Julia frowned, the thought seemingly just occurring to her. “You must be devastated.”
Fayre gazed at the ground with sadness, her vision pulsating strangely. It was odd how fast her mood could change. She nodded and said faintly, “I am, but not as much as he is.” Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, and she silently cursed her inability to keep her emotions in check.
Julia handed her a handkerchief, and Fayre smiled at her as she used it to wipe her face. “They were good parents. Kind people. I cannot believe they are gone,” Fayre began, but she stopped when bile rose in her throat. She blinked, the world going in and out of focus. What was wrong with her?
Mindy watched her closely. “Dear, you look pale. Let’s find you a bench to sit down on.”
Fayre nodded wordlessly, a hand going up to her head. It started to ache, and she gasped at the sheer pain of it. What was happening?
“Fayre? Fayre? Are you all right?” Julia’s voice sounded far away, and Fayre’s vision started to fade to black. She saw the two maid’s concerned expressions, and she tried to smile, but instead she felt herself falling to the ground. Her whole body thrumming with pain, everything went black.
Ryland stared at the painting on the wall in the corridor where he stood. It had been a few hours since he had made his decision not to continue to try to take the throne, and he reveled in the freedom of no longer having any of that responsibility. And since Caspian was letting him take time off, he didn’t have to worry about anything else either.
He’s young, but he has matured this last month. He’ll do great, Ryland thought absently as he took a step forward and ran his fingers over the picture frame.
Ryland removed his fingers from the painting and thought about the day it was made. It depicted him, his mother, his father, and Fayre. His parents had told him that they were going to do a portrait, and, naturally, young Ryland hadn’t wanted to sit still for that long. Ryland remembered he had only perked up and said he would do it when his parents told him Fayre could be in the portrait too. Soon, however, he had learned that talking and playing while getting a portrait done was not allowed, not even when Fayre was there.
Ryland chuckled despite another tear wetting his cheek. He could see the event as if it occurred yesterday, and he was grateful to have the portrait there to remind him.
I’m glad they had so many portraits done, he thought, glancing up and down the hallway. I will never forget their faces. The thought made him sad, and he sighed loudly. He jumped at the sound and swung around, his hand on his sword before he realized that it had come from his own lips. He relaxed and brought his hands to his side. Half the servants were still at the country manor, and he’d sent the others away so he could mourn alone. There had been no noise in the house since Devin had left, which made even the slightest sound deafening.
Suddenly, Ryland heard footsteps leading up the outside steps that led to his parents’ home. My home, he corrected himself. He braced himself for the loud knock that would inevitably follow. Who was it now, and what did they want? Why couldn’t anyone leave him alone? He was being bitter, and he knew it. He should go and see Fayre. Being with her would make him feel better.
Biting his lip, he moved toward the door. It seemed to take a lot of effort to move his legs, as if they were stuck in molasses. Finally, seemingly ages later, he reached the door and pulled it open. Ryland’s eyebrows raised when he realized who was standing on the steps in front of him. The prince.
“Your Majesty,” Ryland said, bowing. Suddenly conscious of his disheveled appearance, he attempted to smooth out some of the wrinkles in his shirt before giving up, realizing it was a lost cause. “I need to tell you—”
“Ryland,” Caspian interrupted.
Ryland felt his ears raise in surprise at the prince’s interruption, and for the first time he noticed the somber expression he wore. Ryland felt like collapsing into a heap and crying again.
“What’s happened?” he asked. Hopefully, it wasn’t something that would take long to deal with. He just wanted to be left alone.
“It’s Fayre.” Caspian wrung his hands, his expression twisted with concern. “Something horrible has happened.”
Ryland felt his heart stop and his world spin around him. No! Not Fayre. “What’s going on?” Ryland cried out in anguish, grabbing the doorframe for support when his knees gave out. “She’s all I have,” he whispered, unbidden tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
“She’s not dead, but she’s suddenly taken ill.” Caspian reached out an arm as if to steady him but pulled back before he made contact.
Ryland raised his head, hope blossoming in his chest. “So she’s going to be okay?”
Caspian swallowed and looked away. “I don’t know. The physicians are with her now, but it’s very serious. They do not know the cause.”
Ryland’s world crashed in on him. First his parents, and now Fayre, the love of his life. It was as if his heart had been taken out of his chest and stomped on—many times.
“I . . .” Ryland trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I have to see her.”
The prince nodded. “Of course. That’s why I’m here. My carriage awaits.”
Ryland took a step forward, stumbling on the step. He would have fallen, but Caspian grabbed his arm, helping him get back up. With his hand wrapped firmly around Ryland’s upper arm, the prince led him toward the waiting carriage.
For Ryland, the trip passed in a haze. He couldn’t stop thinking about Fayre and how much he loved her. His heart cried out in agony every time he thought about losing her.
Block it out, he told himself. Don’t feel the pain, or the love. Just block it all out. That seemed to work, and he was able to walk into the castle with a little more coordination than he’d shown at his own estate. But when he arrived at Fayre’s bedside and gazed upon her pale face, his resolve crumbled, and he crumbled with it, crashing down hard on the floor next to her bed.
Fayre opened her green eyes. When she blinked, her dark eyelashes brushed against her deathly-white cheeks. “Ryland?” Her voice sounded rough, not at all like the melodious tones she normally spoke in.
He lifted his head quickly. “Yes?” Her eyes were only opened halfway, and she was struggling to breathe.
“I—” She started, then cut off, her eyes fluttering close. She drew a deep, shaky breath, and one of her hands twitched. Ryland grabbed it and put the hand to his cheek, wincing at how cold she was.
“That’s the most I’ve heard her say since she fell ill this afternoon,” a voice supplied.
Ryland blinked, only now noticing the two maids in the room, and took a deep breath of his own. “What happened?”
The short maid who had spoken before sniffed loudly. “We were walking in the gardens, and she was talking to us”—she motioned to the other maid—“and then she collapsed, and now she looks like this.” She waved her hand toward the bed before grasping the hands of the other maid. Both women were pale, their eyes wide with concern and fright.
Caspian cleared his throat. “You two go and rest. I’ll send some others to care for her.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The two maids curtsied thankfully before leaving the room, glancing back for one last look at Fayre’s too-still figure.
The prince shook his head and put his hand on Ryland’s shoulder. “All of the servants loved her. She was a great woman.”
Ryland felt his emotions explode into an angry mess, and he turned on the prince. He stood and drew himself up to his full height. He was taller than Caspian, and the young man took a step back. “She’s not dea
d yet!” he said venomously.
“No,” Prince Caspian agreed, but his expression was doubtful.
More anger roiled inside Ryland. But how could he blame the prince? Ryland himself had said “yet.”
A faint noise made them both look over at the bed, where Fayre took a breath, then let it out with a sigh. Ryland’s anger faded, and he slid back to his knees near the bed, taking Fayre’s hand again. Even he couldn’t deny how bad Fayre looked. Death lingered on her face. There was no doubt in his mind that she was going to die, sooner or later.
“Do you know what it is?” Ryland asked softly, his voice breaking. He was too sad to even cry as watched his love dying before him. She’s the other half of my soul. How will I go on without her?
“No. As I said before, the doctors have no idea what it could be. It did come on rather suddenly. It must be a disease because there’s no evidence someone poisoned her.” Prince Caspian’s brow furrowed as he said it, almost as if he didn’t believe his own words.
Ryland took it in, not really listening. All he caught was the “no.” That was all that mattered anyway. The rest was just nonsense.
But then an idea sprang to his mind like a lit candle shedding light into his desperate mind. Maybe there was a way. He pressed Fayre’s hand to his chest over his heart, hoping she was still awake enough to feel it beating.
“I love you, Fayre, and I will cure you,” he whispered. “My heart beats for you, and for you only.” The words were intended for her only, but the prince had probably heard it too. Ryland didn’t care. He stood back up and leaned over, pressing his lips softly to hers before he laid her hand on the bed beside her and left the room.
Chapter Nine
Ryland knocked loudly on the door before opening it. He didn’t have much time, and he was impatient. Fayre was dying, and he had to get help.
“Devin?” Ryland asked as he stepped into the dark room. There was no reply, but he could hear shuffling and a strange bubbling sound from the floor below. A moment of intense fatigue passed over him, and he sagged against the doorway, pressing a hand to his head. He hadn’t slept, drunk, or eaten in the last twenty-four hours, and it was wearing on him. Swallowing hard, he forced himself upright and shoved his discomfort to the side.
Ryland made his way down the stairs of his cousin’s house. He hadn’t wanted to travel this far away from Fayre, but Devin had not answered when he called his name. Ryland was a little worried for his cousin’s safety. Devin had always come when he called.
Has he been hurt or something? Ryland wondered. He stumbled on one of the steps, running harshly into the wall, but he didn’t let it stop him from continuing his rapid pace down the stairs.
Ryland stepped into the room below and took in the scene before him. Devin was standing to his right, next to the counter. He leaned over a book, his hand hovering over a clear glass container that held a dark purple liquid. He was chanting softly, and the liquid bubbled quietly, the flame under it supplying heat.
Ryland came to an abrupt stop. He could feel a strange, powerful energy everywhere in the room. Is this . . . magic? he thought. Except for the last time in Devin’s basement, he had never felt anything before when his cousin used magic. So why could he now, if it was indeed magic? He lifted his hands to look at them, and for a moment the world swam in and out of his vision. Swallowing, he focused again on Devin, and the strange sensation stopped.
Ryland knew there were dangers in interrupting a wizard when he was chanting. “A spell spoken wrong could mean the end of the world as we know it,” Devin had told him repeatedly as a curious child. If someone interrupted a wizard in the middle of an enchantment, it could mess up the spell and send the magic in dangerous ways.
But Devin had also said that truly powerful wizards didn’t need the words of a spell to cast it. And Ryland was impatient.
“Devin,” he called, striding forward and placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.
Devin paused for a moment, then continued to chant. His voice rose until Ryland could clearly understand the words.
“. . . or haunt them forevermore!” Devin finished, flourishing his hand above the liquid. It flashed brightly, then swirled, jumping up and down. When it stopped, the liquid had turned a dark black, dotted with white, star-like specks.
Ryland flinched when the level of power in the room rose, then seemed to be sucked out toward the bottle.
Devin quickly waved his hand, and the flame went out. The bottle rose from where it had been resting as a cork flew from a cupboard and landed snugly in the bottle’s mouth. Devin snatched the bottle out of the air, swiftly putting it into his black cloak. The cupboard banged close, and Devin turned to Ryland, his eyes wide, angry, and exhausted.
“What was that?” Ryland asked, the strangeness momentarily overcoming his fear for Fayre. “What are you going to do with it?” The words Devin had spoken rose to the surface of his mind, and he felt uneasiness grow in his stomach. What would haunt who forevermore? The uneasiness seemed to enhance Ryland’s dizziness, and he stumbled to the side, bumping into the counter.
“Simply a precaution I am preparing.” Devin clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “It is a powerful spell, and I need to rest. What do you want?”
Ryland swallowed, still curious, but his need to help Fayre overpowered any other concerns. “It’s Fayre. She’s sick.”
Devin frowned. “And why would you need me for that?”
“I believe she’s going to die. I need you to help me!” Ryland’s voice broke on the last words, and tears welled up in his eyes.
Devin’s eyes widened. “Let me look.” He glanced over at a cupboard, and it opened, a bottle with a red liquid in it floating toward him. He grabbed the bottle and uncorked it, spilling some of the liquid out. Strangely, it stayed suspended in mid-air and formed a small dish facing the two men.
While the bottle flew back to its place, Devin spoke to the liquid floating in the air, “Show me Fayre.” A splotch of color appeared in the middle of the blob, then widened, covering the whole disc and displaying Fayre. Devin was nodding before the image even cleared all the way, and he began opening cupboards, searching for something.
Ryland tore his eyes away from his fiancé’s prone form and looked at Devin. “What are you doing?” Inside, his heart rejoiced. Devin was doing something. He was going to save Fayre!
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Devin muttered, and Ryland’s bubble of happiness burst. “I know what the disease is, and I cannot cure it.” As he spoke, he began taking powders and mixing them together in a small bowl.
Ryland could not speak. His Fayre, his love, was really going to die? But I was so sure Devin could save her. He leaned against the counter and let his head droop against his chest. He closed his eyes as the world began to spin around him once more.
“How can you know without being in the same room?” Ryland asked, his voice muffled.
Devin glanced at him while he worked. “Only one disease can come on this quickly with these kinds of symptoms. Trust me, I know. It is called the wasting, and it is carried in the bite of a cursed insect that must’ve come from beyond Algar. This is dark magic, make no mistake.”
Ryland watched from the corner of his eye as Devin brought the bowl up to his eyes and paused for a moment, his eyes unfocused. The wizard blinked, and a single tear dropped down into the bowl. The moment the tear made contact with the mixture, it made a small sizzling sound, and a small puff of powder came over the top of the bowl.
Devin walked over to Ryland and shoved the container into his hand. “This will slow the disease, and she won’t suffer as much.”
Ryland took it and muttered his thanks, turning to leave.
“I have not told you all that is needed to be said.”
Ryland turned slowly back to face him and witnessed the severe expression on his cousin’s face. It only made him want to run and hide. Bile crawled up his throat, but he forced it down.
“There is a cure, bu
t it is out of my reach—and yours. In fact, it is found only beyond the borders of Algar. It will be expensive to obtain and will require many sacrifices.” Devin paused and looked Ryland deep in the eyes. “Are you willing to do what you must to help Fayre?”
Ryland responded without hesitation, “Yes.”
“I am reluctant to bring this up because you have already made your decision to the contrary.” Devin stared steadily at the ground, not meeting Ryland’s eyes.
Ryland was incredulous. “What do you mean? I’d do anything to save her.”
“The only way to get enough money for the cure will be to obtain the kingship.” His cousin turned away and placed a finger on his lips, looking like he was thinking. “And the cure must be made by a royal with love for the victim.”
Ryland’s brow furrowed, and he swiped a hand across one ear, wondering if his sleep-deprived brain had heard Devin right. “A royal?”
The wizard nodded, a strange expression on his face. “Yes,” he said slowly. “They must be a king, queen, prince, or princess in order for the cure to work.” At Ryland’s blank look, Devin rolled his eyes. “You have to become a king in order for the cure to heal her. Your current connection to the throne doesn’t count. And it has to be a king of a real kingdom. The magic will know if it’s real or not.”
“How does the magic know?”
Devin shrugged. “How does the magic choose who to gift its abilities to? It simply does.” He scowled suddenly. “Trust me, Ryland. The cure must be distributed by someone who holds true love for Fayre and is a royal. The only person available to fit that description is you.” Devin watched him closely, and Ryland nodded numbly, moving to leave again.
“And Ryland?” Devin called.
Ryland half turned to show he was listening.
“There will be those who will try to stop you. One of them is the prince. I offer my advice to you.” Devin’s voice took on a deadly tone. “If anyone tries to get in your way, dispose of them. This is the only way you can save Fayre.”
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