“And tell him how much I love him,” she insisted.
“I will.”
“And that I miss him.”
I laughed, even as my stomach flipped. “I’ll do that too.”
The little princess threw her arms around me in an impulsive hug and kissed my cheek before scooping up her art supplies and skipping off down the hall.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. I’ve such good news!” I sang, pushing my cart into the king’s chambers.
I had to stop short, allowing my eyes to adjust. The drapes were pulled shut and the fire had burned low, casting the room in lurid orange flickers and deep shadows.
“Your Majesty?” I called curiously.
“Ah, my healer has returned.”
My head snapped to the left as I tried to place where the voice had come from.
“Would you like me to draw back some of the curtains?” I asked, already crossing to the nearest window.
“No!” I thought the cry came from one of the armchairs, but it was too dark to tell. “Leave them!”
“I will needsomelight to work,” I murmured, peering at the hulking shape of the canopied bed. Was he ensconced in its satin folds like a fat black spider lurking in its funneled web?
He sighed. “I suppose you must.”
I glanced over to the corner, where I knew there was a desk. It was too dim to see paper and pen. What was he doing over there all alone? “May I light some candles?”
There came a series of rattled clinks, as if the king was struggling to set down a glass on a marble tabletop. “If you insist.”
I fumbled at a side table and lit a filigreed candelabra before rounding toward him. “Sir?”
I tried not to jerk in surprise as the jumping flames highlighted the new shape of his visage.
The Brilliance was no longer gold, and it clumped on his face like wax melting down a taper. It was almost entirely black, with red rivulets of blood swirling within the sodden mess. The dark sludge had ripped apart pores as it flowed out, leaving his skin pocked and puckered.
He looked like a demon summoned from the deepest pits ofhell.
He already looked like one of my ghosts.
“Oh, Your Majesty,” I breathed, unable to hide my horror.
The grim line of his lips said more than words ever could.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, holding up his hands. The thick tar fused his fingers together into leaden stumps.
“A…a bath first,” I stammered. “We’ll clear all that away and get you into the wraps.”
The king shook his head. “It’s valiant of you to try, Hazel, but I don’t…I’m afraid I no longer see the point.”
Professionally, I agreed with him. It was a wonder he was still standing. He looked like an eldritch horror, an ancient being of wood and stone, a monster. It would be an act of kindness to let the deathshead have its way and end him now. But I needed him alive for just a bit longer to test the effectiveness of this new tonic.
“Into the bath,” I insisted, brushing the callous thoughts from my mind. “We’re getting this off you. And then a new treatment.” I gestured to the cart. “Geranium oil.”
Marnaigne let out a bark of laughter. “That’s your cure?”
“That and other things. We’re testing the potency of this blend, but I am certain it will help.”
