“Or cure him.”
“Yes. I hoped it would be latter, obviously.”
The Grandmaster narrowed her eyes, but then she swooped up her robes and sat back down. She waved to one of the other chairs in front of the desk. “Sit. Tell me who you are, why you are here, and what you’re doing with this crown. And I warn you, do not lie to me.”
Behind me, the guard who had been posted on the outside of the room stepped in, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. I knew that stance—I had seen enough guards at the Sundermount take it in the village when people at the tavern got too rowdy, or a villager’s voice rose too high in the great hall. It wasn’t casual; it was threatening.
“I didn’t come all this way to lie, milady,” I said. “My name is Cerys Levina. I’m the daughter of the royal gardener of Aloriya.” My hands were shaking with fear and frustration, but I made myself stay calm and sat down in the chair she had motioned to. I told her about the assault on the castle during Anwen’s coronation, and how I didn’t know where else to go but to Voryn. I told her of how we were chased through the wood by the bone-eaters—by Anwen herself—and of the wood-animated corpse of Seren Penderghast that haunted our trail, and how Fox fought off the bone-eaters and got cursed.
The Grandmaster listened as I spoke, nodding, and when I was done, she shifted in her chair. The crown shimmered in the low lamplight between us. Finally, the woman said, “You still haven’t told me why your blood is magic.”
“Because I don’t really know,” I replied, somewhat truthfully. “Folks in Aloriya thought it was a gift from the crown—a gardener’s daughter to make the late king’s endover lilies bloom year-round,” I added, not as truthfully, because I knew where my magic had come from. I knew it had come from the wood.
“And do you expect me to believe that?”
“Anwen has magic, so why can’t I? Didn’t you once have magic, too? Or was that a lie in all the stories I was told?”
The Grandmaster gave me a look I could only describe as pitying. “Once upon a time, we did, but no longer.” She stood again then, and I had picked up enough from Wen’s etiquette training to know to stand with her. “You’ll find your companion has been evaluated by our healers and deemed cured, miraculously. He’s been taken to a room in the infirmary for the night. You may go to him, and you both may recover and restock your supplies before you leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes.”
I gave a start. “But I came all the way here—”
“And for what? For help you thought we would give?” She took a step forward, and I shrank back. “We have fought against the Wildwood for three centuries without your help. Powerless. Isolated. Trapped. While you and the other thieves in Aloriya prospered. We have no idea what this crown is capable of, or if there’s even anyone here who would be able to wield its power. What are two Aloriyans and their cursed crown to us? Nothing but trouble.”
“But you must be able to do something!” I pleaded, and then I remembered. “How about the Lady?”
“The Lady?”
“The Lady of the Wilds! Can’t she do something? Where is she?”
The Grandmaster’s face hardened. “Where? Where indeed. She isn’t here.”
“But—but she—”
“She’s gone. She’s been gone for three hundred years, and we have lived generations in this wood without the help of that crown or the Lady or Aloriya, and I will not let some little girl destroy that. You may stay a week and no more—”
“The wood will come for you eventually,” I interrupted. “It’ll come for you just like it came for Aloriya!”
“I’m sure you think it will,” she said, “but I see no threat. Our city is safe behind the fog and behind our walls, and I won’t risk my people for you.” She sat down again. “Now, you may stay until your and your companion’s wounds are healed, but then I expect you to be gone from my city—”
“And if I can bring you proof?” I challenged. My voice shook.
She inclined her head. “Of this threat of yours?”
“Yes.”
“I make no promises about helping Aloriya.” When I made to protest, she held up a hand. “. . . But I will listen.”
My shoulders unwound a little. It was better than nothing. “Okay. I’ll find you your proof.” When I went to grab for the crown, she was quick, drawing a dagger from the inside of her robes. She slammed it through the middle of the crown. I jerked my hand back.
“I keep the crown,” she said. “I do not know its power—it’s as much an object of legend to us as our city must be to you. And I do not trust you with it in my city walls.”
“But it’s not yours!”
“It’s not yours, either.”
I hated that she was right.
She drew her knife away and returned it to her robes. “Oh, and take this ghastly beast with you.” She flicked her hand, and a door to the left opened. Three guards hauled out a gray bear, bucking against her chains, snarling and snapping her sharp teeth.
“Vala!” I cried as I rushed over. “She’s not going to hurt you! Take those shackles off—”
“She about mauled one of my men!” one of the guards snapped at me, and looked to the Grandmaster.
She said, “Do as the girl says.”
Begrudgingly, they obliged. I unhooked the heavy iron collar from around her neck and hugged her tightly. Vala gave a content grunt and shoved her snout into my face. She was an ounce of familiarity in this strange place, enough to give me a little more courage.
“Now leave.” The Grandmaster flicked her hand in dismissal.
My fingers curled tightly around Vala’s fur. “Thank you,” I replied, giving her a short bow. My gaze lingered for a moment longer on the crown. I didn’t have a choice in the matter, and there wasn’t anything I could do with it anyway. The only thing that mattered was convincing the Grandmaster to help. Hopefully before the curse overtook this place, too.
As I left, Vala followed me out of the chambers. I tried to keep a handle on my anxiety, and the guard returned to his post by the door. Outside the chambers, leaning against the opposite wall, was the young woman from earlier—Petra.
“Your friend will be in the infirmary for observation for a while,” she said, and without waiting, she turned down the hallway.
Vala and I followed her to the infirmary in the east wing, where I had woken up, and down the hall to the farthest room on the left. I hesitantly stepped inside. The room was bright and spacious and old. Wood paneling lined the walls, along with wallpaper designed with golden filigree. The scent of jasmine and another herb I couldn’t quite place filled the room, and at the other side was a bed where Fox lay. The young girl I’d seen earlier sat on a stool beside him, dabbing a damp cloth across his forehead.
Fox’s chest slowly rose and fell. He didn’t look monstrous—the purple veins across his skin were gone, the wound on his shoulder bandaged. I breathed out a slow sigh of relief.
And suddenly, my own exhaustion caught up with me. I slid down to my knees and sat. Everything hurt, and my side ached.