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“I guess your father did away with everything else relating to the Falks?”

“He burned everything he could. Some of it in a castle fire. Some in a bonfire. Or that was what I was told.”

We followed Emilia into the same wing in which Queen Revna and King Harald—my parents—had lived and Emilia stopped next to a room that was only one away from Queen Revna’s room.

“The old queen’s healing workshop.” Emilia waved us inside. “She set it up for storing potions, so I keep the ones I’ve stolen in here.”

“Stolen!” Vale huffed as I escorted him inside and over to a large, padded table in the center of the room, aspot meant for the sick or injured to lie down. “How do you manage stealing from the healers’ sanctuary?”

“Most fae don’t notice humans, do they?” Emilia arched an eyebrow and when Vale didn’t comment, she continued. “We’re deemed beneath them and therefore your king doesn’t care to watch us. I slip a potion from the healers’ sanctuary in my pocket here and there. A few herbs another time. After many turns of doing so, I have a storehouse.”

She really did. Though the room was far smaller than the healers’ sanctuary, or even Vale’s suite, the tall shelves along each wall appeared well-stocked with herbs, flasks of liquids, and labeled tins.

I didn’t worry about closing the wound. I’d never have sewn up skin before, but the wound wasn’t too deep, and I knew how to use a needle and thread. I might not be as skilled as a healer would manage, but I’d make sure the wound was sealed. Vale’s healing abilities would do the rest.

He would live, of that I was sure, but I needed him to be strong in a very short amount of time. Strong enough to run through Avaldenn and find safety.

“We need a potion to amplify a fae’s accelerated healing, if such a thing exists, one for head injuries and staving off infection,” I said to Emilia, who swung into action.

“Here.” She plucked down three bottles from a shelf. “I’ll set out the doses too.”

“How did you learn the correct doses?” I didn’t see instructions on the bottles and while a human could easily steal potions, learning to use them was another matter.

Emilia’s cheeks pinked. “Queen Revna taught me.”

“So you’re still a Falk loyalist?” Vale accused from where he perched on the table.

“Until I die.”

“Why? If they kept you as a slave, why continue to be so loyal?” The words tripped off his tongue. His family kept slaves, and Vale knew they likely wouldn’t be loyal of their own accord.

“I wasn’t a slave to the Falks. I worked for Queen Revna as a servant.” Emilia’s chin rose, but even as her defiance bloomed, she continued to measure doses for Vale. “She taught me things regarding healing. It has come in handy when helping the other slaves.”

Vale looked stunned speechless, and I patted him on the back. “Take the potions, and I’ll clean your wound.”

Emilia finished measuring, and Vale did as I said.

“Arms out,” I instructed.

Vale moved his arms as much as he could and, slowly, I took off the shirt he’d been wearing when he passed out from his night of drinking. Blood had already crusted to his skin, but as I’d suspected, the slice across his chest wasn’t too deep or wide, thank the stars.

“Is there a numbing solution? Or potion? Or whatever?” I asked Emilia.

She nodded and pulled a balm from another shelf. “Rub it around the injury.”

“I should clean it first.”

Emilia beamed. “A natural, like?—”

“A cloth damp with vinegar?”

In no way did I wish for Vale to discover who I wasnow. Thankfully, he hadn’t been paying close attention to the exchange. The prince was too preoccupied with the room, which aside from holding potions, herbs, and the like, also showed off images of the queen and her family.

One was a relaxed family portrait. In it, the twin girls—my sister and me—were sitting on our mother’s lap. We were young, likely not even one turn, but now that I knew who was whom, I recognized my eyes in the portrait.

Did Vale?

I side-eyed him, but he gave away no recognition.