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Pranmore begins his examination, and a look of revulsion crosses his face when he touches her. He pulls back, crossing his arms.

“What is it?” I ask.

“She’s riddled with dark magic.”

“Dark?” Audra demands, startled and possibly a little offended.

Pranmore turns to her, giving her an affectionate smile that’s tinged with revulsion. “Not High Vale.”

“If not High Vale…thenwhat?” Lyredon asks.

“Blood magic.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in, and the others don’t look any less befuddled than I am.

“How is that possible?” I demand.

“I have no idea,” Pranmore murmurs.

“Can you do anything for her?” Ayan asks.

Pranmore studies the woman, torn. Quietly, he says, “I’m not sure I should.”

We exchange looks, and then Lawrence says, “She might have answers for us.”

“Even if she does, I don’t think she’ll give them freely,” I say.

He turns to me. “Were you able to discover anything about her?”

I shake my head. “I asked around a bit. It seems King Algernon was the only one who knew anything about her.”

“Your father doesn’t even know?” Lawrence asks.

“No.”

“I can’t guarantee she’s going to wake up,” Pranmore says. “But I will watch over her if that’s what you would like.”

“Is that safe?” Audra asks, looking at the Woodmore with concern.

“She’s too frail to do much at this point,” Pranmore assures her. “I’ll put up a ward. It will alert me when she wakes.”

Slowly, we filter out of the room. Pranmore closes the door, and then a web of blue magic envelops it, visible for only a few seconds before it fades.

Hesitantly, I ask, “Should someone tell Camellia?”

“No,” Lawrence answers in a stern, unyielding voice. “Let this stay between us.”

24

HENRIK

The apothecary opens the door and studies me for several seconds before he invites me to come inside. The light cast from his lamp creates shadows on his face, reminding me of a warlock from a children’s tale.

“You got the payment?” he asks.

I left right after parting with Clover, not bothering to go back to Camellia first. But as if it’s all part of the plan, I say, “Camellia will send a courier with it tomorrow if the goods are satisfactory.”

The man grumbles, but he doesn’t look eager to turn me away empty-handed. Apparently, he’s dealt with Camellia and her temper before.