"Right," Brigid said. "Who wants to start?"
Camille wrapped a pink ribbon around her finger. They were sitting in a private room off the infirmary; golden phials of somnium littered the shelves, alongside a pencil sketch of an angry-looking tutor with an enormous head (Teagan's work, no doubt). A book on horse-breeding lay open on the desk.
Ryne was sleeping on the cot, his eyelids flickering as he dreamed. Brigid adjusted his blankets. John guarded the door. Eris and Tristan stood by the bed, eyeing each other warily. And Anna paced around the room, picking up objects at random. Several, Camille noted, seemed to have disappeared.
She wound the ribbon tighter; it dug into her ring.
"Let me rephrase." Brigid leaned forward. "Someone start talking."
"I could recite a soliloquy," Anna offered. "I'm very good at Is That A Wooden Peg In Your Pocket, Sailor?"
Brigid pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why is she here?"
Anna picked up a dragon-shaped paperweight. "Entertainment value."
"Get out."
Brigid pointed at the door. Anna ran a finger along the dragon's spine.
"I've been instructed not to leave the Castle," she said.
Brigid's dark eyes narrowed. "Of the room."
"Oh, that." Anna paused. "I don't think I will."
Brigid raised her voice. "Guards!"
"Stop it!" Camille seized Brigid's wrist. "Just... stop."
Her head was pounding. Blood pooled in the finger with the ribbon, turning it red and swollen. Brigid blinked. Camille wasn't sure who was more surprised; Brigid, or herself. Slowly, she released Brigid's wrist. A savage, burning sensation clawed at her chest.
She'd never hated someone before.
Never.
But after going to her childhood cottage... after piecing together what Brigid had done to her parents...
Camille swallowed.
If they even were her birth parents. How long would it take Grayson to search through the Wynterlynn adoption records? Weeks? Months? More?
"You know something," John said.
He was looking at Camille intently, his clipboard hovering like a question mark. Camille wound the ribbon again.
"I don't know anything," she said.
Anna snorted. "You're a bad liar, Camille."
The other girl was picking up silver candlesticks now, weighing them in her hand. Camille looked away. Something twisted in her gut. She wished that she'd never seen Anna and Isaac kiss. Wished that Anna wasn't a Nightweaver. Wished that — in some other world — they could have been friends.
Alas.
Brigid leaned forward. "Tell us."
Camille looped the ribbon around. "I promised Ryne I wouldn't say anything."
"Ryne could die." Brigid's voice was tight. "His wishes are irrelevant."
Another loop. "It doesn't matter. You can't help him."
Brigid leaned forward. "You know what he's sick with, don't you? Tell me, Camille. Please."
Her finger throbbed. "I'm sorry."
Ryne made a wheezing noise.
Camille moved unthinkingly, lacing their hands together. His pulse fluttered under her fingers. Air rattled in his lungs. If Penny was here, Camille thought, she could take some of his pain away; she could ease his suffering. And if Isaac was here...
A lump rose in her throat.
But Isaac wasn't here. He wanted nothing to do with them. And there was no point wishing for things that you couldn't change.
Anna set down a candlestick. "Ten days."
Camille blinked. "What?"
Anna pointed. "Do you see the grey tinge of his skin? His organs are shutting down, which leads to discoloration. I've seen it happen before when I worked as a healer." Her voice was very calm. "Patients never last more than ten days."
Her grip tightened. "Stop."
"His appetite will diminish," Anna continued. "His joints will become stiff. At some point, the congestion in his lungs will result in breathing pattern changes. He won't be able to get enough oxygen into his body."
Anguish spiked through her. "I said stop."
"Let me be very clear." Anna's gaze was steady. "If you don't tell us what's wrong with him, then your fiancé will be dead within a fortnight. Perhaps sooner."
"Fine." Camille covered her face. "Fine. I'll tell you. Just give me a moment."
The pounding in her skull was receding now, like a wave pulling away from shore. She drew a shaky breath.
Then she began.
She told them about Ryne's visit to the Portrait Room. The curse Lucia put on him. How nobody could love him without dying. She was about to tell the others about finding the Portrait Room in ruins when Eris shifted, catching her attention. Camille swallowed.
"And that's it," she said. "The whole of it."
Five faces stared back at her.
"You're certain?" Anna asked.
She was leaning against the desk. Her face was bloodless, her neck red and patchy where she'd rubbed it. Her eyes were the colour of first frost, so blue and cold that you almost couldn't stand to look at them.
Camille frowned. "Of course I'm certain."
Anna braced a hand on the table. "That's exactly what Ryne said to you? That anyone that loves him romantically will take on the curse and die?"
"Yes."
"It's true," John said.
They all turned to look at him. John was clutching his clipboard to his chest, but he looked unsurprised. Ryne must have told him about the curse already, Camille realized; he'd left that part out.
"You knew?" Brigid asked.
She'd half-risen from her chair, her expression murderous. John swallowed.
"Ryne asked me not to say anything."
"He was a child, John." Brigid's hands were shaking. "A fourteen-year-old boy. He has no idea what he wants."
John's mouth tightened. "He's my King."
"If he dies," Brigid said, "I will never forgive you for keeping this from me." Her voice was slow and deliberate. "Never."
John looked away. "It was a consequence I was willing to accept."
"I'll kill her." Brigid rose, her dark eyes flashing. "I don't care if she's a goddess. If she kills my boy, then I'll put a sword through her myself."
Silence fell.
Ryne's laboured breathing filled the room. Brigid's hands were flat on the desk, her knuckles white. Anna was staring blankly at a candlestick. Even Eris, Camille thought, was being uncharacteristically quiet.
"God-Slayer," John murmured.
Brigid turned. "What?"
"There's a sword called God-Slayer." John snatched up a quill, scribbling on the back of his clipboard. "Arthur used to be obsessed with it when he was studying the history of the Gods. He kept extensive notes on it."
John held up the clipboard. A single-edged curved blade spanned the parchment, inlaid with circles that Camille assumed were jewels. Although, Camille thought wryly, they could have also been fish, broccoli, or flesh-eating tulips. John's artistic talent was limited.
Anna sat in the desk chair. "And the sword... slays Gods?"
John nodded. "Theoretically."
"Where is it?"
John lowered the clipboard. "I don't know."
"I do," Eris said.
They all turned. Eris flicked lint off his jacket.
"Uncle Arthur once got drunk at Yulemas and told me that it's in the Tower of the Sun-King. I thought he was raving mad at the time, but if you think it's real..." He shrugged. "I can go and retrieve it."
Anna kicked her feet up on the desk. "No offense, other Delafort, but I trust you about as much as I trust Cook's surprise meatloaf."
Eris's mouth curled. "Feeling's mutual, Nightweaver."
"It makes sense." Tristan picked up the clipboard. "The Tower is a Dayweaver stronghold; no Nightweaver magic can penetrate it." He held out the drawing, squinting. "If Lucia was the last god or goddess to have the sword, she'd keep it there for protection."
Eris crossed his arms. "I'm going." His voice brooked no argument. "I'll speak with Lyra, and then I'll be on my way."
Camille exchanged a look with Tristan. This was bad. Very bad. If Eris got to God-Slayer first — and that was a big if, Camille thought, considering it might not exist — then he would destroy it. Eris wanted Ryne to die; it was the quickest way to the crown.
No.
Eris couldn't go alone. Not without supervision.
Tristan fiddled with a lump in his pocket. An explosive, presumably. "I'll go, too. I could do with a change of scenery."
Camille tried to convey her silent, fervent gratitude. Anna rose, stretching her hands over her head like a cat.
"Count me in," she said.
Brigid's face tightened. "You're not going anywhere."
Anna's smile was lazy. "Try and stop me."
"Don't tempt me." Brigid's dark eyes glittered. "My son may have been lenient with you, but you'll find that I'm less amenable."
"And you," Anna said mildly, "will find that I don't respond well to threats."
Silver ribbons slithered around her ankles, and Camille stilled. Even now, some instinctive part of her was afraid. She'd grown up hearing stories about the Cidarius family, the sort of tales that were whispered at night over candlelight. The Raven Family. The Family of Shadows. She knew that this was Anna — Anna, who sang silly songs and did sleight-of-hand magic tricks for Teagan— but she'd been conditioned to fear her.
It was difficult to shake it.
Tristan crossed his arms. "Why do you want to come, anyway? It's not like you give a shit about Ryne."
That was, Camille admitted, a fair point. Anna shrugged.
"Let's just say," Anna said, "that I give a shit about breaking this curse." She paused by the door to pat Eris's shoulder. "Pack your things, boys. We'll leave in the next hour."
She strode through the door. Camille shot to her feet, chasing after her.
"Wait!" she called.
Anna paused in the middle of the empty infirmary. Sunshine filtered through the windows, illuminating the dark circles under her eyes. Her dark hair was falling out of its plait. Grey ash clung to her boots like spoiled snow.
Camille waited until the door fell shut to speak."You should write to Isaac. Tell him to come back to Stillwater. Please."
Anna's face didn't change. "Why can't you do it?"
Camille looked away. "He's more likely to listen to you."
The words felt like knives to her chest.
A mixture of fury, sadness, and longing lived beneath the handwritten letter in her pocket, right next to her heart. She hated him. She missed him. But missing Isaac, Camille thought, had always been a part of loving him; for years, even when they stood in the same room, she had felt a great distance between them. As if he were a faraway star, and she was gazing at him through a telescope. Yearning to touch him. To hold him.
Anna studied her closely.
"Ah," she said. "You saw us that day, by the lake."
Camille's throat felt dry. "Yes."
"Is that why you agreed to marry Ryne?"
"I love Ryne." The words were automatic.
"Yes," Anna said slowly. "But not in that way." She leaned against a bed. "It makes sense to me now; you saw us kissing by the lake, and then you agreed to marry Ryne to keep Eris from getting his hands on the crown." There was a smile playing about her lips. "You always were very noble."
There was no mockery in her words, but Camille still felt them like a slap. Heat pooled in her cheeks.
"Just write to him," Camille said. "Please."
Anna crossed her arms. "He won't come."
"Yes, he will." A terrible ache had begun in her throat. "Isaac will do anything for the people that he loves."
Anna studied her. She seemed to be weighing something up, Camille thought; she had the same gleam in her eye that Ryne got when he played chess. But then Anna shrugged, and the gleam disappeared.
"I'll write to him," Anna said. "But I can't guarantee anything."
Camille exhaled. "Thank-you. And... good luck." The words felt strange. Oddly formal. "On your journey to Lucerna."
Anna nodded. Then she turned, disappearing into the corridor.