Page 105 of These Vile Hearts

Tamarind reaches for an apple in a bowl in the center of the island, but he doesn’t bite it, just tosses it back and forth between his hands. “Fae magic rarely makes sense to mortals. And I figure the dead bodies are more than enough proof, are they not?”

“A dead body is just proof that someone died.”

He catches the apple in his left hand and holds it. “So you thinksomeone just made up his curse, then? That someone is having people killed?”

“Not just someone.”

“Who?”

“Are all dryads this naive?” I grumble. “Who would be the most upset by Castor’s adoption? Who would be jealous and annoyed and furious that King Cyperus was showing Castor so much love and affection?”

“Durian…?”

I hold my hands, palms up. “Everyone knows the Redwood King loves to play games.”

Tamarind is already shaking his head. “Durian loved Cyperus, though. Besides, Sovereign brothers can’t have anything to do with each other’s deaths or they would perish themselves.”

“I’m sure that particular death was just convenient for Durian to blame on Castor. But I know for a fact that Cyperus didn’t die because of his brother’s curse. He died because a mortal man made a pact with the Myrtle Queen.”

Tamarind places the apple on the table, brows pressing together. “How can you possibly know that?”

“Because that man was my father. BecauseImade a pact with the Myrtle Queen.”

Shock smooths every crease on Tamarind’s face. He blinks at me, tilting his head as if he’s trying to mentally chip away at my quickly crumbling mask. “Youmade a pact with the Myrtle Queen…?”

“Yep.”

He frowns deeply. “Why would you do that?”

Bowing my head, I pretend to examine my fingertips, looking at the constellation of needle pricks. “I lost my job and couldn’t land another one. I couldn’t afford my rent or medical supplies, which I am almost out of. I have a mortal disease that—”

“Which one?” he interrupts, and I remember he studied mortal medicine.

“Type one diabetes.” It feels odd saying it to him. I’ve kept it to myself this whole time, partly because I didn’t want to try to explain what it was to a dryad and partly because I didn’t want them to mistake it for weakness even though it’s one of the reasons I’m as strong as I am. His nod of realization throws me off for a moment. “Anyway. I…panicked and maybe went a little mad. I’ve always been able to see things—dryads and sprites and other fae things. When I was younger, my dad would tell me stories about the Myrtle Queen and wrote about her in his journal. So I went looking for her.”

It sounds absurd to say all of this out loud. To admit that I thoughtthatwas my only option.

“And what pact did you make?”

I can’t look him in the eyes when I answer. “I…vowed to kill the Redwood King if she would cure me.”

Tamarind’s copper eyes flick over to me again, narrowing. “The golden dagger at the top of the throne room?”

“Yes. I thought Castor was the king…and I was planning to kill him.”

He shakes his head, his expression a mixture of fury and triumph. “Iknewit.”

“You were right about me,” I admit, hating it. “I tried and tried to get him alone. But when I finally did, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill Castor.”

He runs his hands down his face. “I can’t believe I left you alone with him.”

“Yeah, that was a horrible idea. Lucky for you, I’m a coward.”

A humorless laugh leaves his lips. “There is nothing cowardly about you, Maddox. You just aren’t a murderer.”

“I’m going to have to be.” My fingers drum on the countertop asmy mind races. “What I can’t figure out is why Durian went along with Castor’s lie at the feast. Why would he pretend to be the cursed prince?”

Tamarind’s shoulders lift minutely. “Like you said. The king has always loved playing games. I imagine he thought it would be fun to have his courtiers in on the charade, to pretend to be the cursed prince for a night. I stopped trying to understand the king’s eccentric motivations a long time ago.”