Page 106 of These Vile Hearts

A recent memory smashes into my cranium. Durian wrapping the tree siren in vines, squeezing until she bled out. I didn’t process it at the time, but now that I think about it…he was smiling. He enjoyed watching her die.

Then the image of the gallows tree rolls in like a storm. The body of that small dryad skeleton, which belonged to a child no older than eight or nine—one of the images I held on to to remind me of dryad malevolence.

“Does Durian seem to enjoy punishing his subjects? Killing them?”

“He does not typically do so in public.”

I nod slowly, waiting for Tamarind to realize that I’m right about Castor’s curse. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

Tamarind clasps his hands before him. “Okay, so let’s say I believe that Castor’s curse is fabricated and that the king is the one behind all the deaths. How would Durian know when someone has told Castor they love him?”

I sit in my thoughts, examining the puzzle I’ve been assembling since Castor told me the truth. It’s clear Durian has something to do with all of these deaths—that he’s the one responsible for them. But in order to track every interaction with Castor, he would need spies. Lots of spies. “Archer told me the king has ears everywhere.”

Frowning, Tamarind nods. “It does seem like that. I just don’t seehow he would…” His expression abruptly shifts from pursed contemplation to shocked comprehension. Without a word, he sweeps from the kitchen island, stepping over the dead woodlings.

Ignoring the sharp pain lancing through my thigh, I follow. He comes to a stop before the vanity in the sitting room where Castor keeps his drugs and nepenthe. Lying in the tin of lavender leaves is one of the same little wood sprites I’ve seen all over this fucking kingdom, all over Castor’s Nightshade home and inside this branch.

Tamarind looks down at the sprite with a horrified expression. “Ears,” he murmurs.

“The sprites?” I note the tiny creature’s closed eyes squeeze tighter, one of them opening slightly to look up at us and closing just as quickly.

“Earlier, when I was telling Castor what I told you—”

“What was that again?”

He side-eyes me. “Anyway. There was a popping sound, and one of the sprites just disappeared right after I said it. I didn’t think anything of it, but…”

“No, this makes sense. Anytime Castor is around, there’s a wood sprite lurking nearby. But when you told me that you loved Castor, you were in the locked kitchen with me, not him. No tiny spies listening in. So Durian didn’t find out until later.”

His eyes narrow, fixing on the tin of nepenthe. I can see the cogs cranking, turning slowly at first, then speeding up. “Which is why his woodlings took so long to come after me.”

“But I’m guessing they’re used to taking out people less skilled with a scythe than you.”

Tamarind shakes his head, glaring down at the dozing creatures. “Durian’s been spying on Castor this whole time.”

“Mm-hmm. And when someone admits they love him, the sprites report back and he kills them, so Castor keeps believing that he’s cursed.”

A string of very un-Tamarind-like profanity leaves his lips as he sweeps an arm across the vanity. Jars of nepenthe and bottles of wine shatter and the sprites startle, popping out of existence before they can hit the floor.

“So…” I prop my hands on my hips. “Will you help me kill the king, then? For Castor’s sake if nothing else?”

Hope and fury mingle in Tamarind’s mutinous eyes. “I can’t help you kill the king. Not in the middle of the Sylveris Solstice.” He shifts, his gaze meeting mine. “But I can help you kill his heartwood.”

This startles a laugh. “You really think chopping down a heartwood while everyone is arriving for the Solstice will go unnoticed?”

“You wouldn’t be chopping it down. You’d be poisoning it.” Tamarind moves to a writing desk in the corner of the room, removing a blank piece of paper and a quill, writing something down and folding it up. He hands it to me. “Go to Mondo’s Mausoleum in the Nightshade District and give this to him. He will have what you need.”

“Mondo, huh?” I take the paper, Fern’s words ricocheting off the tired corners of my mind.Mondo sellsdeadlythings.

“Essentially an ironfae drug lord.”

“You know what a drug lord is?”

Tamarind sends me a fox-like grin. “I know many mortal things, Maddox.”

“So I just give Mondo this paper, and he’ll give me the tree poison, then?”

“Well…no. He will expect payment.”