Page 111 of These Vile Hearts

“Wait.”

Insulin for now, or a cure forever. Insulin in exchange for poison. Squeezing my teeth tightly together, I untie my pouch and pull out my last vial. My hand trembles as I hold it out, a heavy lump taking residence in my throat.

I place the bottle in the cradle of his palms. Mondo lifts it to his eyes and runs a finger around the bright orange rim, then brings it to his nose, breathing in. A crease forms between his brows, and he looks curiously back to me. “What does this mean to you?”

“It’s a mortal drug. It keeps me alive.”

Mondo rolls the insulin between forefinger and thumb. Then nods. “Very well.”

Reaching a long arm back, he places my offering on the bookshelf between a sapphire ring and a spool of pale green thread. A halo of light surrounds the vial, illuminating the insulin inside.

Then the light flickers out.

~

Numbly, I trek in the direction of Magesté. I still have an hour until midnight, and I haven’t bathed in what feels like days. That’s my excuse for returning, anyway. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s because I know once I pump the king’s heartwood full of poison, I’ll have to flee this kingdom. And I can’t bring myself to leave without saying goodbye to Fern.

The air is an oppressive force closing in. I’m trapped inside no walls, behind no doors with no locks, yet I’m trapped all the same. I’m trapped by my disease. I’m trapped by the deal I made. I’m trapped because I want to stay here. I’m trapped because I can’t.

Once I kill the king, Castor will probably never forgive me. For murdering his brother, for lying, for plotting to killhimfirst. Because he will figure it out eventually. He’s naive, but notthatnaive.

Despite the lack of food and drink in my system, the lower doses of long-acting insulin have driven my blood sugar up to a level well above my comfort zone. But I gave up being comfortable when I made a deal with a dryad.

Rather than enter through the front doors, I climb through my bedroom window. I toss my weapons belt onto my bed and peel off Castor’s shirt, which I stole this morning. It smells like him. Like nepenthe smoke and pine needles.

Once I’ve bathed, I stand before the washroom mirror, inspecting Tamarind’s handiwork across my cheek. Shockingly, the gashes are only thin white scars now. Then I dress like I’m preparing for a funeral. Because I am.

I tie my hair in a damp bun on top of my head and grab a mortalcollar and leash I took from a visitor one night, stowing it in a small leather satchel. My fingers graze against the deep green tree poison. Then I fill an insulin syringe with the toxic stuff and tuck it into my bun. Just in case.

The last thing I pack in my satchel is my father’s journal. I stare at it for a long moment, turning it over like I sometimes do to see the dark splotches on the edges of the paper. Blood spatter from the day he was thoughtlessly murdered by a dryad. Something in the back of my head says,It wasn’t thoughtless, though. It was targeted. They knew what he was. They knew what he did.

I open to an entry I’ve read a hundred times over.

No clear-cutting. Selective logging is best for preserving forest life.

Before, I thought he meant it was best for preserving the life of trees and forest animals. But now…What if he meant the lives of dryads? Because he knew that trees and dryads were interconnected. I can’t decide if this makes me feel better or worse, so I slip the journal into my bag and move to leave my bedroom.

My fingers are wrapping around the handle when a distant slam and raised voices on the other side forces me to stop. I press an ear to the wood instead.

“All this time, Evodia? Thiswholetime? That’s why we’ve all been calling him King Castor?” comes Fern’s high-pitched voice.

Evodia’s stern alto follows. “Fern, this place is swarming with guests from all over Sylveris. The Myrtle Queen has requested to stay here for the night—on the stage, of all places—so we have to get that set up for her and all the guests cleared out before she arrives. We don’t have time for this conversation. I’m going to need you to calm down or I will have to—”

“Maddox coulddieand you’re telling me to calm down?”

I was still before, but now I’m a statue, every atom in my body frozen in place, ears straining to listen.

“For the Sovereign Tree’s sake, Fern. Castor is the cursed prince. What did you think that meant?”

“I don’t know! He can rot dryads into ash with his terrifying fog power—is that not enough? How should I know it meant people who loved him would die?”

“Castor’s pact is over at the Sylveris Solstice. If he doesn’t get Maddox to say she loves him by tomorrow evening, he will be locked in the Bloodwood Tree for a year. Do you know what that tree does to people? He willneverbe the same.”

There’s a record scratch in my ears. As if my world has suddenly screeched to a halt while everyone else is still spinning.

Of course.I’d always found it odd that Castor chose to spend so much time with me. Initially, I thought it was to keep an eye on the mortal who’d nearly murdered him. But after a time I thought—foolishly—that perhaps he wanted me. That he cared for me. Lucky for him, that’s what saved him. My unwillingness to slit his throat. That and the fact that oleander isn’t poisonous to dryads…

Still.