He stared, felt his jaw actually drop.
Not the reaction he expected. Once, women had wept with joy if he so much as kissed their fingertips. You’re not that man anymore. You sacrificed all that.
He folded his arms, suddenly on the defensive. “Why not? You seemed to enjoy it.”
She pressed her lips together. “Because I’d want to go further. You’re not a one- kiss guy.”
And what the bleeding hell is wrong with that?
He didn’t get to ask. Mrs. F. was back with the security guards, hurtling forward like a fuzzy purple cannonball. “Where is it? Where is that monster?”
Ashe waved a hand at the vampire. “There.”
It was starting to dissolve. The exposed flesh was starting to sink in on itself.
Mrs. F. fell back with a grunt of horror. The short, round security guard didn’t look happy, either. He glared at Reynard and Ashe. “What happened here?”
Ashe shrugged, exchanged a glance with Reynard. “He dog-eared the pages.”
Chapter 8
The prince watched his subject sleep.
Long ago, when Miru-kai had walked the earth, the fey had the power to keep their human companions from aging. True, such magic was a risky alteration to the great pattern of destiny, but it was a chance the fey were willing to take to enjoy the friendship and love humans gave so freely. But the pattern sometimes had a will of its own. The magical herbs, the stones of power, and all the other spells the fey habitually used had been lost to Miru-kai when he and his band of thieves had fallen into the trap of the Castle. Fortunately for the humans among them, the Castle’s magic stopped the effects of age. It didn’t stop the effects of steel. All of Miru-kai’s human friends had perished in battle. All except Simeon.
Now, as the Castle’s magic changed and life returned to the stone walls, whatever magic kept humans young was eroding fast. It made sense. Life was change. As the Castle lived, so the cycle of birth and death began spinning again.
Just because it made sense didn’t make it bearable. Miru-kai watched Simeon and felt each passing second like a drop of his own blood leaking away. I don’t know what to do.
His own grandfather had been human, but he had passed into the Summerland with the rest of Miru- kai’s kin before the path to that magical realm had been lost. Too long ago to remember.
So this is what it means to be mortal.
The prince hadn’t seen this kind of death before, at least not for anyone he loved. How did humans stand growing old?
Simeon’s hair had not gone white. It would take time to grow out that way. Instead, it had lost all its sheen, gone brittle and dry as straw. His flesh had shrunk against his bones. The energy that had always seemed to roar from Simeon like a north wind had fallen silent, still, and all but dead. All this in a matter of weeks.
By the time Miru-kai had figured out what ailed his friend, it had almost been too late. Sheer genius alone had ushered the prince into the guardsmen’s vault. Genius, luck, and the machinations of a demon pursuing other ends. He had used the demon’s conniving to his own purpose.
Reynard and Mac had fallen into the prince’s net like oafs at a county fair. He hadn’t exactly lied to them, and that was the secret. A nudge here, an evasion there . . . Miru-kai hadn’t lost his touch. He could sell warts to goblins.
But could he fix this?
Shadows bunched on the walls as he rose from his chair, then knelt by Simeon’s bed. The old man slept, heavy breath in, heavy breath out. The mortal had been everything—his counselor, his teacher, his boon companion, the one who had bathed his wounds. If his own blood had the power to cure, Miru-kai would have opened his veins.
But no, blood was not the answer. Miru- kai rested a hand on the soft-worn sheet, feeling bones beneath. Simeon was fading fast, shrinking and shriveling even as his prince hesitated and pondered.
It was a fey’s duty to protect his humans. Is this what Simeon would want?
He picked up the urn he had taken at random from the guardsmen’s vault. There had been no chance to pick and choose, just a grab as he turned invisible and fled Reynard’s unholy wrath. The urn’s gold paint felt smooth under his fingers. The shape was elegant, a pleasing combination of curves topped by a slightly pointed knob at the top of the lid. Between the lid and the body of the urn was a seal of white wax. Inside was the life of a man.
This separation of body and soul made the guards all but immortal. Perversely, it also gave them two ways to die. If either the body or the soul was completely destroyed, both halves perished. If he broke the seal, both the soul and the body that matched this vessel would die.
Unless he used sorcery. He could steal the life from this pottery prison and give it to Simeon. He would hate this idea.
Miru-kai started to turn the vessel over to read the name on the side, but stopped. He knew many of the guards by name. Knowing whose urn it was would make using it harder. That would feel like murder.
“Kai?”
His head jerked up.
“What are you doing?” Simeon didn’t lift his head from his pillow, but peered at his prince through half- closed eyes.
“Nothing.”
“You look guilty.”
The prince bit his lip, thinking of the many times his old friend had said that, in just such a way, ever since the prince was little. After sneaking out on one of his father’s horses, for instance, or cheating at his studies.
Miru-kai took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I might have found you a cure.”
Simeon looked weary. “No cure.”
Frustration lanced through him. “I don’t accept that speech you gave about mortals needing to move on. Move on where?”
“I fought in the Crusades. Use your imagination.”
Miru-kai swore under his breath. They had always argued philosophy—the fey pattern versus the human interpretations of fate and free will. “Surely death cannot be better than life.”
Simeon’s eyes drifted shut, then dragged open again. “If I can manage it, I’ll come back and let you know what I find out.”
“No!”
“As you wish.”
“No. I don’t need a pronouncement from the beyond. I need you here.” Miru- kai ducked his head, unable to meet Simeon’s eyes a moment longer.
He rolled the urn over, read the name, and froze. Bran. Oh, no. He’d seen that evil guardsman die in the wars last autumn. That meant the urn was empty.
Oberon’s hairy balls!
He was the most cunning thief of the fey, and yet his haste had spoiled everything. He’d been too eager to snatch one of the guardsmen’s souls and get away. There would never be another chance—at least, not in time for Simeon.
If I’d only taken my time, read the names, sacrificed a bit of stealth and done a proper job.
“Kai?”
I have killed him with my failure. “What?”
The answer came slowly, softly. “Don’t worry so much.”
“Don’t you dare go!” Miru-kai’s voice broke to pieces, sounding small, and young and afraid despite his long, long years of life.
There was no answer.
