Page 92 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
The thought of them finding us clinging to each other in the bath spurred me into motion. “I’m washing up!” I slammed a flat palm against the water to emphasize the message.
With as much dignity as he could, Wilde stood up and offered his hand so I could do the same. Water dripped from his pale hair onto his drenched clothes. The wet fabric clung to every inch of him, hinting at the beauty underneath.
“Give us a minute,” he said, his voice calmer than mine.
“Itoldyou Will would be in there with him.” Even though we could hear her clearly, Delilah raised her voice to shout, “We’ll be downstairs when you’re ready!” Then she fussed at the others until three pairs of footsteps stomped back the way they’d come.
Wilde grabbed my chin and traced my swollen lips with a thumb. “Disappointed?”
I nipped his finger. “Very.”
“Good. Perhaps next time you’ll listen to me, and we won’t have so manydelays.”
The others gathered in the inn’s front room, chairs pulled up around a cozy fire. The moment Delilah spotted us, she leapt from her chair and bounded over. “Did you make this place?” she asked Wilde. “It’s amazing!”
“I cleaned it up,” Wilde confirmed, lips quirked in amusement as he downplayed the magic involved.
“As long as there aren’t any ghosts,” Fitz said with a shudder.
Maximus’ eyes raked over Wilde, taking in the emerald waistcoat, the overlong sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, and the fabric overflowing from his boots because the pants tucked inside them were too long. It was obvious whose clothes he wore.
An awkward silence stretched between us like hot, sticky taffy. None of them seemed to know if they wanted to stare at us or never wanted to see us again. Delilah was the one to finally break it, turning to address Wilde. “We’re all very sorry for how we spoke to you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Maximus muttered. “I still don’t trust him.”
“Trust him or not, we need his help,” Fitz said.
“Usually, you wouldn’t admit you want to use someone to their face,” I replied.
Wilde laid a hand on my arm. “It’s alright. What did you need help with?”
Fitz pulled a journal out of his pack. Cramped, rushed handwriting filled every visible page. “The librarian might have been a ghost intent on feeding stray scholars to her books, but shedidhelp me find the information we needed on how to break a curse. Since she wouldn’t let me take any of the books, I had to write down what I could remember.”
He’d gotten real information from that nightmare?
If we can break the curse …It would save the city, but it wouldn’t save the Desolated Lands.
I dropped down into one of the chairs and Wilde sat on the arm, leaning against my shoulder. I absentmindedly wound my arm around his waist, resting my hand on his hip. “What did you learn?”
“Curses need an anchor,” Fitz recited. “An object or a person to latch onto and stabilize around. Once you find the anchor, you can either dispel the curse or destroy it. Destroying is the easier option, but …”
“Not if the anchor is the whole city,” I finished.
“Exactly.”
“It’s not the city,” Wilde said.
Maximus narrowed his eyes. “How do you know?”
“It’s true that the target for the curse can also be the anchor, however, the whole city wasn’t cursed at the same time. Once established, anchors don’t change in size or appearance. Any changes would destabilize them, defeating the purpose.”
“You know a lot about curses.”
“I know a lot aboutmagic,” Wilde corrected, calm despite Maximus’ accusatory tone. “Most enchantments require an anchor of some kind. Delilah’s collar for example, serves as the anchor for the enchantment that gives her feline features. Curses are simply malicious enchantments.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Maximus demanded.
More importantly, why was he telling usnow? This information wouldhelpus break the curse, which the old man wouldn’t want. The Lord of Grimnight needed a namesake to rule over.
