A Throne of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales #2)(6)

Phyl licked his lips and leaned over the stall some. “You’re an odd duck around these parts, Finley, but don’t you take that as a bad thing. You weren’t meant to fit in here. The day your mother asked me to make you your very own hunting knife—remember that?—I knew then that you were different. This village used to be a haven for the lesser-powered shifters in the kingdom. Them, and the ones that didn’t want to fight for the king and kingdom. But just because you were born in a place, doesn’t mean you belong there. Your mother didn’t have much power, but she was fierce. She came from a long line of fighters. The power gene must’ve just skipped a generation. It didn’t skip you, though, did it? She let you be tough and wild for a reason.”

He held out a sword, the color a little dull from age. A deeper red stone shone in the hilt of this one, and the silver design swirling around it was much more intricate. The leather was supple and soft against my palm, the edge of the blade sharp.

“This is gorgeous,” I said on a release of breath.

“Yes, I made that before the curse, when traveling merchants used to come through. I spared no expense. I thought maybe a noble would end up with it, or the prince himself! Could you imagine?” He smiled sheepishly. “It was always fun to dream big back then. No matter how fine I made them, those merchants always bought from me. There was always someone they could sell to. So I just made them better and better.”

“This one would’ve gone for a pretty price, Phyl. A real pretty price.”

“Yes, I had hoped so. It was the finest I’d made. But now…I don’t think I’ll get to sell another piece like that.”

I handed it back. “You will. We’ll beat this curse, and then we’ll have merchants again, just you wait. Maybe the prince will wield it yet. Or…well…walk around with it, since he’d probably fight in his dragon form. Hang it on the wall, maybe…”

“Well.” He shrugged his meaty shoulders and put the sword back under the stall. “I think the sickness is starting to take root. I figured it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Pain struck my heart. “Does Margie know how to make the nulling elixir?”

“She does, yes. She’s made some already. It’s just that…well, she’s not so good at gardening. I’m no good at it either. I tried to trade for some leaves, but everyone is running low because of the lingering winter season.”

I put my hand flat on the table. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll get some for you. And I’m working on a stronger elixir. I’m still trying to find a cure. You’re not going anywhere, Phyl. You won’t lose any of your size, I promise.”

He laughed and patted his belly. “Well, now, we’ll see about that. Here.” He pulled the jeweled dagger from the display and held it out. “You don’t have any more plants than anyone else. I know where you aim to get them, and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop you. Take this. You’ll need it.”

“I’m hoping I won’t, actually. And no, I—”

He leaned forward and pushed it into my hands. “I’d give you the sword, but I sure would like to see the prince wear it someday. All we have left are our big dreams, you know? But this dagger was made as a companion piece. It’s solid, if not quite so fine. I couldn’t really afford any better. You’ll be great one day, Finley, and when you are, I want you to hold my dagger.”

I shook my head but let him put it into my hands. He was as nice as they came, but he had a stubborn streak. We all did.

I held it up. “Thank you. It’s too much.”

“Nah. Now I know that you’ll keep me alive as long as you can. That’s good enough for me.”

“I would’ve done that anyway.”

He winked. “I know.”

With a stupid grin, I held the dagger to my chest as I carted all the supplies back to the house. It wasn’t until I got to the front door that my smile thinned and then vanished. A crowded everlass plant took a bit to get working, but it didn’t take much time at all to kill.

The moment of truth was upon me. Had I just killed my father?

My heart sank at the sight of the empty living room. Fear lodged in the pit of my stomach.

I set everything down on the table and steeled myself. With slow, determined steps, I made my way to Father’s room. The door stood ajar, and voices murmured from inside. I didn’t hear crying, though.

Barely daring to hope, I edged into the room. Hannon leaned over the bed, blotting Father’s forehead with a towel. Dash and Sable sat in the chairs at his side, looking on.

Dash glanced my way, and a huge smile lit up his face. Sable gave me a relieved sag.

“You did it,” Hannon said softly, continuing his ministrations.

“Did what?” Father asked, his voice scratchy.

My stomach lurched and then fell out of my body. I grabbed the doorframe for support, my legs wobbling. He’d spoken! He’d said coherent words! He hadn’t done that in a while, and even then, the effort had been fraught with coughing and hacking.

“Finley created an elixir to bring you back from the brink of death.” Hannon looked up at me, his eyes shining with tears. “You always said you’d make a cure, and you did it.”

“Whoa, whoa. Let’s not…” I put out my hand to stop him.