Pretha rushes into the kitchen, Lark in her arms. The child has blood running down one leg, and she sobs as her mom slides her onto the counter.
Finn puts a hand on his niece’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s just a scrape. It’ll heal.” Lark nods but lets out another hiccupping sob. Finn wets a towel and gently presses it to the girl’s knee.
Pretha sees me watching and folds her arms. “She doesn’t heal.”
“She’ll heal just fine,” Finn says over a shoulder. He turns back to his niece and gives her a reassuring smile. “Won’t you?”
The child nods and wipes her tears, clearly determined to put on a brave face for him.
“She heals like a mortal,” Pretha says, spitting the word mortal from her tongue like it has a foul taste.
Finn shoots her a warning glare before returning his attention to Lark’s cut. “Does that hurt?”
“It could get infected—like yours did—and what then, Finn?” Pretha says. I’ve never heard her sound so panicked.
“Abriella, do me a favor and take Pretha outside while I get Lark cleaned up?”
I want to stay and see why a banged-up knee is making Pretha so sure that her immortal child’s life is in danger, but I understand why Finn needs me to take her away. With every panicked word out of Pretha’s mouth, Lark’s face grows more stricken and more tears fall.
“Come on,” I say, gently taking her arm.
“I’m fine,” Pretha says. She lifts her chin, and I can tell that her need for bravery in this moment is greater than Lark’s. “I’ll calm down.”
“Take a walk,” Finn says, his eyes on Lark’s knee. “I’ve got this. It’s just a bleeder. Not that deep at all.”
I tug on my friend’s hand and lead her out the back door. She follows reluctantly, but not without throwing a final desperate glance at her daughter before we leave.
“Why?” I ask Pretha when we’re alone on the patio. She knows what I mean—why does Lark heal like a mortal?
“It’s . . . like a disease. She’s been this way her whole life.” As someone who’s always healed quickly and easily, it must be terrifying to see her daughter heal as slowly as a mortal.
“Is there a cure?”
She barks out a laugh, but there’s no humor in her eyes as she swipes at her tears. “What do you think we’re doing here?”
I shake my head. I guess I don’t know. I thought they were searching for King Oberon’s crown so Finn could take his rightful spot on the throne. What does that have to do with Lark? But then I see the obvious connection, and my heart sinks. “This disease—Finn has it too, doesn’t he?”
Pretha slowly lifts her head. She studies me for a long beat, as if she’s trying to decide something very important. “Abriella, all the shadow fae age and heal like mortals. They have for twenty years.”
“But I’m sure I’ve seen fae who heal quickly.”
She nods, calmer now, if more desolate. “Yes, but not Unseelie.”
“Is that why Finn doesn’t use his magic? And why you tell Lark not to use hers? Because it’s dangerous somehow, and they’re now . . . mortal?”
“Yes and no.” She shakes her head. “For fae, magic and life are one. There is not one without the other. As long as the Unseelie are aging and healing like mortals, using magic is just too costly.”
Life is magic. Magic is life. Finn tried to explain this to me when we first started training together. No wonder Pretha panics when she catches Lark using magic. The child is unknowingly shortening her own life.
“Why? How did this happen to them?”
Pretha steps closer, and the silver webbing on her forehead glows as she grips my shoulders. “I wish I could tell you more, Abriella, but I cannot.”
“How am I supposed to help if none of you tell me anything? How many times did I ask about Finn and his magic? Or why he doesn’t heal?”
“We’ve brought you into our home even though you live with and love a man who would like to see the entire Unseelie Court taken down. How could we trust you with the truth? How could we share that vulnerability?”
“But now—” I say. “Now you trust me?”
She loosens her grip on my shoulders and strokes her hands down my arms. “Even as I stand here knowing you may give your heart and your life to the wrong prince, I trust you. And Abriella, you should know this is no small thing.”
The wrong prince? That implies that Finn wants my heart. Does he? It shouldn’t matter. I love Sebastian. But . . . “Tell me more. Explain this. Please.”
“I can’t. If I try . . .” She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out, and she wraps her hands around her throat as if she’s choking.