“You didn’t need to bring me anything,” he said, careful not to upset the teapot as he set the tray on the table.
“It was no trouble. I don’t like to eat alone anyway.” She took the seat across from him, and began distributing the silverware.
“Where’s your accent from?” She didn’t speak with the fast-paced diction of someone in this city, but rather like someone who selected each word carefully.
She spread some cheese onto a slice of bread. “My tutors were from an old part of Pelium—by the Rhagan Sea. It rubbed off on me, I suppose.”
Ruhn poured himself some of the tea, then filled her cup. “All of that area is old.”
Her brown eyes gleamed. “Indeed.”
He waited until she’d taken a sip of tea before saying, “I’ve spoken about this to a few other medwitches around town, but no one’s been able to give me an answer. I’m fully aware that I might be grasping at straws here. But before I say anything, I’d like to ask for your … discretion.”
She pulled a few grapes and dates onto her plate. “You may ask what you wish. I will not speak a word of it.”
He inhaled the scent of his tea—peppermint and licorice and something else, a whisper of vanilla and something … woodsy. He leaned back in his chair. “All right. I know your time is limited, so I’ll be direct: can you think of any way a magical object that was broken might be repaired when no one—not witches, not the Fae, not the Asteri themselves—has been able to fix it? A way it might be … healed?”
She drizzled honey atop her cheese. “Was the object made from magic, or was it an ordinary item that was imbued with power afterward?”
“Legend says it was made with magic—and could only be used with the Starborn gifts.”
“Ah.” Her clear eyes scanned him, noting his coloring. “So it is a Fae artifact.”
“Yes. From the First Wars.”
“You speak of Luna’s Horn?” None of the other witches had gotten to it so quickly.
“Maybe,” he hedged, letting her see the truth in his eyes.
“Magic and the power of the seven holy stars could not repair it,” she said. “And far wiser witches than I have looked at it and found it an impossible task.”
Disappointment dropped in his stomach. “I just figured that the medwitches might have some idea how to heal it, considering your field of expertise.”
“I see why you might think that. This clinic is full of marvels that I did not know existed—that my tutors did not know existed. Lasers and cameras and machines that can peer inside your body in the same way my magic can.” Her eyes brightened with each word, and for the life of him, Ruhn couldn’t look away. “And maybe …” She angled her head, staring into a swaying bed of lavender.
Ruhn kept his mouth shut, letting her think. His phone buzzed with an incoming message, and he quickly silenced it.
The witch went still. Her slender fingers contracted on the table. Just one movement, one ripple of reaction, to suggest something had clicked in that pretty head of hers. But she said nothing.
When she met his stare again, her eyes were dark. Full of warning. “It is possible that with all the medical advancements today, someone might have found a way to repair a broken object of power. To treat the artifact not as something inert, but as a living thing.”
“So, what—they’d use some sort of laser to repair it?”
“A laser, a drug, a skin graft, a transplant … current research has opened many doors.”
Shit. “Would it ring any bells if I said the ancient Fae claimed the Horn could only be repaired by light that was not light, magic that was not magic? Does it sound like any modern tech?”
“In that, I will admit I am not as well-versed as my sisters. My knowledge of healing is rooted in our oldest ways.”
“It’s all right,” he said, and rose from his chair. “Thanks for your time.”
She met his eyes with a surprising frankness. Utterly unafraid of or impressed by him. “I am certain you will do so already, but I’d advise you to proceed with caution, Prince.”
“I know. Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, bracing himself. “Do you think your queen might have an answer?”
The medwitch’s head angled again, all that glorious hair spilling over her shoulder. “My … Oh.” He could have sworn sorrow clouded her eyes. “You mean the new queen.”