“It is his fault,” Elwis said. He was wearing a hooded cloak to partially conceal the disfigurement. “You better have a cure, Atabyrion braggart, or so help me I will spill blood in this sanctuary. I don’t care about the superstitions.”
“It’s my fault?” Fallon said with a bark-like chuckle. “Actually, my absentminded lordling, you started this when you insulted Trynne in the first place. I’ve had my revenge. If you want me to remove that ring safely, then you will apologize to Lady Tryneowy for your ill conduct, your pompous attitude, and your foul breath.”
Elwis’s eyes flashed hot at the insults and he clenched his fist even harder. Trynne could sense the magic coming from Elwis’s hand once he was so close. The ring was probably uncomfortable to the point of distraction. Based on the fatigue in his eyes, the Prince of Brugia hadn’t slept much since their last encounter a fortnight earlier.
“Apologize?” Elwis spat.
Trynne wanted to punch Fallon in the stomach. That was one of the reasons he had wanted to bring her with him to Occitania. He had been plotting his revenge for years and was determined to humiliate Elwis. Why did he have to be so thickheaded? She shot Fallon a frustrated look as she tried to think of the best way out of their dilemma. She could make Elwis release Fallon. His little finger was right in front of her, and if she grabbed it, she could have him groveling on his knees in a moment, but it would only humiliate him, fomenting the need for more revenge. People were staring at them, whispering and pointing. Perhaps the deconeus or the sexton would intervene.
Trynne put her hand over Elwis’s wrist—gently, not angrily. “Please, can we not be civilized?” she asked. “We’re causing a scene. Unhand him. You are peers.”
“He is not my peer,” Elwis snorted, his face flushed with anger. “What is Dundrennan compared with the might and power of Brugia? You’d be no more than an earl in my realm.”
Fallon quirked an eyebrow. “Is that your best insult? I had hoped for better. Now let go of my jacket, or I will make you.”
“Fallon,” Trynne warned.
He held up his hands, trying to show her that he wasn’t the aggressor at the moment. “All I require is an apology. You insulted a woman and my dear friend. You called her ugly, which she is not. But now you bear the stain of your own remark. How does it feel?”
Elwis’s eyes glowered with hatred.
“I won’t ask for an apology on my own account,” Fallon continued with contempt. “Despite the way you and your gormless friends beset me during the last Gauntlet. You are knaves, the lot of you, but I don’t fear you, Elwis. If you want my blood, you’ll have to earn it.”
“Fallon!” Trynne snapped. She was furious at him for making things even worse, and at a time when the realm needed to be united. “This is unseemly. We have enemies enough that we cannot afford such childishness. Prince Elwis, let him go. I implore you.”
Elwis’s lip sneered and he released his tight grip. His other hand still held his dagger. “You are lucky to have a woman to intercede for you.”
“I imagine you are finding it difficult to have women in your company at present.”
Trynne shut her eyes, trying to summon the shards of her shattered patience. “You are both behaving like training-yard bullies,” she said crossly. She turned to the prince. “Take off your glove. Let me see the ring.”
His eyes were still smoldering, but he obeyed and tugged loose the glove. The skin of his hand was a vibrant red and looked very painful. It was a debilitating curse, one that would only grow more serious with time. She felt the strains of magic coming from it, brimming with dark purpose. The ring had powers of disguise and concealment, yes, but a curse had been overlaid atop it. She sensed the binding that prevented Elwis from removing it.
She took hold of the prince’s hand, studying the markings on the ring. They were written in the ancient tongue. The word of release would be etched into the inner band, but she already knew the word of power that would dispel the charm.
“Ekluo,” Trynne said. It was a stronger form of the word that would have released the ring from the prince’s finger. It unmade the charm that had cursed it. The taint of the magic vanished, and Trynne slid the ring off Elwis’s hand.
A look of relief flooded the prince’s face. He was about to pull his hand away from her, but she held on and murmured another word. The marks on his face were gone, his nose restored. The curse of the ring was to make the wearer ugly in his own sight. No salve or mixture would have changed the condition because it was only an illusion.