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and thought and ignored the cheese grater for an hour before she couldn’t help but bunch her body into a ball against the pain and bite back a curse. The white bed creaked as she tried to get more comfortable.
    It felt like her muscles were twisting together and pulling apart at the same time. Her head hurt. And her lungs were tight—like air was impossible without Tristan. But he was only one room away.
    Certainly he hadn’t been in this much pain when she’d been so close in the past. Right? Why was her connection to him so much more intense than his connection had ever been to her?
    She tossed and turned, the bed creaking with each of her movements, until she heard Tristan’s bedroom door open. She froze, afraid he’d break down her door and try to snuggle or something. Which would be…well, it would be awesome. But it would also be stupid. He’d better not try to be stupid.
    Scarlet listened for a few more minutes, but when there was nothing but silence in the basement and she was sure Tristan had gone back to bed, she let out a long exhale and went back to staring at the ceiling again.
    Her pain subsided a bit. Not much, but enough for Scarlet to stop thinking about cheese graters.
    She inhaled deeply, smelling Tristan on her shirt and fighting back the sharp pain of sorrow that bit into her heart as she thought about the Fountain of Youth.
    The minutes dragged on and—against every desire she had to stay awake and worry about Heather and Gabriel and the curse and the fountain—Scarlet fell into a fitful sleep.
    Tristan would never forgive her for what she was going to do.

CHAPTER 4
     
    England 1539
     
    It had been five days since Raven had killed Scarlet and Tristan was drunk.
    Again.
    It was late in the evening and Gabriel sat in the throne room, watching his twin brother stumble through the doors with a jug of wine.
    Tristan pointed a wobbly finger at Gabriel. “You may be in need of a new court healer. Your current one just ran away.”
    Gabriel hung his head. “What did you do to him, Tristan?”
    He chugged at the wine. “I merely asked him what form of magic could make a body disappear.” He took another swig. “I may have also threatened his well-being if he refused to tell me all he knew.”
    Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “You cannot continue threatening the servants. They do not have the answers you seek.”
    “But they do!” Tristan swung his arms out and wine sloshed from the jug onto the floor. “They must! Bodies do not disappear, Gabriel! They wither and dry up, but they do not vanish!”
    Two mysterious things had occurred after Raven had shot Scarlet.
    The arrow she’d shot had first gone through Tristan’s body—which he’d thrown in front of the arrow to protect Scarlet—yet he was fine, save for the abnormally green hue his eyes had taken on since that day.
    And Scarlet’s body—which had been pierced through her heart despite Tristan’s best efforts—had fallen dead. Yet shortly after, her body completely disappeared.
    Gabriel could not explain either phenomenon. A body that heals itself was almost as mysterious as a body that vanishes. But Tristan seemed to care little about his ability to self-heal
    “Bodies do not vanish!” Tristan repeated, and the ring of desperation in his voice had Gabriel drawing in a long, patient breath. Tristan had loved Scarlet and, when he was sent away from her, asked Gabriel to marry and care for her on his behalf.
    Only to have Scarlet die on their wedding day.
    “You should go to bed, brother,” Gabriel said. “You are too drunk for conversation.”
    “On the contrary, brother. I am not drunk enough.” He turned his attention to the wall and muttered, “I am never drunk enough.”
    Gabriel watched as Tristan walked the length of the side wall, his footfalls echoing around the room as he stared intently at the royal weapons hung in pride alongside tapestries and flags.
    “I know you’re in pain, Tristan. And I know