“No, it doesn’t.” He sighs. “You are young, Prena. But with luck, you may have a chance to follow your own path like I did.”

I straighten up in defiance. I would never abandon the Heliana. “When the sentinels came for you, were you afraid?”

His expression changes to one of bemusement. “No.”

“Well, weren’t you scared of punishment?”

He laughs. “The sentinels have always known where I was.

I shake my head. “No, I remember the announcement a few days after you left. They said they didn’t know where you were. If they were ever going to punish me, they already would have. They especially can’t do so now that it was I who told them about the cure to begin with.”

“The sentinels should have told us the truth,” I mutter. My leg bounces idly, but I try to refocus on what’s really at stake. “Is it real, the cure?”

Noam nods without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you have any of it?”

“It’s not a common disease, and the cure has never grown in the mountains,” he replies. “All the village leaders knew of it, though, from when they lived in the larger cities, like Ramsgate.”

“Ramsgate?” I repeat.

“The humans’ capital city,” he says. “It lies due east from the Heliana. That is where the cure is said to still grow.”

There is something unsettling about how Noam talks—it draws me in, and he seems so sure, but a huge part of me still wants to doubt him.

“How can you trust the humans so much?” I ask. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll lie?”

“I have no reason to,” he replies. “My friends in the village are not monsters, just people like you or me. They would give the prince a whole field of the cure if they had any. The human leader, General Marchess, is the one who refused to help. And from the little I know of him, he will not yield.”

Prince? With one small word, Noam stops my world from turning. I don’t say anything at first, hoping I heard wrong.

“Prince Tabrol has the disease,” I say quietly, half a question and half praying that he’ll jump in and correct me. “I … I didn’t know.”

At last, Noam seems to break. He looks out to sea, a true sadness lingering in his expression. “I didn’t expect you to. But you seem like a smart warrior. I think you can handle it.”

“I’m not a warrior,” I stammer, but Noam looks at me flatly, like, Come on. “How did you know?”

“No palace girl would just barge in here and sit down with a deserter. You came in with fire in your eyes. You have a sharpness to you. That’s training, and spars won.”

I open my mouth to retort, but he waves me off.