That hint of humanity disappeared and the subtle stiffening in his shoulders revealed a growing impatience. “You have the key I gave her. State your business. I will help you in her name, if I can.”

Imogen touched the raised scars on her neck. Though she’d grown used to the warm tingling that remained unabated under her skin, she was eager to exorcise the key from her body. She could find her way back to the bridge and home without it. And she had no desire to seek out Tineroth a second time. She’d manage with her gloves and loneliness. There were worse things than a life of isolation.

“My mother gave me a pendant—silver with snake patterns that sometimes changed. She said you gave it to her as a means to find Tineroth if she needed.” She pulled aside the collar of her shirt to expose the length and breadth of the scars. “I made the mistake of putting it on. This is what happened. This and my vision changed.”

“You can see a lit path to the city.”

“Yes.”

“And now that you’re here?” His long fingers flexed on the glaive staff. An unnamed fear shot through Imogen. He'd made no untoward movement, nor did his expression change, but a sense of menace permeated the space between them. She knew, instinctively, her answer determined her fate.

She swiped at the scars with agitated fingers. “I want this thing out of me. I’ve fulfilled its purpose and returned it to its master.” She sighed. “I made a mistake by succumbing to vanity, and I’m sorry for it. I just want to go home.” The desperation in her plea made her wince, but she didn't look away from Cededa's pale eyes.

He cocked his head to the side, clearly puzzled. "What an odd creature you are."

His remark robbed her of words, and she gaped at him.

He drew closer, smiling faintly when she stepped back to keep the same distance between them. "You might be here to return my key, but Niamh sent you for another reason." His gaze touched on her gloved hands, the layers of protective clothing. “Why are you dressed this way? I’ve seen people bundled less in the middle of winter. It’s spring in your world, yes?”

“Just barely,” she muttered. Cededa’s lips twitched. The itchy sensation at her neck spread to the rest of her body, and she longed to shed the heavy clothing she wore. In the damp heat, her shift stuck to her like a second skin, and the wool gown and cloak hung on her in sodden rags. She had no doubt if she’d kept the veil down over her face, she would have fainted from the heat by now.

“I always dress this way.” She paused, hesitant to reveal what Niamh had religiously pounded into her about keeping secrets—until now. “I am cursed.” Curiosity flickered in his gaze at her statement. “Whatever I touch or touches me with bare skin dies. I’m garbed for the protection of any who might cross my path.” She laced her fingers together and anchored her gaze to his. “Niamh sent me to you in the hopes you could break this curse.”