The Blood Curse (56 page)

Innis looked at Jaumé.

Jaumé shrugged. “He wanted to know.”

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FOUR

B
RITTA AND
K
AREL
argued about the last waterskin. Britta wanted to share it; Karel was adamant that she keep it for herself. “We don’t know how long it will be before Harkeld breaks the curse,” the armsman said. “If you’re careful, you’ll get another two days from that skin.”

“I’m sharing it with you,” Britta said stubbornly.

“If we both drink it, it won’t last the day!” Karel was fiercer than she’d ever seen him.

Britta left the waterskin in the bedchamber and went out into the yard. She looked at the well, and the snow on the ground, and thought about the casks of cider and ale in the barn. Sooner or later, one of them was going to have to drink something from this farm.

A shadow passed over the snowy yard. She looked up and saw a hawk, with wide wings and a creamy breast. The bird glided down and landed by the well. It shook its feathers, folded its wings, and changed into a naked man.

Britta snatched her sword from its sheath. She brandished it at the man.

The man held his hands palm-out at his waist. “Princess Brigitta?” he said. “Jaumé sent me to find you.”

Britta gripped the hilt tightly. “Who are you?”

“My name is Petrus. I’ve been traveling with your brother.”

“Harkeld? He’s here?”

“He’s at the anchor stone. About a dozen miles from here.”

Relief flooded her. There were suddenly tears in her eyes, tears in her throat. “The Fithians didn’t kill him?”

“No.”

“And the curse?”

“It’s broken. Didn’t you feel the ground shake yesterday?”

Britta shook her head. She lowered the sword.

“Jaumé said your companion is badly injured. May I see him? I may be able to heal him.”

Britta fumbled to put away the sword. She wiped her eyes. “Of course.”

The man smiled. He had a tanned, friendly face and untidy white-blond hair. “I apologize for my lack of clothes.”

Britta shook her head again. What did clothes matter at a time like this?

She led him across the yard and into the farmhouse, and burst into the bedchamber at a run. “Karel! There’s a witch here, and he says the curse is broken, and he may be able to heal you!”

Karel struggled to push up in the bed. Pain spasmed across his face.

“Ribs, huh?” the witch said. “No, don’t sit up.”

Karel frowned fiercely at him. “Who are you?”

“Petrus. Jaumé sent me to look for you.” The witch crossed to the bed. “I apologize for my lack of clothes; hazard of shapeshifting. Now, let’s have a look at these ribs.”

B
RITTA WATCHED FOR
several minutes, until she was certain the witch was no threat to Karel, then she hurriedly searched the house and brought back an armful of clothing for the man, and some rags that looked clean enough for bandages.

“All-Mother bless you,” the witch said, and dressed quickly. “Cold day.”

“How is he?” Britta asked, looking anxiously at Karel.

“Not great, but he’ll be a lot better by the time I’ve finished. I’m not a strong healer, but I’m good at bones, and he’s broken a lot of them. Worst set of ribs I’ve ever seen, plus his collarbone and shoulder blade, and his arm’s got two breaks. Came off that horse
hard
.”

“His arm? His shoulder blade?” Britta was aghast. “We didn’t know that!”

But perhaps Karel had known; he didn’t look surprised.

“I’ll mend his leg, too. Needs to be done soon, or he won’t be able to walk. As for the rest...” The witch shrugged. “Innis or Rand can finish what I can’t. Tomorrow or the next day.”

“Thank you,” Britta said, the words heartfelt.

S
HE PUT TOGETHER
a tray of smoked sausages and salted pork, and a jug of cider, and carried it into the bedchamber.

“All-Mother bless you,” the witch said again, his face lighting up. “I’m starving.”

“I’ve forgotten your name,” Britta confessed.

“Petrus.”

“How long will it take, Petrus?”

“The bones? A couple of hours.”

N
EXT,
B
RITTA HAULED
the bath tub into the scullery and heated water in pots on the fire. She found soap, and clean clothes, and a comb, and when the tub was full, she had a bath and washed her hair. It was better than
any
bath she’d had in her life.

She dressed, and combed her hair—it was all different lengths;
I need to trim it
—and headed for the bedchamber. She heard Karel say something, heard Petrus reply, heard Karel chuckle. They sounded like friends.

Britta paused in the doorway. Even though Petrus’s coloring was almost the exact opposite of Karel’s, the two men looked surprisingly similar—the same age, the same build, the same grin on their unshaven faces.

“How’s it going?”

“Good,” Petrus said. He stood and stretched, and Britta heard his spine crack. “I’m about to start on his leg. I’d like to cut the stitches. You seen any scissors here, or small knives?”

Britta found a pair of small, sharp scissors in the room with the loom. She took them to Petrus.

“Perfect,” he said.

The tray she’d brought them was empty. Britta fetched more food and cider, and set water to heat for Karel’s bath. She found clothes that she hoped would fit him, old and patched, but they smelled clean. After much hunting, she also found a razor blade. When she went back, Petrus was cutting the stitches out of Karel’s arm.

“You’re doing his arm, too?”

“Not completely, but enough that he won’t need the stitches. And those ones in his forehead should come out, too.”

Britta went back to the pots of heating water, emptied them into the bath tub, refilled them. Then, she looked for fresh sheets for the bed. By the time she’d found some, Petrus was carefully cutting the stitches on Karel’s forehead. He snipped the final one and pulled it out. Two tiny drops of blood welled where the stitch had come out. Petrus pressed his thumb over them and narrowed his eyes briefly in concentration, then wiped Karel’s brow with a rag, and examined the scar. “Whoever sewed that, did a good job. Very tidy.” He stood and stretched, and Britta heard his spine crack again. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Karel knows where to go.”

“Harkeld will be there?”

Petrus nodded.

“And Jaumé’s there, too? Is he all right?”

“He’s unhurt. Karel’ll tell you all about it.” Petrus yawned, and Britta saw how tired he was.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Petrus yawned again and shook his head. “It’s only a dozen miles.” He began to strip off his clothes.

Karel got out of bed and wrapped a blanket around himself and took the shapeshifter out into the yard. The daylight was fading. Britta watched Karel closely. He moved freely, strongly, as if he’d never been injured. When he came back inside, Britta said, “How do you feel?”

“A thousand times better.”

“I’ve made a hot bath for you.

“You have?” Karel’s whole face lit up. “Truly?”

“And I found a razor.”

Karel laughed, and then he said the same words Petrus had: “All-Mother bless you.”

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIVE

T
HE PRINCE WAS
awake when Petrus glided down to land. He was sitting at the fire, playing a game with Jaumé that involved pebbles and twigs. He looked up and watched Petrus change shape, his face pale, tired, sharp with anxiety. “Well?”

“I found Rand and Serril. They’re both up and walking. Rand said Serril’s reflexes are good, but he wants to check him over one more time before he lets him shift. They’ll set off tomorrow, meet us at the crossroads the day after.”

The prince closed his eyes. “Thank the All-Mother.” Petrus heard how deep his relief was.

Petrus caught Innis’s eye. She followed him to his tent, her expression almost as anxious as the prince’s.

“I found our missing princess, too,” he told her, in a low voice. “And her armsman.”

“Are they all right?”

“The armsman was in a bad way, but I spent the afternoon healing him. They’re only a dozen miles from here. Their boat sank. They’ll be here by noon tomorrow. Going to walk back to that last farm, then ride up on the horses the Fithians left behind.”

“Noon?” Innis said, disbelief and hope mingling in her voice.

“Noon.” Petrus looked at Harkeld, who was debating what to do with his last pebble. From his expression, he was losing the game. “You want to tell him now, or wait?”

Innis chewed on her lip. “Wait. Just in case.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen.” But Petrus understood her need to protect him. The prince was hollow-cheeked beneath the stubble. The bones of his skull seemed to push through his skin. Petrus watched him agonize over where to place the pebble. “Can’t wait to see his face when he sees them.”

“Petrus... did you find any survivors?”

He glanced at her, and shook his head. “Went all the way down to Andeol and back. Found some fresh bodies. No one alive.”

“How fresh?”

He shrugged. “Looked like they died yesterday.”

Innis nodded, as if that was the answer she’d expected. “I think what happened to Harkeld—the convulsions, the hemorrhaging—I think that happened to everyone who had the curse. I think they’re all dead now.”

Petrus thought about the contorted bodies he’d seen. “Reckon you’re right.” He looked at the prince again. “He’s lucky you were with him.”

P
ETRUS DRESSED, AND
went to sit at the campfire with the others.

“... the refugees will all go home, now,” Prince Harkeld was telling Jaumé.

“Not for a while yet, they won’t,” Petrus said, holding his hands out to the fire. “No one but us knows the curse is broken. They’ll keep running.”

“But—” The prince closed his mouth, frowned, and then said, “They can’t see the curse shadows are gone.”

Petrus shook his head.

“Curse shadows?” Jaumé asked.

Petrus half-listened to the prince’s explanation. He thought about the King’s Riders he’d seen in Nime. Those men would still be desperately emptying villages, turning people out of their homes. “The sooner we get word back to Sault’s king, the better. We should find some King’s Riders, tell them.”

“Will they believe us?” Innis asked, adding another branch to the fire.

“If Rand shows them the diplomatic seal, they might.” Petrus thought about the land he’d flown over today, the smoldering ruin of Andeol, the abandoned farms. More than half of Sault was empty, and all of the kingdom of Vaere. “You think everyone will come back?”

Prince Harkeld glanced at the dark shapes of the mountains surrounding them. “Some will, some won’t. The ones who sailed to the Allied Kingdoms... they might not.”

“Big task ahead of them. The ones who return.”

“Sault will get back on its feet,” Prince Harkeld said. “It’s got a good king. Vaere will take longer. It was hit hard.”

“The other kingdoms will help, won’t they?”

The prince snorted. “My father will invade Vaere, if he gets the chance.” And then he glanced at Jaumé, and said lightly, “But that’s not going to happen. You hungry, son? Let’s eat.”