by Cat Bruno
Their eyes locked, and Nahla noticed how specks of gold swirled at the edges of the prince’s. His cheeks were flush with anger and his lips looked swollen and red. Many a morning, her own looked similar.
I misjudged the girl.
Bold with the knowledge of the girl’s actions, Nahla retorted, “You are not here to kill me. Release me and I will tell you all that I know.”
Her words, half-whispered and edged with the winds of the Cove, lingered.
Finally, the prince dropped his hands and stepped back.
“When I first came upon the girl, she was vomiting near the piers. As I was kneeling beside her, a passing street cart came loose and struck me.”
Pointing to the area behind her head where black crosses, much like his, could still be seen, she continued, “I felt something hit hard against my neck, and only remember waking up later with the healer standing over me. She had tended to me, with the help of the other healer, and I begged them to come here so that I might offer some token of gratitude. She would have declined, but I could not see clearly, much less walk back to my room safely after what had happened.”
Nahla paused to see if she should continue, and when the prince nodded, she went on, “It was clear to me that she was new to the King’s City, yet I found it odd that she traveled with the mage and guards. Soon, I learned why.”
“What do you mean?”
It was then that she paused to let him think she was too nervous to speak more. Finally, she sighed, “Well, the babe of course.”
When his face paled and his eyes caught flame, Nahla realized that Caryss had not told him of the babe. For a moment, her thoughts scattered as she sought an explanation for what she had said. Yet, she knew that it was too late.
“I advised her against telling anyone of the babe,” she told him.
The prince said nothing, and he seemed to forget that she was there.
“There are many women like her, my lord, who find themselves with child but without husband. I feared it was why she was forced to leave her training.”
“When was the last time that you saw her?” he asked, trying to recover, although he could not hide his surprise from her.
“I only saw her the once, and that was a few days ago,” she lied.
“You have not seen her or the mage since?” he asked.
“I have not.”
“Her guards told me that she inquired about your homeland, as if she might travel there?”
It was then that Nahla worried. The guards knew too much, even though their knowledge of Common was slight.
Weaving truth together with lie, she told him how Caryss had been interested in the tapestries. She further explained how she had teased the girl about what they illustrated.
“It is not unusual for a young women to want to learn what it is that I can teach, Prince Crispin.”
As if he no longer cared what it was that she knew, he turned from her.
“Please, my lord, tell me what you know of her. Is she not healer-trained?” Nahla called.
“I will tell you nothing,” he cried, nearing the door.
“You are lucky that I am allowing you to live,” he continued. “If I find that you have lied to me, it will no longer be so.”
They left then, and she rushed across the room, to lock the door. Her fingers shook and her gold cuffs rattled as she reached for the chain. After three attempts, the chain finally slid into place, and Nahla fell to the floor. With her back leaning on the door, she closed her eyes and prayed to the Great Mother, whimpering in chant.
Later, once she recovered, Nahla reclaimed the box and stared at the silver once again.
Thirty silver pieces were enough to start over, she knew. Just as she knew that if her lies were discovered, the prince would have her jailed or worse.
I must go, she thought, looking around the room.
First, she dressed, pulling on a long, crimson skirt and cream tunic. On the inside of the skirt hung a large pouch, invisible to any onlooker, and Nahla hurriedly dumped the coins into it. Tying a braided belt around her waist, she moved across the room, gathering scattered copper into a small pouch, which she then hung from the belt. With another glance around the room, she eyed all that she had collected in her time in the King’s City. She could do little now, having had no time to prepare for the hasty departure.
And so she reached for the chain once again, unlocking her door and striding from the room.
Even as her heart pounded and her palms grew slick with worry, Nahla walked slowly to the piers, letting the glow of the sun warm her prickled skin. Heading toward the piers, it soon became clear that she was being followed. Two silver-vested men watched her when she paused at a fish vendor. Leaning against his cart, she eyed the men, unsurprised that the prince had ordered his men to follow her.
“I’ll take the small one,” she said, pointing, to the dark-haired woman behind the cart.
After handing the woman a copper, Nahla waited as the woman wrapped up her purchase.
Stopping again at a bread cart, Nahla noticed the men several steps behind her. Acting as if she had not seen them, she continued on, making her way back to her rooms.
Throwing herself on the bed, Nahla again looked around the room, as if searching for an escape. She gazed at the empty place on the wall where the tapestry of the diauxie once hung. It was the healer’s fascination with Otieno and her insistence upon finding him that caused Nahla to believe that she was indeed god-touched. For none other would seek the man.
A daughter whose father would, no doubt, care about her safety, she suddenly realized. And that man, Nahla knew, was a son of a god.
Her magic was small, but she had learned all that her mother’s mother had taught her. And even though she did not often use it, Nahla had not forgotten what the earth magic could do. With little time, and the guardsmen outside her door again, Nahla walked to a large-leaved plant, propped in the corner of her room. Its ferny leaves brushed against the pale walls, standing nearly as tall as she. Few even noticed the plant, despite its size, and none had ever commented on it. Yet, she had nurtured it since arriving, tending to it as her grandmother had instructed.
The plant was heavy and the metal pot was difficult to grasp, so she dragged it to the center of the room, leaving a trail of dirt and fallen leaves across the floor. Once it was in the middle, between her bed and the door, she sat down, with her legs on either side, straddling the pot. Her wide sleeves hung freely down her arms, so Nahla paused to roll them up to her elbows before reaching into the pot.
Gently humming the song her grandmother had taught her many moon years before, Nahla grabbed two handfuls of the still-moist soil and sprinkled the dirt across the floor, in between her legs. With her long fingers, she drew circles in the dirt, weaving them together, then erasing them with her other hand and repeated the pattern. Her nails were nearly black with mud and the edges of her skirt soon followed, but on she hummed, a strange smile gentle across her high-cheeked face.
“Great Mother, help your daughter in her time of need,” she sang.
“Great Mother, shine your light so that I may walk in your shadows,” she whispered.
“Great Mother, mother of all, mother of light, mother of dark, mother of all in between, walk with me through the high grass, fly with me across the clear sky, swim with me over the great rivers, and lift me above the soaring mountains.”
From a pouch that hung on her belt, Nahla drew a small dagger, and held it in her unscarred, steady hand.
As she slowly glided the blade across the palm of her other hand, she called, “Great Mother, my blood is your blood, and it flows for you. Taste it and know my heart.”
Thick drops of blood fell onto the dirt, red mixing with black and brown, staining the white tiles. Nahla leaned her head back and let the blood fall, praying that the Great Mother would hear her call.
*****
“My guards have spoken with the guards at the gate. None have seen anyone matc
hing father’s description last night or at all today. Nor did they notice anything unusual. The palace has been well-searched, although my men were told to make no mention of who or what they were looking for. Crispin, I believe it is time to involve the Mage-guild.”
“We do not need the mages. Not yet,” he told his brother. “If we were to summon them here, then the palace would be abuzz with word of father’s disappearance. Let us wait until evening at least. I am on my way to meet with father’s guards, and then I will find Master Young, who had taken over father’s care. Perhaps he will have some idea of what could have happened.”
Nodding briskly, Delwin stated, “I heard that you left the palace this afternoon. Had you word about father?”
Realizing that nearly all would be remembered, Crispin explained, “I went to the piers. There are women there who heal in ways that the masters cannot. While father has been ill, there are still those who would take his money, and there was talk that the King had been spotted in the Lower Streets over the last few moons. But I am convinced now that it was all folly and poor use of my time to chase after such nonsense.”
Half-cackling, Delwin laughed, “You thought father was with a whore? He could not even walk let alone much else. You are overly fond of the Lower Streets, Crispin, as that gash across your cheek shows.”
“I will see you at the evening meal,” replied hastily, not wanting to listen to another lecture from his brother.
He left his brother standing outside his office, and set off to find Tonnio. For half the day, Crispin had searched for the healer, despite having little to go on. Her hired guards had been of some help, yet the Islander had told him little, although he suspected there was much she had not said. Two of his men were tasked with following her, and, soon, he hoped to learn more.
The Arvumian men whom Caryss had traveled with were being kept in his own rooms, under the watch of his men and unpermitted to leave. They seemed to know little, and their Common was poor, but he had erred much in the last few days and was no longer willing to trust any. He had not yet told his brother of the men or of the healer. Yet, that, too, would soon have to change.
It was his father’s men who worried him the most, for the King’s Watch had seen him with Caryss. They believed her to be kin, and he had not told them aught else, but Delwin would no such kin existed. He only hoped to find the healer before his brother learned of her.
Unless he could convince his uncle, the lone Eirrannian in the Grand Palace, to recall a fire-haired cousin. With the thought ringing loudly in his head, Crispin rushed to find Derry. And when that was finished, it was long past time that he sent word to Willem.
*****
11
After half a day spent aboard the ship, Caryss was thankful that she had ample amounts of ginger. Aldric had shown no ill effects from the tilting and bouncing, but both healers had fallen ill almost immediately after they had left the dock. The king slept often, and they alternated tending to him, including making sure he consumed enough liquid and mashed food. He was much like a babe, the women had joked, and still heavily dependent on the poppy milk.
Every few hours, Sharron would grind up the roots of the ginger and mix it with water, and the two of them would sip it slowly. While it helped and they were able to walk about the cabin of the boat, Caryss looked forward to landfall, which the captain had assured her would be in another two days. The weather had been fair and a strong wind kept the boat sailing at a steady speed, much to her relief.
With little to do, her thoughts were often troubled as she reflected on the last few moons. When she had first left the Academy over a moon before, she had done so as a true Master Apprentice and wanted little more than to heal the King and complete her Healer’s Journey. Ever since Conri, ever since the night of the babe’s creation, nearly all had changed.
Yet, she was a healer still and had done what she must to save the King, which had meant taking him from the King’s City.
As she walked across the wide planks of the boat’s stern, she thought about Prince Crispin, wondering what he must have thought when he first awakened. Placing her hands on the railing of the ship, Caryss looked across the blue water, clearer than any she had seen before. The sun was falling behind the horizon just to her left as streaks of orange and red reached across the gently rolling waves and toward her, pointing at her, as if in accusation.
If she could not save the King, her gamble would have been for naught, and her life and the child’s would be in danger, she knew.
Caryss gripped the railing tighter as the dark thoughts swirled.
After a few minutes, a presence at her side caused her to pull her eyes from the sea. “What will happen if the King dies?” she asked Aldric, who now stood just to her side.
As if he sensed her mood, he stated, “He was half-dead when you first arrived in the King’s City. You played no part in his illness.”
“But I could have stayed and tried to heal him there,” Caryss sighed, wondering if she could have trusted Crispin to keep them safe.
“You were fighting against the tide, one that you could not see. How many healers do you think have worked on him? And not just healer, but mage too. None have helped, Caryss. The King was no more than blood and bones. You at least are trying to give him life.”
For a moment, they were both silent. Her hair was loose, blowing across her face, as if to shield it. Sharron had cropped the mage’s hair short hours before, which caused him to look more stern than usual. Most would fear the dark mage, with reason, she supposed, yet Caryss never had, even when they first met at the Academy.
Whispering against the wind, she told him, “I poisoned Prince Crispin.”
She watched as Aldric closed his eyes. His own hands gripped tightly at the ship’s railing, his knuckles white and tense.
“We will have an army at our backs when his death is discovered,” he finally groaned.
With a snort that she had meant as laughter, Caryss explained, “He is not dead. I am better skilled than that, Aldric. I used the same tincture on him as I have done many others at the clinic, one which causes heavy sedation, yet few after-effects. He will have woken after half a day’s sleep.”
“What is this tincture?”
“A mixture of Aconite and Chloroform. It causes a deep sleep.”
“Aconite? I have heard the name before,” Aldric stated, turning toward her.
“There is another name for it. In the North, it is called Wolf’s Bane.”
“Caryss,” he warned, his voice nearly a growl now.
She said nothing to him, but her face glowed and her teeth shined under the orange glow of the setting sun as she smiled.
“You play a dangerous game. With men much more powerful than you,” he warned. “Conri will not be able to protect you from a Rexterran army, Caryss. Nor will a babe at the breast. What will you do when the forces of Rexterra rise up against the woman who stole their king?”
“We will fight them. With fire and sky. Earth and water.”
Her words were still whispers. Yet she knew that he had heard.
“When have you held a sword in your hand? When have you drawn a blade and blood from an enemy?” he questioned her, loudly.
“The night we left the palace I nearly killed Crispin,” Caryss calmly told him, enjoying watching his cheeks pale and his eyes widen.
“You just said the tincture was safe,” the mage stuttered.
“Aldric,” she half-sung, “You asked when last I lifted a blade. And I answered. Before I put him to sleep, the prince and I argued. If I had not struck him, he would have struck me. I had little choice but to draw the dagger.”
White-faced and hoarse, Aldric croaked, “What dagger, Caryss?”
Her laughter sounded half-mad, even to her own ears when it followed.
“The only dagger I have.”
Her head tilted back as she laughed, until Aldric grabbed her, pulling at her shoulders until his eyes found hers.
�
��Fear not, Aldric. The blade never touched him.”
Confusion darkening his eyes, he asked, “Where did this occur?”
Caryss shrugged her shoulders, “In my room.”
Aldric’s fingers trembled where they held onto her. He was thin, but still had strength in him and her arms began to ache. She struggled to tear herself free from his grasp, but he would not allow it.
Finally, he half-threw her from him and asked, “Do I want to know more?”
“Crispin came to my room hours after we all last parted. I was asleep, yet heard his knocking and rose. He offered a warning of sorts, or perhaps a lesson in courtly behavior, and then grew angry when I did not seem to heed his words. He thought me a fool, Aldric, as if I was little more than a country girl on her first visit to the city.”
“He was not so far off,” she head the mage grumble.
Interrupting him before he too lectured her, Caryss added, “He told me that I would not long survive the King’s City, which seemed more than just idle words. He left me with little choice but to flee, and I knew that I could not have done so had he woken.”
“It sounds as if you think he wanted you to take the King?”
Nodding in agreement, Caryss stated, “He was testing me. If he is not the one who ordered the poisoning of the King, then of course he would want his father safely away from the palace.”
With his back now to the boat’s railing, Aldric sighed, rubbing grayish fingers across his newly clipped hair.
“Even if he had wanted his father to be safe, he will not be able to long protect you. Prince Delwin controls the army and will have men after us once he learns of what has happened.”
“We must find the Prince of Swords. And then we must get to the North, where we will find shelter and aid, if necessary,” she told him.
As if he was beginning to understand, Aldric said, “And the diauxie will help get us there safely.”
For a moment, Caryss felt as if Bronwen stood at the railing. Tears filled her eyes and the fading sun blurred into a fiery haze. I will not cry; I am Rexaria.