The Blood Curse (37 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTY

K
AREL’S FEVER GREW
as the afternoon progressed. His skin became hotter, his sleep more restless. Sometimes her voice seemed to calm him and he sank back into quiet slumber; sometimes it made him agitated, and he tossed and turned as if trying to free himself from the blankets. Britta trickled feverwort into his mouth whenever she could. By the end of the day, the waterskin was empty.

When they halted for the night, Britta didn’t wait for Bennick to come to her. She scrambled down from the wagon and hurried across to him. “The fever’s getting worse. And I’ve used up all the feverwort.”

Bennick’s gaze swung to her. He seemed amused by her distress. Alongside him, Jaumé slid down from his pony. The boy didn’t find her distress funny; his eyes were large and serious.

“We’ll do what we can,” Bennick said. “Jaumé, fetch those herbs.”

The boy ran to the packhorses.

B
RITTA WENT BACK
to Karel and sat clasping his hand. After a while, Bennick and Jaumé came, carrying two steaming billies and some bandages. “Feverwort and bone-knit,” the assassin said. “Brewed together. And a poultice. Not comfrey, but similar.”

He unwound the bandages and scooped a paste of mashed leaves out of one billy, explaining what he was doing to Jaumé. “It’s the moistness and heat that make a poultice work. Draws the infection out. If I put the leaves on cold and dry, they wouldn’t do much.”

The boy listened, his face grave, nodding.

Bennick deftly tied the poultices in place. “When you use poultices, you need to keep changing them. You want the wound to stay clean.”

Britta eyed him. He knew a lot about herbs. “Are you a poison master?”

Bennick glanced at her. “What do you know about poison masters?”

“I saw one, once.”

Bennick snorted. “I doubt it.”

“He had one leg.”

Bennick looked at her again. This time, he didn’t dismiss her words.

“He killed my father.”

Bennick shrugged. “Killed your father. Killed your brother.”

Brother? For a second, the word didn’t make sense, as if her ears didn’t recognize the sound—and then alarm kicked in. “Brother? Which one?”

“The new king. Got him, too.” Bennick’s smile was wolf-like.

“When?” she demanded, and then: “If Jaegar’s dead, then the bounty on Harkeld’s head is—”

“Not dead yet,” Bennick said. “Got a few months left in him. Long enough to pay out the bounty.”

Britta frowned. “What do you mean, he’s got a few months left?”

Bennick reached for the second billy. “Meffren got him with Five Moons. Means your brother’s got five moons till he dies. Course, the last couple aren’t going to be pleasant.”

“Not pleasant, how?”

Bennick shrugged. “He’ll be impotent by now. By the end of next month he’ll be blind and incontinent.”

Britta stared at him, open-mouthed, horrified. She had wished Jaegar dead, but not like
that
.

Her horror seemed to amuse Bennick. He grinned. Jaumé wasn’t grinning. He was looking at Bennick as if he didn’t recognize him.

“Why poison Jaegar?” Britta asked, and then she answered her own question: “Because he refused to pay for Father’s murder?”

“Refused, did he? Well, Meffren’s made sure he’ll pay the All-Mother.”

“Five Moons...” She looked at the billy Bennick held, struck by a sudden, terrible thought.

Bennick’s grin widened. “Don’t worry. Five Moons isn’t a poison you drink.”

“Then how...?”

Bennick put down the billy. He held out his hand to her.

Britta looked at it, and then at his face.

His eyebrows rose—
Come on
. He continued to hold out his hand.

Warily, she took it. They shared a brief handclasp, palm to palm, then Bennick released her hand. “Take a look.”

Britta looked at her palm, found a damp spot on it. Water.

“Oh...” Her mouth stayed open for a second. “Oh, I
saw
that. I saw them shake hands!”

Bennick shrugged. “There you go.”

Britta stared at her palm, remembering. Jaegar and the peg-legged man had shaken hands, and then... “He patted my shoulder, Jaegar did. And the next day my maid found a mark on my cloak. She said the fabric had been eaten away.” She looked up and met Bennick’s eyes. “
That
was it. The poison. It wiped off on my cloak.”

Bennick’s eyes narrowed. “When did your brother touch you?”

“Oh, maybe... five minutes after he shook hands.” Had she unwittingly saved Jaegar’s life?

“What about his face?” Bennick said. “See any marks on it? A couple of days later?”

“Marks?” Britta blinked, frowned. She’d only seen Jaegar twice afterwards. Once on the morning of his coronation, and once— “Oh! Blisters. Three of them. Below his eye. Here.” She showed him with a finger.

Bennick’s face relaxed into a smile. “The Five Moons took.”

She hadn’t saved Jaegar’s life. He was dying. Horribly.

Instead of grief, Britta felt relief.

B
ENNICK FILLED AN
empty waterskin from the billy, lifted Karel’s head, and trickled the feverwort and bone-knit infusion into his mouth.

“Are you a poison master?” Britta asked again.

“No.”

“Then why do you know so much about healing?” Bennick was a killer; the exact opposite of a healer.

“The sooner a Brother gets better, the sooner he can fight again.”

B
RITTA SLEPT ALONGSIDE
Karel, her blankets spread over them both. The night was cold, almost freezing, but the sides of the wagon sheltered them from the worst of the wind. Towards dawn, Karel became restless, tossing his head. “Britta!” His voice was frantic.

“I’m here.” She pushed up to sit, leaned over him. His eyes were still closed. He was dreaming, a nightmare that twisted his face with anguish. “I’m here, Karel,” she said, more loudly.

His eyes sprang open. He stared at her for several seconds, then his face relaxed and he slid back into unconsciousness.

Britta sat back on her heels. Had he seen her in the light of the half-moon? Recognized her?

K
AREL WOKE TWICE
more before the sky lightened, both times distraught, calling her name—woke, and looked at her, and sank back into sleep.

At dawn, Bennick unwrapped himself from his blankets, pulled on his boots, and came across to the wagon, Jaumé at his heels.

“He awake?”

Britta shook her head.

“Thought I heard him.”

“Nightmares,” she said. “It’s the fever.”

Bennick climbed into the wagon and felt Karel’s face. “Worse’n yesterday. Hoped it would have broken by now.”

“If it doesn’t break... will he die?” Tears rose in her eyes.

Bennick saw them. He looked amused. “So much agony over whether a person lives or not.”

Britta blotted the tears with her sleeve. “Life is important.”

Bennick shrugged. “We come, we go.”

“Life is important,” Britta said, gripping Karel’s hand tightly. “And what we
do
with our lives is important. Whether we’re kind or cruel. And Karel is
kind
. Kinder than anyone I know. He deserves to live!”

Bennick snorted, a sound of amusement.

Her temper sparked. “I pity you,” Britta said contemptuously. “Your lives are empty.
You
’re empty. All you do is kill people.”

“Pity?” Bennick snorted again. This time, he didn’t sound amused.

“‘We come, we go,’” Britta said, her tone mocking. “What way is that to live life?”

Bennick’s eyes narrowed. His face had gone stiff.
Will he hit me?
But she was too angry to care.

Beside him, the boy crouched, wide-eyed, alarmed, his gaze darting from her to Bennick.

Bennick’s face relaxed. He shook his head. “Sentimental maundering. All one can expect from a female. Come on, lad, let’s heat up more poultice.” He paused on the edge of the wagon, and said, “That’s if her highness still
wants
me to heal him?”

Britta ignored the sarcasm. “Yes, I do.”

The boy followed Bennick silently. He glanced back at her once. His expression was impossible to decipher.

B
ENNICK REMOVED THE
poultices once the horses had been saddled. He had more than one face, this man. The smiling face he showed the boy; the cold assassin’s face he wore right now.

He stripped the pads of crushed leaves from Karel’s upper arm and thigh and retied the bandages, then sat back and observed her for a moment. Britta returned the stare, refusing to be intimidated.

“I killed your brother in Ankeny,” Bennick said. “Arrow through the heart.” He reached out and tapped her above the heart, so hard it hurt. “But the mages healed him. Next time I kill him, he’ll stay dead.” He jumped down from the wagon, fastened the tailboard, and strode to his horse.

Britta stared after him, rubbing where his fingers had struck her. Harkeld had been dead. An arrow through the heart.

She shivered.

She understood that Bennick’s words were punishment for saying she pitied him.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

T
HE ROADS WERE
empty. The farms were empty. The villages were empty. Jaumé kept as close to Bennick as he could. “Is the curse here?” he whispered.

“I reckon so.” Bennick didn’t seem scared. He was relaxed as he rode, one hand resting on his thigh.

Near noon, they came to a crossroad. A covered wagon waited there, a handful of horses—and two men wearing long, hooded cloaks that flapped in the wind. Bennick stopped looking relaxed. He sat up straight in his saddle and touched the pouch of Stars at his hip.

Jaumé glanced around. Vught and Soll had stiffened too, and Hetchel, driving the wagon.

One of the hooded men moved his fingers in a series of gestures.

The Brothers’ postures altered. Still alert, but not ready for battle.

They halted at the crossroad. The man who’d gestured pushed back his hood. Jaumé recognized his sleek black hair and slanted dark eyes. It was Steadfast. But Steadfast was dead in the jungle. He’d seen him die.

“Fortitude,” the man said. “And Valor.”

The second man nodded and pushed back his hood. He had sleek black hair and slanted eyes, too.

Jaumé stared at them both. He remembered what Gant had told him.
Everyone in the Dominion looks like Steadfast
.

These two men were from the Dominion.

He tried to find differences between them. Fortitude was older than Steadfast had been. Valor had a rounder face.

“You’re a week later than Tancred expected,” Fortitude said.

Vught scowled. “She’s slowed us down.”

“Andeol’s fallen. Tancred asked us to wait for you. He took the northern route out, week and a half ago, with the Brother from Fenal. Reckoned they’d run into the prince and his party, thin their numbers a bit.”

“Tancred and Udo? They’ll thin them all right.” Vught’s grin was sharp and nasty.

Fortitude reached under his cloak and took out a piece of vellum, folded into a small square. “Tancred drew you a map.” He handed it to Vught. “No point trying to cut the prince off at Delpy. You’re too late. Have to head for the mountains. Try to catch them in the valley. It’s going to be touch and go. Today’s the last day we were going to wait for you.”

Vught nodded, and tucked the map inside his shirt.

“What’s in the wagon?” Soll asked.

“Water.”

“The curse is here?”

Both men nodded.

“You seen any cursed people?” Hetchel asked, leaning forward on the wagon seat.

“A couple,” Valor said. “We killed ’em.”

“What’re they like?”

“Madder than rabid dogs.”

Vught flicked his fingers, the
Let’s get moving
gesture. “If the prince is past Delpy, we got to make up time.”

F
ORTITUDE DROVE THE
covered wagon. Valor rode alongside Bennick. Jaumé listened to them talk. Valor told Bennick about his last contract, in a place called Noorn, and killing someone called a Sentinel mage. “She got in our way. Cree took her out. Didn’t realize she was a Sentinel until later.
Big
mistake. Five of ’em came after us. Got Ferris and Dobin and Cree.
And
Brock. I only got away by a hair’s breadth.”