CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT #2
Milo was barely hanging on underneath Berig’s mass, the boy’s shallow grunts slipping through gritted teeth. He couldn’t reach Berig’s chest, but the behemoth of a man did have his forearm resting on Milo’s shoulder, a weight the young boy appeared unable to manage for much longer.
Winnie launched forward, relieving Milo as she placed her shoulder beneath Berig’s armpit and undertook the burden instead. Winnie, unlike Catrin and Milo, was able to heave Berig over to the stone table all on her own, freeing the herbalist to dart into her shop.
I expected to see tears, or panic, or at the very least an insurmountable blanket of fear transforming her kind face, yet none of that was present.
Catrin’s darkened features were frozen in their seriousness.
Only a slight wrinkle between her brows underscored her deep focus.
She immediately seized a white, square bottle that Winnie had laid out, pocketing it before returning to the stone table Winnie laid Berig atop.
The moment his head leaned back, an awful gurgling noise erupted from his throat.
Milo, now free from his task, dropped to the ground on all fours. His ragged gasps, quickening in pace, before he hurled himself towards an empty wooden bucket, entire body heaving as the contents of his stomach emptied.
With a quick, stifled breath, I retrieved a clay cup and filled it with water from the stone basin built into Catrin’s countertop.
I kept to the outer section of the shop as I made my way to Milo, all the while cautious not to obstruct Berig’s care.
I kneeled by the boy, running my palm in small circles over his leather vest as he hovered above the bucket.
“Drink this,” I commanded, surprising myself with the gentle yet authoritative tone I’d only ever been on the receiving side of.
Milo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before righting himself. With a sluggish nod, he grabbed the cup and took small sips of water, his faraway gaze never landing on one place for too long.
The night’s chill had begun seeping into the shop, so I stood to close the door.
I cast a wary glance at the street, filled to the brim with homeward villagers whose empty faces summoned gooseflesh along my arms. With a steadying breath that made me all too aware of the salted, metallic scent of gore enveloping us, I closed the door before turning to press my back against the nearest wall. I was not prepared for what I saw.
Catrin held that same white, square bottle over Berig’s lips with a steady hand. It hovered there, as though she were waiting for a command to pour into his bleeding mouth. But it wasn’t Catrin’s frozen state that stole the air from my lungs.
Winnie was restraining Berig to the stone table.
The thick iron cuffs bolted into the stone were fashioned with an interior strip of leather, no doubt to limit the harm a thrashing patient—or prisoner—might inflict upon themselves.
With each cuff snapped shut, mercilessly clinging to Berig’s wrists and ankles, the sharp sound of metal on metal punctuated the suffocating atmosphere.
What are you doing to him? The words were lodged in my throat, begging to be spoken, but Winnie’s earlier warning commanded my silence.
When the fourth cuff’s eerie click echoed over Berig’s gurgling, Catrin’s waiting wrist tipped, a thick silver substance dripping from the bottle into Berig’s swollen, barely parted lips.
Astrid’s pallid complexion flashed in my mind’s eye, that same streak of silver descending her chin.
I expected Berig to cough it up, but he swallowed enthusiastically, seemingly aware that relief was near.
Except it was not relief that the tonic summoned.
Instead, it was Berig’s strained screams. Through his broken jaw, the sound was not piercing, but rather a muffled, guttural display of agony.
His body, which had been relaxed on the cold, stone surface, now writhed uncontrollably, each muscle within him contracting in unison.
In that moment, I wanted to fall apart. To curl up in front of the fire with my hands clamped securely over my ears and pretend that none of this was happening.
But that wasn’t my right. Not anymore. Instead, I dropped to the floor and wrapped my arms around Milo.
He was shaking violently again, those small hands trying to block out the screams.
Winnie hovered over the stone table, pressing Berig’s shoulders down as Catrin threw her body over his legs. They both did their very best to mitigate Berig’s unthinking movements.
Suddenly, a throaty growl summoned from deep within Berig’s chest overtook the screams. He began snarling at Winnie, lifting his chin from the table, gnashing wildly through his crooked jaw and bloody teeth.
But he couldn’t reach her, and she seemed unbothered by his attempts.
It was then I noticed his fingers, curled in towards his palms, jerking against the restraints.
Like a wild animal, Berig was trying to scratch and bite the woman he loved and the woman who helped him indiscriminately.
And then, with absolutely no warning, Berig took a sharp, gurgled inhale and went limp. Although he stilled, Winnie and Catrin’s entire bodies rose and fell with each trembling breath. Tentatively, Winnie released Berig, her attention never wavering from his face.
“Catrin,” she said, one of her shaking palms finding the woman’s arm. “Catrin, he’s done.”
A sob too big for Catrin’s throat ended midway as she cupped her mouth, hovering over her love.
Her eyes pressed closed, features pinched.
I recognized that face. The face of someone who could not continue to feel what they were feeling, lest they risk succumbing to the torrent of emotion that threatened to pull them under.
Her shaky inhalation through flared nostrils, the tight lips of her exhale.
Once, then twice, and then her eyes opened once more, seeming to have found her center.
“Is he going to be okay?” The question escaped me before I could think better of it.
There was a long silence before Catrin managed a small, “Yes,” while returning the white bottle to the shelf above her cauldron.
“That didn’t happen to Astrid.”
“Who’s Astrid?” Winnie asked, her attention flitting between the two of us.
Catrin breathed deeply, and I suspected the patience she had for this line of questioning was meager at best. “Vicar Umfrey’s daughter. He crossed a few weeks back to get help for his daughter. He left with a vial of silk tonic.”
“I watched as her mother poured it down her throat. It didn’t turn the girl into a rabid animal,” I said, releasing Milo and rising to my feet.
Catrin turned to assess me, her working jaw visible even in the candlelight. “Silk salt affects everyone differently at the onset, but the end result is the same. In no time at all, Berig will be healed.”
Our eyes were locked. I knew, just as I always did, that I’d only been given half of the story. I was intimately familiar with being kept in the dark, so why did it continue to bruise me?
I could feel the angry pursing of my lips as I contemplated what to do. Every inquiry with an unwilling participant was a set of moves and countermoves. But I, as usual, had no bargaining favors. I desperately needed to not say the wrong thing.
I swallowed tentatively before relaxing my posture, hoping to seem more curious than demanding as I asked, “Did Vayen do this?”
“Yes,” Catrin said without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because she had to.”
Winnie’s palms rested on the stone table beside Berig’s unconscious body. Her dropped head reminded me of her stance outside the Ugly Tankard earlier that day—defeated and uncertain. “I’m not sure we should discuss any of this without Vayen present.”
“Why?” I said, barely able to keep my voice even. “Why did this happen? What… what is the purpose of this?”
“We’re being punished,” Milo whispered from the ground where he still sat huddled.
“Milo,” Winnie warned.
“But why this? Why must you—”
“Quiet!” Winnie roared, rounding on me with that same fury she had unleashed in the forest. “If you want answers, you’ll have to get them from Vayen herself.”
I slipped easily into the straightened spine and lifted chin of a royal, wielding an unwarranted poise. I could sense her hesitation as we held gazes, and I could see my bright, arctic eyes reflected in the dark blue of hers.
“Then where in the depths is she?”