Chapter 66 #2
Megaera speaks first, her tone light, unaffected. “We acted out of familial duty. This prisoner is young, a child to us. Let us go, and in our retellings of this adventure, you’ll emerge as merciful, honourable.”
Lykos seizes his moment. “Let me and my boy go, and you can have these two. Along with valuable information about our king.”
I stiffen. What does he know? What would he dare tell these enemies? I can’t let that happen.
“Drop the shield.”
Megaera hisses at me.
“Drop the shield or let the captain in.”
“I could kill you in one sweep,” the captain says.
“You won’t.”
A curious laugh.
“The gods are watching.”
His gaze sharpens.
I roll up my sleeve. On the inside of my forearm, there’s a dark mark.
The surrounding Skeldars gasp, weapons lowering as they whisper to one another.
The captain stares hard at the mark, the pulse at his neck ticking faster. Suspicion and caution glimmer in his eyes. “Lindrhalda’s touch.”
I bow my head slightly, the knot in my stomach tightening. It’s shameless. If Quin were watching, he might laugh, but—
If it saves your life, do it. I command you to.
The mark is roughly flower-like in shape, the shape of one flower in particular. Lifebloom—the sacred plant of Lindrhalda, Iskaldir’s goddess of healing.
“Drop the shield,” I say softly.
Megaera hesitates, but I catch the flicker of understanding in her gaze as she sweeps over the birthmark she helped me create.
The captain steps forward, pinching my chin upward.
His lips curve into a thoughtful smirk as his gaze bores into mine. Without looking away, he calls out to one of his men, who comes forward with my belongings.
A man—Nordr—lies on a low cot, clutching his lower back and moaning in pain. Half a dozen others, including the guard I paralysed, crowd into the room, murmuring urgently. The captain passes by in the hallway, his sceptical gaze lingering on me.
I take Nordr’s pulse, analysing his pained movements and noting the sporadic twitch of his right leg.
I unroll my set of fine silver needles, a parting gift from Quin, and select one.
A wave of curious murmurs.
I must keep up the act. “Lindrhalda gave me the gift of understanding how best to heal my patients. I choose this needle with her guidance.”
I carefully insert four sharp needles into the acupoints around Nordr’s tailbone. “Wait fifteen minutes. He’ll walk to his cabin on his own.”
And fifteen minutes later, to a chorus of amazed gasps, he does.
“Lindrhalda has truly blessed you,” the Skeldar I paralysed says gruffly as he escorts me to a small cabin.
The door closes behind him, and I lean against it, banging my flushed forehead against the wood before turning to my companions.
Lykos is sitting on the floor, resting against a wooden chest with one leg extended and a forearm casually hooked over his bent knee.
His scowl keenly follows Megaera, who is hanging her wet cloak on a wall hook.
His fingers twitch, as if itching to attack.
I step into his view, tutting. “We’re in this together. ”
He glances at Zenon, asleep on a narrow bunk under a pile of furs. “Did you pass the test?”
I drop my belongings at the end of another bunk. “This one, at least.”
Luckily, Nordr only had a pinched nerve. The needles quickly relieved his pain. If they test me with something more serious, though . . .
Megaera perches on the edge of the bunk, her face pale and greenish under the swaying lantern above. She clutches a beam. “Will the rocking ever cease?”
I rummage through my things. Where’s the ginger? It should help.
I find a minuscule crumb and offer it to her, then rise. “I’ll find more.”
“I’m fine.”
I leave the cabin—with a warning look to Lykos, who smirks back at me—and after pocketing some ginger from the galley, I head onto the deck. I’m not feeling all that great myself, but the last thing I can do, having Lindrhalda’s touch, is throw up.
I walk around the ship, breathing in the salty air. The captain is at the helm, staring grimly out over the channel. I follow his line of sight.
In the distance, a great bloom of light dances over the water’s surface. My heart lurches as I hurry to the ship’s side. Is that fire? Is something burning on Iskaldir’s coast? No, it’s not onshore.
A ship is ablaze.
Flames leap into the sky, and breezes carry the first traces of burning wood to our ship. A distant boom and crackle follow a violent explosion. A burning ship in the channel would not be empty.
I turn to the captain, who bows his head at the distant sight. “Are we the closest ship? There could be survivors in the water.”
“Such sincerity. I might almost believe you have Lindrhalda’s touch.”
I rear back a step.
He faces me, his gaze settling on my arm. “I don’t believe gods and goddesses choose our fates.”
“Then why did you let us go?”
“My men believe.”
“They must be important to you.”
“We’re family. Indulging you satisfies their superstitions.” He steps closer, his golden hair falling over his shoulders like curtains. “I’m sure they’ll be disillusioned soon enough.”
“And if they aren’t?”
“Are you bargaining with me?”
“I want a promise that we won’t be sold into slavery.”
He pulls back, his gaze returning to the distant flames. “Lindrhalda’s touch is far too precious to keep to myself. If you prove yourself, I’ll present you to Prins Lief of Ragn. You could say he . . . adopts healers.”
Ragn? I’m not sure what kind of prince this Lief is, but if this bluff gets me to Ragn, I’ll be that much closer to reaching my mother’s systra. I gesture across the night-heavy waters to the flames.
The captain snarls. “I’ll never risk my men for that.”
“Risk?”
His laugh is heavy, hollow.
I wait, dread tightening my chest.
“All ships to Iskaldir pass through that checkpoint. It used to be called Skogar. Now we call it Cinderbay.”
“Cinder . . .”
“It started a month ago. This is the fifth ship to be set ablaze.”
I stare across the dark, to the brilliant flames. Set ablaze? “This is deliberate?”
He grunts in affirmation.
I grip the dewy railing. “But the people—the crew, passengers . . .”
“It’s not the ship our stormblades are ordered to burn.”
It’s those on board.
“Are they . . . spies?” My stomach sinks. “Lumins? Is this warfare?”
“They’ve all been Skeldars.”
“They’re burning their own?”
“Only those ships with no signs of sickness are allowed through.”
The flames dim as the ship sinks into the water. “Signs . . .” I snap my head to the captain, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Poxies. A single man with rashy cheeks or sores, and all on board go down with him.”
“They don’t distinguish between the healthy and the sick?”
“They won’t risk it coming ashore.”
It spreads too easily. My stomach clenches as the boat dips suddenly. Nausea races up my throat.
“In the name of Vaesen, god of balance and harmony and the natural order. Their lives are a sacrifice for our beloved land.”
I laugh dryly, then wretch. “Not all of them would die.”
“Do you think the command of our king is cruel?” He pounds my back.
“I don’t. A few burning ships are nothing compared to towns full of pus-pocked victims, piles of decaying bodies on street corners, and the neverending wails of families losing their loved ones.
” He pauses. “The squawk of a crow in an empty town square. A fox curled atop a dirt mound, under it your sister, your brother.”
I push myself upright, my arms trembling.
“I won’t let it aboard this ship,” he murmurs. “No matter how many tricks you have, you won’t beat this.”
I shudder. He’s right.
My grandfather died trying to create wards against it—his most important work, for the most dangerous disease. But Lumin wouldn’t allow it, too afraid of what it might do. Too afraid of worsening the spread.
Iskaldir is also afraid.
The plague is the most devastating sickness to have ever ravaged the kingdoms. It terrifies me most as a healer. That it will come at all. That if it does, I won’t be able to cure it.
For an ugly second, I understand why the redcloaks imprisoned Kastoria during its outbreak.
For an uglier second, I accept the flames.