Chapter Fifteen Kit #3
I push the thought aside, angry with myself. Angry that any part of me would consider taking Catharine’s body. It isn’t my idea, I reason, walking to join Abram and Idris. Speir just put it there.
When I catch up with Idris, he asks, “What did Speir say?”
I hesitate. I need to talk to Catharine before I decide what to do with this wand, with this offer of one broken curse. Even then, guilt coils in my gut. Shouldn’t I just pull it out now, tap Idris, and save his life? Shouldn’t I at least tell him that I have it?
But my indecision tangles in my head, and instead I say, “He wasn’t helpful.”
Idris nods. His face is ashen with weariness. I follow him as he makes his way to the cove. Abram walks beside me, his steps small and nervous. Braced for resistance.
But my amendment to Idris’s command seems to have worked: Abram walks freely onto the sand.
He grins at his brother—who returns an exhausted smile—and then helps make the boat ready to sail.
I wait on the side, my hands clasped round the strap of my reticule.
The wand inside burns a hole in my mind.
I owe it to Catharine to talk to her first—and I cannot bear the idea of the hope and disappointment that might come upon Abram and Idris if they knew what I have.
Idris offers me a hand up into the boat. Remembering earlier, a blush rises to my cheeks. But if he’s thinking of it, he seems unbothered. In fact, when I dart a glance at his face, his eyes seem glassy. I take his hand lightly. His skin burns with fever.
We settle on the benches, and Abram pushes the yole off. As with the first night, the calm water guides us back toward Skyare. I should be tired—and I feel I am, in some deep part of me—but my nerves buzz. Idris rubs his face, looking miserable and flushed. His curse is only getting worse.
I have the cure to all of it in my bag. Just a hand’s breadth away.
I part ways with Abram and Idris at the harbor and strike out for Mrs. Westness’s croft. The dawn sky is unexpectedly clear for the first time since we arrived. Clouds wisp away in pink and gold. There is so much blue here, I find myself dazed by it.
When I come to the croft, Mrs. Westness is crafting with straw near the fireplace. Catharine sits across from her, watching the intricate movements of the old woman’s fingers. They both start when I open the door.
“You’re back!” Catharine says, relieved. She rises and hugs me.
“You’ll be wanting something to drink?” Mrs. Westness guesses, moving to get the jug.
“Thank you.” I look at Catharine. Pride, delight, and nerves all mix inside me. “We need to talk. Do you feel up for a stroll?”
Catharine nods. “I have news for you too.”
She grabs a shawl from on top of the bed, pulls it over her shoulders, and loops her arm through mine. Together, we step into the cold morning. The sun makes such a difference. Even now, it transforms the wild landscape into something welcoming, something more gold than gray.
“Look.” Catharine holds her hurt hand out for me. The bandage is gone. She flexes the finger that had frozen, and it bends and straightens.
“How?” I touch it for myself. The joint still has its distinct bowed swell, the same way a boat curves wide and then narrows again. But Catharine gives no sign of pain.
“I took the bandage off to have a look, and I tried to bend it.” Catharine demonstrates with her finger. “It made a loud clicking noise, and then it just … started working.”
I’m relieved. Confused. Is it a sign that my health might improve on its own?
Or is it just the wasting curse being cruel? Pretending to let my body mend, only to break it more thoroughly, more permanently, some time in the future?
“Well.” I’m not sure what to say. My mind circles to practicality. “I guess we don’t need that whole bag of gold coins, then. I wonder if Mrs. Westness would like a new barn as well as her roof repaired.”
Catharine beams. “I’m sure she would.”
As we continue to wander the coast, I tell her that Abram has been saved, and that my idea for Idris worked. The brothers are both home safe. Or, at least, as safe as can be hoped right now.
“That’s wonderful!” Catharine exclaims.
We leave the grass for the beach. I let my gaze scan the tide line, where shells and rocks and seaweed have been left. I gather a deep breath.
“There was something else, Catharine,” I begin.
“I think—I’ve found a way to break a curse.
I spoke to Speir and made a trade with two children for this.
” I draw the wand from my bag. The heaviness of it surprises me again.
The pockmarked surface is brittle, nearly ready to break, but the thing itself weighs more than a pot of tea.
“They told me that one tap of this would break a curse.”
“Kit!” Catharine grins at me. “Why didn’t you say that first? This is perfect! You’ve done it!”
I hesitate, and her grin fades. “Well, you see, it only works on one curse.”
Catharine’s eyes widen. Softly, she says, “Oh.”
I let this settle between us. When she doesn’t speak, I find myself babbling to fill the silence. “We can use it to undo the curse between us, or we can give it to Idris, or”—I cringe at the selfish hope in my tone—”we could cure the wasting.”
“I don’t think there’s much of a choice,” Catharine says, looking a little confused. “We must give it to Idris, of course.”
“Of course,” I echo. Her goodness makes me ashamed. That she would choose the kindest action with only a moment’s consideration. I scold my treacherous heart. I do not deserve a sister like her. I slide the wand into my bag. “Right. That’s what I felt …”
“We’ll just find another solution for ourselves,” Catharine says confidently. “I know you can do it. Perhaps Speir could be convinced to help.”
I don’t mention that I’ve already tried—that Speir hinted there might be multiple clever ways to undo our curse, but it requires me to want it.
I look at Catharine in my old body. I imagine being back in that skin, which has been the vessel for so much shame and hurt.
No matter how small and fragile and plain I was, it didn’t protect me.
Instead, it invited the king’s attention.
If I return to my old body, I’ll be exactly where I started. And even if I manage to escape Byrne, I can never escape the curse he opened in me—the wasting.
Perhaps I could convince Speir to open the door, to let Catharine and me switch, and then I could use the wand to make my body healthy.
But even this is a selfish thought. Catharine and I are in an inconvenient state—my diseases are slow and survivable, for now—but Idris’s curse will claim his life.
And it might claim that life soon, judging by his deterioration.
“I will take it to him, then,” I say. Exhaustion creeps over my muscles, paired with resignation. I have my path laid out before me—but I am tired, in both spirit and body.
Catharine must sense some of this in my empty voice, because she turns us toward the croft. “Why don’t we get some food in you first? And maybe you should lie down for a little bit.”
“I’ll go in the early afternoon,” I agree, too weary to argue. “He should be home and safe until then.”
I still need to arrange our flight from Byrne. I still need to find a way to convince Catharine we need to flee. But I let her lead me inside. Despite my victory in gaining the wand, I feel defeated.