Chapter Eighteen #3
Valerian wanted to turn around and run before he was recognized. He wasn’t even sure the lord was capable of recognition in this state. How has he deteriorated so quickly? It should take months, years before anyone would be so changed.
Unless magic is involved …
The thought filled him with dread. Now he wondered if Master Imus’ insistence that Valerian finally return to Krasna Manor was because he knew about the lord’s illness. What does he expect me to do? I’m no healer or curse-breaker!
“Don’t just stand there,” Lord Endre barked, anger refueling him. His hand barely raised off the bed to gesture, but it still held authority Valerian couldn’t ignore.
He entered the room, expecting it to smell of sickness and death. He shouldn’t have underestimated Chesna. A fresh, floral scent masked everything else.
Lord Endre’s hand continued to jerk in sharp, impatient movements until Valerian stood next to his bedside.
He squinted in the bright light, scanning Valerian’s face.
“Are you … yes, you are.” His thin, drying lips cracked as he smiled.
“By the looks of you, Valerian, you are as skilled as Imus implied.”
Turning to Chesna, Lord Endre barked, “Leave us.”
“My lord—” she began.
“I’ve waited years for him to return. Now I wish to speak with him privately.”
Chesna glanced at Valerian, silently asking: are you all right being alone with him?
The lord had never raised his own hand against Valerian, he’d always delegated that task to someone else. Even if he had violent urges, he wasn’t strong enough to act on them. Valerian nodded and smiled softly, assuring her that he’d be fine.
She left the room and closed the door behind her.
Lord Endre gazed at Valerian from his prone position. “Unlike you, I am much changed,” he said, his voice a rough rasp. “But now you can fix me.” Not a question, a demand.
Valerian had to choose his words carefully.
He could only afford to study magic because of this man’s investment.
If he dies, will Master Imus kick me out?
Valerian had learned a lot in the past thirteen years, but he still had decades of study ahead of him to reach his full potential.
How would he pay for those years on his own?
Whatever worries he had didn’t matter because he couldn’t solve this problem. “I’m not a healer—”
“Do you think I haven’t consulted healers?”
“I’m not a curse-breaker either,” Valerian replied, attempting to keep calm.
The lord wasn’t listening at all. Half-delirious, he continued, “I paid for your magical education. It is time for you to put it to use.”
“Master Imus would be a better person for this task,” Valerian explained, though he knew it wasn’t that simple.
His master’s specialty was in domestic cultivation.
Though he’d studied magic longer than Valerian, he would be equally useless here.
One name did come to mind—someone his teacher had mentioned as a potential mentor if Valerian had chosen the curse-breaking route.
“You should contact the mage Alistair Lindstrum. He’s an advisor in Bellacosta—”
“No!” Lord Endre cried, his voice gaining a new strength. “Not him, never him—you keep his name out of my gods damned household.”
The vehemence of this statement shocked Valerian. He’d never met the mage himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice agreed with the lord: should have killed the bastard when I had the chance. Where had that thought come from? Before he could analyze it, the lord’s mutterings changed.
“You will … not … leave before … you have broken this curse,” the lord panted. Then he slumped back onto his pillows.
Valerian held his breath, wondering if Lord Endre’s rage had been the death of him.
Then he saw the slight rise and fall of the man’s chest and realized he had only exhausted himself.
Valerian slipped out of the room and found Chesna waiting in the hall.
“He’s knocked himself out,” he explained, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
He didn’t care how callous the words sounded.
He also didn’t give a damn about the lord’s orders.
Lord Endre wasn’t the worst nobleman out there, but he certainly wasn’t the best either.
If someone cursed him, they probably had good reason.
Valerian wouldn’t make an enemy of them by undoing their hard work.
In fact, this curse might help him escape Lord Endre’s grasp.
“I have to get some supplies,” he lied to Mrs. Rutter, then strode off before she could ask for any details.
The same voice in his head spoke again, this time with more urgency: faster, faster, get out of there now!
He made it to the front door, his hand on the knob, when someone grabbed him from behind.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Maksim whispered near his ear.
One of Valerian’s eyes peeled open. The other was gummed up, sealed shut. He tried to take in his surroundings, but he couldn’t move his head. All he could see from that angle was white threads. His fingers twitched as he tried to move his hand to no avail. He was stuck fast.
Something moved out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t turn to see it.
His vision grew fuzzy around the edges, slowly fading to black.