“Proudly? I’m lowborn. We’re looked upon as worse than anyone else in the city. We live in this filthy section. And we aren’t allowed into other parts of the city without sneaking. I would say there’s no pride in being lowborn.”
Marin sighed. “It wasn’t always the case. There was a time when our kind served an important role, and it was one others could not. That has… changed over time. Now we are little more than lapdogs.” She said the last with a whisper that trailed into a cough.
“What was that?”
“We opposed the Thelns.”
Sam started to laugh but realized that Marin was serious. “What do you mean?”
“The Thelns fear our kind, Samara. With our connection to a particular kind of power, we can oppose them.”
“What kind of power?”
“The kind you’re born to.”
Sam controlled her breathing, trying to understand. “And is it connected to the easar paper you had me steal?”
“Where did you hear that term?”
“From one of the highborns. That’s what you sent me after, but why?”
Marin sighed. “That paper should never have been stolen.”
“You had me steal it!”
“Only because those in the palace stole it first. They are the reason the Thelns risked coming to the city. The reason Ralun risked coming.”
“He’s the main brute?”
She sniffed. “Something like that. A powerful Theln in many ways.”
“And the highborns stole from them?”
Marin coughed, covering her mouth but not before Sam saw bloody phlegm. “They made a mistake. And now they are responsible for returning a conflict that has been quiet for a decade. That paper is dangerous. All it does is draw attention. The Thelns discovered what they did and came after it.”
“Why did you want me to steal it?”
“Because I could not.”
“What?”
Marin shook her head. “I thought that you would have a better chance at getting in and back out. The Thelns shouldn’t have been in the city, not yet, but I miscalculated.”
It was a rare admission of fault from Marin. “But why? What did you want to use the paper for?”
“The Thelns possess a book that I have only seen a few times before. The paper can counter it.”
Sam thought about the book she had discovered in the highborn house, and how the pages all had markings in the bottom corner. The marking had been the only thing permanent about the page she’d taken from it before being captured. It was that page Alec had used to heal her. “Why does the book matter?”
Marin stood and leaned on her staff. She had grown weaker in the time that she’d been sitting there, and now barely managed to stay upright. “The Thelns use that book—well really, many books—against those who oppose them.”
“If you wanted me to grab a book, why send me after the easar paper? Is it because the paper has power?”
“Yes. And you made a mistake selling those sheets to Bastan. I intended to use them for a different purpose.”
Sam flushed. “Well, had you told me what you were after, I could have grabbed the entire Kyza-cursed book rather than one page!”
“You saw the book?”
Sam blinked. “It was there when I went back. Bastan wanted to figure out how to write on the paper and now he has it…”
Marin leaned more heavily on her staff. “The pages are the only way we have a hope of countering the Thelns.”
“I don’t understand. What do they have to do with the book?”
“We call it the Book of Maladies. The Thelns have a different title for it, though it’s one more important in their language. For us, it has always been the Book of Maladies.”
“Why?”
Marin reached the window and stared out, her eyes taking on a forlorn expression. “That’s what they’ve used against our kind and others who oppose them, Samara.”
“Was the book why the princess is sick?” Marin looked over at her, frowning. Sam took a deep breath. “I saw her, Marin.”
Marin approached her, her eyes shining brightly. “When you broke in?”
Sam nodded.
“What did you see?”
“The princess was nearly dead. She was…” She considered how to describe it, not wanting to offend Marin, but could she share with her that the princess had looked like she did now? “She was weakened. Wasted. The healer I was with said it was like she rotted from the inside.”
“You were with one of the physickers in the university? And they let you reach the princess?”
“Not a physicker. An apothecary. He’s the same one who helped me when the brutes attacked the first time and shot me with that poisoned bolt.”
Marin tried to stay standing, but she sagged, leaning more heavily on the staff. How sick was Marin? How much time did she have? Marin struggled as she turned to Sam, her mouth pinched in a frown as she seemed to consider. “An apothecary? Why would there be a healer in the university?”
“He wasn’t. We paid our way in hoping to reach Tray. His name was—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish.
The door to Marin’s room popped open.
Sam leapt to her feet and spun, knife already coming free as she readied to throw it at the attacker. If the brutes had followed her here, she would be ready.
When she saw who it was, she relaxed a little, but only a little. How had Alec found her here?
28
Searching for a Friend
Alec paused long enough to return to his section. Unlike earlier, when he and Sam had left for the university, the streets were now busy with people making their way toward work, some pushing carts along the streets as they came from the canal ports, and others pushing carts laden with items to ship on the canals.
He looked into Mrs. Rubbles’ store and noted her still moving quickly behind the counter, seemingly still well. If writing on the paper had helped with her healing, why hadn’t it worn off the way that it had seemed to for the princess?
He considered going into the store, but decided against it. What he needed were answers, and he didn’t think he would get them from Mrs. Rubbles.
Alec started away from her store, his mind racing through what he’d seen. The paper did have magic, and with it, he was able to help heal not only Sam and Mrs. Rubbles, but he’d helped the princess. But it was the healing of the princess that hadn’t held. The others… whatever he had done for both Sam and Mrs. Rubbles… they had seemed to remain.
What answer was there for that? Could it be that with both Sam and Mrs. Rubbles, they would have healed eventually, and all he needed was to get them through the worst of their illness? That was a possibility. There was another possibility that troubled him more. What if the massive man was still poisoning the princess somehow?
If they had a way to reverse what Alec did, and overpower the magic in the paper, it was possible the princess’s condition would continue to deteriorate. And if that were the case, how could Alec stop it?
He had wandered toward the south end of the section. From here, he could see the edge of the city and was aware of the dark and brooding presence of the prison rising up in the distance. Had he come here on purpose or had his worry for Sam led him here?
Before thinking too much about what he was doing, Alec had crossed several sections until he stood outside the prison wall, careful not to get too close. He’d heard stories of people cutting themselves on the metal embedded in the wall, and he didn’t need another injury. His hand still throbbed where he’d cut it, and where the glass had pierced it.
He pulled the paper from his pocket and rolled it out, looking at what he’d written on the page. There was the neat script from when he’d had the narrow length of carved wood he’d used as a pen, and the description of not only the princess’s illness but of what he’d written in an attempt to help Sam fight the brutes, and then there was the thick, flowing script from when he’d written
it with his finger. They looked like two different people had written on the paper. Both remained visible, the blood ink almost brown now, not appearing crimson at all, nothing like what it should look like considering the source.
Was there anything he could do to help Sam now? Not even knowing where she was in the prison, or what they were doing to her, he didn’t see how.
Not without more of her blood. That was the key.
Alec circled around the prison, stopping opposite the massive barred doors leading inside, before moving on. What must it be like for her inside? It must be torture, and though he had seen her be tough, he didn’t expect her to make it out of the prison.
Finishing his circuit around the wall, he noted a man waiting opposite a narrow door in the wall.
Alec frowned.
The man wore a long gray cloak and had gray hair shorn close to his scalp. The hilt of a sword peeked out from beneath the cloak. He held a bundle of some sort in his arms and faced the door.
Waiting.
What would he be waiting for?
Alec tried hiding in the background, remaining as much in the shadows as he could. With the bright sun overhead, there wasn’t much he could do to hide.
As he watched, the door opened.
He almost gasped.
Sam emerged, escorted by a guard. Her wrists were bound in shackles and she appeared weakened, but otherwise well. A deep bruise surrounded one eye, and several other injuries marred her exposed arms.
The guards handed her over to the waiting man. He handed her the bundle he’d held, and when Sam took it, Alec realized it was her cloak. After she slipped it on, the man took her over the bridge, but then stopped, waving her to go away.
Alec watched as she walked toward the city, debating what to do, but the answer was clear to him. He had to catch up to her. He had to tell her that it was her blood that was the key to the paper. If those brutes were still after her, he needed her blood so he could augment her strength. But he could only get it if he caught up with her. He still had the sheet of paper, and it still had some blank areas on which he could write… He had hope he’d be able to do something.
Once the man was out of sight, he made his way toward the bridge. He had to hurry so as not to lose sight of her.
Alec turned the corner just as Sam entered a simple two-story building, all of wood construction, and the kind he wouldn’t have found in his section of the city. Most of the buildings there were brick. Even that hadn’t stopped the apothecary from burning. Narrow windows lined the face of the building, but all were drawn. No light escaped from inside. Alec had an ominous feeling as he approached, and he suppressed a shiver.
Why would Sam have come here?
This section was so different from the city he knew. The streets were narrower and the buildings dirtier, but surprisingly, that was where the differences really stopped. The people he passed had the same sense of urgency as they made their way through the streets, some going to work, others moving wares in carts away from the canals no differently than they would in his section. There was a strange vibrancy here that there wasn’t in his section, and he didn’t know if that was imagined or real.
The styles of the buildings were different as well. Many were plain, much like he would find in his part of the city, but there were enough with ornate decorations, though faded and now deteriorating, that he could tell this had once been a prosperous part of the city. How long ago must that have been and why would they have allowed the section to get so run down?
He reached into his pocket and touched the paper. That was the secret to helping Sam if she was in danger. If needed, he could write something similar to what he had before, then he could again augment her strength and speed and let Sam do the work. Together they could see what they could discover about helping the princess and finding a permanent solution to her illness.
But to do that, he needed her blood.
When Sam had entered the building, she’d done so without hesitation. Without knocking, as if she knew this place. Had this been home to her or just some place she had frequented? He knew little about where she came from, only that she had come from the lowborn section. Now he was here, he worried that maybe she wouldn’t want him to try to help her. What if these were people she knew?
It didn’t change the fact that he needed to help the princess. To do that, he needed Sam.
Alec approached the door and pulled it open. The massive wooden stairs on the inside led up, the steps now worn and cracked, but he could tell they had once been polished and majestic. If they were refinished—if most of the building were refinished—it would rival most he found in his section. Lanterns set into the wall were unlit, but were equally ornate, made of iron with glass housings. The railing leading up the stairs was a similar iron, and of a similar design, set with patterns he couldn’t quite make out.
Where would she be in this building?
No light came from under the doors on the lower level. Alec paused to listen, but didn’t hear anything to make him think she’d be on this level.
Up?
He ran his hand along the rail as he made his way up the stairs. With each step, he worried that he was making a mistake. Did he really want to risk coming up here, especially since he didn’t know what he might find? What would he do to help her anyway? It’s not as if he would be able to rescue her in any way if she were really captured. He might only end up caught next to her.
The door from the street opened, taking away his choice.
Alec hurried up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as he could. At the top of the stairs, a wide hall opened. There were sections of the floor that were discolored, long straight lines where it looked like the walls had been moved. Alec hurried down the hall, glancing at each of the doors, trying to think through what he could do. Feet sounded on the stairs, and he would be forced to make a decision. Alec started checking doors, but found each of them locked. At the end of the hall, he stopped before the final door. This one was unlocked.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw a figure stepping out into the hall.
He twisted the handle and hurriedly stepped inside.
Inside the room, Alec was taken aback when he saw Sam leaping from a chair, her knife in hand.
His immediate reaction was relief, to know she was unharmed, but the knife made him take some involuntary steps back before stopping himself. There had been someone outside, hadn’t there? That was why he had risked entering the room in the first place.
He glanced into the hall, but didn’t see anything. Maybe it was only someone who lived in the building.
When recognition came to Sam’s face, she lowered the knife. “Alec, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”
After closing the door, Alec turned back to Sam and surveyed the room.
The inside of the room reminded him of his father.
The thought hit him with a strange certainty he didn’t know how to put into words, but there was no other way to explain what he felt. The rows of shelves, all made of a stout wood and richly stained, filled the space to his left. Books were stuffed into the shelves, more than he could quickly count, and enough that were this any other circumstance, he would have turned to the shelves and lingered.
As he pulled his attention away from the books, he realized he and Sam were not alone. A woman, obviously ill and quite weak, stood by a low table near the window overlooking the street, leaning on a staff that was nearly taller than she was. His mind immediately began working through symptoms as he looked at her.
Sallow skin. Hollowed eyes. Thinning hair. Still has some strength remaining. A wasting disease like with the princess?
He shook away the thoughts and turned his attention to Sam. “You were captured. I tried to find you, but they wouldn’t let me—”
“I know I was captured,” she said.
He tried to hide the hurt he felt at her words. He hadn’t wanted anything more than to try to first help the princess, and then to hel
p Sam. It seemed he’d done neither.
“I tried to find you, but I couldn’t,” he said. “They had escorted me out of the university, and by the time I made my way back to the prison, someone was leading you out. I followed you…”
Sam’s expression changed, some of the darkness and the heat leaving her face. “You went to the prison?”
He nodded. “I would have augmented you again, but I ran out of”—he turned to the woman leaning on the staff and wondered if he’d said too much— “ink. There wasn’t any left after I tried helping the princess again.”
The woman leaning on the staff took a step toward him and started to sag. “What did you do for Lyasanna Anders?” she asked.
Alec couldn’t help but note the woman’s familiarity as she said the name. Not the princess, but her full name. He wouldn’t dare consider such informality when speaking about the princess.
“She’s sick.”
“Was,” Sam said. She rubbed her shoulder as she did. Was it the same one the arrow had pierced?
“Is,” Alec corrected. “Whatever I did was temporary. I don’t understand it, but after you left, a couple of guards came—”
Her face darkened. “I know.”
“The princess awoke, and I thought she might recover, but she failed again. I used what ink I had remaining, but I worry she’ll just fade again like she did the last time.”
“She will,” the woman said.
Alec noted the way her arms trembled. She wouldn’t be able to hold on to the staff much longer. As he watched, her grip slipped, and she dropped to the floor.
Sam beat him to her.
Alec checked her pulse and tipped his head to listen to her breathing. It was shallow but regular, though her heart beat was slower than it should have been. She was much farther gone than she appeared.
“Hold out your hand,” he said to Sam.
She frowned but did it, and without him asking, she used her knife to draw a single line across her palm, letting blood begin to flow.
Wasting: The Book of Maladies Page 22
