The Curse Giver

by Dora Machado

  “How long do you think it’ll take you to swim there?”

  Bren’s fist collided with the captain’s face. Something hard snapped beneath his knuckles, the idiot’s jaw maybe, or perhaps his nose. The captain stumbled over the gunwales and fell into the water with a splash. Both Bren’s men and the crew came rushing at once.

  “Man in the water!” someone cried.

  “Not to worry.” Bren rubbed his throbbing knuckles. “There’s a town coming up just ahead. The captain can swim, I hope?”

  * * *

  Bren returned to the cabin with a solid sense of accomplishment. The barge was secured and en route. Hato and the bulk of his men were well fed and resting, and best of all, the captain was gone. Nothing like a righteous fray to make a man feel useful. The rat deserved what he got. Lusielle hadn’t heard the commotion, but she welcomed him into the cabin with a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow.

  “Have you been overexerting yourself?” She examined his face. “You didn’t bust a stitch, did you?”

  “Nay, nothing like that,” he said. “I’ve been good, I swear.”

  “Then why do you remind me of a fat fox stealing out of the chicken coop?”

  He laughed, a sound so satisfying that it took him by surprise.

  “Really, my lord, you ought to stay out of the cold. You still run a fever now and then.”

  “I’m fine, better than I’ve been in a while.”

  “Then why don’t you drink your evening tea and get back into the berth where you belong?”

  “Only if you stop hounding me.”

  “By all means.”

  She poured two cups from separate brews and handed him a steaming cup. Obediently, Bren kicked off his boots, stripped his shirt and, setting down the cup on the desk, stretched out on the berth. The knotted muscles on his back and shoulder confirmed that perhaps he had overdone it a little, but a quick memory of the captain thrashing in the river reminded him that it had been well worth it.

  Lusielle was busy, straightening the tiny room, perching the stool on the desk and spreading her blanket on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Making my bed,” she said as if it should be perfectly obvious to him.

  “On the floor?”

  “I don’t mind it. In fact, I prefer it.”

  “You prefer to sleep on the floor?”

  “I’m used to it.” She rolled her cloak into a pillow.

  “You mean your husband made you sleep on the floor?”

  “I stole away to the floor after he went to sleep.”

  Bren was a cursed man. He understood why no woman would want to share his bed. But he couldn’t understand how any man fortunate enough to secure a good woman to his name would waste a night away from her.

  How cruel and selfish did a husband have to be for his wife to flee his bed?

  “I don’t think you should sleep on the floor anymore.”

  She flashed him a glance askance.

  “I mean it. You should take the berth.”

  She gave him that tilted-head, narrow-eye look that only she could give, the one that dismissed what he was saying as he was saying it.

  “I insist.”

  “And what about you, mister convalescent genius? If I take the berth, where are you going to sleep?”

  “I’ll sleep with my men.”

  “You mean outside?”

  “I like sleeping outside.”

  “In the wet and the cold?”

  “I’m used to the wet and the cold.”

  “Is it the green cough you’re courting? Or are you wanting to add the lung disease to your ailments? No. Let me guess. You want to undo all my hard work in a single night. Is that it?”

  She was pretty when she was flustered. Her cheeks flushed with passion. Her face offered the quick range of free and unguarded expressions he was learning to decipher.

  “How about we both sleep in the berth?” he said. “It’s large enough.”

  “You want me to sleep with you?”

  “In the same bed,” he said. “That’s all, I swear.”

  The little line between her brows deepened. “I’m not sure what I should designate as the cause of my affront: that you want me to sleep with you, or that you don’t really want to sleep with me.”

  Had there been a suggestion in her voice, a distant contemplation that she would in fact consider sharing a bed with a cursed man like him?

  “I think I’m going to stay on the ground,” she said. “It might be best, for your sake and mine.”

  The gods were teasing him tonight. He was not above teasing them back.

  He took advantage of the moment when she turned to shed her blouse and skirt. Quickly, he swapped the tea cups. By the time she was done, wearing only her linen shift, he was leaning against the pillow, sipping on the soothing brew.

  “Delicious,” he said. “I’m going to sleep good tonight.”

  “Me too.” She downed her tea in a series of little gulps then blew out the lamp and settled between her blankets on the floor.

  Bren waited, pondering the strange turn his life had taken. Either he was a desperate man or he was becoming increasingly creepy. Both, he decided, smirking in the dark. The rhythm of Lusielle’s respiration had evened by the time he stole her out of her makeshift bed. She wasn’t very heavy. The brew did its job well. Her body was warm and relaxed in his arms. As he placed her on the mattress, she hardly stirred.

  He hesitated. If he were an honorable man, he would either take to the floor or go sleep with his men. But he wasn’t an honorable man. He was a cursed man with very little time left on the candle clock of his life. He squeezed in next to her, almost afraid to let his body touch hers.

  He propped himself up on one elbow and watched her sleep for the longest time. The silver moonlight breached the cabin’s darkness in a single beam that landed on the side of her neck. He could see her pulse, beating lazily at the rhythm of her appeased heart, and the length of her throat lay before him like an open road. He traced the light with his fingertips and then turned to caress her lips.

  She sighed, a long, wistful exhalation that swelled her breasts. The dark outline of her areolas strained against the thin linen fabric. It didn’t help that she shifted in her dreams, turning toward him, laying her head on his shoulder and cuddling against him.

  The contact was unbearable, and yet this was exactly what he had wanted, a soft woman by his side, an almost willing partner. These days, he had to be careful with his wishes. The gods were likely to kill him with the shock of their capricious wish-granting.

  He sank his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. She smelled a bit like the remedies she wielded, wholesome, like the nilla beans she liked to grind and distill; delicate, like the golden crumpled petals she added to his brew.

  He fell asleep with the scent of her perfuming his lungs and his arms full with her body. And for once, he didn’t care if he died tomorrow.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  THE BARGE WAS BOARDED EARLY THE next morning.

  Lusielle had just woken up. She had been shocked to find herself on the berth, entwined in Bren’s arms like a bride on her wedding morning. For a moment, she wondered if she had been sleepwalking again. Then she remembered what he had said the night before, how she had gone to sleep faster than ever, deeper than usual.

  By the gods. Why had the devious lout gone to the trouble of switching their drinks around?

  Because he wanted her to be comfortable. Because he always had to have his way. And because he had really wanted to sleep with her.

  For reasons she couldn’t understand, she smiled.

  “Do you always wake up smiling in the morning?” he murmured in her ear.

  “Hardly ever, my lord.” She tilted her head to meet his gaze.

  His lips landed on her mouth naturally, as if they had been greeting each other with a kiss every morning for many years. The smell of him pervaded her lungs, the sum of
all her remedies, the fresh fragrance of healing infused with his essential scent like the richest of oils. The heat traveled from her lips to her belly and all the way down to her toes.

  Was she was still dreaming?

  The pounding on the door startled them both. Carfu and Elfu followed Hato as he burst into the cabin. The frown on Hato’s face turned to astonishment when he saw them kissing on the berth. He gawked, struggling to overcome his shock.

  “We’ve got company,” he finally got the words out. “The king’s river wardens. They’re rowing in our direction. They’ll be asking for the captain next.”

  “Well then, we better give them a damn captain.” Bren was already out of the bed, donning his shirt. “You two.” He pointed to Carfu and Elfu. “Under the bed. Lusielle, stay here. If they come in the cabin, pretend you’re asleep. Say nothing. Understand?”

  Lusielle nodded because her throat was too dry to make words.

  Bren looked through the shelves and held up a flask. “Is this the strengthening tonic you’ve been feeding me?”

  “Aye.”

  He uncorked the flask and took a swig. “Mind if I take this?”

  She shook her head. “Go ahead.”

  He kissed her hard, but only with his eyes. He tucked the bottle into his belt, grabbed his sword and rushed out the door, with Hato in tow. Lusielle pulled the blanket to her chin and willed her heart to stop pummeling her breast bone. Had the king’s wardens come to nab Bren? Were they perhaps after her?

  The moments went by excruciatingly slowly. Heavy steps echoed on the deck. Banging and tapping rose from the cargo hull beneath. Men spoke and sometimes laughed. So far, the encounter appeared to be amicable. Would it remain so?

  “You should’ve alerted us, my lord,” a man said, outside the cabin’s door. “Had we known you were attending the tribute, we would have gladly provided you with an escort.”

  “As you can see,” it was Hato’s voice, not Bren’s, “I travel with my own escort. Low profile is always best these days. I’m sure the king’s wardens are very busy, with so many pirates on the river.”

  “You’re right, my lord. Pirates, thieves, raiders, con artists, they all like the Nerpes. We’ve even had a case or two of arson lately.”

  Lusielle cringed.

  “But still, for a Tolonian lord to pass by without us having the opportunity to pay him the king’s respect ….”

  The warden was nothing if not respectful, but Lusielle wasn’t fooled. King Riva claimed jurisdiction over the Nerpes, a claim the Free Territories and Teos had been disputing for years. With all the trade and wealth dependent on the river, whoever controlled the Nerpes controlled the land.

  Riva wanted to know who was using the river and why, especially if it entailed a highborn from the Free Territories, traveling with an armed escort. His river wardens served as a net to catch the kingdom’s fugitives and spy on other territories. This was why Hato spoke to the wardens instead of Bren. This was also the reason why Hato was posing as a traveling Tolonian lord with powers of river passage. But wouldn’t the wardens find fault with a cargo hull crammed with goods marked with Laonia’s trade seal?

  “We’re nearly done with our inspection,” the warden said. “The Tolonian trade seal has been verified. Your cargo appears to be in order.”

  In order? Lusielle realized that Carfu, Elfu and the Twenty had replaced Aponte’s merchant seal not with the Laonian trade seal as she believed, but with an authentic Tolonian trade seal, which was most likely provided by Eleanor herself. Notwithstanding her distrust of Tolone’s lady, Lusielle found reason to be grateful.

  “Is it your lord’s practice to board all vessels sailing the Nerpes these days?” Hato said.

  “Only if there’s cause for suspicion,” the warden explained. “Your barge is similar in description to one belonging to a well-known pirate prowling these waters under the guise of a lawful entrepreneur.”

  “An unfortunate coincidence,” Hato said.

  “Your papers are sealed and in order,” the man said. “I make no claims on this vessel.”

  Lusielle was impressed. The Laonians had been well prepared. They traveled with lawful Tolonian river passage letters. What other tricks did Bren carry in his saddlebags?

  “Would you mind if we take a look in your cabin?” the warden asked.

  “We’ve got nothing to hide.”

  The door opened. Lusielle caught a glimpse of Hato, followed by the warden, wearing the king’s crimson colors. Of Bren, she saw no sign. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, a difficult feat given her heart was beating too loud.

  “You didn’t mention a female among your passengers and crew,” the warden said.

  “I picked this one up at Asuari last night.”

  The man leaned over to inspect Lusielle. “She must have cost you a fortune.”

  “She’s fair enough,” Hato said. “A man ought to have quality entertainment when he travels.”

  “Rightly so, my lord. She’s a heavy sleeper, I see.”

  “It was a long night for her.”

  “Can I ask, my lord, did you check her papers when you bought her?”

  “Of course,” Hato said. “She was a ruined cobbler’s daughter, new to the market, the way I like it. No sense in paying prime coin for used merchandise.”

  The warden laughed. “You wouldn’t happen to notice a mark on her body, did you? A pair of butterfly wings?”

  Hato’s laughter managed to sound both condescending and offended. “I inspected the woman thoroughly. I wouldn’t have shelled out the price I did if she was marred in any way.”

  The warden hesitated. “Would you mind if I take a look?”

  Lusielle suppressed the shriek that bolted to her lips.

  Hato’s voice rose a notch. “What do you think the Chosen of Teos will say when I tell them than more than just inspecting my crew, my men and my hull, you also wanted to undress my whore?”

  “My lord, forgive me,” the warden said. “I—I meant no offense.”

  “I think even King Riva will agree that you offered it well.”

  “I see we have overextended our welcome.” The warden made for the door. “I’m just a humble servant doing the king’s bidding.”

  “We shall see about that.” Hato followed the man, slamming the door on the way out.

  Pride, arrogance and haughtiness were highborn traits she despised, but today, Hato had used them well. Lusielle sat up on the berth, still clutching the blankets. How close had she come to returning to the magistrate’s cruel hands?

  “At least we know they’re not after us.” Carfu’s whisper came from under the bed.

  “But they know it was arson,” she whispered back.

  “We don’t know they were talking about our arson, mistress.”

  He was right. She took some consolation in knowing that it was her they wanted, not her friends. King Riva was hunting the mark and after all this time, she still didn’t know why.

  Lusielle waited until she heard the sounds of the wardens departing the barge. Only then did she stand on the berth and looked out the porthole. The king’s galley rowed upriver and got lost behind the river bend.

  As soon as the ship was out of sight, the barge shifted in the current, veering towards the river’s east side, where the banks of Konia wavered in a series of high and low cliffs. Lusielle hopped down from the berth, tripping over Carfu and Elfu, who were just now coming out from under the bed.

  The banging of heavy hooves on wood rattled the deck. Lusielle barely got herself dressed in time to run out the door. The plank was already down. Petrus trotted Bren’s gray stallion over the plank and jumped it onto the shore. The horse thrashed briefly on the bank and then surged up the low hill. A group of five riders and an extra mount galloped after him. Lusielle’s heart shrunk watching them go. Where were they going at such punishing pace?

  She marched over to the gunwales, where Hato stood overlooking the river bank. “Where’s Bren?”<
br />
  “He’s somewhere over there.”

  “What?” Her heart skipped a beat. “You mean he stole into the river and swam to shore?”

  “He’s a strong swimmer,” Hato said. “I taught him myself when he was but a toddler.”

  “He could drown,” Lusielle said. “He is still weak from his wound.”

  “I suppose he could’ve stayed on board to welcome Riva’s wardens. They have such affection for our lord and such an instant attraction to the scar on his face. Or perhaps you would’ve preferred a battle, my dear, lots of blood to add to the sacred tide and shorten our journey?”

  “I didn’t think about—”

  “You die when you don’t think around here,” Hato said. “You spill lots of blood when you forgo your brain. Bren did exactly what was best for him, for his men, for all of us. I would hope that confronted with odds like his, you, too, would choose to think.”

  Lusielle felt like a scolded child. She started to leave, then hesitated. “Will you answer one question for me?”

  “You should know better than to ask me.”

  “One question only. I promise.”

  Hato shrugged.

  “The scar on his face,” Lusielle said. “Who burned his face with his signet ring?”

  “Oh, that.” Hato looked away. “I suppose I could answer. It’s no secret after all.”

  “Well?”

  Hato’s brutal stare met her eyes. “He did it to himself,” he said. “Bren branded his face with the heated ring so he will never forget who he is.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  BREN WAITED FOR HIS MEN A good half a league inland, at the base of the stacked rock formation he had spotted from the barge. The massive boulders piled upon each other like teetering blocks, distinctive to the eye even among Konia’s crumbling hills. Swimming downriver had been the easy part of his plan. Finding a place to get out of the water as the Nerpes entered the deepening canyon had been a challenge. In the end, he’d had a good wrestle with a rocky slope and won. His knees might be sore from the skirmish, but his body was glad to be moving.

  His men found him dry and rested, stretched on a rocky ledge enjoying the midmorning sun and the stunning views. They brought breakfast, a crusty loaf and a sausage, which he wolfed down as they rode the maze of narrow roads crisscrossing the corrugated landscape. Ribbed waves of sand, ocher and red, rose and fell in endlessly undulating hills that stunned the eye and quickened the heart.