by Dora Machado
Bren worked harder than the rest. Every time that doubt encroached on his determination, he looked around. If these good men trusted him, then—cursed or not—he had to trust himself.
Chapter Sixty-five
BREN AND HIS MEN WORKED THROUGH the night and the next day, taking breaks in small groups, and then only to eat and rest for a couple of hours at a time. As the afternoon of the second day began to settle over the Nerpes and flocks of birds skimmed the water en route to rest, the last nail was driven into the wood to secure the wheels in place. The wheels at the stern looked tidy, set side by side along the ship’s midline, hooked together by the long shaft he had cannibalized from the disassembled equipment and reinvented for a different purpose.
Bren wiped the sweat from his forehead and, after taking another swig from Lusielle’s tonic, decided it was time to test his contraption. “Bring the horses.”
He fastened four of his strongest horses to the harnesses he had rigged around the wheel he had mounted horizontally on a slab affixed to the deck. As the wheel began to turn, it engaged with a second wheel installed to run vertically above the floor. A long shaft connected to the wheels of the other two cutters, which were now installed and fitted with paddles at water level.
As the horses turned, the wheels cranked to life, beating on the water. The barge lurched forward. The men cheered. The surprised pilot engaged the refitted tiller, heading for deeper waters. If every part of Bren’s hastily assembled contraption held, he might yet make it to Teos.
Bren took advantage of the men’s revelry and signaled to Hato. The old man joined him at the gunwales outside of the others’ hearing.
“We’ve got a traitor on board,” Bren said without preamble. “We’ve got to flush him out before he gets all of us killed.”
“It’s very difficult for me to entertain that any of the Twenty could betray you, my lord.”
“Perhaps it’s one of the crew. It’s possible. It could also be that my reasoning is faulty. That’s why I thought I should talk to you about it.”
With the ague at hand, Bren wanted to make sure that he was still thinking logically. He wanted to ensure that he wasn’t experiencing the obsessive suspicion that had afflicted his brothers, the distrust that had led Robert to burn the valuable script in secret or the madness that had destroyed Harald before the end.
“My lord might be right,” Hato said. “The sails. The tillers. They had to be destroyed by someone aboard the ship.”
“It’s possible that the group that attacked the barge might have destroyed the tillers when they came on board,” Bren said. “But it doesn’t make sense. Surely they were after the cargo as much as they were after me. They would’ve needed an able barge to bring the cargo to port. I doubt anyone in their right mind would’ve been willing to scuttle such a valuable prize.”
“The sails, on the other hand, were destroyed prior to the attack—”
“Or in anticipation of it, which shows collusion.”
“Collusion with whom?”
“Riva, most likely.”
“It could be Teos you know, maybe even in collusion with Riva.”
“It’s possible,” Bren said. “Maybe Riva got to one of the crew?”
“The crew has been restricted to the barge since we’ve been on board.”
“What about the Twenty?”
“Every man has been on patrol by himself at least once in the last few months,” Hato said. “To be honest, it would surprise me greatly if each one of them hadn’t been approached by Riva’s goons at one point or another. Whether any of them has taken him up on his offer, I don’t know.”
Bren’s eyes remained on the water. “You sound as if you speak out of personal experience.”
“My lord can’t possibly suspect me.”
“I’m not that deranged yet.” Bren smirked then turned serious again. “Severo disappeared during the attack, and so did Elfu.”
“I loathe even considering the possibility,” Hato said. “I can’t imagine that Severo could be a traitor.”
“It’s hard for me too.”
“The only advantage I see is that both Severo and Elfu are off the barge and therefore incapable of further damage.”
“True.” Bren paused. “There’s also the attempt on Lusielle.”
“I’m reasonably sure the cook tried to kill her, given that he jumped ship right after that.”
“Yes, but what if the same person who attempted to kill her is also responsible for the destruction of the sails and for disabling the tillers? And what if that person is still with us? What other surprises is he getting ready to spring on us?”
“The men will take it hard if they think you suspect them.”
“They won’t know. There’s no point in destroying the Twenty’s morale for nothing. But Hato, we need to be vigilant. Be careful when I’m not around. I can’t shake this bad feeling that mischief is about.”
“My lord,” Clio called. “A boat approaches!”
Bren gave the order to halt the horses and squinted into the sunset. Hato’s face froze at a frown.
“Who is it?” Bren said.
“Louis Lambage.”
“The spy you placed in Barahone?”
“Aye.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He’s one of my best,” Hato said. “I—I sent word to him. I charged him with a very special assignment and commanded him to find us only if he succeeded.”
Bren’s eyes narrowed on the boat’s other occupants. “What kind of assignment?”
“You commanded me to do it, my lord. You swore that in exchange for sparing the woman—”
“Lusielle,” Bren said. “Her name is Lusielle.”
“—you’d do whatever was necessary to beat the curse.”
A tinge of terror crawled up Bren’s spine. “What are you saying, Hato?”
“I set Lambage to round up women with a viable brand and bring them to you,” Hato said. “By the look of that boat, it appears he has succeeded.”
Chapter Sixty-six
THE TOLONIAN BARGE SPRINTED DOWNRIVER WITH the current, purring beneath Lusielle’s feet like a contented lap cat. Severo reported the sails were running full with a favorable wind. Since she had agreed to stay out of sight in one of the lady’s opulent guest cabins, Severo was her main source of information about what was happening on the ship. As far as he could tell, the Lady of Tolone was keeping her promise to rush Lusielle to Teos.
Lusielle finished lacing up the exquisite, gold-trimmed gown the lady had lent her. It was a sober green silk dress compared to some of the other gowns she had seen the lady wear, but it was still fancier than anything Lusielle had ever worn. The seams’ flowing lines constructed a flawless bodice that molded to her body, enhancing her curves in ways she had never fathomed. The fabric was cool and supple, almost as soft as the shift caressing her skin beneath the dress.
Luxury aside, the best news was that Lusielle was beginning to feel well again. Her ordeal on the river had depleted her strength and left her weary bones mimicking her chattering teeth. She had slept on and off for a day and a night, and had had difficulty keeping warm even under the bed’s lavish covers. She had fought a fever and a touch of catarrh with a strong lemon balm tea, a poultice of myrrh, camphor and yellow balsam, and inhalations of thyme and eucalyptus vapors that she shared—albeit somewhat forcibly—with Elfu and Severo.
Warm food brought at regular intervals had also helped. Severo and Elfu had been afraid that Tatyene would poison her food. But Lusielle knew that Tatyene wouldn’t defy her lady and the lady wasn’t going to give the order to kill Lusielle as long as she believed Lusielle had the shells.
Resting had allowed Lusielle time to reclaim her energy and organize her thoughts, but many questions remained unanswered, questions she was now ready to tackle.
A knock on the door interrupted her remedy case inspection, but not before she confirmed that the hard inner shell was intact and the ingr
edients in it had remained dry. She opened the door to find Severo leading Elfu along by the scruff of his borrowed oversized tunic. Both men gaped, staring at her as if she were one of the gods’ demons.
Lusielle stared back at them. “Do I have dirt on my face?”
“No, mistress,” Severo stammered. “It’s just that … you look, well … you look kind of like a highborn.”
“I do?” Lusielle looked down at herself.
“You sure do.”
“She doesn’t look like a highborn.” A miffed Elfu shook off Severo’s hold. “She is pretty. Not every pretty woman in the world has to be highborn.”
“When she dresses like that—”
Elfu growled. “Don’t stare at my mistress’ bosom!”
“I’m not!” Severo flushed.
“I’ll beat you up—”
“I found him in the kitchens,” Severo said. “He was stuffing his face again.”
“So what if I’m hungry?” Elfu said.
“And maybe avoiding me as well?” Lusielle said.
He stared at his feet.
“Thank you for finding Elfu, Severo. If you don’t mind, I need to speak to him privately.”
“I’ll be outside, keeping watch.” Severo stepped out of the room and closed the door.
“Elfu,” Lusielle said, “you need to tell me the truth.”
“Truth, truth,” he muttered grumpily. “Is there such fickle thing as truth?”
“I saw my mother,” Lusielle said. “She spoke to me when I was taking in the inhaler’s airs.”
The bulge on Elfu’s throat bounced up and down with an audible gulp. “The airs are toxic,” he said. “They wreck the mind.”
“My mother straddled the realm of the dead to speak to me.”
She watched as the hair on Elfu’s arms actually stood on end.
“I learned about Bren’s curse from her.”
“Don’t say it, mistress.” Elfu clutched his talisman and shook it before his face to ward off evil. “Don’t say the word.”
“Why not?”
“Teos forbids it,” he said.
“You of all people wouldn’t give a care if Teos forbade it,” she said. “Tell me: What do you know?”
Elfu looked away. “Of the Lord of Laonia’s plight, I know nothing.”
Lusielle was hard pressed to believe her old friend. “I have reason to think you and Carfu lied to me.”
“We don’t lie.”
“You withheld the truth from me,” Lusielle said. “You tried to mislead me.”
“We keep you safe,” he said gruffly. “We are true to the oath.”
“What oath?”
Elfu pouted.
“What oath?” Lusielle insisted.
Elfu’s scowl defined the expression of a man who wasn’t going to talk.
Lusielle regretted that she had to find a way to learn the truth. She spat the word suddenly and without warning. “Curse.”
Elfu leapt, clamping his hand over her mouth, gripping his amulet. “No, mistress, no!”
She pushed him away. “I’ll say it again, unless you answer my questions.”
“Don’t be foolish—”
“Answer me,” she said. “What oath were you talking about?”
Elfu exhaled a dejected sigh. “The oath we swore to your father.”
“To my father?” Lusielle frowned. “I thought you served my mother.”
“We did. Your father, he only agreed to let us stay if we swore. We swore. To protect you. We swore. Never to tell.”
“Tell me what?”
Elfu grimaced. “And if I break my oath, what of my rotten soul?”
She knew better than to try to break her old friend. “What if I tell you what I know? Will you break your oath if you just agree or disagree with what I think?”
“Ours was a simple oath.”
Lusielle sensed the little man’s relief, but she also saw the fear widening his eyes, an expression she’d never seen on his face. Regardless, she had to press on.
“My mother.” She tried to put some kind of order to her thoughts. “She wasn’t just a very able remedy mixer. She was more. She must have dabbled in the forbidden odd arts—no—more than dabble, she must have been good at it, bred and raised for it.”
Elfu gawked. “How could you know?”
“You,” Lusielle said. “And Carfu. She was assigned not one, but two lifelong protectors. The word Neverus. It’s not the name of a distant land or an isolated tribe, as you’ve led me to believe. It’s the name for an occupation. Am I right?”
Elfu looked away. “The truth is yours to discover, mistress.”
“Neverus must mean ‘protector’ in the old tongue.” She continued. “That little bejeweled dirk I spotted on you some time ago, it isn’t something you brought with you from the lands beyond the Wilds. It’s a symbol of your office. You and Carfu are guardians for the odd secrets.”
Elfu swore under his breath. “Where’s Carfu when you need him?”
“There’s good in darkness.” Lusielle said. “There’s truth in lies. It’s your favorite greeting. Carfu’s too. You worship the Odd God in spite of Teos’s proscription, which explains not just your dislike for all things pertaining to Teos, but also why you didn’t want me to come on this journey.”
“Teos scattered the oddities,” Elfu said sullenly. “For the great sin, they’ll atone.”
“Teos’s proscription must have driven my mother—and you—into hiding. When the odd craft was outlawed, most practitioners scattered, choosing to sail to distant lands. Riva’s ruthless persecutions wiped them out of the kingdom. Why then did my mother choose to stay?”
Elfu’s sigh confirmed Lusielle’s suspicions.
“Because of my father,” she said. “She fell in love with my father as a young woman and couldn’t bear the thought of parting without him. Am I right?”
“Love is always troublesome.”
“But why didn’t my father leave with her?” Lusielle said. “He loved her; that much I know. He would’ve accompanied her to the ends of the world. So why didn’t he?”
“I won’t break an oath.”
“You swore to protect me,” Lusielle said. “Unless you tell me the truth, you’re endangering me and therefore forsaking your duty.”
“Fine.” Elfu scowled. “I won’t break my oath but this I’ll tell: Your father was not who you think he was.”
“What do you mean?” she said. “My father was a freelander. He owned the inn. He was baseborn, that’s true, but he was also an educated tradesman.”
“He had a secret.”
“What secret?”
“Mistress, don’t make me tell.”
Lusielle struggled to recollect everything she knew about her father, a loving, intelligent, hard-working man who had grown a decrepit tavern into a handsome inn and who had always been devoted to his family. There had been no mystery to him, except perhaps the three triangular speckles inked beneath his wrist, which he always kept covered with a thick leather band.
Lusielle remembered the day she had asked him about the speckles as he was washing at the well.
“Everyone gets to keep a mark from their birth,” he had said. “Mine reminds me that the even the richest soils need salt if the harvests are to thrive.”
“He was born at the salt mines,” Lusielle realized. “My father was born a slave!”
“But he was never a slave.” Elfu tapped his forehead. “Not in here.”
“He escaped?”
Elfu nodded.
It was no secret that her father had wrestled the inn from a corrupt magistrate early on, but now Lusielle realized that her father would have had no travel papers, no means to obtain river passage and no way to flee along with her mother. He would’ve been caught by Riva’s wardens the moment he tried to leave the parish, not to mention the kingdom. He would’ve been executed on the spot.
Her father’s hatred for Riva and the mines. His isolation. His r
eluctance to move away. His rantings against the gods. They all stemmed from his harsh beginnings, from his virtual imprisonment within Riva’s borders.
There was more. Her father’s particular disdain for the gods. His ravings against the highborn. His warnings to stay away from them ….
“By the gods.” Lusielle gasped. “Was my mother highborn?”
Elfu’s lips quavered, unable to betray the truth he had been sworn to protect.
Lusielle’s knees gave way. She plopped down on the chair, rocking back and forth as she forced her mind to follow the elusive trail. “Her family must have betrayed her. That’s why my father hated highborn. That’s why you hate them, too. She must have been left to her own devices during Riva’s persecutions. They must have either abandoned her or tried to deliver her to Riva, not just because she practiced the odd arts, but because she loved my father.”
Elfu’s shriveled face was grim and somber, confirmation that her conclusions were right. It was almost too much to bear.
“Talk about becoming a messy blot in the family’s lineage,” Lusielle said. “My mother would have been a huge stain to her family’s highborn honor, a criminal. The way they treated her. That’s why my father loathed highborn as he did.”
Lusielle ached with the knowledge of her parents’ story. It was so shocking for one who had been raised in the safety of a loving home, so unexpected and yet it made sense.
“But you and Carfu remained faithful,” Lusielle said. “You could have fled like so many others did. Instead, you chose to stay.”
“She was the reason for our lives,” Elfu said. “After her, there was only you.”
Lusielle had to fight a surge of tears. If she had been angry at Elfu just moments before, now she was grateful. “Thank you, Elfu.”
“It’s not you who we serve, mistress. It’s the Strength in you.” He paused and reaching out, offered his hands. “But it is you who we love.”
Tears spilled from Lusielle’s eyes. She took his small, dark, calloused hands in hers, these old, gnarled hands that had held hers since she was but a babe learning to walk, and thanked the gods for having Elfu and Carfu in her life. In many ways, they were an extension of her parents’ love and for that, she would always be grateful.
