“Who calls so-?” The voice rang with irritation, then cut off.
“Healer Paltry,” Yaellin said. “I’ve come from the High Wing. Your presence is requested at the castillion. I’m to escort you on this black day.”
Dart remained hidden, but she heard the satisfaction in the other’s voice. “Of course. I’ve heard word. I’ll gather my bag and be right with you. Step inside. I won’t be more than a quarter bell.”
Yaellin followed the healer into his chamber. Dart and Laurelle stepped after him. Past the entryway, the chamber opened into the healing ward. A hearth glowed with a morning fire, and lamps shone upon the empty cots, lined around the circular chamber’s edges. In the center, a small brazier burned and smoked.
Yaellin closed the door and secured the latch.
Healer Paltry glanced back at the sound. “There’s no need-”
Yaellin let his shadows and cloak drop from him. Dart and Laurelle stood on either side of him.
Healer Paltry’s gaze fell upon Dart. Confusion crinkled his brow, and deep down something darker shone. Still, he kept his voice light. “What is all this?”
Yaellin pulled out his sword with a flash of silver. “I must ask you to keep us company, Healer Paltry. It seems that there is some matter of urgency that must be discussed.”
Healer Paltry ignored the sword. His eyes still fixed upon Dart. “The Hand of Blood,” he said. “And the Hand of Tears. The very ones wanted by the castillion guard. Ravens fly to every corner of Chrismferry. And you come here, I assume for my help.”
Dart stared into the man’s blue eyes, his handsome face. How could such beauty hide such a black heart? She met Paltry’s gaze, sensing his attempt to intimidate her with the weight of his attention, to hold her quiet. Before, Dart had left the healer’s presence trembling and panicked. She was not that girl any longer.
“Do not trust him,” Dart said with a firmness that surprised her, finding strength from the night’s terror to face the horror here. Eyes drew to her. “His vile wickedness runs to the marrow.”
“Dart?” Laurelle said, surprised.
Yaellin glanced to Paltry. “What do you know of him? Do you know why Tashijan seeks him out?”
Paltry’s eyes narrowed to sharp points, threatening.
Dart shook her head, keeping her gaze locked on the healer. “All I know… all I know is he took all from me…” The words came out, dragged up by sheer necessity, but still tearing, too large for her throat. Her vision blurred with tears, but she did not look away. Laurelle appeared at her side, taking her hand. Dart felt the warmth of her friend’s touch.
Walls broke inside her. Reservoirs of bile and bitterness, sorrow and terror, anger and misery burst their holds. She felt lifted and dragged down. She squeezed tightly to Laurelle.
“He sent Master Willet… to the rookery.” Dart began to shake. Tears took her vision, replaced it with flashes of the past, to a place of pain. “I… I couldn’t stop him. He took me by force, broke me, turned brightness to blood. I… I… I…” Her voice turned to a low keening cry of pain and grief.
Laurelle drew her tight. “Oh, Dart…”
She gasped and choked.
“You could’ve told me,” Laurelle consoled.
Dart shook her head, a bit too violently. “Spoiled… I was broken and impure. I had no other home.”
“She lies,” Paltry spat out. “She is corrupted, but not by my hand. She is foul where none can touch. I know!”
Dart felt a fury build in her that had no bounds, not even her own skin.
Laurelle must have felt it. She loosed her hold on Dart.
“Abomination,” Paltry said, pointing a finger at her.
“Quiet!” Yaellin boomed. His sword found the healer’s heart, poking through cloth to skin.
Paltry winced, dropping his arm.
“Do not speak of matters you know nothing about,” Yaellin said harshly. “She is stronger and purer of heart than any who stand in this room. What was done to her…” His voice filled with cold promise. “You shall suffer a thousandfold.”
Paltry glared at him. “That will be seen, ser knight. Not all in Tashijan share your sweet sentiment.”
“Is that so?” Yaellin said. “Then perhaps you’ll share your view with the new castellan. She comes this morning to question you.”
Paltry blanched. “What… how… why…?”
“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be asking you the very same.”
Dart took comfort from Paltry’s sick look, the fear in his eyes.
“Now all we have to do is wait for our new guests.” Yaellin nodded to one of the cots. “If you’d be so kind. We might as well be comfortable.”
Yaellin backed Paltry upon the point of his sword. “Laurelle, will you also bar the door back there? We don’t want to be disturbed while we wait.”
Laurelle nodded and hurried to obey.
Yaellin dropped Paltry to the cot, then motioned Dart forward. He kept his sword at the healer’s throat, but turned his attention to Dart. He reached a hand out. A dagger rested in his palm. “Take it.”
Dart stared. The black blade could not be mistaken. It was the cursed dagger. She shook her head.
“Take it,” he repeated, more commanding.
She obeyed, fingering its hilt with care.
“Here is its sheath.” He passed her a belt.
She accepted it, confused, feeling as empty as the leather sheath.
“Some call this blade cursed, impure, vile, but it is only a dagger. It is only steel. How it is employed is the true character of a blade.” He stared deep into Dart’s eyes. “Remember that. What was done to your flesh does not soil you or defile you. Your heart is still yours. It is still innocent and pure.”
Dart listened, but his words fell on stony soil. She could not.. did not believe them.
Yaellin seemed to understand. He sighed and nodded to the dagger. “It is yours. Wear it well.”
Dart backed up a few steps. She set the dagger down and tied the belt under her robe, over her nightclothes. She worked without looking down. Her gaze remained hard upon Paltry. He watched her. She retrieved the dagger. Its blade ate the light.
Slowly… very slowly she sheathed it.
If not comforted by Yaellin’s words, she was a tiny bit less empty.
She snugged the dagger tight, fingers on the bone hilt.
Cursed or not, she would wear it well.
She still had promises to keep.
21
Tylarclung to Kathryn as the flippercraft plum meted. Smoke filled the cabin, steaming from the slagged mekanicals as the blood alchemies burned. Beneath the floorboards, the grind and scream of strained iron and steel shook through the ship. Shouts and cries echoed to them from the forward sections.
Slowly the steep cant of the deck rolled slightly more even. The ship turned, attempting a slow spiral. The captain and his helmsman must be wresting the craft by sheer muscle and will.
But it was Tylar’s chance to move.
He clutched Kathryn’s elbow.“We must get to the others… to the captain’s deck!” he yelled to be heard above the howl of the winds through the broken stern window. He had no plan, but they could do nothing here.
She nodded.
He helped haul her to her feet-and she helped him. The freeing of the naethryn daemon had healed his wounds, but it hadn’t replaced the blood he’d lost. He found his vision narrowing.
“The daemon…” Kathryn glanced back to the smoky deck.
Earlier, Tylar had explained about the naether-spawn. Kathryn had studied the black palm print with interest. But to see the naethryn rip from his body, shattering its way out, had transformed mere words into true horror.
“What it did to you…” she said as they reached the door.
Tylar grabbed the door’s locking bar. “That broken man you saw was not the work of the daemon, but the slave pits and circuses.” He could not keep the bitterness from his words, even when he caught the wounded look in Kathryn’s eyes. “The daemon keeps me whole.”
Tylar freed the bar that Darjon had set. The door fell open under him. They tumbled through into the main passage… into chaos. Smoke wafted here, a pall lit by fires licking up from cracks in the floorboards. The lower ship, the mekanical spaces, must be on fire.