Page 46 of Return of the Vengeful Quee

Charis stood rooted to the floor, breathing through her mouth, as Tal busied himself wiping the nearest patient clean. Another Rakuuna, this one looking young enough that Charis wondered if he was even fully grown, sat between two pallets, spooning swallows of fish soup into the patients’ mouths on either side of him. The patient in the corner gurgled, and the Rakuuna who was attending her let out a long, haunting cry that rose in pitch until Charis had to cover her ears to stop the pain.

What illness was this? Had they caught something from the raw fish they ate? From a sickness in Rullenvor that affected Rakuuna, but not humans?

And how fast did they become sick once they were exposed to it?

Maybe she didn’t need to figure out how to use the poison. Maybe all she needed was to find a way to expose the Rakuuna queen and her loyal soldiers to whatever was wrong with the creatures on this ship.

The patient shuddered violently once more and then went slack. The male Rakuuna curled over her body, his cries undulating through the air.

His pain struck the darkness within Charis, and her own grief echoed back. Her throat suddenly aching, her eyes burning with unshed tears, she forced herself to look away from the corner.

They weren’t her people. In fact, they were part of the reason her people were in pain. She couldn’t confuse the Rakuuna’s grief with her own. Not if she wanted to gain the information she needed.

Clutching her damp cloth with shaking fingers, she tried to block out the sound of his mourning as she followed Tal’s lead and crouched beside another Rakuuna, who appeared to be quite a bit younger than Charis.

A child soldier.

What kind of queen sent children into war?

She dabbed at the child’s forehead, wincing at the film of scales that clung to her cloth. The pouch at her side felt heavy as she contemplated the task in front of her.

Yes, this child soldier was part of the army that had hurt and enslaved Charis’s people, but how much choice did a child truly have? His queen was to blame, not him. The idea of experimenting on him with poison filled her with revulsion. Surely an adult Rakuuna would be easier to bear.

“What are you doing here?” A high, raspy voice came from behind Charis, and she turned from the child, grateful to have something else to focus on.

A Rakuuna with some kind of patch on his tunic stood in the doorway, a slim jar of green powder in one hand and a pitcher of water with a long wooden spoon resting inside in the other. His Caleran accent was much clearer than any of the other Rakuuna she’d met on board the ship.

“We’re helping,” Tal said quietly as he switched his dirty rag for a clean one and moved on to the next patient. As he passed Charis, he whispered, “He’s their physician.”

“Not her.” The physician set the pitcher and jar down on a small table and glared at Charis.

“Why?” Charis kept her voice calm. “It looks like you need the assistance.”

“No assistance from the one keeping us from getting medicine.” He bared his fangs at her, and she rose to her feet, her thoughts spinning.

“I’m not keeping you from getting medicine.”

“You are.” He whipped the wooden spoon out of the water pitcher and aimed it at her as though he was contemplating striking her with it.

She frowned. “Is that what you’re buying with the serpanicite you got from Rullenvor? Expensive medicine?”

He snatched up his supplies and stalked past her to the child on the pallet, bumping her hard enough that she would have hit the floor if Tal hadn’t leaped forward to steady her. Shaking off Tal’s supportive hand, she watched the physician closely.

“You could pay for it with other jewels. I’m sure King Alaric would—”

“Serpanicite!” The physician raised the bottle of green dust at her and then carefully measured out two pinches and dropped it into the water pitcher. As he stirred, the water became a murky green.

Charis was missing something. It seemed like he was saying the green dust was serpanicite, which would mean the rare jewel the Rakuuna were after was medicine to them, not currency for trade.

But why would they need so much medicine that they’d had to drain Rullenvor of its supplies and then turn their sights on Montevallo, with Calera as the gateway? Unless . . .

“How many are sick?” she asked.

The physician knelt at the side of a thin sailor whose scales were flaking off, leaving gaping sores behind. He murmured in their language, and she obediently opened her mouth to receive a swallow of the murky green liquid.

“How many?” Charis asked again.

The physician glared at her again as he moved to the next pallet. “Many. Old, young.” He gestured at those in the room. “Every ship is like this. Home is like this.”

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