Page 55 of Chained Knight

The edges of the slice were blackened, veinlike branches spreading. “A claw-touch, not a bite.” Darjeth craned to look down, eyeing the cut as if it belonged to someone else. “The same happened to my husband not long after the misfortune, and I was forced to grant him peace as it spread. I have some little time before I must ask a friend for a likewise service.”

Oh.The words sank in, and Ari shivered with a mix of sudden comprehension and sympathy.Oh, no.

“Someathelen, orestel-leaf,” Hannixe said. “Keners, will you find?—”

“Soft, my lady.” Keners was busy with Ari’s equine. “The beasts have been ridden hard, grant me but a moment to tend them.”

“Your waterskin,” Hannixe said, urgently. Darjeth handed over his leather canteen; she shook it, and her expression grew grave. “I must make certain, this is from near the Keep, aye? Purified by our lady Moon herself?”

Ari stared at the wound, her own ribs aching in response. Her fingers curled into fists, released—she was useless, unless Hannixe needed a thoroughly uneducated assistant.

“Of a certainty. There was not time to fill it at the Mere, more’s the pity.” Darjeth kept his arm lifted awkwardly, sweat-darkened blond tendrils clinging to his forehead. “You should keep it for your use and hers, though. Don’t waste the gift on me.”

“’Tis no waste,” the Grey Lady snapped, and busied herself with uncapping, then dribbling a little on the slice.

The water foamed immediately, like peroxide on a lanced boil. Darjeth’s head tipped back, teeth bared and eyes half-lidded; he looked like he wanted to swear and only refrained by sheer force of will.

Ari winced again, shivering even harder—Mike always thought her empathy was stupid and hilarious, putting on horrormovies just to see her squirm. Hannixe poured a little more; the bubbling intensified. Darjeth’s eyelids fluttered, his lashes pale at the base, darkening at the tips.

Keners finished with their mounts and approached, hand resting on rapier-hilt. “Behold the mark of the faithless accursed,” he muttered grimly, no doubt for Ari’s edification. “It will spread until the metal shows, and then he will be the Bright King’s creature.”

“I will endure,” the blond man hissed. “And I will never bend to the traitor’s foul Law.Ever.”

“It’s an infection, right?” Ari looked from one man to the other, then at Hannixe, whose mouth turned down as she cleansed the slice. Foam receded, dripping down his jerkin, dyeing the leather dark. “There has to be something, some medicine, that will?—”

“Oh, aye.” Hannixe exhaled softly, and peered at the foam. “There are ways to slow it and those faithful to the Moon may resist for some short while. But the only true cure is the Bright King’s death. Look, clean water has arrested the rot.”

Bright King’s death. Okay. She didn’t see how such a small band of resistance fighters could pull that off, but there wasn’t much of a choice. “And that’s what the…” She almost saidthe chained man, but that probably wasn’t proper etiquette. “The prince. He can do that, so long as we reach this Bright King during the Conjunction? When is that?”

If anyone was capable of making all this stop, it washim. Or at least, so Ari had to hope.

“Tomorrow, our lord prince said. He did not wish to say in your hearing, my queen, thinking you would worry as the time grew short.” Darjeth shrugged, relaxing slightly as the bubbling ceased. He lowered his bent arm a bit, and peered up at her. “But he will be riding in search of you. He will not waste a single moment in confronting the traitor if your safety is in question.”

Ari’s gaze met Hannixe’s. The Grey Lady’s large dark eyes were sad, and full of pleading. She clearly expected her ersatz bestie to have some kind of plan, but Ari’s poor overworked brain was all but producing steam through her ears at the moment.

Too bad, Ariadne. Deal. “You know how to treat it. Right?” It came out ascorrect, again, but Hannixe nodded.

“I can slow the rot, especially with your aid.” At least she sounded certain.

“The Conjunction tomorrow, all right.”Very well, the invisible translator supplied. “And the… the Mirrored City?” The syllables were strange and slippery in her mouth. “In the Blight? How far away is that?”

“A hard ride across the edge of the Dry Sea and then through much of the Blight itself.” Keners half-turned to examine their mounts, then swung back to keep an eye on Darjeth. “The Road will be watched. Three days at least, unless our prince is with us to urge the equines along.”

Hannixe perked up. “Or unless we go through the?—”

“No,” Keners and Darjeth said, in unison. The chorus was actually kind of funny, though Ari didn’t feel like laughing.

Not in the least. She looked around almost wildly, as if she might suddenly find a first-aid kit or emergency room, a bandage, something,anything. Nothing but hills, trees, and grass, a violet sky and a huge exhausted sun the color of the Blood Mere.

“The Spires,” Hannixe continued, brightening. The double flush of activity and hope suited her, and those dark eyes nearly sparkled. “They stand between the Dry Sea and the Blight; we must be near one of the entrances. A day at most, and if our lord prince is riding upon our trail?—”

“No, Hannixe.” Keners was having none of this. “I will not risk you, and our lord prince will be wroth if our lady Moon is endangered.”

“And I would not have either youorour queen risk yourselves in such fashion.” Darjeth twisted to examine the wound again, tweezing aside bloody cloth and leather; the edges of the slice were red and raw as supermarket meat, but the spreading black vein-fingers were smaller and now the injury did not bleed or froth.

Guess chivalry really isn’t dead. Ari straightened and turned away, took a step. Another. She tipped her head back, staring at the sky; purple-tinted clouds hung in layers. Above a far horizon the moon lingered, a drained, perfect disc in daytime. Yet more astronomical weirdness, though she’d seen the satellite of her own home planet do the same. There was an old rhyme about it, too.And waning half the midnight knows, that was all she could remember at the moment.

Goddammit, Ari. Poetry won’t help now. Think of something.

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