Page 61 of The Royal Curse

At last I could see the final layer, Andreas’s linen undershirt. It bore a dark, seeping stain, with what looked like a lump of bandages beneath it, no doubt applied by Andreas himself.

Even in the cold, the smell hit me like a slap to the face.

Ripping the undershirt up the side and peeling it back revealed another one of Andreas’s linen shirts, pressed to the wound in a wad. It was stuck to his body, damp and crusty and foul, and I had to turn away for a moment, eyes watering, and gag.

And then I slumped there, shoulders shaking, as if I’d had the wind knocked out of me by an actual blow.

A few years ago I’d spent some time shadowing a physician in Surbino, attending at surgeries and in examinations. And I’d done my share of reading, too, medical texts and more abstract studies of the structure of living things. After all, it was possible that someday I might be able to use my magic for healing.

So I knew what that smell meant. What Andreas’s high fever meant. I’d been praying to the gods, to Ennolu and Dromos and the minor deities and anyone who’d listen, that he might only have some slight infection in the wound. That he might have contracted some kind of cold, or the grippe, that had struck him harder due to exhaustion and his injuries and the weather, and being chilled and damp for days on end, and that the small hole in his mail meant the wound would necessarily be minor.

And perhaps it had been, at first, before he’d neglected it and left it to fester, quite possibly with part of his clothing or some other detritus embedded within.

I’d been far too hopeful. Without a physician, and probably even with one, Andreas would die. The only thing that could save him now would be healing magic—strong magic, wielded by someone who had experience and practice. One in a thousand mages could save his life, probably.

Which didn’t include me, because I had neither the experience nor the magic. Andreas had given me a large dose of my potion about eighteen hours ago, I estimated. He’d been too gallant to fuck me there on the same grubby bedroll where Dario had meant to rape me, and so he’d end his life here on a grubby bedroll by the side of the road, and I’d dribble water into his mouth to keep him from going mad while he died. That would be the extent of my usefulness.

“Good fucking gods,” Salvius muttered at my side. I jumped, having forgotten he was even there. “Pardon me, Your Highness. Fuck.”

He knew, too. I could tell by the tone of his voice.

“Yes,” I whispered.

Silence fell between us for a long moment. Salvius sighed, shifted his weight, sighed again. I couldn’t look at him. I stared at Andreas’s chapped lips and stubbled jaw until my eyes ached. Someone, I couldn’t even be bothered to see who, had started setting up a makeshift shelter over me and Andreas. A fire had been lit a few yards away, and the men conversed in low voices, discussing their food supplies and setting a watch. It felt like a dream, far away and detached from reality. This couldn’t possibly be real.

“They’ll get you hot water and the cleanest cloths we have, Your Highness,” Salvius said quietly, sounding desperately uncomfortable and awkward. “I think you’ll be the one with the most knowledge of physicking, won’t you?” I nodded, the only answer I could muster. “But in the meantime—I need to know what your orders are, with the captain down for the count. For now,” he added quickly, because I’d let out a choked sound I couldn’t suppress. “Just for now. We’ve two prisoners, that fucker Dario and one of his men, and they’ll need to be untied if they’re going to eat, although they can drink without. We killed the others. And—”

“Wait,” I said. The others. Shit. That had penetrated even my fog of misery. “There were—there were three more, in Dario’s party. He sent them ahead to scout the pass. I’m sorry. I forgot to tell Andreas.” My voice broke on his name. “They weren’t back yet when you arrived, and they may be coming up behind us at any moment.”

I half expected Salvius to chastise me, but he only nodded and said, “We’ll post a lookout, not to worry, Your Highness. We’ve enough men to handle it, as you must’ve seen? We were offered a few reinforcements by a fellow—actually, he’s the reason we’re not all dead. That and the captain’s right arm. Came along and helped, he was suspicious of all the movement in his woods, he said. I think he might be a highwayman, but he has a right small army. And a very fancy coat. And that’s another thing. He’ll be wanting his men back, and here we are stopped and needing to keep ’em for now. We were meant to go to his headquarters, only we can’t go on yet.”

Oh, gods. What the hell did he—afancy coat?

I blinked at him, trying to work my way through his torrent of words. Salvius wanted me to…everything buzzed, like a swarm of bees between my ears. Too much. I wanted to snap at him, to tell him to figure it out himself, because wasn’t he Andreas’s second in command? Andreas still hadn’t moved. Imaginary or not, his thready heartbeat thrummed through me, insistent and impossible to ignore for even a moment, overwhelming anything else I needed to do or think about.

But Salvius’s face was pale under its decades of weathered tan, showing his exhaustion as clearly as if he’d complained about it. Which of course he would never do.

And he wasn’t in command here, was he? I was, with him now my second instead of Andreas’s. Without a queen here to decree otherwise, a prince would always outrank a sergeant. Damn it. How the hell did Andreas make keeping everyone organized seem so effortless?

I couldn’t exactly ask him. But maybe this was all I could do for him, really: take over his responsibilities without shirking, or whining, or letting the men down. Make him proud of me even though he might never wake to know he ought to be.

“The—prisoners,” I said haltingly, and sucked in a deep breath. I slipped my hand back into Andreas’s and clutched it tightly. He might not be able to help me, but strength seeped into me through his skin. “Give them water and don’t let them die of exposure, but they can wait to eat. They’re in no danger of starving to death.”

They were in a lot more danger of my ordering Salvius to interrogate them without any attempt at gentleness, but that could wait, mostly because I didn’t want to listen to screaming, even Dario’s, with my head pounding like this.

Salvius smiled, the creases around his mouth deepening. “If it were up to me, I’d cut their throats here and now. I won’t be shedding any tears for them being a mite hungry. And the men we’ve borrowed?”

That needed more thought than I had to give. I glanced back down at Andreas, sprawled on the ground as if he’d never move again, and then up at Ludo and Piet, who were diligently tending the fire. Steam curled from the pot they’d hung on a hook. And now that I paid a moment’s attention, Andreas and I had started to dry out a bit; the canvas they’d strung over us between two tree branches was keeping the drizzle off.

Primitive, but better than nothing. And moving was impossible in any case.

“Tell our allies—ask them if they’d be so kind as to wait for now. Or, no, we could send one on with a message. He could tell this master of his we’ll be another day. He could ride to the nearest town and look for a physician first, couldn’t he? Or a mage who has any healing skills at all.”

That would be useless. We both knew it. But I could pretend, at least, that a miracle might be possible.

“Aye, sir. I mean, Your Highness. That’s an idea,” Salvius said slowly. “Can I promise more pay? On top of what Andreas already offered. Because it’s a ways to ride, and no guarantee it won’t be a hopeless errand. Begging your pardon for saying so, Your Highness.”

Pay? If they were highway robbers, why hadn’t they simply, well, robbed us? But that didn’t matter if they kept on not doing it.

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