CHAPTER 38. Grief
DESPITE Korathan’s continuing displeasure, Seregil and Alec were allowed to pay their respects at court the following morning. Elani sat with Alaya’s other relations by the old courtier’s bier in one of the great halls. All were dressed in rich black, with jewels of jet and onyx. Elani was dry-eyed as the mourners streamed past, but very pale. It was clear she hadn’t slept.
She gave them a sad smile as they reached her. “So kind of you to come. Alaya liked you both very much.”
“She was a great lady, Highness,” said Seregil.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Highness,” Alec added, looking down at the dead woman’s waxen visage. Alaya was dressed for court, and her hands were crossed in front of her, rings glittering on every finger, but none of that allayed the wreckage of sunken eyes and too-prominent bones.
“So much death this summer, and the whole war,” Elani murmured. “Grandmother Idrilain, and my aunt and uncle. And now this.”
Unable to offer any meaningful comfort, they stayed long enough to be polite, then bowed and took their leave.
The following morning, they went out again with Micum wearing different disguises and searched the neighborhood where they’d nearly caught the old woman and her guardian. No one had seen any sign of them, though, and Seregil grumbled about the timing of Alaya’s death. The scent seemed to have gone cold. Given the ravens’ previous
pattern, Seregil expected word of them being on the far side of the Harvest Market next and had Kepi spread the word to his compatriots that any news would be worth a silver half.
When they returned to the inn late that afternoon, Seregil noted at once that the horse yard was empty except for one exhausted, lathered black, and that there was no smoke coming from the kitchen chimney. Nor was there any of the usual bustle and noise coming through the open windows of the front room. Bad old memories of another too-quiet inn knotted his belly.
“That’s Kari’s horse,” Micum noted in surprise.
“I don’t like this,” muttered Seregil.
“Neither do I,” whispered Alec.
They approached the front of the house cautiously and peered in at the windows. The great room was empty, dishes and tankards still on the long tables as if everyone had left in a hurry.
Moving quietly, they went down the servants’ corridor to the kitchen and found Tomin whittling in front of the fire. He jumped to his feet as soon as they came in and Seregil saw a small pack at the innkeeper’s feet.
“What’s going on?” asked Alec.
Tomin fiddled nervously with his knife as he took in their beggar garb. “A woman came here with a little girl, and brought the sleeping death with her. Claimed she knew you, my lords. The house cleared as if it was on fire. I sent Ema and the baby to her mother’s house.”
“Where are the woman and girl?” Micum demanded.
“I put them in the front room upstairs.”
Micum was gone before Tomin had finished speaking, thundering up the front stairs. Seregil and Alec ran after him and caught up in time to hear their friend’s anguished cry.
Illia, dressed for play in the Watermead fields, lay on the bed, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Micum fell to his knees by the bed, clasping one of his daughter’s small hands in his big, callused ones.
Kari sat by the bed, pale as a ghost, her dark hair wild around her shoulders and dull with dust, as were her riding
clothes. She looked not at her husband, but at Seregil. “How could this happen?”
“It’s-impossible!” Alec gasped.
“Clearly not,” Seregil managed. “Kari, how long has she been like this?”
“I found her like this in her bed yesterday morning. Nothing we did could bring her around. We sent for the drysian and she told us of the sickness here in the city. She said-” Kari swallowed, throat so dry that Seregil could hear it click across the room. “She said no one has survived more than a few days. I thought perhaps if Valerius could see her, he might be able to do something. Seregil, you’ll send for him, won’t you?”
Seregil glanced at Micum, but he was silent, head bowed over Illia’s hand as if he were silently praying. Perhaps he was.
“Valerius hasn’t found a cure. Thero suspects magic.” The words felt like shards of glass in his throat as Seregil watched the fragile hope die in Kari’s dark eyes, just as it had in Eirual’s. “Have there been any strange beggars at Watermead?”
“Beggars? None that I’ve seen.”
“Are you certain? Could Illia have met someone on the road while she was out riding?”
“I suppose so. Seregil, what do beggars have to do with this?”
It was Micum who answered. There were tears on his stubble-covered cheeks, but his voice was deep and steady as ever. “There are beggars here, called the raven folk, who trade odd things with people, things they use to work this foul magic.”
She stared at her husband. “Is that what Seregil called you into the city for?”
“Yes.”
Fury suffused her pale cheeks as she rounded on Seregil. “Knowing all that, you brought Micum into the midst of it?”
“It doesn’t spread through the air,” Seregil told her gently. “We haven’t made any trades, and neither has Micum. It’s
those who do that who fall ill. That’s why I asked about the beggars.”
Kari shook her head in disbelief. “If you’d only warned us, I could have told the children to beware of them.
Seregil clutched the door frame as the weight of the words struck home. Another failure. “Micum didn’t know before he got here.”
“We thought they were only in the city,” Alec said softly, voice trembling.
Raw pain coursed over the bond to Seregil. He knew Alec must be feeling the same from him. Illia! That, combined with Kari’s anguish, and Micum’s, threatened to unman him.
“We
“Then get out and find it!” she cried. “If Illia dies, I’ll never forgive you. Any of you! Get out!”
“Go on,” Micum told them, not moving from his daughter’s side. “I’ll be up later.”
Seregil and Alec climbed the steps to their rooms in silence except for Seregil’s strained voice whispering the words of passage past the glyphs.
Striding into the bedroom, Seregil threw off his disguise and pulled on a shirt and breeches.
“Maker’s Mercy,” Alec said as he did the same. “If Valerius had heard of any spread of the sickness outside the city, wouldn’t he have told us about it?”
“Yes. Something’s very strange here. First Myrhichia, now Illia. Does anything strike you about that?”
“The first time the sleeping…” Alec couldn’t bring himself to say the word. “Those are the only times it’s happened outside the poorer quarters.”
“Yes, but also to people associated with us.” Seregil squeezed Alec’s shoulder, then headed to the door. “Elsbet should be here with her mother. I’ll send Tomin for her.”
“I’ll wait downstairs for Micum.”
After assuring Tomin that the affliction was not contagious, Seregil ordered him to the Temple of Illior to fetch
Elsbet, but not to tell her why. When he was reasonably sure the man would do that instead of disappearing, he slowly climbed the secret stair back to his rooms.
Micum sat at the dining table with Alec, head in his hands, looking shattered. Alec didn’t look much better. Three silver brandy cups had been filled, but neither of the others had touched theirs.
“She’s right, you know,” Micum groaned. “I should have sent word.”
Seregil sat down and took his friend’s hand. “We had no way of knowing, Micum.”
