CHAPTER NINETEEN

TURGA STARED MOODILY into the purple depths of his goblet. The wine had not lifted his black spirits; it was hard to imagine anything that would.

Bad enough that his profits leaked away with each day the auction stayed closed. It could be weeks, even months that he had to keep those children. And they had to stay healthy and strong—he couldn’t just toss them into a basement dungeon and feed them scraps, not if he wanted a decent price at the end. Then that idiot Rhus had tipped the scales toward disaster by destroying a third of his merchandise. Turga could only pray he hadn’t done worse.

He should never have hired the man, cousin or no. That was Turga’s first mistake—letting family obligations outweigh good judgment. And they should have left Rhus behind in Baskir when he didn’t promptly obey the callback. Second mistake. The man was worthless, a turd on Turga’s heart.

Through the narrow window, Turga could just see the crude outbuilding tucked against the wall where Rhus was locked in isolation. There he would live or die as the Veil decreed. Better for him he should die, thought Turga, than face my justice. He hoped the ravenous worm who devoured the unworthy dead made a particularly unpleasant end to all men who knowingly spread their sickness. The thought of Rhus tramping all over his compound with a burning head and raw throat goaded Turga into impotent fury.

Turga had been in the midst of lambasting Rhus for the death of the slave boy when he noticed the man was swaying on his feet. He eyed him sharply. Was that hangdog stance and slick pallor merely fear of the punishment to come, as Turga had assumed? As if in reply, Rhus slowly crumpled to his knees. His throat worked as he swallowed slowly. A string of saliva escaped his mouth and hung in a glistening thread.

“The Hewer take you, what is wrong with you?” Turga had taken three hasty steps backward before the words were out of his mouth.

Rhus shrugged, armed his mouth dry and offered a brief ghastly smile. “Guess the Veil caught up with me. Sorry, boss. I was hoping it was just a sore throat.”

Turga would have the shed torched and Rhus inside it once he died. Maybe even if he didn’t die. That was the first cheering thought he’d had all day.

MATTHIEU NEEDED HER, she knew that. She could feel him watching her now, knew his stricken worried eyes had hardly strayed from her huddled form in the two days since Luc’s death. She needed to pull herself together for his sake.

But if she turned from the wall, she had nowhere to look that wasn’t a reminder of what had happened. Luc’s empty cot, the chain snaking away from its leg. Bloodstains where he had lain with the life gushing out of him. He had kissed her, and now he was dead. Madeleine wished she were dead as well.

“Maddy, please. You’ve got to eat.” Matthieu’s hand on her shoulder was steady, his voice gentle and coaxing. “C’mon now. This is really good—just have a little taste.” He didn’t sound scared, Madeleine realized. He sounded almost like a grown-up. And something about that—her little brother taking on the job of looking after her—touched her, so that she forced herself to roll over and sit up.

Her head throbbed behind her eyes as she moved. Too much crying, or too long without food, she guessed. Though in all honesty, she didn’t feel hungry.

“Thanks, Matthieu,” she whispered. She took the cup he offered her and sipped. Her throat hurt too. Justine’s voice came back to her then, something she had said when Madeleine was little, carrying on over some childish hurt: “Hush, now, you’ll make yourself sick with crying.” I guess you really can, thought Madeleine. She turned her attention to the bread her brother was holding. She didn’t really want it, and it hurt to swallow it, but she ate it anyway.

She and Matthieu were family—the only family they had left. If he could be strong for her, she could do the same. She would eat and try not to think about the stain on the floor, and maybe the pain that squeezed her heart so fiercely it made her whole body ache would loosen its grip.

“YOUR PARDON, BOSS.”

It was Zhirak, one of very few who would venture to interrupt Turga in his current state.

“What is it?”

“Traveling peddlers at the gate—new ones. Foreigners, most of ‘em. I thought you might be interested.”

“Why, who are they?” Though he had a pirate’s dislike of paying for his comforts, Turga had the foresight to treat fairly those within his gates. As a result, Rath Turga enjoyed a steady trickle of traffic from merchants and craftsmen hoping to increase their trade.

“Dancing girl, blacksmith—he’s a jewelcrafter too, some very fine, unusual pieces. You might be able to pick them up cheap if he’s yet to make his name. The girl—she’s the real thing, boss, and I don’t mean just beautiful. Seems like she’s dancing even with her feet planted on the ground, you know? Thought she might cheer you up...”

Turga grunted. He was hardly in the mood, but moods could change. “They a pair?”

Zhirak shook his bald head. “Don’t think so. But there’s another guy, husband or maybe just bodyguard. Keeps a close eye on ‘er and his hand to his sword.”

“Right. Quite the little crew. Any more?”

“Two. The dancing girl’s musician—thin dreamy type. And a remedy woman.” Zhirak hesitated, and then added cautiously, “Ain’t my business, boss, but I wondered if she might have anything for...” He finished the sentence with a vague gesture toward the window.

“No.” Turga was curt but not angry. It had crossed his own mind, if not for Rhus then for any, Axe-Wielder forfend, he might turn out to have poisoned. “You know as well as I—there are a hundred different so-called remedies for the Gray Veil, and not one is worth the time it takes to tell about it. Rhus is on his own.”

Still, it was an intriguing group. If he could buy up some jewelry, turn it around at a profit in Baskir, that might begin to make up for some of his recent losses. And the girl, yes, she sounded very promising indeed. But not for tonight. Tonight he wanted a sleeping draught, and he would not risk it with strangers in the compound.

“Tell them to camp outside the walls for tonight. I will see them tomorrow.”