As they rode through the night, Coulta found himself worrying about Teeya. What would happen to her when Varin found out that Roane was dead and he was missing? Hopefully she wouldn't be hurt. Hopefully Varin wouldn't think she knew where he was.

When they slowed their sweaty horses to a walk, Wildas turned to him. "So," he began, breaking Coulta from his thoughts, "tell me why you were working for Varin."

Coulta looked down at Quiver's mane. "I had to work for him," he replied. "I had no choice."

"Everyone has a choice."

Coulta shook his head. "No. I was sworn to serve Varin. I couldn't go against him." He took a deep breath and added, "I have a curse."

"A curse?"

Taking another deep breath, Coulta nodded and began, "My father was a sorcerer in Berk, who fell in love with the woman his master had wanted for himself. My father had promised to find the woman and bring her back to the sorcerer he had previously been apprenticed to, but he stayed with her instead. When his former master finally found them, he cursed their unborn child to be forced to keep every vow made to the person with the most power over him. I was born that night."

He didn't explain what his mother had foreseen, described to him in the letter from his father that he kept in his sword belt because it was the only item Varin would never take from him, and Wildas saved him from having to tell that detail by not asking.

"So, this is why you swore to serve me?" Wildas asked quietly. He didn't sound frightened or disgusted, but Coulta refused to look over at him.

"Yes," Coulta replied with a nod. "I needed to break all ties with Varin completely. I assumed a prince would have more power over someone than an earl."

"Did he know about the curse?"

"I've always thought so," Coulta answered. Memories of Varin's cruel demands rushed into his mind and he tried to force them back as best he could. This wasn't the time to dwell on the past. "I never told him, but either my father did or he was able to guess when I never managed to fight him."

"I'm sorry your life was so painful."

Coulta glanced over at him, surprised. "I did have Teeya. She's like a sister to me, and a mother. She is his personal seamstress and she raised me."

"Does she know you left?"

"As far as I know, she doesn't. I didn't tell her anything. I hope Varin doesn't think I did."

"I wish I'd had more time to find out what Varin was capable of. At least I know he's not completely full of empty threats," the prince said with a sigh. "I wanted to know, who was the other assassin? How closely was he tied to Varin?"

Coulta shrugged. "Not like I was. I believe I was the only assassin who lived at the castle, but not the only one Varin employed. Roane was a hired killer, but Varin usually had him take the jobs that were more high-risk. I was usually kept to killing people whose only crimes were being too poor to pay their taxes, following religion, or falling in love. But he sent me after you because Roane wanted to see me fail. I didn't know you were a prince until I spied."

Wildas looked thoughtful as he took in the information. "So then you were able to go against your orders and save me."

"It surprised me, too," Coulta admitted. "I don't know why Roane thought he could take the job from me. He wasn't supposed to step in until tomorrow night, if I failed and you were still in the city. I wish I had been able to save your men. I'm sorry."

Wildas nodded. "They were soldiers. Soldiers know they may someday give their lives for their country. But this is different – this isn't war." He sighed. "We'll keep this information about you a secret from my father."

"Thank you," Coulta replied. "I don't mean to be a burden."

The prince shrugged the comment off. "Don't even think that you are. You saved my life."

Coulta bowed his head and nodded. He had no response, and they rode on, each lost in his own thoughts.

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The night was yielding to dawn when a village materialized out of the light fog that had set in overnight. Wildas saw with relief that some people were already moving about doing early-morning chores. He winced at the pain in his side, which had grown steadily as the night had worn on, and hoped there was a healer in the village.

His tired stallion stumbled on an uneven patch of roadway and Wildas sucked in a breath when the motion pulled on his side.

"What is it?" Coulta asked.

Wildas winced as he pressed a gloved hand to his sore side. "I don't know. I guess that scratch I got from the assassin was deeper than I thought." He'd never had a little wound hurt so much, and he knew he couldn't have gotten an infection already.

"Did he cut you with a blade?"

The anxiety in Coulta's voice sent a bolt of fear through him. "A dagger. Are you going to tell me it was poisoned?"

"Yes."

Wildas stared at the other man, who didn't look as worried as Wildas expected. Maybe he actually wanted him dead after all, even after his promises to protect Wildas.

"You said if we didn't stop often we could make Ryal in five days from here," Coulta told him. "If this healer doesn't have the right herbs to make the counter-poison, you will be home before it can kill you."

"If it's not going to kill me yet, why does it already hurt?" Wildas questioned.

Coulta took a deep breath before explaining gravely, "It's a torture poison. The only poison Roane ever used, in case anyone ever got away from him. You would think you had survived the attack with only a scratch, then the poison would set in. You'll wish you were dead long before it kills you. It causes extreme pain that lasts for seven days. On the eighth day, you'll be completely pain-free, so that you think you've survived the poison. Then, on the ninth day, you will bleed from everywhere until there is no blood left in your body to sustain you. As long as you take the counter-poison before the eighth day, you'll fully recover."

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Wildas swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. "How likely is it that this healer will be able to make the counter-poison?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know how to make the counter-poison?"

"Yes," Coulta told him firmly. "But I wouldn't know how to find the herbs without asking specifically for them. I made a copy of the recipe when we did a job together and he was already asleep at night. He had never memorized it, just kept the recipe with him in case he accidentally poisoned himself. I memorized it because I worried he would use it on me someday."

Wildas nodded grimly. "Will normal pain-killing herbs make it more bearable for me? I'm guessing this is going to get more painful than it is now."

"They might," Coulta replied. "But you'll need a lot of them. I've seen men paralyzed from pain with this poison."

Wildas let out a shaky breath. "If you have to strap me to my horse, following this road out of the village on the other side will eventually lead to Ryal."

Coulta nodded. "I hope the healer can make the counter-poison, though."

"As do I," Wildas agreed.

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Anil enjoyed her work in the public stable. Just about everyone in the village of Windwick had a riding horse, either for occasional pleasure riding or visiting the nearby city of Arren for market days, and kept it in the stable for convenience. The farms around the city had working horses, but they didn't live in the public stable. Anil would have liked to work with the big draft animals, but she liked the rough ponies most of the villagers owned.

But ponies could be pests sometimes.

"Lay off, Starlight," she scolded, pulling her long coat sleeve from the annoying mare's mouth. The obnoxious thing got nippy when she wasn't fed exactly when she wanted to be, and Anil should have known to wear a different coat by now. But it was all she had left of her father. It had been a harsh winter, and the usual illnesses had struck harder than ever. It seemed like almost half the village had died, despite the efforts of the healers. Somehow Anil had been the only one of her family to survive. Both her mothers, her father, her three younger siblings... What she wouldn't give to know why she had been spared.

She wiped her eyes quickly and went back to mixing the buckets of grain. "Stop it. I have to finish mixing this before you can have it," she explained when Starlight tried to grab her coat again.

The little mare snorted and started pawing at the dirt floor, ever impatient.

"Hello?"

Anil was surprised when she glanced at the door and saw two men on horseback outside. Who would be coming into the village when it was barely past dawn? She set the grain aside, much to Starlight's frustration, and walked out to greet them. She noticed immediately that they were a strange pair. One was dressed in all black, while the other was dressed in fine riding clothes. Both wore swords at their sides. The two horses, a black and a gray, were the biggest horses Anil had seen outside of a farmstead.

"Is this a public stable?" the one in black asked.

Anil nodded. "Yes, sir. I can feed and groom for you, no extra charge."

"Thank you," he said as he dismounted awkwardly. Clearly, he didn't ride very often.

The other man dismounted just as awkwardly, but she could tell that he was injured. That, or he just happened to have a cut in his tunic and stomach cramps at the same time.

"Are you looking for the healer?" she asked with concern, reaching for both horses' bridles.

"That would be wonderful," the pained man replied, wincing as got himself standing properly. His companion had come around to offer extremely hesitant assistance.

"She's just right across the street," Anil explained, pointing. "That house with the wreath above the door. That's her craft sign. Her name is Mara."

"Thank you," the man said and pulled something from the small purse at his side. "I hope this is enough for the horses."

Anil stared at the two gold coins when they were placed in her hand. "Are you paying for a year?" she asked, stunned. She looked back up at the man and suddenly remembered the men who had ridden past the village a few days ago. "You're the prince," she gasped.

He held up a gloved hand. "Please. I just want to see the healer and get home. I'd like to be discrete."

"Where are the other men?" she asked before she even considered her words.

"Dead," the prince replied, then winced. "And I'm sorry if I'm rude, but I'm in a lot of pain."

Anil nodded and made what she hoped was a passable curtsy. "I'll care for the horses," she assured him.

He nodded. "Thank you. What is your name?"

"Anil."

The prince attempted a smile. "Thank you, Anil."

The other man nodded to her and said a quick "thank you" before walking with the prince to the healer's home.

A little stunned still, Anil stood staring at the two horses for a moment before tying one to a post outside while she got the other into a stall. No wonder the horses were so large; they were probably bred for war.

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"Myri, come in here!"

Myri sighed as she stood up from her garden. What could her mother need her for now? She hoped there hadn't been some accident on one of the farms. The last time it had been a child killed in a plowing accident.

When she entered the small house she found her mother in the sick room with two men. One was brown-haired and fairly fancied up for a traveler. If he hadn't been grimacing so much Myri thought she'd find him strikingly handsome. He seemed to be her own age, too.

Bad idea to have such thoughts about a patient.

The other man was another story. He was lean and tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, dressed completely in black. Like his companion, he had the potential to be attractive, but she could practically smell the dark magic on him. Even from across the room she could get an idea of it, and she had very little magic herself. She could tell he was a sorcerer, of a kind she had never encountered before. He didn't necessarily wield the evil magic, though. She could tell he meant well in his actions, at least at the moment. He just felt tainted.

It was probably some kind of curse he had to live with. Poor man.

"Myri!"

She stopped analyzing the mysterious sorcerer and joined her mother with the injured man. "What is it?"

Mara lifted the man's shirt enough to show a thin shallow gash across his side, halfway between his arm and hip. To Myri, it looked to be the length of her hand.

"Dress this," Mara instructed.

Myri pulled a salve from the cabinet near the bed and did as instructed. The wound wasn't deep and it had barely bled. "Is this your only injury?" she asked, looking at the man.

He nodded. "It's poisoned."

Myri jumped back and hurriedly wiped her hands off on a rag. "By Rutsav, why didn't you warn us?" she demanded.

"Because you can't be hurt from it," the dark man said calmly. "You would have to be cut with the same blade as he was."

"What do you expect us to do?" Mara questioned. "Poisons do too much damage to heal."

"It hasn't done any damage yet," the same man explained. "If he gets the counter-poison in the first seven days he will fully recover. It doesn't actually harm the body for seven days, only causes extreme pain."

"Do you know how to make the counter-poison?"

"I do," the sorcerer answered.

Mara handed him a sheet of paper, a bottle of ink, and a quill. "Write out the recipe."

It took the man a few moments to finish the list, which took up the entire sheet of paper. Mara took it and vanished into the storeroom.

"Who would use such a useless poison?" Myri asked.

"Someone who wanted to make certain his assassination attempt didn't fail," the injured man grumbled.

"I'm guessing it wasn't him," she said, motioning to the other man.

"No," her patient agreed. "He's my escort to Ryal."

"Ryal?" she repeated, surprised. No one would come from the capital to a place as poor as Arren or its surrounding villages. She had heard a troop of soldiers had come through a few days ago, but hadn't seen them herself. The rumor was that a prince was with them. Of course, this couldn't be related –

Her eyes widened as she realized what word he'd used.

Assassination.

Common people were murdered. People with power were assassinated.

He caught her look and nodded. "Crown Prince Wildas. And I would really appreciate it if you could just make this pain stop."

"You'll have to forgive us," Mara said to that, returning from the storeroom with an armload of herb bundles and bottles. Myri rushed to help her as she explained, "We have all but one herb on this list. Dragonweed."

"There's some in the garden!" Myri told her excitedly.

Mara shook her head. "It has to be dried. What's in the garden isn't even finished growing yet, and it will take a month to dry in this weather."

"How hard is it to find dried Dragonweed?" the prince asked.

Myri's heart was sinking quickly. "Fairly. It's hard to grow, and takes a long time to dry. Then it needs to be ground to a fine powder to be used in a tea. The only way to take it is by tea because the body can't absorb it alone or any other way."

"But you have everything else?" the sorcerer questioned.

Mara nodded. "Where are you headed?"

"Ryal," both men replied.

"Mother, did you not hear him say he's the Crown Prince?" Myri demanded.

Mara's eyes widened and she hastily curtsied. "Then I'm even more sorry that we don't have all the herbs you need. Take these ones with you, then the healers in Ryal only need to find one ingredient."

The prince nodded and pulled some sort of necklace from his shirt. "I'll be able to send word now with this. Is there any way I could at least rest a bit?" He glanced at the other man and added, "My companion, too. We rode all night and I'd like to try to sleep a little before the pain gets worse."

"Stay right there on that cot," Mara answered. She motioned to the other man and pointed to the second of their four sick beds. "You can rest there. Myri, could you see about making a strong pain tea for our patient? We'll see if we can ease the pain at all so he can sleep better."

Myri nodded and went to the storeroom. As she stepped past the prince she saw that he was laying with his eyes closed, and that there was a faint purple light coming from the necklace charm he was holding.