Destined for a King Read Free Page B

person is on hand to make sure that happens.”
    “That an’ nothing unnatural happens t’ th’ lord,” Owl replied from near the door.
    The Faceless One take it. And how were she and her mother to exchange any confidences with that scrawny boy listening to every word they said? Even if they resorted to Mother’s tongue, Owl would only insist they use language he understood.
    Her mother gave a curt nod. “They’ve told me the conditions.”
    Calista glanced across at Owl and lowered her voice even further. “Have you any idea what might have made him succumb to such a superficial hurt so quickly?”
    “From what I heard, you shot that quarrel,” her mother replied between her teeth. “If you’ve been putting potions on the tips of your bolts, shouldn’t you know the answer to that?”
    “I ran out of bolts, so I took one from a guard.” She shuddered at the memory of the man lying facedown. She still didn’t know which of Blackbriar’s men had fallen in her defense; had she seen his face, she’d have immediately assigned a name to the lifeless body. “He no longer needed it.”
    “That gives me a notion, then. Once you’ve cleaned the wound, a poultice of dragonwort, tansy, and blackbriar haws will draw out the poison. You must renew it faithfully every eighth-day. And with each change, also cleanse the wound with boiled ice wine.”
    She paused and passed a shaky hand over her mouth, her brisk demeanor dropping in a trice. “If we don’t see any improvement by the morning, things will not go so well for your father, I’m afraid.”
    Amara Thorne was not a woman to let her emotions get the better of her, at least not in front of the servants—which included Owl now—but the tremor in her voice spoke as much for her battered emotions as if she’d screamed and burst into tears. She’d come to Blackbriar a score and five years ago as a prize of war, but bright-eyed. Some of the older servants whispered that Amara had chosen her captor. Despite the passing of years, she still loved her lord husband.
    Calista nodded with assurance, though her hands had turned to ice. Somehow she must make her suddenly stiff fingers work for her, for her father’s sake.
    “I can stay if you wish,” her mother added, her tone soft and soothing. The sort of tone a mother would use to comfort a child who’d just awoken from a nightmare.
    “No.” They wanted her to do this on her own, and she would. Her mother had passed on much of her lore, and Calista felt ready to prove herself now. She was a woman grown. Let this be her test. “I will call you if necessary.”
    “Send Tamsin if you must. I will not be far, seeing to our own wounded.” Calista understood what her mother had left unsaid.
Save this miscreant, and so save my husband.
    With her mother’s departure came time to focus on her task. Owl had tossed his lord’s gear in a haphazard pile next to the bed, a tooled black leather scabbard topmost. From one end protruded a steel hilt, the pommel carved in the likeness of a raptor. That sword had seemed to blaze over Torch’s head like a beacon as he’d rallied his men to sack Blackbriar, but its flame was doused now. If she drew it, would it come to life? She didn’t dare. Not with Owl watching, and not with the blade’s owner at hand, even if he was insensible.
    Briefly, she scanned her basket of supplies: water of life, clean swaths of linen bandaging, needle and thread, vials of herbal preparations, her mother’s special potions, mortar and pestle.
    Torch reclined quietly, the hardened muscles of his bare arms idle, calloused hands folded over his chest. He almost looked as if he’d already passed on to the next world, his body laid out for the final farewells. Calista shook herself. No, she mustn’t think that way.
    As Torch fares, so does your father.
    Simple enough justice and only to be expected.
    Still, she paused for a good look at the man rumor painted as a ruthless plunderer, a maimer of the