The Blood Curse Read Free

“They was foreign.”
    “You must meet a lot of people, hear a lot of accents.” The prince smiled, the scar creasing his cheek. “Where are we from?”
    “You’re from Lun’gaard,” the harbormaster said, without hesitation. “And he’s from Esfaban. Least, his face is. His voice is Osgaard.”
    Karel blinked, disconcerted by the man’s acuity. He exchanged another glance with Prince Tomas. “Where do you think the sloop’s passengers were from?”
    “Not from the Seven Kingdoms.”
    “The Allied Kingdoms? The Dominion?”
    “One or t’other,” the harbormaster said. “Not from the Seven, at any rate.”
    “Has the sloop ever berthed here before?”
    “I seen it a few times.”
    Karel turned the coin over in his fingers. The harbormaster’s eyes followed the movement. “Could they have been Fithians?”
    The man’s gaze jerked from the coin. His face paled. “Fithians? I don’ know what they sound like, and I don’ never want to know!”
    Wise .
    “What about the crew?” Prince Tomas asked. “Local or foreign?”
    “Foreign.”
    “Same accent as the passengers?”
    The harbormaster nodded.
    Karel glanced at the prince, lifted his eyebrows slightly. Any more questions you want to ask?
    Prince Tomas shook his head.
     
     
    K AREL STRODE BACK to the ship. The breeze from the ocean was mild, reminding him of Esfaban’s warm, gentle winds.
    “You think it’s the right sloop?” Prince Tomas asked.
    “Yes. You?”
    “Yes.” A fierce grin sat on the prince’s scarred face. “What now?”
    Karel glanced at him. Tomas was a year older than him, a royal prince, trained from birth to command. And yet he abides by his father’s wishes and awaits orders from me . Me. The son of bondservants . But Prince Tomas didn’t seem to resent him. There was no antipathy in the prince’s manner, no hostility or bitterness, just a respect that was uncomfortably close to hero worship. Because I killed a Fithian single-handed .
    Karel flexed his fingers. Killed a Fithian, yes, but that hadn’t been enough to save the princess.“What now?” Karel halted. His body wasn’t used to being on land; the wharf seemed to heave slightly beneath his feet. Princess Brigitta had been ashore a full day and a half. Was she even in Droznic-Drobil any more? “We try to follow their trail up that street. You and me and two of the armsmen. I’ll send armsmen to each of the town gates to question the guards. If they have town gates, or guards. And armsmen to buy mounts and supplies. I want us ready to leave by first light tomorrow.”
    “You think the Fithians have left already?”
    “Yes. But if they haven’t... she’s here somewhere.” Karel turned and scanned the town. I’m coming, princess .
     
     
    K AREL HAD TAKEN the Lundegaardan armsmen’s measure during the weeks they’d been at sea. He’d fought with them, talked with them. He knew who were the fiercest swordsmen, the sharpest thinkers. The ten men were all superb fighters—they were King Magnas’s personal armsmen, after all—but other skills were just as important on a mission such as this. Who could be trusted to ask the right questions, to listen, to observe, to not draw attention to himself?
    He assigned tasks and handed out more of King Magnas’s coins. The armsmen set about their assignments with swift efficiency, buckling on weapons, tying money pouches to their belts, heading down the gangplank and fanning out into Droznic-Drobil. They wore commoners’ garb, plain shirts and trews; their forest green uniforms were buried in their packs.
    Karel looked at the armsmen left on deck. Gunvald, lean, quiet, and lethal. And brawny Ture. Of the ten armsmen, these two were closest to him in skill. Gunvald had even managed to vanquish him at wrestling once.
    “You two’re coming with me and Tomas. We’ll try to find where they took her.”
     
     
    A T THE MOUTH of the street the harbormaster had pointed to, Karel halted. “Sire, you and Gunvald