"Are you well?" Wildas asked as they walked out to the sparring arena that afternoon.
Coulta nodded. "Shelton's friend spoke to me this morning. I'm trying to accept everything she told me."
"She gave you answers?"
Coulta shrugged and was thankful that Wildas had made him swear to be honest. "Some. I'm just not... I'd rather not speak of it yet."
Wildas nodded. "I can have Rohan follow me around this afternoon, if you'd rather have some time to yourself."
"I would rather try to distract myself for now," Coulta admitted.
"Then I believe you owe me a sparring match," the prince replied with a smile.
Coulta forced a smile in return. "We'll see how long you fight before yielding."
"Against you, I don't think that will take long, but I plan to try for as long as possible."
Coulta woke out of a dream that night still hearing Teeya's screams, her accusatory expression still burned into his mind. It was one of the dreams he'd been having almost nightly since leaving Arren. If he wasn't dreaming about Teeya being tortured or killed by Varin, he was dreaming about all his victims. Some nights he even dreamed that one of those victims was Teeya. Trying to keep his mind busy during the day didn't stop his fears from taking root every night.
To make matters worse, his mysterious figure wasn't offering him any comfort. Several times Coulta had seen the figure in his dreams, but it had begun to look very much like Wildas. Unsure about what that meant, and afraid of what Asema had told him about his soul-partner, Coulta had turned away from the touch every time it was offered. Somehow, dreaming of Wildas – his master – in such a way felt wrong. And if what Teeya claimed about his dream figure was true, that it was his soul-partner trying to reach him, accepting the dreams would only make him feel worse. Even hoping to be considered a friend to the prince was too much for Coulta. Anything else would be so much more disappointing.
Normally, he would force himself to fall back asleep when the dreams woke him, or he would read by firelight until he distracted his mind. This time, he wanted nothing more than to run until his lungs ached. Slipping out of bed, he pulled on the old black fighting leathers he had worn to Ryal, and his high black boots. He left his swords behind, knowing he had a knife in each boot if he needed them.
His room was on the second floor of the castle, but the stables were close enough to land on if he timed his jump accurately – and used a touch of magic. He climbed up onto the windowsill and jumped out, landing silently on the stable roof. From there, he jumped to the second stable building some distance away, then even farther to the barracks, which required him to jump upward, then up again onto the wall surrounding the castle yard.
There were a couple of Guardsmen patrolling the wall, with another stationed above the closed gate. They didn't notice Coulta as he hopped the battlements and landed on the roof of a florist shop in the upper market. The streets were mostly deserted, except for the end where the massive brothel was. He debated for a moment going to see the building where the mages lived, but assumed he would not go unnoticed there; sorcerers in charge of the defenses of the city would probably have defenses for their own place of work and life. He'd most likely get himself caught, which would require him to do a lot of explaining to a lot of people.
Instead, he moved across the upper market to the streets crowded with fancy houses, avoiding Guardsmen once again. He paused at one house, noticing a dog chained outside. He had long ago learned that his magic could essentially make him invisible and silent, but he wondered if he still had a scent. At the very edge of the house's roof he slipped down close to the dog.
The big brown beast sniffed the air, looking right at Coulta. It seemed confused, glancing all around exactly where Coulta stood, nose sniffing wildly. Finally it started to growl. Determining that his experiment was successful, Coulta easily climbed back to the house's roof and set off to explore the larger marketplace in the next section of the city. The gate between the noble homes and the common market was closed, likely to keep out thieves, Coulta assumed.
The streets closest to the taverns and brothels were much more crowded than in the upper market, and Coulta took some time to watch the people moving about. Even this part of Ryal had a much more peaceful feeling to it than all of Arren.
Thinking of Arren again made him think of Teeya, and he moved on to try clearing his mind again. Reaching the poor section of the city, he found he had to magically check the strength of every roof before attempting to put any weight on them. The last thing he wanted to do was damage the homes of those who were already struggling to survive.
Standing above the closed main gate of the city, he looked out over the land beyond. It was bare grassland, cut only by the road that approached the gate and dotted with trees. A line of trees was off in the distance, and beyond that was farmland. Wildas had explained that Grand King Caolan had thought it bad luck for the farmers to try growing crops where a battle had been fought to reclaim the country, so all the farms were a few hours' ride from the city. Coulta thought it was probably a good way to keep farms from being destroyed by enemies in the event of an attack, as well.
Standing there, staring off into the overcast night, Coulta couldn't stop his thoughts from plaguing him. Everything the sorceress had told him that morning, and his dream of Teeya, filled him with more fear and hopelessness than he had ever thought he could feel.
Even if his curse could be broken, Coulta would never be happy. He'd be forced to deal with more power than he could ever control, and everyone would call him "the formerly cursed." There was no freedom in that, just a new version of the curse that had controlled him all his life. He didn't even dare think about finding the person who would help him, because that brought him back to Wildas and the dreams again.
He didn't feel controlled or trapped like he had been in Arren. Varin had used him like a weapon, offering him no friendship – not that Coulta wanted any from someone like Varin. Wildas treated him with respect and kindness. Coulta was bound to him, but it wasn't something he regretted, at least not yet. It suddenly occurred to Coulta to test the hold Wildas had on him to see if it truly was kinder.
Stepping to the edge of the stone above the gate, Coulta jumped, expecting to find himself hanging from his fingertips like he had every time in Arren.
Instead, he landed in a perfect crouch on the packed dirt road. Amazed, he stood up and took one step forward, then another. He took ten steps before he felt the pressure come to his mind, telling him to turn back, that Wildas needed him and it wouldn't do to have Coulta desert him now. In two more steps it became almost overpowering and he turned back.
Just as Coulta expected, he couldn't leave. At least he felt more free, though. That was something.
Myri was learning the castle healers' inventory system in the storage room when Sara, the healer in charge, appeared in the doorway. Marcal, the aging healer who had been trying to explain the way they kept certain herbs fresh inside a magic box, stopped talking when he saw her. That concerned Myri, until she saw a strange look on Sara's face.
"Crown Prince Wildas would like to speak to you, Myri," the older woman said with a smile.
It had been three days since she had started working with the healers, and they still all assumed she had been given the job for some other reason than that Wildas was thankful for her help. Annoyed, she walked past Sara and found Wildas standing just inside the doorway of the healing room, wearing princely blue clothes that were contrasted by the plain black shadow behind him that was Coulta. She gave the prince a small smile and a curtsy.
Wildas didn't smile at her, which she hoped would put off her fellow healers, but it planted a seed of dread inside her. He motioned to her and stepped into a private examination room close to the door. Myri followed, flanked by Coulta, who shut the door behind them.
The prince took a deep breath, before meeting her eyes. "We've gotten word from the men we sent to Windwick. Myri... there's nothing left."
It was suddenly very hard to breathe. "My mother?" she asked, barely able to get the words out.
Wildas shook his head. "They found her in the house. Everyone was killed. Myri, I'm sorry."
Even before she had left the village, she had known there would never be anything to go back to. She had known her mother wouldn't survive. But it was a knowledge she had buried under the need to help Wildas, then the need to help others.
She was shocked to realize how intense the pain was, having confirmation now that her mother was gone. Her home was gone. All the people she had ever known were gone.
"I'm sorry," Wildas repeated, and shocked her even more by pulling her into a hug.
It was horribly embarrassing, but she couldn't stop her sobs as she held on to him with all her strength. It was a few moments before she realized she was crying on the Crown Prince's shoulder and tried to pull away.
"I don't want to ruin your shirt," she whispered.
"Then hug me."
She looked to Coulta and saw him standing with his arms out to her. Without a second thought, she turned to his embrace. She knew she must be desperate if she was willing to have Coulta hold her, but she soon discovered that the tainted feel of his curse was comforting. This man had saved her life by helping her leave Windwick. He didn't seem to object to comforting her as long as she needed it, but when she eventually pulled away she thanked him. He just gave her a nod.
"Thank you for telling me," she told Wildas quietly.
He gently squeezed her arm. "Are you all right?"
She took a deep breath and stood up straight. Giving him a nod she said, "I will be. Is there anything else?"
Wildas shook his head. "That was all. If you want, you can go back."
"Thank you," she said as turned to go. Only when she was across the room of cots did she realize she hadn't even bowed to Wildas. Hopefully he would attribute it to the shock.
"Myri, what happened?" Sara demanded when she saw her.
Myri wiped her eyes and managed to say, in a choked voice, "I'll be here for a while. My village was destroyed. My mother is dead. I have nowhere else to go."
A look of utter sadness crossed the older healer's face and she hugged Myri tightly. "I'm so sorry. You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish."
Myri nodded and found herself choking back more tears. "Thank you."
Wildas didn't speak as they left the healing room. He didn't trust himself to say anything, despite feeling Coulta's eyes on him. He'd never experienced such an overpowering feeling of anguish and regret.
And anger. Gods, he'd never been so angry for more than mere moments before. This was a rage that went right through him.
He stopped walking so suddenly that Coulta almost collided with him. They were in a mostly unused side passageway, thankfully. Wildas wasn't sure he wanted to see anyone at the moment, servant or otherwise.
"What is it?" Coulta asked.
"I'm the reason her mother is dead."
"No, Varin is."
"She died because I wanted to go to Arren. Because I was hurt and needed a healer before we reached Ryal. If I hadn't gone to Arren..."
"Varin probably would have done something to Windwick anyway."
"He wouldn't have killed every woman, child, and elderly man in the damn village! He was looking for me, that's why they're all dead!"
He needed to do something to get the anguish out before it consumed him. Whirling around, he moved to slam his fist into the bare stone wall, only to connect with something decidedly not stone. Coulta was suddenly so close that Wildas could feel him draw a sharp breath of pain.
It took a moment to process the fact that Coulta's hand was between his fist and the rough wall, his palm over Wildas's knuckles.
"Gods, Coulta," he gasped, moving his hand away. "I'm sorry."
Coulta leaned back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position on the floor, cradling his bleeding hand.
"You didn't have to do that," Wildas sputtered as he knelt next to him.
"I would have let you punch it," Coulta hissed through his pain. "I don't care if you want to do something so stupid. The vow to protect you apparently applies to self-inflicted pain, too."
"Is it broken?" Wildas questioned, all his earlier pain replaced by concern and shame.
Coulta managed to flex his hand several times, though he grimaced while he did it. "I don't think so."
"Do you want to go back to see a healer?"
Coulta shook his head. "Just give me a moment."
"I suppose now I know better than to punch things around you," Wildas said, relieved that he hadn't broken his friend's hand. "I'm sorry."
Coulta gave him a pained smile. "We have to learn the details of it somehow, I suppose."
"I'm still sorry."
Coulta nodded, but changed the subject by asking, "When you were talking about Windwick, you said every woman, child, and elderly man was killed. What about the rest of the men?"
"Gone," Wildas replied, leaning his shoulder on the wall. "We're guessing Varin drafted them."
"For what?" Coulta questioned.
Wildas was suddenly exhausted, having finally accepted what Shelton had been reporting from his spies. "His army. His sons are gradually taking over all the lands between here and Arren, so that doesn't really bode well for anything but civil war."
"How can they do that?" Coulta demanded.
Wildas cleared his throat. "Stealthy assassination. A son goes to visit on a social call between nobles, and the lords mysteriously die within a day or so, along with all blood relatives in the area. Varin's sons conveniently step in to seize control when it should come to the crown to sort things out. He's greedy for as much power as he can kill for."
There was a sudden fierce look on Coulta's face that was a bit frightening. "I'll be the one to kill him."
"I hope you didn't just make that a promise you have to keep."
"It would just give me peace to kill him."
Wildas nodded, then sighed after a moment. "Can we get your hand cleaned at least? I know Anil said she didn't plan to return to Windwick, but I'd like her to know. I don't want to scare her with your hand looking like that."
Coulta got slowly to his feet. "It probably should be seen," he relented.
The healer in charge called for Myri again, though Wildas didn't ask for her this time.
"What could you have possibly done to yourself in such a short amount of time?" she demanded, pointing to a cot when she saw Coulta's bloody hand.
"I stopped Wildas from punching a wall," Coulta answered, flinching when Myri used a wet cloth to clean the blood off.
"How, by trying to catch his fist too close to the wall?" she questioned, and Wildas was glad to see that she was mostly herself again, aside from her red eyes.
"I think that's exactly what I tried to do," Coulta replied.
She glared at him. "There are better ways to stop someone from punching a wall."
"I can't control what the curse chooses," he stated quietly. "It made me do what was most likely to keep him from hurting himself."
Myri sighed. "I'll put a healing salve on it and wrap it. It will help with the bruising."
Coulta nodded and sat patiently while she went for the salve and linen. Wildas glanced at Coulta's hand and saw that it was already bruising. There was also fresh blood from the spots where part of his skin had been rubbed away by the rough stone.
"I'm sorry," Wildas felt the need to tell him again.
Coulta shrugged. "It's fine. Nothing is broken and I'll heal."
Anil was surprised when she was told that Wildas wanted to see her. She tried her best to brush the hay off her clothes as she stepped out of the stall she had been cleaning. Wildas was waiting with Coulta just inside the stable building, and he didn't look very happy.
When she reached them she moved to give him a respectful curtsy, then remembered that she had started wearing pants instead of skirts. "Am I supposed to bow or pretend to curtsy?" she asked, embarrassed.
"Don't fret about it," Wildas answered. "Right now I don't really care, but I'd say bow if you don't wear a dress."
She nodded and gave an awkward bow anyway. Her gaze turned to Coulta and she noticed that his right hand was wrapped in a white bandage. "What happened to your hand?" she asked with concern.
"Put it between Wildas's fist and a wall," Coulta replied with a shrug.
Looking back at Wildas, she thought she saw a flash of shame cross his face. That faded to what seemed like sadness as he motioned her to the records room. The robed scribe looked rather annoyed to be excused from his work temporarily, but bowed to Wildas and hurried out to the barn aisle without a word, just the book he had been writing in, his quill, and a bottle of ink. It was the first time Anil had ever seen one of them leave the room.
She was surprised when Wildas gently grasped her hand. "I know you said you didn't plan to return to Windwick, but it was your home and I wanted to tell you what we learned this morning." He took a deep breath before telling her what she already knew, "There's nothing – no one – left."
Despite having known the truth, she still felt tears come to her eyes. She had known those people. She'd cared for their horses every day. Her family was buried outside the village. She'd never get to honor their lives by visiting their graves.
She would have to honor them by living well in Ryal instead.
"Thank you," she told Wildas, nodding.
He pulled her gently into a hug. "I'm sorry."
She nodded against his shoulder and repeated, "Thank you."
