The Queen and the Cure (The Bird and the Sword Chronicles #2)(9)
The bearded man in the center of the group, his face as thin and dark as the trees that grew in the Drue Forest, responded, “We have heard of you, Kjell of Jeru. You are the king’s brother.”
Kjell would not deny his relationship, but he also refused to feel any pride in his status. The blood that connected him to the king was not blood he was proud of. He also wasn’t certain being notorious was a good thing. His past was not especially pristine. He simply waited without confirmation for the man to continue.
“Greetings to you and your men. I am Syed. We’ve brought gifts for His Majesty and ask that you extend our fealty to him when you return to Jeru City.” The suggestion was veiled, but Kjell did not miss it. The elders had ridden out of the village to head them off. It would be greatly appreciated if the King’s Guard would continue on, never entering Solemn.
It was entirely the wrong move. Kjell hated to be told what to do.
“That is very gracious, Syed. But we don’t need gifts. A meal, a bath, and maybe a day’s rest is all we require. Our horses could stand the rest and food as well. Then we will be on our way. Can your village accommodate us?” Kjell’s voice was mild but his eyes were shrewd, testing his audience. So far, everything Sasha had said was proving true.
The bearded man stiffened, and the men around him squirmed, exchanging weighted glances.
“There is . . . trouble in our village,” Syed hedged. “Some of our people are sick. It would be wise for you to pass by.”
“Our captain is a skilled Healer,” Jerick spoke up. “He healed one of your women last night. She’d fallen and was near death. Perhaps he can bring relief to your village.” Jerick’s voice rang with a sincerity few would sense was false. Kjell would have silenced him—violently—had it not served his purposes. Clearly Sasha had confessed something of her story to Jerick the night before.
“Sasha!” Kjell called to the woman who hid herself behind his men. “Come forward, woman. Show them you are well. They must have been concerned when you didn’t return last night. The wolves were out.” He felt his men shift and part, but didn’t turn his head. He heard Sasha come forward and saw her presence noted on the faces of the elders of Solemn before him.
One of the six, a white-haired man with great jowls, drooping eyes, and a sorrowful air, spotted Sasha and gasped visibly, his chest lifting beneath his yellow robe, his hands tightening on his reins. The animal he rode felt his tension and backed up obediently. The man wanted to bolt, and he wasn’t the only one.
“She is a witch,” a fat elder jeered. “She has lived among us for three summers. She brought evil with her. Fires and floods. Pestilence and disease. We ran her out at the end of our spears, but she flew from us.”
Kjell regarded him darkly, seeing the crumpled body of the woman in his mind’s eye, her body broken and bleeding. She had not flown. If she could have flown, Kjell would not have had to heal her bones and sing her spirit back to her flesh.
“It is against the laws of Jeru to harm the Gifted,” he rebuked.
“She made our people sick. She will make your men sick too. Your horses will die, and your bones will turn white on the plains of Quondoon. Now she sits among you, and you will suffer like we did.” This from Syed, his eyes dancing between Kjell and Sasha, who stood before the elders, inexplicably alive and well. She said nothing to defend herself—she didn’t speak at all—and Kjell followed her lead. He’d learned there was little that could be said to change a mind. Especially the minds of those so convinced of a woman’s guilt they would run her off a cliff as punishment for her crimes. He would let her decide the fate of those who had condemned her. It was something King Tiras would have done.
“What should we do, woman? Do the people of Solemn deserve healing?” he asked, his hand on his sword, his eyes on the men who wished him gone. So be it. He wanted to go. He would leave the village in their misery.
“All people deserve healing,” Sasha answered immediately, and Kjell’s heart sank in his chest. The man on the right, the man with the sagging jowls, retreated farther.
The leader of the elders raised a trembling finger and pointed it at Sasha. “You are not welcome in Solemn,” he hissed.
“Prepare your people, Syed,” Kjell said, dismissing him. “We’re coming to Solemn.” He waved the elders off, and his men closed ranks around him, swallowing him up protectively, herding the elders backward at the end of their lowered spears, quartering no further argument or conversation. Kjell waited until the elders had turned, spurring their camels back toward Solemn, their gifts rejected, their fears realized.
“Jerick, take a dozen men. Go to Solemn. Make sure the elders don’t stir up trouble. I will not be far behind. And Jerick?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“You do not speak for me. Ever. I choose to heal whom I will. You volunteer that information far too freely. Do not do it again, or I will send you back to Jeru City.”
“Yes, sir.” Jerick’s shoulders tightened defensively, but Kjell wasn’t finished. “Do not drink the water in Solemn. Any of you. Drink only what is in your flasks. And wait for my arrival.” Jerick’s brows rose in surprise, but he nodded, turning his horse and yelling orders to the soldiers already mounted around him.
When Jerick and the first group of soldiers had departed, Kjell instructed the men who remained to fill their carafes, break camp, and prepare their horses. When they rushed to do his bidding, he dismounted and turned to the silent Sasha. She did not look at him. Her gaze was blank and fixed in the direction the elders had gone.