A Dowry of Blood (A Dowry of Blood #1)(9)

The words were an easy, set script you set out for me early in our marriage. I was to turn all unexpected visitors away. No questions asked.

“I’m afraid my business is very urgent. Please.”

Your voice filled the empty space of the hall, commanding without needing to be raised.

“He’s permitted, Constanta.”

I turned to see you at the top of the stairs, tall and beautiful and terrible. I was always most impressed with you when I saw you through the eyes of others, beholding you as though it was the first time. You descended the stone steps with a painful, slow deliberateness, not speaking until you came to a stop right in front of the visitor.

“Speak,” you said.

The stranger bowed at the waist, polite but perfunctory. He was used to dealing with gentry, but also used to haste.

“My lord, I’ve come on a matter of great urgency. I am a physician of—”

“Take that off,” you said, gesturing to his mask. “If you’re going to address me, do it properly.”

The stranger faltered, hand raising partway to his face before dropping again.

“Sire, it is a protection against sickness, a tool of my trade. It keeps away the miasma.”

“There is no miasma in this house, nor any sickness. Do either of us look sick to you? We’re the only ones here. Take it off.”

The doctor hesitated, but he did as he was told, unfastening the leather straps that held the mask in place. It came away in his hands, showing that the beak was full of dried flowers. Little bits of mint, lavender, and carnation spilled around his boots.

He was younger than I had guessed, bright-eyed and ruddy with cheeks that still had the fullness of childhood on them. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, with curls of brown hair that wanted for a trim. Were it not for the determined look in his eyes and the bruised shadows beneath them, he would have looked perfectly cherubic.

The sharp sweetness of lavender wafted over to me, along with the enticing spice of his blood, heightened without the mask to protect him. You undoubtedly ordered him to speak to you barefaced to assert your power, but also because it would be easier to snap his neck this way, or dig your teeth into his tender throat.

“I am a physician of the body, trained in Rome and dispatched to Bucharest,” he said, voice a little quieter now that he was face to face with you. He had to look up to speak. “I have served in fine houses and in the hovels of the least fortunate, diagnosing illness and administering medicine.”

“Very impressive. But what business have you with me?”

The boy swallowed. There was real fear in his eyes. But not of you.

“I’ve come to deliver news of a sickness, spreading like wildfire throughout the region. The doctors of Bucharest can barely move fast enough to fight it, and we’ve done everything we can to prevent the spread. I am very sorry to say we have not been successful. The illness has reached the outlying cities. Your city, sire. I saw five cases today alone in the town just beyond these walls. I asked for a letter to be dispatched to you post-haste but no one in the town would...” He swallowed, unsure of how to proceed. “The people are, ah, superstitious, and...”

“They think me a baby-slaying Devil,” you supplied, with a cordial smile that made it sound more like an introduction. “I’m well aware. As I said, we do not receive many visitors. The situation must be truly dire for you to come yourself.”

The doctor clutched his hands around the staff he carried.

“It is… grave, I will say as much. I thought you, as the region’s sovereign, deserved to know. I’m not sure what relationship you have with the smaller towns, but the people speak of you as their lord. I have found, in times of plague, that if a ruler moves quickly, sometimes catastrophe can be averted.”

A thin smile touched your mouth. A cat pleased with the fight a mouse was putting up.

“And what would you have me do, as ruler?”

“Leverage your power to spread the word. Tell the people to avoid the open-air markets and the cesspools, the garbage heaps. They mustn’t breathe the foul air; it will infect the body. Those who succumb must be strictly sequestered in their beds.”

You gave a dismissive wave, already turning from him. I stepped forward, poised to show our guest out the door.

“Those people do not answer to me. Let them rally themselves.”

The doctor took a few strides towards you, and I almost thought he might catch your arm as though you were a common merchant. Bold, this one.

“You have such vast wealth, and resources, sire. The people would look upon you as a savior, a benefactor, if you came to their aid. Surely it would only cement their loyalty; it serves your ends as well. You said yourself that it is only you and the lady in this vast home. Perhaps a wing could be donated to the doctors and the nuns who tend the sick, or even a gatehouse.”

“Are you sure you aren’t a holy man come to lecture me on the sins of excess? It’s Constanta you must plead your charitable case to. She’s the only one in this house afflicted by piety.”

“I was educated by monks,” the doctor muttered. “They have their points to make. But I would not presume to ask you to sacrifice your own comfort, only to spare what little pleases his lordship—”

“We’re done here,” you said, flicking me a subtle gesture that meant I was to dismiss him. “Good day to you. Do not call again.”