Page 41 of Sword & Sacrifice

When she pulled away, she grabbed his face, gazing at it, her smile growing wider by the second. “The marks of a true mage,” she announced. “Never met one who didn’t look half their age!”

“I asked him for his secrets, but he’s keeping them close to his chest,” Mrs. Rutter replied.

Chesna laughed and looked like she was about to tease him more but a harsh, rattling cough from the next room interrupted her. Her smile fell as she remembered her patient, and she excused herself.

She left the door open, so Valerian peered inside the room. All the curtains had been pulled back to allow in the bright afternoon sunlight, and the open windows brought a breath of fresh air. Even the curtains on the canopy bed were tied up, exposing the figure within.

The lord looked like he had aged fifty years. His skin was sallow, clinging tight to his skull, exposing the shape of the bone underneath. Most of his hair had fallen out. Only a few long, lanky gray strands remained. He lay on a tower of pillows, coughing and wheezing, bloody spittle flying all over the sheets because he was too weak to even raise his hand.

“How long has he been like this?” Valerian whispered to Mrs. Rutter. When was the last time Master Imus received a letter from him? His months of study all blurred together.

“A few weeks,” the housekeeper replied.

“Weeks?” he exclaimed, his voice too loud, drawing the lord’s attention.

“Who’s there?” Lord Endre croaked, lolling his head on the pillows.

Valerian wanted to turn around and run before he was recognized. He wasn’t even sure the lord was capable of recognition in this state. How has he deteriorated so quickly? It should take months, years before anyone would be so changed.

Unless magic is involved …

The thought filled him with dread. Now he wondered if Master Imus’ insistence that Valerian finally return to Krasna Manor was because he knew about the lord’s illness. What does he expect me to do? I’m no healer or curse-breaker!

“Don’t just stand there,” Lord Endre barked, anger refueling him. His hand barely raised off the bed to gesture, but it still held authority Valerian couldn’t ignore.

He entered the room, expecting it to smell of sickness and death. He shouldn’t have underestimated Chesna. A fresh, floral scent masked everything else.

Lord Endre’s hand continued to jerk in sharp, impatient movements until Valerian stood next to his bedside. He squinted in the bright light, scanning Valerian’s face. “Are you … yes, you are.” His thin, drying lips cracked as he smiled. “By the looks of you, Valerian, you are as skilled as Imus implied.”

Turning to Chesna, Lord Endre barked, “Leave us.”

“My lord—” she began.

“I’ve waited years for him to return. Now I wish to speak with him privately.”

Chesna glanced at Valerian, silently asking: are you all right being alone with him?

The lord had never raised his own hand against Valerian, he’d always delegated that task to someone else. Even if he had violent urges, he wasn’t strong enough to act on them. Valerian nodded and smiled softly, assuring her that he’d be fine.

She left the room and closed the door behind her.

Lord Endre gazed at Valerian from his prone position. “Unlike you, I am much changed,” he said, his voice a rough rasp. “But now you can fix me.” Not a question, a demand.

Valerian had to choose his words carefully. He could only afford to study magic because of this man’s investment. If he dies, will Master Imus kick me out? Valerian had learned a lot in the past thirteen years, but he still had decades of study ahead of him to reach his full potential. How would he pay for those years on his own?

Whatever worries he had didn’t matter because he couldn’t solve this problem. “I’m not a healer—”

“Do you think I haven’t consulted healers?”

“I’m not a curse-breaker either,” Valerian replied, attempting to keep calm.

The lord wasn’t listening at all. Half-delirious, he continued, “I paid for your magical education. It is time for you to put it to use.”

“Master Imus would be a better person for this task,” Valerian explained, though he knew it wasn’t that simple. His master’s specialty was in domestic cultivation. Though he’d studied magic longer than Valerian, he would be equally useless here. One name did come to mind—someone his teacher had mentioned as a potential mentor if Valerian had chosen the curse-breaking route. “You should contact the mage Alistair Lindstrum. He’s an advisor in Bellacosta—”

“No!” Lord Endre cried, his voice gaining a new strength. “Not him, never him—you keep his name out of my gods damned household.”

The vehemence of this statement shocked Valerian. He’d never met the mage himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice agreed with the lord: should have killed the bastard when I had the chance. Where had that thought come from? Before he could analyze it, the lord’s mutterings changed.