Page 138 of Vasmora

Kazhimyr groaned and swiped up Dorjan’s wrist, presenting the prince’s signet ring.

The man’s eyes narrowed on it then snapped wide, and he bowed. “Forgive me, my prince.” He waved them aboard, and as Kazhimyr helped Dorjan step down onto the deck, the older man rushed to steady him.

“Name’s Oswin,” he said, as the two of them moved the prince to the floor against the cabin wall. The old man gave a sniff and crinkled his nose. “Is the prince ill?”

“He’s had a rough go. He’ll be fine.”

The old man tipped his head, undoubtedly noticing the dark veins pulsing across Dorjan’s neck. “I’m a healer. If you’d like I could–”

“I said he’s fine,” Kazhimyr snapped. “Let’s get this boat moving.”

Frowning, Oswin nodded and hurried to unfasten it from the dock.

In an effort to ignore the sea sickness already churning in his gut, Kazhimyr turned his attention toward the prince and subtly lifted his cloak, where the bulge in his chest remained concealed. It stretched and quivered, the mass a living thing beneath his skin that seemed to awaken when Kazhimyr held his hand over it, somehow drawing the mass toward his palm. He lowered the cloak to find the old man frowning.

“You’re certain you don’t need me to look at him? He looks rather pale.”

Finding they were underway, Kazhimyr slumped beside the prince with a sigh. “He was bitten. By a spider.”

Oswin stroked his jaw and pointed toward the cabin. “In the cupboard, there’s a salve. S’posed to be good for drawing out bad humors and venom. Might want to put a bit of it on him.”

The Letalisz huffed, wanting to chuckle at the thought of a salve ridding the prince of plague. Perhaps appeasing the old man would smother his curiosity, though, so he nodded and pushed to his feet. “Watch him,” he said to Dravien as he made his way down into the cabin.

The small, cramped place stank of brine and oil, and the rocking of the vessel churned a sickness in his gut. Gods be damned, he hated the sea.

He grunted and rifled through jars that clanked as he carelessly pushed them aside. Until, at the back of the shelf, he found the bottom half of a broken snuff box with a bright red orb atop of it.

Bloodstone.

Kazhimyr pulled it from the shelf, examining the stone.

“Find it?” Oswin filled the hatchway, and his gaze fell to Kazhimyr’s discovery.

“Where did you get this?” Kazhimyr asked, holding it between them.

His gaze flicked from Kazhimyr to the stone and back. “Found it.”

“No. One doesn’t stumble upon a bloodstone.” His sharp tone left little room for debate. “Where did you find it?”

The old man hesitated. “A passenger.”

Kazhimyr held it up, studying the perfect sphere. “This passenger. Did you know him?”

“Not well, no.”

“What did he look like?”

Oswin lowered his gaze, his brows pinched together. “Well, he …” He hesitated again. “He was rather tall. And he had a …” He gestured toward his face.

“Kazhimyr!” Dravien called out. “Come now! Quickly!”

Kazhimyr’s muscles tensed, and keeping his eyes on Oswin, he tucked the stone inside his pocket as he slipped past, up the stairs to the deck. There, he found Dorjan coughing and sputtering black fluids, his body curled up and shaking like a fragile leaf in a violent wind. Mere seconds from snapping free.

Kazhimyr dropped to his knees beside the prince, turning him onto his side.

As Dorjan trembled and retched, more fluids pouring from his mouth.

“What is wrong with him! This is not normal!” the old man cried from behind. “Spider bites do not progress to this!”