I might not be the most observant man in the world. In fact, I’m not sure I’m a man at all anymore. But I can see something isn’t quite right with my brother. There hasn’t been since we got here. Part of me wonders if he’d have been better off with theconstant seasickness of us being on board my ship. This place doesn’t seem to be doing him much good.
He’s sleeping about as much as I am, so barely at all, and I haven’t seen him eat in days.
Then Kit grins at me, tapping the page in front of him triumphantly. “He wears embroidered clothing, right down to his underwear and socks.”
I grunt. “This just says that his favourite food is carrot sticks dipped in honey. How can that be anyone’s favourite food?”
“He enjoys walks around the city. Moonlit strolls. And warmongering,” Kit adds with another grin. “Not sure we can use any of that, unless I cursed the stones he decided to walk on during his moonlit stroll.”
“You want to curse the stones he walks on?”
“No, I said I didn’t want to do that,” he replies. “I want to curse the fucking underpants he wears every day. Drain his memories entirely and kill him slowly. Or maybe we just kill him fast. What do you think?”
“You want to curse his pants,” I repeat, just to make sure I’m getting things straight. “Curse his pants, curse his socks, curse his coin purse and whatever weird little trinkets he keeps in his pocket.”
“Exactly,” he says. “You get it.”
It’s... a genius idea. One I’m disappointed I didn’t come up with. Last time, Kit cursed the labs themselves, and that was only because he was pumped up after years of experimentation. Unless he magically gains a shitload of power from somewhere and travels all the way to Ashwick to curse the city, we’re going to have to take a different route.
A personal curse on the king sounds exactly right.
“I’ll get started on embroidering him some underwear,” I say. “And we what, mail it off to him and hope it gets through to him?”
“We can try,” he replies. “He must get gifts all the time.” Holding out his hand in front of him, he plucks a small gold ring with a ruby embedded in it from his finger. He then mutters a few sibilant words under his breath.
My blood runs cold at the sound of his curse. The language he uses leaves my neck prickling and both tentacles reaching out to soothe me from the hisses and garbled words.
It’s not a natural language, the curse-speak. Or at least it isn’t for human-ish ears. Even for someone with a monstrous side, like me.
“Here. We could start with this.”
It’s small enough to travel easily and something the king would at least look at to see if he wanted to add it to his collection.
He then carefully wraps it in cloth before putting it into a small wooden box he plucks from his pocket.
“There’s a supply run to the nearest town tomorrow. We can ask them to post it out to him,” I say.
“All right. Good.” My brother’s shoulders droop with relief, and he opens his mouth to say something, but a giant yawn is all that comes out.
“All right, then.” I get to my feet, holding my hand out for the box. “I’ll hand it over first thing. You should get yourself to bed too.”
But Kit just shakes his head, getting to his feet painfully slowly. “I need to check the boundary. See that all the wards are holding up.”
He really does look knackered, but I’m not his mother and I can’t make him go to bed. So I head upstairs and dig out my sewing kit, wondering if this might be how we put an end to the bastard king for once and for all.
Chapter 4
Reva
Ineed a distraction and something to do to stop myself from moping about, obsessing over my skin, and to give me a break from the constant fixing and cleaning that’s needed around the house. So when Finch asks for volunteers for a supply run to the nearest town, I find myself being one of the first volunteers.
We set off from the island at first light when there’s still a thick chill in the air and the tide is out enough for us to make the pass over to the mainland. The ground of the causeway is mostly sodden sand with some rock that we have to pick our way carefully. My legs aren’t as strong as they ought to be, considering the muscle there from tramping around for work. Somehow, some of Noush’s physicality has always transferred into me. Larger muscles are one aspect, stamina is another. So, I suppose it tracks that I’ve lost both now.
I’m not the only one struggling, slipping and sinking into the sand, although the others from our small party have the excuse that they’re carrying casks and crates of supplies to trade.
“I don’t like this,” Dagger, one of the crewmen, mutters as he adjusts his hold on the crate he’s hefting on one side, with Bones taking the other. “How do we know the water won’t cut us off before we get to the other side?”
It does look a long way before we reach solid land, especially with our slow pace.
