Page 46 of The Captive's Curse
“Not worthless to him, obviously,” I ventured. “And since it didn’t kill him outright, he’ll probably be fine when he wakes up.” I hoped, anyway. No, better not to say that part aloud.
Andreas nodded, his attention riveted to his prince’s pale, lax face again. My attempt at optimism clearly hadn’t helped any more than my magic had. Useless. I truly was useless.
Enzo cleared his throat, loud in the ensuing silence. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I’m going to leave you for a while. I need to check in with my second in command. But I’ll return shortly, and my people will fetch me or anything else you might need, simply give the word.” Before I could open my mouth, he added, “And Lord Cyril will stay in the hall, close at hand. If the prince’s condition changes, it’s possible he’ll be capable of assisting you.”
Possible but unlikely, his tone clearly implied. Speaking of scoring points. Reassuring Andreas, out of compassion for his obvious terror and misery if nothing else, seemed like it ought to be more important than insulting me.
“Thank you,” Andreas said absently, after a long pause that suggested he hadn’t heard a word Enzo said, anyway.
Enzo led the way out of the room and shut the door softly behind us. A cluster of men had gathered in the corridor: two of the prince’s guards, and also two of Enzo’s men and a serving lad I’d met in the kitchen. He smiled at me, the only one to acknowledge me at all.
“Summon me if anything changes,” Enzo said to one of his own men. He nodded at the prince’s soldiers and strode away without so much as a glance at me.
Several chairs had been set against the opposite wall, although none of the men milling about seemed inclined to use them. I dropped into one, pulled up my feet, and wrapped my arms around my knees, resting my head in the dim, private cave I’d created for myself.
And I waited.
And waited. I listened to the quiet chat of the four soldiers, Enzo’s and the prince’s. They’d taken several of the Calatrians prisoner and brought them here bound over their horses. No one seemed sure what would be done with them—or what could be done with them. Gods, what a mess. The prince’s rescue had been dramatic, from the sound of it, with Andreas racing, wounded and bleeding, to save his life—and get him his potion in time, too.
No, my captivity here hadn’t been so very bad. Enduring the agonizing pain of a dawn mage’s curse while held prisoner by a man who wanted to hurt you, to kill you, to make you suffer…I shuddered, closed my eyes, and tried to think about nothing at all.
It felt like it took a very long time for Enzo to return, but at last his footsteps rang out down the corridor. I hated myself for recognizing their quick, firm cadence instantly.
Ugh. I lifted my head and uncurled, wincing at the stiffness in my legs.
Enzo stopped a few feet away, sparing me a sidelong glance that felt like a blow. His clenching and unclenching hand and the set of his jaw told me that if anything, he’d returned more tense and tightly-strung than when he’d left me here.
“Well?” he demanded of his men.
“Nothing to report here, sir,” the elder of the two said. “Fetched Captain Andreas some coffee, that’s all. But the prince is still asleep.”
Enzo nodded and rapped on the door.
I couldn’t hear a response, but Enzo must have, because he said, “Lord Cyril, with me,” opened the door, and stepped through, not even bothering to make sure I followed him.
I did, of course. As if he’d had me on a string. Resentment and anger bubbled up, irrepressible.
Would I have preferred a brutal, violent captor? No, of course not.
But I also knew, down to my bones, that if I’d been carried off by one, Enzo wouldn’t ride after me in the snow with a gaping wound in his side, heedless of his own life and safety. He wouldn’t sacrifice everything for me the way Andreas had been willing to do for Prince Nikola. And Andreas’s devotion owed little to nothing to his dedication to his duty, I didn’t think. Maybe he’d have done the same for an oath and a wage, but he’d have to be an extraordinary man either way.
He certainly hadn’t left the prince’s side for so much as a moment. When I came to stand at the foot of the bed, keeping my distance from Enzo as much as possible, I saw that Andreas had at least pulled up a comfortable chair—but he’d put it as close to the bed as he could, and taken hold of the prince’s other hand. He clutched it like a lifeline.
Andreas looked up at me, the grooves bracketing his mouth deeper than they’d been earlier, his face even more haggard.
“Check him again,” he said abruptly, and then drew a deep, shuddering breath. “If you please, Lord Cyril. He should have woken by now.”
I didn’t see any reason why he should have, personally; if I’d been that drained, I might have slept for days. But you couldn’t reason with the anxiety of love. And in the sunlight spilling through the window beside the bed—and of course, it figured that the sun would finally appear when I was stuck indoors and not when I had the freedom to wander about the courtyards and battlements—the prince’s face did look horrifically pale and drawn.
His chest rose and fell, though. What did this Andreas want from me, anyway? And what did Enzo expect, and why was heglaringat me like that?
I laid my hand on Prince Nikola’s blanket-covered ankle—or maybe it was just a lump of blanket, because Andreas had piled him so high with quilts that he might as well have been a sack of potatoes.
Still, I could feel his life force thrumming under my fingers, more readily accessible to me because of our similar magic. I risked pushing a tiny bit of my own strength into him, the magical equivalent of a friendly handshake or a pat on the back. In answer, his energy flared more brightly. Huh. No flames. Perhaps I was improving.
“He seems maybe a little stronger,” I said.
Andreas frowned, nodded, and rubbed at his temples wearily.
