Page 65 of Jailer to the Death God
“Perhaps I am hungry. But before I look for something to eat, I must reward you. Emitt is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then, Emitt, allow me to give you a sign of my favor.” I press my palm to his forehead, reading what I already know from speaking with him—that he’s a kind-hearted boy who tries to do good. He will save many people during his lifetime.
“Sometimes I give special marks to humans,” I tell him. “They are called ‘tethermarks.’ I will explain the one I’d like to give you, and then you may tell me whether you want it or not. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, my lord,” says Emitt. “But I would have healed the Queen anyway. Without a reward.”
“I believe you,” I reply. “But I would like to give you this. As I said—” I glance at Vale, struggling with a feeling I cannot name— “I am grateful.”
Once Emitt and I have finished with our arrangement, he and I leave Vale to rest in the parlor. Emitt goes to Farley and mends his burn wound, and when his mother begins to fret at him using magic so openly, he looks at her, his face open and bright, and says, “You don’t have to worry any longer, Mama. Arawn fixed it.”
The innkeeper and his wife eye me with blended subservience and suspicion.
“I trust you have a meal prepared, since you were expecting us?” I say. “We’ll have it now. I think we could all use some hearty food.”
Eating is an emotional balm as well as a physical relief. My chains have been grinding into my flesh for hours, constricting my body with pain. I suspect they are partly to blame for the weakness of my magic during the fight. Perhaps, if I was freshly invigorated by a dose of pleasant sensation, my magic would be more powerful, less dampened by my chains. But the hounds’ attack came after a long day, when I was feeling my bonds more acutely.
I am an ancient being, used to having all the knowledge I care to possess. I know the basic tenets of Macha’s spell, butnot knowingits precise effects on my magic, not understanding all the details of its interaction with the summoning ritual—that frustrates me beyond measure.
I’m tempted to devour an inordinate amount of the food provided by our hosts, just to alleviate my own suffering. But Vale has spoken more than once of the deprivation her people suffer. Some of them are mere steps away from starvation. So I limit my portions, instead drinking heavily of the pungent liquor that seems to be available in abundance.
“What attacked you on the road?” asks the innkeeper tentatively, once everyone has eaten and drunk.
“Wild beasts,” says one of the Queen’s guards. “Huge hounds, with eyes of fire. I would call them the hounds of Arawn, but they couldn’t have been, because—because Arawn is with us.” He glances nervously at me.
“The three that I left bound on the road—did they die?” I ask him.
He nods. “They turned to ash, Lord.”
“Then you need not fear them anymore,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. I’ve slaughtered all eleven of my original hounds now. The hounds that remain in Annwn are weaker and newer, nowhere near as large, powerful, or vindictive as the first pack. Without their ancient leaders, I doubt those younger hounds will have the gall to come after me and Vale.
But the death of the eleven means that Annwn lacks its realm guardians. If I return, and Macha is wreaking havoc in my realm, I may not have the power to evict her.
No one seems keen to question me further about the hounds. I instruct Vale’s guards to take turns keeping watch two at a time, assisted by the innkeeper’s stablehands. “I will guard the Queen personally in her chambers,” I say.
“Of course.” The innkeeper’s wife nods timidly, a flicker of interest in her eyes. “We heard that you and the queen are—that you’re to be married in a few days, so we prepared a room for you to share, if you so desired. That was before we realized who you are, great lord. If we misunderstood the situation, please forgive us.”
“You did not misunderstand. The marriage will occur, and all will become clear in time. But until the Queen and I choose to reveal my true nature to the kingdom, you are all sworn to silence on the matter. To you, and to everyone, I am the healer Vaughn, of Terelaus. To whisper otherwise will result in your immediate death. Am I understood?”
Various assenting and worshipful murmurs travel around the table.
“Good. Then go to your posts, watchmen. And those who are not watching, sleep.”
The four guards, Farley, and the two stablehands leave the table hastily, and the maids hurry to clear away the dishes. They save aside a portion for Vale when she wakes.
The boy Emitt goes upstairs after kissing his parents. He needs to rest and replenish his magical energy.
But when the innkeeper and his wife start to rise, I halt them with a gesture. “Stay a moment.”
Exchanging worried glances, they sink back into their seats.
“You two and your son do not have the pale hair of survivors,” I say. “None of you have contracted the plague?”
“No, my god,” says the innkeeper, still hoarse from his encounter with my chokehold. Perhaps his son can heal him tomorrow. “We are somewhat isolated here, and we do not accept travelers if they are ill. We’ve taken many precautions, including hiring only survivors to help at the inn.”
“I see.” I survey them both through narrowed eyes. “As I told you, I do not heal humans. But I do set a mark on those who are sick with plague, to ensure that they do not pass into death, but have time to recover naturally. Since you are not ill, I cannot use that mark for you.”
