Thief With No Shadow (10 page)

The dog rose to his feet and wagged his tail.
May I come?

The wraith, with her long, sleek hair and embroidered blouse, appeared harmless. He knew it was untrue.
No
, he told Endal, firmly.
You must watch her always.

Endal’s tail drooped.

Bastian sighed. All day he’d missed Endal. It was an ache, an itch, an essential something that was missing. He scowled at the wraith. Everything was her fault.
Are you hungry? I’ll bring food.

Endal’s tail wagged again slightly.
Food?

And water.
Guilt flushed hot in his face. He’d ignored the wraith this morning, and ignored Endal too. He’d not thought to feed his dog, to give him water. All he’d wanted was to get away, as far from the wraith as he could.
Have you drunk?
Anger kindled in his chest. Had the wraith let Endal suffer? Had she—

I have a bowl.
Endal sat heavily on the thin carpet.

Bastian’s anger and guilt flared more hotly. The wraith had done what he’d forgotten. He clenched his hands and turned away before she could become aware of his presence.

Lighting the stove, seeing the dry twigs burn fiercely, improved his mood. Examining the contents of the storeroom darkened it again. A string of onions hung from the ceiling. The potatoes were soft and withered, the sack less than half full. No cheese, no meat, no other vegetables. Bastian squeezed a potato in his hand. The flesh dented beneath his fingers.
The sal Veres die.

He boiled the potatoes and then fried them with chopped onions in fat Liana had saved in a bowl. There was salt, but he found no peppercorns to grind.

When his mother had died he hadn’t known how to cook. This—boiling and frying—had been beyond him. Arnaul’s mother had shown him what to do. She’d taught him how to make soups that would last for a week and thick stews, how to knead bread and set it to rise, how to roast a leg of lamb. She’d taught him how to care for a baby, how to wash and feed Liana. How to darn the holes in his clothes and sew on buttons.

Bastian lit candles and sat at the table and chewed his food while the sun set. The kitchen was silent except for the muted crackle of wood burning in the stove. It had been like this when he was a boy: quiet. If he turned his head he’d see Liana, asleep in the woven baby’s basket.

He pushed the empty plate away and rubbed his face with a weary hand. He closed his eyes. Arnaul’s mother was dead now, but memories of her lessons were still strong: mashing cooked vegetables for Liana and stewing fruit on the wood stove, plucking and gutting a hen, soaking dried beans in water and cooking them until they were soft enough to eat.

Quiet footsteps came down the corridor. Bastian stiffened and opened his eyes. “Liana.” He stood.

Liana smiled, so like their mother in the candlelight that his heart skipped a beat in fear. Delicate, too easily broken by the psaaron.

“You cooked.”

“Yes.” It was impossible not to smile when Liana smiled. “It’s not as good as your—”

She shook her head, half-laughing at him. “You taught me to cook, Bastian.”

Because our mother was dead.
Bastian stopped smiling.

The laughter faded from Liana’s face. “What is it?”

He shrugged and turned away.
The wraith. The curse. The psaaron.
He picked up his plate and laid it in the stone sink. “Another ewe died today.”

“And the lamb?

“Dead.”

Liana sighed. When he turned to look at her, he saw shadows on her face that had nothing to do with night-time and candlelight.

“How does your patient?”

The shadows on her face darkened. “He’s very ill.”

“But he’ll survive.” He knew the strength of Liana’s gift. He’d have lost a leg last autumn, perhaps died, if not for the quiet, wondrous magic she possessed. She had knitted flesh and bone and muscle, had staved off infection, had saved him.

Liana clasped her hands together. “I don’t know.”

“What? He might die?” Fear jerked beneath his breastbone. If that creature died, the bargain with the wraith was void. The necklace, the psaaron—

No.

Bastian inhaled a slow, calm breath. He smiled at Liana. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “Don’t worry. Here.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Eat. You must be hungry.”

Liana shook her head. “I’ll take a tray. I should get back to—”

“A few minutes.”

Her headshake was firm.

Bastian spooned food onto a plate while Liana fetched a tray from the scullery. “And this bowl’s for Endal,” he said, filling it high.

“What about Melke?”

Melke. The wraith had a name. He didn’t want to know it. “I didn’t cook for her.”

“Bastian.” There was faint reproof in Liana’s tone.

He clenched his jaw.

Liana handed him another plate. He took it from her and slapped food on it, with no care for neatness. Let the wraith choke on the meal.

Liana placed the plate on the tray, then she reached up and laid a cool hand against his cheek. “It’ll be all right, Bastian.”

It was his role to give comfort, to say such words. He flushed, angry with himself, with the wraith. “Go eat,” he said brusquely.

Liana smiled and removed her hand. She picked up the tray.

“I’m going to Thierry tomorrow,” he said to her back. “The horse and cart must be returned.”
And
I need to see Silvia, need to forget for a few hours.
“The storeroom...we need food. If there’s anything—”

“I’ll write a list. Thank you, Bastian.”

He nodded and watched her go. Market day. His disgruntled anger faded. He was aware of lightness in his chest, a quicksilver edge of anticipation. He’d be free of Vere for a day, free of responsibility and dust and throat-parching dryness.
Freedom.
With Silvia, he’d be able to lose himself in pleasure and forget the curse.

The anticipation was laced with a familiar guilt. Bastian bolted the door to the yard and picked up the candlestick, while the anticipation congealed inside him and twisted into knots of shame. The secret he kept from Liana, the stolen moments of intense pleasure... He was a man and had a man’s need to lie with a woman. It was purely natural—so why did he feel guilt? Why did he hide it from Liana?

Because I escape and she doesn’t.

Bastian went to bed, accompanied by a sense of his own selfishness.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I
T WAS FULLY
dark when Liana returned. “How is he?” she asked from the doorway. There was color in her cheeks and the smudges beneath her eyes were gone. She carried a tray.

Melke rose to her feet, catching her breath at the sudden jolt of pain. “His fever grows, I think. I’m no healer.”

Liana placed the tray on the little bedside table. She laid her fingers lightly at Hantje’s throat, where the skin burned with heat and his pulse throbbed, fast and weak. “The infection...”

“Worse?”

“Yes.” Concern furrowed Liana’s brow. She sat quickly.

Melke stepped back into the shadows, not wanting to disturb the girl. Candles burned in the holder. She had fetched fresh water and new candles hours earlier, had found the cesspit and emptied her chamber pot into it, had tidied the sickroom and rebandaged her swollen feet, had done everything and anything she could think of—while Hantje’s fever rose. There’d been nothing else she could do. She had no gift of healing, no powders to give him, no salves to smooth on his burns. She was helpless, useless.

The tray held two plates and a bowl. “You haven’t eaten.”

Liana didn’t appear to hear. Her attention was on Hantje. She held his hand, her fingers interlocking with his.

“You must eat,” Melke said.

The girl glanced up. Her eyes didn’t fully focus on Melke. “Oh,” she said. “No, it’s—”

“You will be no help to Hantje if you become ill.”

Liana blinked. “But—”

Melke stepped closer to the bed. “You must eat.”

The girl blinked again and then smiled. “You sound like Bastian.”

I hope not.
“Please, Liana.” It was the first time she’d used the girl’s name. “Eat.”

Liana sat back in the chair. The smile was in her eyes now. “If you insist.”

“I do.” Melke smiled too, faintly, awkwardly. It felt strange. How long since she’d last smiled?

Given the state of the pantry and storeroom the meal was surprisingly good, but when she thanked Liana, the girl said, “Bastian cooked.”

The food suddenly sat uneasily in Melke’s stomach. “He what?”

Liana laughed.

Melke placed her plate on the tray. How long since she’d laughed?

“Bastian can cook. He taught me,” said Liana. Her smile became crooked. “My mother died when I was a baby.”

“Oh.” Melke didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.” She stood and walked to where Endal lay. The hound looked at her with pale wolf-eyes and thumped his tail on the carpet. His bowl was licked clean. She bent to pick it up.

“She died because of the curse.” The girl’s voice was flat.

Melke glanced up, Endal’s bowl in her hand. Liana smoothed the darned hem of the sheet with a fingertip. The silver-white hair hid her face.

“Your brother said there was a curse.” The words were stiff and clumsy on her tongue. “Forgive me, but...can you tell me?”

Liana turned her head. Tears were bright in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Melke said. “I didn’t mean to distress you. Don’t—”

“He didn’t tell you? You don’t know?”

Melke shook her head.

Liana smiled weakly. The tears still shone in her eyes. “How like Bastian. He...” She shook her head and made a sound that was half laugh, half sigh. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s...when I heal, I feel things. I feel who a person
is.
Your brother...”

“What?” Melke asked, her fingers tightening around the bowl.

Liana touched Hantje’s brow lightly. “What I feel from your brother is despair.”

Melke looked down at the bowl in her hands.

“He has an honorable heart. I feel that too.”

Melke closed her eyes.

“Bastian.” Liana laughed, a quiet sound. “He does everything with passion. It’s under his skin, in his blood. It...it
hisses
inside him. That’s why he hates you so much. Why he won’t talk to you.”

And why shouldn’t Bastian hate her? It was no more and no less than she deserved.

“I don’t know about you.” Liana’s voice was cool.

Melke opened her eyes. She placed the bowl on the tray and held her hand out to the girl, palm up. “If you wish...” The injury was nothing, a graze, tender and scabbed over, but it would tell Liana who she was.
I have the same despair as Hantje, but my heart is no longer honorable.

Liana met her gaze. She made no move to touch her. The expression in her eyes was assessing.

Melke closed her hand and let it fall. “It was never my intention to harm,” she said. The words choked in her throat, halting. “I didn’t know there was a curse.”

“A curse.” Liana’s mouth twisted. She turned her head away.

A draft ruffled the closed curtains and made the candles flicker. The patterns of light and shadow shifted on the walls. Liana’s hair shone, as white as the moon.

“Sit,” the girl said, her face still averted. “I will tell you.”

Melke sat. There was tension inside her. It stiffened her spine and made arms and legs awkward. Her fingers knotted together, white-knuckled.

Endal yawned widely. He laid his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

“You know what the necklace is.” It was a statement, flatly said.

“Sea stones.”

Liana looked at her sharply. Her eyebrows drew together. “Sea stones?”

“The salamanders said...sea stones.” Pretty and of little value. “Are they not?” Melke clenched her hands more tightly together and felt a scab split. What had she stolen?