The message fastened to his leg was not in a Guild tube, the bird was badly fed and in poor health, and the careless manner of the fastening for the message tube was responsible for his becoming entangled.
I believe he was sent from Cassarick to Trehaug clandestinely, and only by happenstance have I intercepted him. Please do not suspect me of ill-doing; I have concealed the bird in my home until I can bring him back to full health. He deserves that at least. I have preserved the illegal message packet unopened. I beg you to tell me to whom I can entrust it here, for I fear to hand it over to the very villain who has constructed this deceit.
If you find fault at all with how I have handled this, I beg that all blame fall upon me and not Detozi. This is none of her doing, but only mine.
Erek Dunwarrow
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Blood Price
Selden jerked awake to the pounding on the door. Shaking with alertness, he rolled from the divan to the floor and then, surprising himself, to his feet. He had no time to wonder if he was getting better or if his fear was overriding the weakness of his body. He heard the key turning in the lock.
‘Lady Chassim, we must enter, on the Duke’s orders. He wishes the dragon-man brought to him immediately!’ A man shouted harshly as the door swung open.
The lady herself strode from her bedchamber, an unfastened robe hastily thrown over her nightdress and a stone vase balanced over her head in her two hands. The set of her mouth said she would battle first and then find out why. Selden had taken to sleeping with a stick of kindling on the divan beside him. His was a feebler weapon than hers, but he gripped it tightly, intending to defend her to the death this time.
The two guardsmen fell back at the sight of her fury. ‘Lady, please, we are sorry to disturb you. Our orders are absolute. We must bring the dragon-man to the Duke. His need is dire and he cannot wait longer.’
Dizziness swooped through Selden’s brain at those words and the stick of wood tumbled from his nerveless hand. Here was death, barging in the door in the middle of the night. ‘I am not ready,’ he said, to himself rather than the guardsmen.
‘He is not!’ Chassim snapped out her agreement. ‘Look at him. He coughs and spits gobs of yellow mucus. He has a fever and his piss is the colour of old tea. He is thin as an old horse and he shakes when he tries to stand. You will take this to the Duke? Sick as he is, you will take this diseased creature into his presence? Woe betide you when you are his death!’
The younger of the two guardsmen blanched at her words, but the grizzled older guard only shook his head. He looked haggard, as if sleep had long abandoned him. ‘Lady, you know well we are dead if we return without him. Disobeying the Duke’s order will only ensure that we are tortured to death along with our families. Stand back, Lady Chassim. I have no desire to handle you roughly, but I will take the dragon-man now.’
Vase in hand, she stepped boldly between him and his abductors. She set her feet and Selden knew she would fight them. He staggered in a wobbly circle around her and into their arms before she realized what he was about. ‘Let us go quickly,’ he told them. They seized him by the arms and as they hastened him out the door, he called over his shoulder, ‘For a few days of respite, may Sa bless you.’
‘Sa, the god that fucks itself,’ the younger guardsman sneered.
The heavy vase landed with a crash on the floor just behind them. ‘You didn’t lock her in?’ the older man exclaimed in horror, but there came the sound of a slamming door. ‘Run back and lock it,’ the guard told his junior in disgust. He kept his grip on Selden’s upper arm and half-dragged him until the youngster caught up with them to seize Selden’s other arm.
‘You sick like she said you are? Are we going to catch your disease?’
The younger guard huffed as he spoke, hurrying to keep up with the older one. His grip was not as tight as the older man’s; plainly he didn’t even want to touch Selden’s scaled arm. In response, Selden went off into one of his coughing fits. Over and over, the air was squeezed from his lungs and he struggled to take in each shallow breath. Be calm, he told himself. Be calm. He had discovered it was the only way to recover his breathing. He closed his eyes, went limp and made them drag him as he put all his focus into trying to get breath back into his body. Why? he asked himself. Why not die on the way and thwart the Duke?
But breathe he did, if shallowly, on the long haul that continued down several flights of stairs and then through an endless dim corridor. Lanterns in alcoves burned with low flames, and a short train of servants bearing armloads of bloodied sheets and basins met them and streamed past them in a nightmarish parade.
