She felt Sylve’s cold hands again, and then, as Sylve picked at something, Thymara gave a sudden yelp and curled forward, clenching her teeth and eyes. A burning pain spread out from whatever Sylve had done. When Sylve spoke, it sounded as if her own teeth were clenched. “Sorry, Thymara. So sorry. I shouldn’t have done that; it looks like you’re bleeding a bit now. But there’s—there’s something inside each of the slashes.”
“Something what? Dirt? Infection?”
Sylve took a deep shaking breath. “No. Something growing. Something bony like, well, like fingers or something. Thymara, you should go to Bellin or Alise. Or even Mercor. Someone who knows more than me has to look at this and tell you what to do. It’s bad. It’s really bad.”
Thymara didn’t bother with her rag bandage. She snatched up her shirt and pulled it on, heedless of how much pain the sudden movement cost her. “Don’t tell!” she insisted hoarsely. “Please, Sylve, don’t tell. Don’t tell anyone until I have a chance to think about this.” And talk to that damn dragon. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
“Thymara, you have to tell. Something has to be done.”
“Don’t tell, Sylve. Please. Don’t tell.”
Sylve ground her teeth. “All right. I won’t tell.”
But just as Thymara began to relax, Sylve added, “I won’t tell yet. I’ll wait one day. One day only. Then I go to Bellin. You can’t ignore this, Thymara. It won’t go away on its own.”
“I won’t ignore it. I promise. Just give me a day, Sylve. Just give me a day.”
“ALISE, I HAVE to talk to you. Do you have time for me?”
Sedric’s request was oddly formal. Alise looked up from her work on the galley table. It was twofold. Boxter had snared half a dozen small waterfowl in the dawn and brought them back to the barge. She had prepared most of them for the pot, and they were already simmering. The final two, a male and a female, were carefully spread out on the table. She was sketching them into her journal and making notes on size, coloring, and what had been in their diminutive stomachs. She’d never seen ducks like these. The males sported a crest of bright blue feathers. She lacked any colored ink so she’d noted the colors adjacent to her sketch. As she looked up questioningly at Sedric, he added abruptly, “I’d have sketched those for you. All you had to do was ask.”
“Well. Sometimes asking someone to do something is harder than doing it myself,” she observed stiffly. She looked at him and desperately tried to see her old friend. A dozen times, she’d forgiven him. And a dozen times, she’d awakened in the night or looked up from some task to realize that she was gritting her teeth as she relived some incident from the past, now colored with the knowledge that Sedric had given her.
She now believed she knew which of her friends and acquaintances had been aware of Hest’s true preferences. And which ones had not only known about Hest but about his relationship with Sedric. It all seemed so obvious now. The chance remarks that had once been mystifying were now barbed. The social slights now made sense. She remembered Trader Feldon choking on his wine when his young wife had sympathetically asked Alise about her efforts to get pregnant. She had thought he was embarrassed. Now she was certain he’d been trying to drown a chuckle at the prospect of her bedding Hest. The memory and her new interpretation of it blasted into her mind as she looked at Sedric. He’d been at that dinner party, seated on Hest’s left.
As she looked at him, he seemed to feel the same chill she did. He pinched his lips together for a moment, and then shook his head, denying something. “Alise, I need to talk to you,” he repeated.
She sighed. “I’m here.” She set down her pencil.
Sedric’s nose twitched as he looked at the stiff little bodies. She heard a shushing noise; rain was falling, peppering the face of the surrounding waters. Sedric stepped to the galley door and shut it firmly. Then he sat down at the table across from her and set a worn canvas bag on the table. He folded his hands together and then announced, “When I’m finished, you’re going to think even less of me than you do now. But you’ll also have every explanation that is owed to you for the ways I’ve behaved. And it will be done. I’ll have nothing else left to apologize for, no more dirty secrets that I’ll have to dread you discovering some day.”
She clasped her own hands. “That’s not a reassuring way to begin a conversation.” Dread was already rising inside her.
“No. It’s not. Here it is, Alise. When Hest told me I had to accompany you here, I was furious. And hurt, because he was doing it to punish me for taking your part. I’d insisted it was only fair that you be allowed to travel up the Rain Wild River. I reminded him, once too often, that he had agreed to it as part of your marriage agreement.” He paused very slightly, but she gave him no sign that this swayed her in any way. “When I knew it was inevitable that I must go with you to see your ‘damned dragons,’ I recalled a Chalcedean merchant who had approached Hest and me months before. He very cautiously approached the idea that Hest might have connections to Rain Wild Traders who might be able to procure dragon parts.” He glanced up at her and met her eyes. “You know that since the Duke of Chalced began to age and fail, he has sought for remedies to prolong his life and restore his health.”