A refreshing sight, Erika thought as she eyed Kairos in his dark silken cloak and lace cuffs and collar. These last few months she’d grown to know him. In the past, she perceived him as a mysterious jester hiding in the tower who came out of seclusion only long enough to kiss Rhea. That’s how her father saw him, too. But Kairos worked hard. Even if he hadn’t grasped magic as easily as his father had, he still tried. And he had a measure of intelligence. He’d given her excellent advice in the past, though she’d been too foolish to heed his warnings. His work against the skura on Cho Nisi had been astonishing. She was proud of him, and proud to call him a friend. Today he held himself grandly as he bowed in the corridor. Why doesn’t Father just bless the wizard and let him marry Rhea? He wouldn’t make a poor king. Kairos didn’t have the same qualities as Barin, but he showed kindness to people and had a keen sense of intuition. He could make her smile, too, in his own silly way. She grunted to herself. It didn’t matter. Barin would be healed.

“We’ve taken the elders to your brother now. He’s groomed and ready to meet them. Is your friend the King of Cho Nisi coming?” Kairos asked.

“I have no idea.”

“You weren’t just with him? I could have sworn I saw you—.”

“Don’t pry, Kairos. We met my father for a moment is all. I’m sure if he’s coming, he’ll be here shortly.” If one more person links her to Arell, she’s going to scream. She and Arell are not a unit. They will not get married. They are not even in love, evidently!

“Very well.” He said and bowed again.

Erika paged a valet in the hall and instructed him to bring Chief Silas and Abenda to Barin’s room. She had no desire to speak with Abenda. He’d been glaring at her ever since they left Northport, and she suspected the two elders were the reason Arell treated her so coldly on the ship. Hopefully, their prejudices will not hinder their ability to treat Barin’s afflictions.

Barin rested in a large room that had once been a gathering place for guests. With all the ceremony needed in his healing, and the constant coming and going of servants, King Tobias had the hall made into a bed chamber. In the center of the room a fire burned in a pit to keep the chamber warm and as a meeting place for those who had to discuss Barin’s treatment without troubling the prince. The bed sat on a platform in the southernmost corner. Father worried that his son might strangle himself in the drapes because of his seizures, and so he ordered the canopy over the bed taken down. The stone walls were damp and cold when the fire died, so the staff kept the embers hot and a flame burning throughout the day.

Erika had not seen her brother since she left to battle the skura in Cho Nisi. Then he had been strapped to his bed and drugged. Surprised that he now sat upright in a chair gave her a seed of hope. The servants had dressed him in one of his white silk tunics with gold embroidery. He looked princely. The amount of weight he had lost distressed Erika, though. Barin had been strong, a soldier, a commander of men. He mastered every weapon known in Prasa Potama and even a few that had not yet been introduced to their kingdom. He’d been the reason her father’s army had the crossbow, having secured diagrams from tinkers traveling through Kershiv, a northern village which lay across the great river from the Casdamian empire. Yet for all his warrior abilities, His kindheartedness made him the best brother anyone could hope for. As a youngster, Barin had been the only one in the family who understood her temper tantrums or her crying fits. He cared for her and looked after her. Later in life, he had taught Erika self-defense, the sword, archery, and warfare stratagem. Now he sat in his regal attire—chained to a chair, his frail body back-lit by the sun peeking through the curtains—a ghost of his former self. His hair, still topaz, silky, and combed to the side, picked up the filtered sun rays and glistened akin to a halo, but his blue eyes were closed, and his long blond lashes sealed them shut. If he had not been fastened down like a madman, she would not have suspected his malady. All one had to do, however, was regard his bowed head and the drool dripping onto his shirt to see the woefulness of his condition.

She entered cautiously, knowing that since Barin had been cursed, fits of rage would beset him much like an angry badger caught in a trap. Kairos held a vial under Barin’s nose, and a peculiar fragrance misted the room. Barin inhaled and opened his eyes. Kairos wiped Barin’s mouth with a kerchief.

“You’re making progress, I see,” Erika said. “Last time I came into his room, you had him sedated.”

“Yes, well, he doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to sit up.” Kairos looked at her. “It’s quite a difficult procedure.”

“Does he fight?”

“He bites, Fairest.”

“Oh dear. Poor Barin.”

Kairos grumbled. “Poor Barin! Poor wizard with teeth marks all over his hands.”

“You have gloves, why don’t you wear them?”

“I do. They have holes in them thanks to your brother.”

Erika let the conversation rest at that. Barin’s fits disturbed her, and she’d rather not be reminded of them. Just keeping him locked away in this room troubled her. The day he left for Tellwater, he halfheartedly asked her if she feared he wouldn’t return. Of course, she feared for his safety. After Neal wrote telling her family they had lost Barin at the hand of a mountain giant, she held onto hope. How thrilled they were when they heard he was alive. And then he came home like this—her big brother—the one she shadowed during her childhood. This the same Barin, heir to the throne, now possessed by a demon.

She wiped the tears away. He has to overcome this spell. He has to!

“Vasil, we have visitors coming soon. They are here to heal you,” Kairos told Barin.

Barin stared at no one, his eyes glazed into space.

Erika crouched in front of him, looking for the man inside that vacant stare.

“Barin, it’s Erika, your little sister. Speak to me, please, Barin.”

Barin said nothing.

As Erika tried to get his attention, a curious red cloud moved about in the center of his pupils. She frowned at the strange sight.

“Kairos, there’s something wrong with his eyes.”

“It’s not in the eyes. It’s in his head. He can’t focus on you.”

“I know that. But there’s also something in his eyes. A flame of sorts. Look.” She moved away as Kairos stooped in front of the prince. After staring into Barin’s eyes, the wizard whistled low and murmured wizardry words she didn’t understand.

“What is it?” she asked.

“My dear lady, I believe it’s the fire-curse of Skotádi. I remember hearing something about fire-eyes in a Fairmistle legend. I must ask Rory about those legends next time I see him.”

Kairos stood just as Chief Silas and Abenda stepped into the room. They wore their ceremonial clothes, feathers, and turtle shells on their legs. Silas wore the same blue tunic he had worn the day he arrested her and Kairos. Abenda’s hair hung off his shoulders, and he displayed a beaded headband around his forehead. They both had the fragrance of sage on them.

“Good morning, good sirs,” Kairos greeted with a bow.

Silas nodded a greeting but said nothing, nor did either of them smile. Abenda avoided Erika, not that she wanted to communicate with him, but it was her brother he came to heal. He could at least acknowledge her existence.

“This is his Highness, Prince Barin,” Kairos introduced.

Silas moved around the prince slowly, regarding everything about Barin. His clothes, the chains that held him down, he looked into his ears. When he observed his eyes, he backed away and said something in Cho Nisi to Abenda, who nodded.

Chief Silas found stools to sit on just as the door opened behind Erika. Arell slid into the room.

The elders pulled their drums from their backs. Chief Silas unwrapped a leather tube from which he pulled a beaded feather and stood again, and as Abenda beat on his drum, the chief began chanting in his own language, whisking the feather through the air as if awakening the curse and waving it toward the open window. He circled the room and when he came to Kairos, he touched both of the wizard’s shoulders with his feather and dusted Kairos’ cloak all the way to the wizard’s feet and up again. He did the same with Erika and Arell. Finally, he waved the feather over Barin’s head. Repeatedly.

Barin breathed deeply and lifted his head as the drumming grew louder. He began shivering, grunting, and finally he cried out and fought against the chains. Silas held his hand up and Abenda stopped drumming.

Barin settled back down, but his chest heaved as he gasped for breath.

Erika bit her lip at the distressing sight. The sound of Barin’s panting made her shudder.

Silas backed away.

“He wants to be free,” Silas whispered. “But we’re not familiar with this darkness. The fire in his eyes—,” he shook his head. “It will take some time, some meditation to come up with the right incantation. We have promised to stay until we have done what we can, and so we will. But we must have solitude.”

“Arell,” Kairos beckoned. Arell stepped up to him. “The red-haired soldier who accompanied us to Cho Nisi, Rory, is in one of the guest’s rooms. Any servant can direct you there. He would know about fire-eyes of the Fairmistle legends. Perhaps you could get some information for us.”

“The man with the wound?”

Kairos nodded. “Yes. He knows you. I’m sure he’ll tell you what he can.”

Arell slipped out of the room quietly.

“Very well,” Erika said, watching Arell leave. She wrung her sweaty hands, fighting the desire to embrace Barin, take his pain away, tell him she loved him, but that would be dangerous. “Kairos, are you coming?”

“Fairest, I believe it is best that I stay. I’m familiar with Barin’s symptoms, and I may prevent a catastrophe should one arise. With your permission?” he asked Silas. Silas looked to Abenda.

“The wizard may stay,” Abenda said.

Good, Erika thought. Kairos gets along with everyone. She, on the other hand, cannot please a single soul today, not her father, not Arell, and not the elders.

“Gentleman,” she bid as she walked out the door.

Erika never felt light on her feet when she wore armor or walked in the woods. The weight of leather or steel often made her as bulky as a man. But today, in a simple gown and without such hindrances, she flew down the castle corridor, passing Arell on her way. She had one purpose in mind. When she approached Rory’s room, she slowed, took a breath, and knocked on his door.

“Rory, it’s me. Erika.”

“Come in, Fairest,” he said with a weak voice. When she entered, he pushed himself upright, and she pulled a stool by his bedside.

“Welcome home! How did you fare on the island?” he asked, his face quivering into a pained smile.

“We were successful, Rory. Kairos did a magnificent job with his apprentices, and they destroyed the skura, every last one.”

“Were there two thousand like they said?” His eyes lit up.

“At least.”

“I would have liked to have been there.”

“I know. Soon you’ll be up and fighting again. The best news is that the king of the island came back with us to sign a treaty with Father.” She stroked his burning forehead.

“Yes, I saw him as he passed my door. He didn’t recognize me.”

“I’m not surprised.” The remark spun out of her sharply.

Rory shot her a puzzled glance.

“I mean, you two had only seen each other once.”

He nodded and winced as he tried sitting up higher in the bed. “The powers of good were on your side, it seems, Fairest. Everything’ happened on the island the way you wished it to. Might say your dreams came true.”

Erika blushed. Rory always said such sweet things.

“They did, Rory and I thank you for your encouragement. How are you feeling? Is your wound healing any?” She felt his head again, this time with both her palm and the back of her hand. “You’re warm.”

“It’s these covers, they’re liken to sheep’s wool in summer.”

“Let me open a window, and then I’ll inspect that wound of yours. Has Sylvia been changing your wrap often?”

“Comes checkin’ on me every sunup. Gives me a good washin’ too.”

“She’s a healer. Come, let me see.”

Erika rolled the blanket back, lifted his nightshirt over his head, and had him lean forward. She grimaced and an icy chill raced through her. The wound festered even through his wrap.

“A wicked arrow put you down, Rory, and I fear I’m to blame.”

“No, Fairest. I stopped that arrow on my own. I should have thought before turnin’ that corner. I should have known your brother’s men were there.”

“If I hadn’t dragged you away to Cho Nisi with me in the first place, Barin never would have accused you of being a traitor.”

“He had no other choice, Fairest. They swore me to be his soldier, and I did him wrong. But if somethin’ had happened to you, it’d been worse.”

“Then see. I’m to blame!”

“No one’s fault. It’s just what happened.”

“It smells, Rory,” she mumbled. She’d seen soldiers’ wounds get infected, and often the men would die from the septicity. Erika quickly finished unwrapping the wound. “Lay flat on your stomach, “she said. “I’m going to get some things to wash with.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it? Hurts worse than if’n a thousand horses galloped over me.” Rory rolled over and lay his head on the pillow.

“Yes, Rory.”

Erika summoned a chambermaid passing in the hall. “I need these things quickly. A bottle of wine, oil, please and some fig leaves.”

“Yes, Fairest.”

“And if you see Kairos, tell him to come quickly.”

The maid curtsied and raced away. Erika noticed Arell standing alongside the wall near the door, but she ignored him and went back to Rory’s bedside. She squeezed water out of a rag soaking in the basin and gently washed around the wound. Rory winced and sucked air in through his teeth.

“It hurts,” he said.

“I’m so sorry. I need to wash it though.” She dipped the rag in water again and squeezed liquid onto the wound so as not to touch it.

“Will it be killin’ me, Fairest?”

She shook her head. But she couldn’t promise him. Tears were her only answer, and she wiped those away with her sleeve.

“Don’t be weepin’ o’er an old country lad, Fairest. I’ve lived a good life. Been fighting for our king and it’s made me proud. I served a pretty princess and found her favor. Rode one or two fine horses. Wishin’ my mother didn’t die like she did, but life’s like that. You’ve treated me fine. Look at this room. Bright and airy like my home in Fairmistle. Couldn’t ask for a better time to rest my soul.”

“Rory, stop that. You will not die. You mean too much to me. Sometimes I think you’re my only friend.”

The chambermaid interrupted them.

“Here are the items you asked for.”

“Thank you.” Erika rose and took the tray from the maid. She glanced at Arell, her heart racing as it always did in his presence. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

“A while,” Arell answered.

She took the tray to the bedside and continued to wash Rory’s wound. The festering ran deep, and she couldn’t clean it without hurting him. He cried out as intensely as the day she pulled the arrow out of him.

“You must hold still, Rory,” she said.

Arell hurried to the other side of the bed and gently lay his arm across Rory’s back, holding him steady as Erika washed the wound with wine, applied the oil, and lay the fig leaves as a poultice.

“It’s deep,” Arell whispered as he watched her.

“Very deep. A bolt from a crossbow hit him.”

Arell helped her wrap the clean linen around him.

“Can you sit up again?” she asked Rory.

Rory rolled over carefully as Erika made ready his night shirt.

“I’m sorry, Vasil,” he said to Arell. His face turned red, and his eyes watered. “There be no need for two royals to tend to a lowly peasant. A maid would have done fine.”

“I’m pleased to help,” Arell said, and then cleared his throat. “The elders from Cho Nisi are here to heal Barin, but there are some questions you may have the answer to that might assist their incantations. If this is a good time, that is?” He glanced at Erika.

She didn’t mind. She had thought to ask the same questions. In fact, she appreciated Arell being the spokesman leaving her to nurse his injury. That Arell showed such a deep concern for her brother pleased her.

She fluffed Rory’s pillows and fixed them so that his back didn’t contact the bedframe.

“We need to know about the Fairmistle legends, specifically about fire-eyes.”

Rory’s brow furrowed. “Fire-eyes of Mount Ream? It’s a curse sure as the wolf howls before a kill. Why do you ask?”

“What does the curse mean? What does it do?”

Rory inhaled. “Best I can remember, there’s a seed-flame the demon gives a man. Burns inside of him all his life they say. Gives the demon control of a man’s body. Some folks say the fire makes a man blind and the Vouchsaver sees through his eyes instead. Legend has it the flame gets passed down from father to son. Some say the Vouchsaver first set the flame in an emperor’s eyes to seal a pact they made.”

“What sort of pact?”

Sweat beaded down Rory’s temple and Erika wiped his forehead with a cool rag.

“Should we come back?” Arell asked.

“No, Vasil. If you need to know, now’s the time. No one knows the pact for sure. It always meant war, conquest. The skura and giants awaken. No one knows the details cept’n whenever it happened Casdamia won over another village. It’s how they got so powerful. Story’s usually told along with the tale about the dragon in the caves of Mount Ream.”

“Dragon? Tell us. Briefly if you can.” Arell asked of him.

“The Vouchsaver used to be a normal wizard. They say he did secret things in the caves to gain more power than his emperor, the man to whom he had bonded.” Rory paused his story and shifted in the bed. “It’s a dark story, Fairest. You might not want to hear.”

“Darker than mountain giants crushing people?” Erika asked. If anyone, Rory should know she wasn’t squeamish.

“My apologies,” he agreed. “You’re one of the bravest soldiers I know,” he added.

Erika avoided Arell’s glance.

“Legend says this wizard used to cook creatures in those caves. Men sometimes, they say. Cooked them in potions and they’d come out like monsters. Like skura and mountain giants, they say. Legend says a lot more than history books,” Rory looked up at Arell.

“And the fire-eyes?” Somehow his stories weren’t tailored as well as Erika had hoped.

Rory shook his head and winced. “The stories were told together but never fit.” He closed his eyes, and a tear leaked out of the corners. “I’m sorry. There might be more, but I can’t remember. The pain—”

“Sleep, Rory. We’ll have Kairos give you a potion to take the pain away,” Erika said.

“I’ll get it,” Arell offered.

Erika remained at her friend’s bedside after Arell left, washing his face, and wishing the cool of the rag would take away his pain and make him better. Between her father’s sickness, her brother's lunacy, and now Rory’s weakening condition, she shivered. What if she lost them all? Considering Arell’s inability to forgive her, darkness hovered over her as in a storm on the high seas.