The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 9: The Cursewright's Vow, Part 5

 Carala merely looked at him, though that bitterness seemed to have left her face. "Go on, Master Cursewright," she said in a softer tone.

Ammas took a deep breath. What he was about to speak of was a secret he had kept for twenty years, and he meant to reveal it to no less than a daughter of the Emperor. "There is Meryk Orveil, whom you know of. But the journey to Summervale would take two months at best, and three or four nights where you could not control your change. I could not cage you, for the sailors would want to know why. Sailors are a superstitious bunch. They would surely hang or throw overboard both a werewolf and the cursewright who was foolish enough to bring her aboard."

"You are knowing sailors better than I was expecting, Ammas." Barthim's voice remained infuriatingly light and cheery. Ammas ignored it.

"Even if we took a small vessel, I am not much of a seaman anymore, and we would not make it to Summervale on a smaller craft across the Azure Sea in autumn without catastrophe striking sooner or later. There will be storms, and icy weather, and we might be forced to march along the coast for long distances. We might not make landfall on Summervale until the end of winter."

"And who knows how much of a wolf I would be by then?" Carala asked softly, looking away with a sniff. But no tears flowed, and she got herself under control quickly.

"That is also true, your highness. But there is another way." Ammas looked down, toying with his hat. Then he broke a promise he had made when the academies had burned around them all, so many of them put to the torch themselves, or hanged, or torn apart. "There is another cursewright I know. Not a working Vigilant or Adjutant as I and Meryk were at the end, but a true Matriarch. The Doyenne, in fact, of an academy not far from here. She was a teacher of mine, one of my best, and if she does not know how to cure your condition, I am certain she will be able to point us toward someone who does."

Casimir looked up at his master amazed. Carala didn't notice, and Ammas pretended not to.

"How far is this academy?" she asked quietly.

"A fortnight at the most. Five days if we catch the wind on the Straits."

"And you are certain of her knowledge?"

"It was she who made me a gift of the lunar manifest you admired, your highness," Ammas replied softly. "She knows much of blood sicknesses and how the moons rule them."

Carala nodded, looking down at the bracelet  Ammas had refused as payment. When she looked up her face was as uncertain as he had yet seen it. "I need to think about this."

Ammas nodded and stood up. The others did likewise. "Take your time, your highness. If it is your preference, I will help you travel to Gallowsport or even Summervale, and if you accept my service I will not leave your side until we have found someone who can treat you. But my old teacher is the course I would advise." With a gesture he urged the rest of them out of the chapel, putting an arm around Casimir's shoulders.

The four of them huddled around the burning brazier in the chancel, warming their hands. Lena cast a look over her shoulder. "I don't know if you won her over, Ammas." In her eyes was a deep worry. "Your mentor? She has no reason not to tell the Emperor."

"Which is why you'll notice I didn't mention her name, or where she was Doyenne." Ammas fixed Casimir with a crooked smile. "And neither will you. I saw that look."

Casimir grinned. His research at the Libraries had been good for something after all.

"I think she is liking Ammas more than you know," Barthim murmured, surprisingly adept at keeping his voice down. Lena frowned. "I am not in the way of knowing many princes or princesses, but I had not heard they were eager to listen."