As the words left the princess’s mouth, the carriage lurched to life, and Amarande immediately clawed at the fabric, searching for Mira. They couldn’t leave her. But she saw the man traveling with the two women had grabbed her reins and was walking alongside with her.
The older woman laughed. “It’s a caravan; we must keep moving along with the rest.” Then she reached for Luca’s hand. “Show me the bite, kidege.”
Luca obliged, rolling up his pant leg. The wound had gone from angry red with black edging to a full-on, no-variation, dead black—necrosis setting in. It was bulbous, too, the swelling taking an angry turn. The old woman leaned in and ran her fingers along the length of the injury. It ran horizontally along the front of his leg, where his shin connected with his anklebone, in the same swift motion of an assassin’s swipe across a victim’s throat.
“You’re mighty lucky it’s not deeper. And that it managed to avoid the tendon.”
That almost sounded like good news.
“Do you have any sensation around the wound? If I put pressure here, what do you feel?” The healer pressed straight on the gash, burning and rancid as it was. Amarande expected Luca to react as if he’d been stabbed, and grabbed his hand to brace him. But Luca just shrugged. “It’s numb. I simply feel the pressure.”
“How about here?” Naiara moved her finger to the outside edge of the black. It was swollen there, misshapen and jutting outward off his leg in a wormy line.
“Still nothing?”
Luca nodded.
“And here?” She pressed farther up his leg, where his skin was the proper golden brown.
“I feel that.”
The old woman nodded, taking it in. “And below the cut? Can you feel your foot?”
Again, Luca nodded, and the woman continued on with more questions. “Other symptoms? Vomiting? Sweats? Loss of coordination?”
With each question, frustration and impatience grew within Amarande. She swallowed and tried to address the woman as kindly as possible. “Can you cure him, Naiara?”
“‘Cure’ is the wrong word.”
The princess bit back an automatic retort—this woman rubbed her every wrong way imaginable. Though she looked the part, she was not a variation on Maialen and Abene. The princess wished greatly for a similar, easy connection. It was crucial that this visit be successful.
“Anti-venom will work to neutralize what’s in his system, yes. Sterilization may help his wound work toward the recovery process. But, kidege”—and here she placed a hand on Luca’s face—“you may have that numbness for the rest of your time on this earth. There is nothing I can do to recover feeling there except beg the stars.”
Luca nodded.
Amarande said, “Let’s get to administering, then.”
Naiara kept her hand on Luca’s face and turned to Amarande. “Payment?”
Finally, down to business.
Relieved, the princess dutifully fished a diamond from her pouch, careful not to reveal the whole contents. The necklace was at least a hundred carats, all large stones, and had been chosen by Abene for Amarande’s dinner with Renard specifically because those diamonds were set in gold from Pyrenee. The princess rather liked that it was now in pieces.
“I shall give you this diamond, about twenty carats in weight and of perfect Ardenian clarity.”
Señe gasped, her dark eyes going round. But Naiara simply threw her head back and laughed. “A diamond?”
Amarande exchanged a quick glance with Luca, who was just as baffled as she.
“Two, then.” The princess set her shoulders back, trying to be the very image of a negotiation that had met its end, but she knew that this was the type of woman who would be able to see in her eyes that she’d give everything she had for Luca.
Naiara’s laugh continued until she was wiping tears from her face. “Little queen, I have no need for your diamonds.”
Amarande’s jaw dropped—startled at both the nickname and the rejection. No beloved ancient Torrentian for her, only judgment, dismissal, and coincidence … she hoped.
The princess drew in a shaky breath and continued, wishing she’d approached this differently. Tongue dry, she finally said, more feebly than she’d like, “They’re the highest quality.”
Naiara arched a brow. “Can I eat them? Can I milk them for tincture? No.”
“Do you have gold, perhaps?” Señe asked, and then smiled, pointing to her teeth. “We occasionally melt it to fill rotten teeth.”
“No.” The gold setting was in a tree stump at the water stop. Completely useless.
Luca placed a calming hand on Amarande’s wrist and spoke to the healer directly. “What do you require, Naiara?”
The woman’s eyes fell to Luca. Again, she looked on him with a kindness she didn’t afford Amarande. “Your horse.”
“Our horse?”
“She’s strong and well kept. To make your anti-venom, we immunize horses with the venom and extract the serum. Once a horse has been immunized, we cannot use that horse again. I will have to make more of this serum for my people; that means immunizing another horse.”
Horror flashed across Luca’s eyes. He’d been with Mira since she’d been foaled. “She won’t be injured in the process?”
“No. She will be well cared for.”
Shock rode the princess’s face. Turning down a diamond that could buy ten horses in favor of immediate satisfaction? It was shortsighted indeed. There was much about survival in the Torrent that her father, Koldo, and all her instructors combined failed to teach her.
Luca watched Amarande, as did the healer and her apprentice.
“Well, little queen?”
They were a sunup-to-sundown ride away from the Itspi now. She didn’t know how long that would take to walk, but she guessed four days, if not five. But maybe someone else would be swayed by her diamonds and help them. She’d be smarter about how she presented them and herself.
“Yes,” Amarande said, a quiver in her voice. “For the anti-venom, you may have her.”
That horror didn’t stray from Luca’s eyes, though now guilt shaded them, too. “Ama, not Mira. No.”
Amarande bent to his ear. “I can’t lose you. She will be fine, and this way so will you.”
Naiara got to work. Señe began sterilizing Luca’s wound, while the healer rifled through drawers built into the walls of the carriage, finding the right anti-venom. Amarande finally found room to breathe deeply, clutching Luca’s hand the whole time. He stayed calm, though a fresh sweat cropped up on his brow as Señe toiled, the disinfectants doing their work. Finally, Naiara produced a vial.
“Drink this down. The whole thing. It does not taste good, but to keep that leg, I think you can stomach it, sweet boy.” Luca took it and, without hesitation, swallowed it down. “Good. Now, kidege, lay your head down and sleep. You will wake in an hour. Good as new.”
The coach was such that Luca couldn’t stretch out, not really. He put his head on a pillow, knees pulled in close and feet grazing the opposite end of the carriage. Amarande grabbed his hand and held tight, watching his eyelids sweep closed. In less than a minute, his breathing changed and he was asleep, his cheek lolling against Amarande’s knee.