"She's nice," agreed Allika readily. "She's tired, though. She stays up late and gets up early. Got black circles round her eyes."
"I don't doubt it," said Deveren.
"But she says to tell you that she's got good news. She says," and Allika thought carefully before continuing, "she says, Tell Deveren that I believe I have perfected the tinc- tincture-but I will need to test it on someone. Ask Deveren if he knows of anyone who would be willing to undergo such a test. I don't think it will be harmful, even if it doesn't work.' That's what she said."
And Deveren was certain it was, word for word. He was silent for a moment, thinking. Allika waited patiently. Deveren again marveled at the sight of her, remembering the angry, violent, squalling creature he had lugged by sheer physical force to the Healer's temple; recalled her rage, her pain when she tried to apologize Suddenly Deveren's thoughts flashed back to that dreadful day of Lorinda's funeral. He saw again Pedric standing in front of him, screaming angrily, froth on his lips and hate in his eyes. The poisonous, cruel words sounded again in his ears.
To the Nightlands with Lorinda! She's dead, Deveren, dead, and the dead are nothing but dirt. There's no purity in rot. Gods, Dev, couldn't you smell her as we brought the coffin by?… There's nothing left of her now but decaying flesh… and the hope that I can somehow do to her killers what they did to her. So you can just take your wine and your talk and leave me alone!
He remembered with growing horror how Pedric had at first gentled at Deveren's sympathy, then doubled over in pain to emerge twice as bitter. And he remembered the youth fidgeting and scratching…
Deveren had been blinded by the memory of his own aching loss. He had thought Pedric merely suffering from grief and the natural anger at the violent crime. Now he realized that something far darker and dreadfully unnatural had been at work.
"Dear gods," he said softly. Poor Pedric…
"What?" asked Allika anxiously.
"Nothing you need to worry about, sweeting. Go back to Vervain and tell her I will be there tonight with… with someone to test her tincture."
It was with a lie that Deveren coaxed Pedric into the streets and out of his drunken isolation. A lie that Pedric believed because he wanted to believe it; believed because the curse that raged through him believed that everyone was as filled with hatred as he was.
I know who murdered Lorinda. I know where we can find them. And I will help you kill them. A feral light had come into Pedric's aged-looking, unshaved face; illuminated his haunted eyes, red-rimmed with drink and sleepless nights.
Yes, he had answered. Let us kill them. Words that Deveren had never thought to hear emerge from Pedric's cultured throat. And off they had gone, into the quiet darkness of the night. Pedric had laughed wildly, eager for blood and revenge. It was only the knowledge that Pedric was not truly responsible for his thoughts and actions that kept Deveren's heart from breaking for his friend.
They made their way through the city, and Pedric slowed as Deveren led him to the temple of Health. He stopped in front of the little gate and turned to stare suspiciously at Deveren. "At Health's temple?" he asked, incredulous.
Please let this work, Deveren said to himself. Aloud, he said, "They are injured. They will be easy prey." He stretched his mouth into a smile. "We can subdue them with our bare hands."
That temptation proved to be too much for Pedric. He smiled himself, and inwardly Deveren drew back from the simple evil in that smile. How close we all are to evil, he thought. How terribly, dreadfully close. "Come," he said, inviting Pedric to go in front of him.
He waited until Pedric had opened the door to the temple proper before bringing his hands down hard on the back of the young man's head. Pedric groaned and fell forward.
At once Vervain was there with a light. "Get him on the table!" she cried.
Pedric was not unconscious, and fought as Deveren tried to shove him onto the table. Again Deveren dealt him a hard blow, this time to the temple. The younger man stumbled and Deveren managed to get him onto the table. "Hurry!" he called to Vervain. "I won't be able to hold him!"
Swiftly, efficiently, Vervain was there. Deveren crawled onto the table himself, trying to pin the writhing young man down with legs, arms, elbows, anything that would work. The heel of Pedric's hand came up and smashed Deveren in the mouth. Deveren tasted blood, but did not loose his grip. Vervain poured a swallow of her herbal tincture into Pedric's snarling mouth, saying as she did so, "Take care, Deveren! It will make him worse before it makes him well!"
What was she talking about? Deveren thought wildly.
Pedric gulped, choked, coughed, finally swallowed. Like the shadow of a hawk falling across a frozen, terrified hare, Deveren saw something dark pass across Pedric's fine features. His eyes seemed almost to be glowing with evil, and Deveren wildly recalled Allika's comments about the rat's red eyes. With a bellow, Pedric got his arms free and clamped his hands about Deveren's neck. Deveren's eyes flew wide and his own hands reached to his throat, trying to pry loose powerful fingers that were slowly squeezing the life out of him.
Pedric's mouth was open, spewing obscenities. Vervain maneuvered about the struggling men and managed to slosh another mouthful into the wild younger man.
The pressure about Deveren's throat suddenly disappeared. Coughing and gagging, Deveren lurched backward, almost falling off the table. He breathed in great gulps of sweet air, massaging his bruised neck and gazing at Pedric.
The young nobleman was pale and sweating. His chest rose and fell as he himself sought air. But, thank the gods, that dreadful crimson glare was gone from his eyes, and his face had lost its unnatural tension. Already the grim lines of hate and anger were fading.
"Dev," he said slowly, "Dev… I tried to kill you."
Hoarsely, Deveren replied, still rubbing his aching throat, "And you damn near succeeded."
Confused, Pedric blinked, looking about stupidly. 'There were people-Deveren, you were taking me to murder someone! What in the Nightlands-"
"Not the Nightlands," interrupted Vervain smoothly, handing steaming mugs of fragrant liquid to both men. "Something all the darker for it happening right here. Drink this. It will calm you."
As he sipped the hot herbal tea, Deveren silently marveled at the cool strength of the woman. She seemed completely unruffled by what had transpired. As he drank, she glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. He indicated that she might proceed. His throat hurt too much for him to talk right now.
As Pedric and Deveren sat quietly, Vervain explained what she and Deveren had discovered about the curse. Pedric's eyes grew wider and sadder. When the Healer had finished, he glanced over at Deveren, looking like a whipped cur.
"I'm sorry I said what I did… at the funeral."
"I thought you were merely grieving. I knew what you were going through-or, at least, I thought I did," said Deveren. His voice was back to normal, thanks to Vervain's tea. "Oh, I hurt," said Pedric, his face grim. "I still ache for her. And if I ever did find the murderers, I'm not sure what I'd do. But to say those things to you-and attack you…!"
Deveren waved it aside. "Let's just say you weren't your normal self."
Pedric smiled a little-a very little-at that. Then the smile faded. "But if what you say is true… then nearly everyone in Braedon must be affected by now."
The Healer nodded grimly. She was in full vestments. The red wimple hid her glorious brown hair. The open, friendly woman Deveren had seen with Allika a few nights ago was hidden by weariness and calm efficiency. "The tincture worked, but it will be tricky to apply. Do you remember what I said to you when I healed Allika, Deveren? That she first had to surrender, be made completely evil, before she could be restored?"