THE DEATH SLUMBER HEX . . . mead and herbs . . . a sharp knife . . . the beautiful new falconer . . . a hanging
Bryn’s stomach churned as she crawled through the dark passageway. She still felt Captain Carr’s lips all over her. His revulsive words about their upcoming wedding night echoed in her head.
Rangar will slit his throat, she assured herself with dark satisfaction.If I don’t do it myself first.
She’d become familiar enough with the passages that she no longer needed light to find her way to the ground level where Mars had set up his camp in an old, unused coal storage area. The glow from a lantern shone like a beacon ahead.
“Bryn?” Mars’s head turned toward her at the sound of her movement.
“It’s me, Mars.”
“We’ve been waiting all night. We feared you’d be caught by Carr.”
Mars and Illiana sat on Mars’s makeshift bed of blankets with several half-burned candles around them. Illiana’s wicker gardening basket rested near her feet.
Bryn dusted off her hands on her dress as she grimaced. “Iwaswith Carr. I couldn’t get away. He thought he’d try to seduce me in the courtyard.”
Mars frowned, and Illiana shuddered.
“That man acts noble enough when he has an audience,” Illiana said, “but he’s known to frequent the pleasure dens in Mir Town. The prostitutes whisper that he has vile predilections.”
Mars let out a growl. “As though I needed another reason to hate that man, I now get to picture his hands all over my little sister. Are you all right, mouse?”
It meant something that Mars was concerned for her—she knew he’d always loved her, but he’d also been so duty-bound that a few years ago, he wouldn’t have balked at the idea of an older man with a known cruel streak marrying his sister if it benefited their family’s reign. He’d have told her to accept her duty and not complain.
Bryn shook off the remnants of the experience. “He’s the kind of man who takes what he wants. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to put off the wedding.”
Illiana started unpacking her wicker basket. Usually, it was filled with herb snip scissors and trowels, but today she unrolled a set of knives.
Bryn watched their blades gleam in the lantern light.
“Then let’s not dally any longer,” Illiana said lowly. “The death slumber hex is finicky. The carving must be precise—one small nick in the wrong place and it won’t work. It’s intricate, so it will take me a while. You must remain calm while I cut. Here. This will help.”
She took a small glass bottle out of her basket filled with a chalky dark powder.
Bryn took it, holding it up to the light.
“Valerian root powder mixed with sedative herbs,” Illiana explained. “It won’t stop the pain, but it will make it more bearable. Rub it under your tongue.”
Mars felt around his few belongings and produced a bottle of mead that he thrust in her direction. “I suggest you take a few swigs of this, too. An old army trick before a soldier gets surgery on the battlefield.”
Bryn twisted open the bottle and rubbed the powder under her tongue. It tasted of ash and bitter herbs, and she was all too happy to wash it down with Mars’s mead.
“You’ll have to remove your blouse,” Illiana said.
Bryn undid the buttons, sliding it off her shoulders, relieved that the bandages around Mars’s eyes meant she didn’t have to worry about her brother seeing her bare skin. She laid down on the makeshift bed. Illiana draped a cloth across her chest, then moved the candles to have the best light.
“It’s ideal to carve a hex beneath bare moonlight,” Illiana explained as she traced her finger over Bryn’s shoulder, searching for the correct spot for the hex. “But we work with what we have.”
She motioned to the old coal shoot, a narrow brick tunnel that led to the second-floor servants’ balcony. A small beam of moonlight filtered through.
“Mars, I’ll need you to hold her down. She can’t move, or I could cut the mark wrong.”
“Sorry about this, mouse,” Mars said as he felt his way over and gripped her wrists above her head.
Bryn filled her lungs with steady, well-paced breaths.I’ve done this before. Because she’d already gotten hexes, however, she also knew how painful they could be. But she was no stranger to pain now.
If Rangar can withstand torture down in the dungeon, I can take a few cuts.
