“I can see your coloring has not changed,” said Geira, turning her blunt gaze on Saga. “Have you felt more vigor since your Grand Offering?”
Saga managed a crisp, “Somewhat.” When she held the wax sealer in hand, she had a feeling she’d be positively vibrant.
Geira pursed her lips. “You must not be worshiping with a whole heart. Ursir can sense when a Letting is done without devotion and may withhold His blessing.”
It took every ounce of Saga’s strength to hold her tongue.
…everyone knows ill health is the body purging itself of malevolence, thought Lady Geira, sipping her mead.The girl must have much malignance to rid…
Thankfully, the serving thrall returned, setting a tray of ivory figurines down on the table.
Bones with a side of mead were not what Saga would call the most appetizing of pairings, but she feigned a look of awe. Setting down her goblet, she picked up the largest figurine of the bunch. Ursir’s likeness snarled at her from within the polished bone.
“How splendid.”
“This one hails all the way from Norvaland,” said Geira, a rare smile curving her lips. “Carved from the bones of a Spring Awakening sacrifice.”
“What…kind?” Saga asked, trying not to think of the poor victim of the bloodiest Ursinian holiday.
“Cave bear, I’m told. A rare breed.”
…And a bringer of ample blessings,thought Geira.
Saga set the figurine back, one gloved hand sliding into her pocket and loosening the tin’s lid. With her other hand, Saga selected a smaller figurine with a yellowish glint. “And this one?”
“A gift from the wife of a Gothi in Urka,” answered Geira with pride. “We’ve exchanged many letters over the years, and she sent this to me as a token of friendship. The yellow tint comes with age, but I find it rather fetching. It gives the appearance that Ursir is bathed in golden light.”
Saga nodded, fingers dipping into the translucent powder. “This oneisancient,” she said, pulling her hand out of her pocket to hold the figurine up to the light. “Do you see this groove here?” Saga’s powder-coated gloves slid along the bear’s snout. “It once would have been etched in black. Charcoal, I suspect,or perhaps a botanical dye. And here”—Saga’s fingers skimmed along the bear’s back—“I see the faintest remnants of knotwork.”
“Truly?” asked Geira, reaching eagerly for the figurine. Saga bit down on a smile as Geira’s bare fingers contacted the polished bone, and the woman held it up to the firelight, trying to see knotwork that was not, nor had ever been, there.
Saga slipped the lid of the tin back in place, wiping her powder-coated gloves off on the inside of her pocket. She reminded herself she’d have to burn this dress before the day was through.
The next several minutes moved with a glacial pace. Saga’s gaze tracked each movement of Geira’s fingers—scratching her nose, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. But when Geira’s hand went to that necklace of keys, absently running along the tether—up, down, up, down—Saga held her breath.
The seconds ticked by slower than Saga thought possible. And as Geira picked up the tenth?—eleventh?—carving, worry set in. What if she’d dug up the wrong plant? What if she’d read the recipe incorrectly? What if she’d wasted four days and it was all for naught? The thought of leaving this room empty-handed was enough to make her want to cry.
But as Geira reached for her goblet, Saga saw it—a faint pink flush spreading from beneath the woman’s ink-stained fingertips. A minute later, it had spread across the backs of Geira’s hands and bloomed on her nose. The woman scratched absently at first, then with more vigor. And after a second minute had passed, raised welts had formed.
“Oh!” exclaimed Geira, swiping a thumb across the back of her hand. “By Ursir’s Paw, what is this?”
Malevolence is being purged from your body,Saga thought, a little too eagerly. “My goodness, Lady Geira!” exclaimed Saga, leaping to her feet. “Shall I fetch Valka?”
Geira tugged at the collar of her dress, wincing where it contacted her necklaces. “Oh, but it stings!” exclaimed Geira, pulling more vigorously.
Blisters began to form, ranging in size from pin pricks to the size of Saga’s smallest fingernail, all filled with clear liquid.
“What is this curse?” exclaimed Saga, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “What is this foulness?”
Geira’s face twisted into a look of pure horror.
…Ursir, oh my beloved Ursir, what have I done to displease you?came the woman’s thoughts. Her whole body jerked and spasmed as though she were trying to escape her own skin.
“It bites!” cried Geira, yanking at her neckline.
“Let me assist you with the lacings,” suggested Saga, her gaze trained on the pair of necklaces.
“Get it off!” shrieked Geira. “Oh Ursir, save me!”
