A not-small part of her felt a grim satisfaction at the violet-eyed wizard’s torment. Sabina had not meant to frighten Anya so badly with her poisoned tea – her cruelty was petty and impulsive, not malicious.
But when Sabina’s spell had changed her tongue, she had been gripped by a shocking fear, almost as painful, in its way, as the invisible vines that writhed through her, the thorns that pierced the pores of her bones. When she felt her mouth becoming foreign to her, she had been certain it was Mira’s curse taking hold, cutting free her teeth and replacing her human tongue with a long, slim proboscis.
No, Sabina hadn’t intendedthat. But she had cast the spell.
And whathadhappened to the spell? Could a spellscribe turn a person’s body so completely against them? Anya didn’t think so.
And what of Mira’s magic? She needed no pen, no blood, no glyphs to curse Anya. What did the witch know that the wizards, with their books and their towers, didn’t?
Without warning, a snaking pain slithered up her spine, then split her head. Her eyes burned; her ears rang. She fell to her knees, pressing her hands over her ears, then her burning eyes,then back over her ears. Faintly, she felt, more than heard, a strangled cry coming from her throat.
When it passed – and it did pass – Perrine was crouched before her, her strong hands on her shoulders. In Anya’s distress, the falcon had returned and sat on Perrine’s shoulder. Sabina stood at a distance, arms folded over her chest and her forehead wrinkled.
“Anya,” Perrine said, helping her upright. “Tell me what is wrong.”
Anya took a shaking breath. No lie would come to her lips. “Mira of the Mire has paid me a visit.”
Perrine’s eyes widened. Her hands fell from Anya’s shoulders, as if Anya’s curse was contagious. “You’ve angered the witch?”
“A witch?” Sabina looked between them. “What witch?”
“You know to stay well away from Bosquet Mire,” Perrine scolded, eyeing Anya up and down. Anya felt the urge to pat her skin for extra legs.
She pulled her braid over her shoulder instead. “I went nowhere near it.” She hesitated. “I…Imayhave stalked and killed her familiar.”
“Oh, Anya,” Perrine said sadly. Anya did not think she imagined her taking a step away.
“It was destroying a farmer’s entire flock of hens. It was miles away from Bosquet Mire. I needed the money.” And none of that mattered.
“What are you going to do?”
“I–” Though she ached to, she still couldn’t bring herself to tell Perrine about the curse or what the phoenix would mean to her. Especially not when Perrine acted as though her touch was pestilent. “I have time before the curse takes hold. I’m still working it out.”
“A curse?” Sabina repeated.
“Nothing can break one of her curses but the condition she set,” Perrine explained. Anya said a silent prayer she would not pry about that condition. “The caster is known for being particularly…cruel.” Perrine ran a hand through her feathery hair. “I’ve never heard of her giving someone time to wriggle out of one.”
Alarmed, Anya racked her brain for something to throw Perrine off that trail.
But it was Sabina who spoke next. “Can I help?”
Anya was startled, both by her offer and by the solemnity of her voice.
“She could do something for the pain, perhaps,” Perrine suggested, brightening. In Gescany, magic was strictly regulated; in Preule, it was altogether outlawed. Perrine understood its limitations even less than Anya, and sought what seemed a logical solution. So did Sabina.
They both wanted to help her. But would they if they knew she could not help them? Her throat closed. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Why don’t you dress yourself in rowan?” Sabina asked, lifting her own flowered wrists. She wore a thoughtful frown.
Perrine answered for her. “Rowan can protect, but not expel.”
“Hold on. Mira,” Sabina repeated. “Not as in the Countess Mirabelle Corveau.”
Anya frowned. “Who?”
“Why Anya, didn’t your governess teach you your history?”
NotMiss Degenany longer, Anya noted. Winded, she leaned against a tree for support. “If you have a point, I’d love to hear it.”
