The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 6: Taking the Cure, Part 9

 Again Ammas found himself laughing, and for a wonder the princess joined in. The sound of his laughter mingled with hers would have been unimaginable to him as he clutched his head and nearly wept in the little garden, just a little while ago. When it had subsided, he said, "So shall I send for Lena? I pay her well for the service, I should tell you. And since her madame does not know how much, she isn't able to take very much as a cut."

Carala's laugh curdled. "A cut? This whore doesn't get to keep all the money you pay her?"

Ammas shook his head. "Only if I can hire her when she isn't scheduled to work at the Lioness. I try to do that whenever I can. But I'd rather not make you wait."

"But that seems most unfair. You pay her for a service to you, not to this madame."

"It's not a fair profession, your highness. I wish it were otherwise."

Carala nodded, still frowning. "Would you pay her more than usual for my treatment?"

Ammas regarded her curiously. "I could do that. The payment you've promised me would more than cover such a thing."

"Then yes. I would like to have this whore chaperone us, as you said. Only to protect your reputation, Master Cursewright. I shudder to think what others would think if they heard a werewolf had her way with you."

Ammas stared at her. Unless he was very much mistaken, the daughter of Somilius Deyn III had just made a bawdy joke at his expense. Shaking his head in wonder, he departed the temple, giving Carala a woolen blanket she might use to cover herself before he left.

Lena was delighted to assist, although it meant breaking off an appointment with a thunderously scowling off-duty guardsman who was most displeased that he wouldn't be spending his afternoon with a blonde. Though her face was still heavily painted and she smelled of the brothel's flowery perfume, she had thrown a concealing cloak over her scant clothing, her feet shoved carelessly into a pair of rude sandals. "What did she come to you for, Ammas?" she asked excitedly when they were out of earshot of the rangy bouncer filling in for Barthim until nightfall. Lena's eyes were bright, curious, and far more intrigued than they had been while entertaining the guardsman.

"Don't be afraid," Ammas said, doffing his hat briefly, "but it's the wolf's blood sickness."

Lena seemed to think this was something to be afraid of, but only nodded. "All right. Is she -- close to changing?"

"No. But I do have to induce a measure of change in her as part of the treatment. She'll be bound, though. You can hang back as far as you like."

"Do you need me to be close to you?"

"Not really. She's freshly turned. I expect her to be more anxious than violent."

"An anxious wolf can do a lot of damage, Ammas."

Ammas laughed. "True. But I don't expect her to. This is a routine case, and an easy one."

"I think I'd feel better if I were closer."

Ammas looked at her blankly. Lena was looking back in a close way she had done somewhat regularly since the day in her father's garret. "As you like. But not too close. I need room to work."

Lena laughed and agreed. When they entered the temple Carala was stretched on the altar, the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her stature was really quite small, perhaps as much as six inches shorter than Lena and a full foot shorter than the cursewright. Ammas murmured for Lena to go to the girl while he retrieved the things he needed from the chapels.

When he arrived at the altar, Lena and Carala were politely discussing how they each liked their home cities. Lena had never been to Talinara, and seemed fascinated by stories of the Maathinhold ruins. Ammas shook his head. And you were worried about being identified, your highness. At least she seemed to have had the good sense to say she had never been in Chalcedony Palace.