The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 18: The Doyenne's Counsel, Part 5

 Ammas looked over his shoulder at Carala. In her face he thought he saw a storm of conflicting feelings, from rage to fear -- not just fear of Othma and her hatred, but a deeper fear that what the Doyenne said might actually be true. With a smile he rose, offering his hand. Lightly she took it, gratitude sweeping her eyes as she stepped forward into Othma Sulivar's gaze with her sworn cursewright at her side. Casimir returned to his seat, watching the interplay between his master and the Doyenne anxiously.

Othma rose from her seat. Even as shrunken as she was, leaning on her staff as she did, she towered over Carala. Her good eye roamed up and down. One hand went to the belt at her waist, drawing from it a pair of twinhooks very like Ammas's. It sported perhaps a few more filigrees; its crescents a little more jagged. The Doyenne wrinkled her nose. "I suppose, Ammas, you have a better reason for bringing this woman to me than the mere fact she is a werewolf?"

Carala stared at Othma nonplussed. Similar looks of shock surfaced on every face in the room except Ammas's, where a knowing smirk had creased his lips. "How -- how did you -- "

"I can smell it on you," Othma said sourly. "Fresh turned, I should say, and unblooded. Although -- not entirely, no. You've taken animals. No humans. I applaud your restraint, your highness. Even as a feral wolf you have less bloodlust than most of your family."

"Othma," Ammas said sternly, and for a wonder the Doyenne's expression softened.

"Well, Ammas? What is the problem? Do you lack the ingredients for a cure? I had not heard Munazyr's markets were so poorly stocked. I cannot believe that you lack the knowledge, not when it was I who taught you how to approach such matters."

"She has been infected by a ritual werewolf." Othma's eyes widened in surprise. "I cannot identify the ritual. I would be hesitant to try any of the cures I possess. One has already failed."

"A ritual wolf," Othma murmured. For the first time she looked at Carala with something other than contempt or amusement. "The return of such things was inevitable, with our fellowships gone. But so soon?" She held out a twisted hand. Carala bit her lower lip, hesitating. "Come, child. I won't hurt you. Ammas has sworn himself to you, and while I may question his judgment, I won't undermine it."

Even with this apparent truce, and even with Ammas at her side, Carala still felt her heart pounding anxiously in her chest as she extended her hand, and felt no small amount of surprise at how gentle the Doyenne's touch was. Lightly she cupped the back of Carala's hand, turning it to expose her wrist, tracing the delicate web of veins that gleamed blue through her skin. The old woman's fingers were dry and callused, and this close to her Carala could detect an aroma not unlike that which clung to Ammas. She wondered if it was something they could all smell, or something only her wolfish senses allowed her to distinguish.

"Prepare a bandage, Ammas," said the Doyenne crisply. "I need to draw a trace of blood from you, girl. It won't hurt."

Denisius rose from his seat at this. Vos laid a hand on his master's forearm. While Lord Marhollow said nothing, a cautious, watchful look glittered in his eye, and he refused to look away from Carala and the Doyenne. Ammas, meanwhile, had stepped forward with a small wad of batting in one hand, his other touching Carala's shoulders comfortingly. 

"She is greatly skilled in things like this," he murmured in her ear. "If she says it won't hurt, believe it."

Carala had come to trust Ammas in the time since she had turned up on his temple doorstep -- truth be told, her feelings might have gone deeper than trust -- but nothing she had experienced of Othma Sulivar's presence made her think this was anything other than a soothing lie. But she felt less than an insect's sting when the Doyenne jabbed her wrist with the golden end of the twinhooks, her grip amazingly firm despite the arthritic knots in her fingers.