The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 19: The City of Music, Part 6

 Ammas's smile curdled. "I'm glad you think so," he said shortly. "There are other things we must discuss, Carala, things much more pressing."

"Such as my change tonight?" she murmured, glancing at him sideways.

"Yes."

"I dreamt of it. I barely slept last night, but when I did all I remember is dreaming of the forest, and the moonlight, and -- and seeing it gleam on my fur."

In fact, she had a hard time adequately describing just how restless she had felt from the moment she had settled into her room at the inn. Only stripping right down to her skin and opening the shutters, letting herself bathe naked in the moonlight, gave her the slightest hint of relief. She could smell all the men around them, Denisius and Ammas more than the others, and the temptation to visit one of them in the dark of night had been almost irresistible. As good and as nigh-enchanted as Tacen had made her feel, it was nothing compared to what she felt now, with the wolf's blood singing in her. Only touching the stilling charm around her throat had made the pacing creature inside her calm a little . . . that, and the knowledge it would be running free in the world soon enough.

Ammas nodded, and she wondered how much of this his training might have led him to guess. "I need to remove you to someplace secure. I had thought perhaps a wine cellar or an empty warehouse, but I've found a better possibility. The innkeeper's wife told me of a watchtower that was damaged in a fire about a year ago. Some drunk guardsman knocked over his lantern. It's still abandoned, and its door should lock securely."

"Then you do wish to cage me."

"After a fashion. But I will be caged with you."

She stared at him astonished. "What if I hurt you?"

Ammas smiled softly. "I don't believe you will. And if you grow too wild in that tower, I will let you out."

"Let me out to do what?" Carala's eyes were bewildered.

"Let you out to hunt. It's what the wolf will want." Ammas's heart was pounding, and he had no doubt Carala could hear it if she had a mind to listen for it. This was exactly the sort of thing Othma would have wanted, but it was also the best course of treatment he knew when no cure was available.

Carala stopped dead in her tracks. An aged gentleman who had been strolling along behind them nearly crashed into her, and swore darkly at the two of them for being foolish young oafs. "I don't care what the wolf wants. I will not. I will not hunt. I will not hurt anyone!"

Ammas wondered how she would feel if she knew how fiercely amber her eyes flashed when she said that. "You will not hurt a single soul. The watchtower stands on the edge of the Heptarch's hunting preserve. There will be fat deer, and hares, and pheasant, and other prey more suited to a she-wolf than to a murderer." Carala shook her head, but Ammas cut in before she could protest. "I cannot cure you yet. Without the cure I cannot change what you are, and the most dangerous thing for you to do would be to deny it yourself. There are hungers and urges in you which simply will not be denied. I will be there. I have methods to keep you safe."

Carala said nothing, remembering how she had roiled and clutched her sheets, naked and sheened with sweat in her little room the night before, gazing at the moon and panting. More than once she almost went to Ammas, not for the hungers she felt more deeply than anything Tacen had inspired, but to tell him she was sure she was changing, even though it had been hours past moonrise. What she had expected he would do about it she didn't know, but the urge to visit him had been a powerful one. Only the presence of his roommates had stopped her.

"There is something else," Ammas said quietly. They had by now arrived at a more upscale part of Goldenshore, and not far ahead of them one of the bridges to the Isle of Tair stretched in marbled splendor over the Ortien. The statues of a cloaked figure with a sword in one hand and a pouch of healing medicines in the other told them it was the Bridge of Saint Wylles. Inclining his head slightly, Ammas took Carala aside, leading her to a small grassy circle laid before one of the glowering statues. His arms were folded on his chest and he stared into the Ortien in deep thought for a long moment. 

"Carala," he said at last, meeting her amber-flecked gaze, "have you ever stopped to consider what you will do if I cannot cure you?"

Carala gazed out over the river herself now. A breeze off the water rippled along her hood, catching a stray lock of her jet black hair. "I have been trying not to, Ammas."

"Perhaps you should," he said gently. "There is no guarantee this ritual wolf is still alive. I will look for him as long as I draw breath, but -- "

"But if there is no heart to harvest, there is no cure, is that right?"

Ammas nodded.

Carala stared out over the waters, prettier and more rapid than Brightmoon Bay, and without the Bay's odor of stale fish. In fact, all Ammas could smell at the moment was the sweet woodland scent of Carala, and it stirred something unfamiliar low in his belly. "Exile, I suppose," she said in a whisper. "I could not return to Talinara. I could not be near a city at all, really. Maybe . . . maybe I should do as Hedrathua Macil did and throw myself into the Ortien."

"No," Ammas said roughly, laying one hand on her shoulder. Her eyes peered at him, bright and clear. "Not that. Never that."

"Your Doyenne would not mind much, I think," she answered hotly, shrugging his hand away. After a moment Ammas realized there were tears in her eyes. He turned away so she could wipe them without his seeing. "Would you, come to that?"

Ammas stared toward the Isle of Tair. The Sorrows were quite clear so close to the Temple. "I swore an oath to you, Carala," he said evenly. "I said I would seek a cure for as long as I lived, and I meant it."

"I -- I am sorry, Ammas." A hitch had come into her voice. Blindly her hand reached for his and without thinking he squeezed it gently. "It terrifies me, thinking of that. Knowing that I will change over and over again, that I -- that I might come to like it. To like what I've become. Knowing that those -- others will be looking for me. Who's to say I wouldn't join them, if only so I am not alone?"

"There are other ways you might not be alone."

"What do you mean?"

Ammas gazed down at Carala, those amber-flecked eyes still bright with unshed tears. Still he squeezed her hand. "If Gallowsport is a failure, if we can find no trace of this wolf, come back to Munazyr with me. I don't fear the wolf's blood, and I can keep you safe. Bring you places where the wolf can run free."

Carala regarded him with silent wonder. After a moment she seemed to remember her hand was in his and she drew it back to her throat, touching the stilling charm lightly as a blush crept into her cheeks. "Is this like the myths you once spoke of? Cursewrights and werewolves working as partners?"

"It could be an arrangement of that sort," Ammas said slowly. "But that is beside the point. You became my responsibility when I failed you. There are many ways I could fulfill it."

Carala nodded thoughtfully. "Let us see how you shepherd me through this night," she said softly, "and then I will consider it, maybe."

"At least consider it before throwing yourself into a river?"

"It does seem somewhat more appealing than drowning, I will admit."

Ammas smiled a little. "As wise as ever."

"Oh, do not call me wise, Master Cursewright. I think you above such obvious flattery."