Her answer was merely a nod, and I began to cry.

Grimalkin immediately rebuked me. “Foolish girl, your tears won’t bring him back. Be quiet while I think!”

I fell silent. I had always found the witch intimidating, but now her fury was such that I almost fled the tent. I began to tremble.

I had never been able to get inside Grimalkin’s head; there were barriers there. I could sense a little of her emotions—mostly anger—but that was all.

Then she began to speak. At first her words were not addressed to me. She seemed to be thinking aloud. “This should never have happened. This I did not foresee . . . I did not think to send him to his death. I tried to save him. . . .”

She turned and fixed me with her fierce eyes. “I have brought others back from the edge of death before, child. At first I thought I would succeed here too. I used magic and herbs to staunch the bleeding; I breathed my energy into him. He began to breathe again, and as his lungs filled with air, I started to hope. . . .”

She shook her head, muttering words that I couldn’t hear.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper.

“There was no choice but to remove the blade. It was something that I feared to do—a moment of crisis. When I did so, the internal damage proved too severe. All my magic, all my knowledge of herbs, could not stop the bleeding. I was so close, so very close to succeeding. And if I had, I could have healed him from within. Such things can be done. . . .”

She shook her head and fell silent again, closing her eyes. “He died. I failed. It is over. Tomorrow he will be buried. You can do one last thing for him. You must help me. The body must be washed and cleaned—will you do that?”

I nodded, the “Yes” choking in my throat.

“Then tomorrow at dawn, we will go to the tent and prepare him for burial. Now try to sleep.”

I couldn’t sleep, and morning took a long time to arrive. Grimalkin did not sleep either. All night she sat cross-legged, rocking to and fro. At times she seemed to be talking to herself; I think she even uttered a short sob—but it was too faint for me to be sure.

But of one thing I was certain: although the witch assassin was cruel and dangerous, she felt Tom Ward’s loss keenly. They had been allies against the Fiend for some time; Tom had told me so. There was much in their past that I did not know, but there had definitely been a strong bond between them.

In her own way, Grimalkin was grieving.

31

Washing the Body

SOON after dawn, an escort of soldiers led by the high steward arrived to take us to the camp of Prince Stanislaw. As usual, two remained behind to guard our tent. They seemed much friendlier: Majcher even gave Grimalkin a stiff bow, and I could see the respect in his eyes. Tom’s achievement in defeating the assassin had changed their attitude toward us.