“Somewhere among all those is the one who carries this disease, or works the magic, whichever it is,” Seregil told her.

Eirual looked to Hyli. “You can go, love. If anyone questions you, tell them that she’s indisposed.”

When the girl was gone, Eirual turned to Seregil. “Will you speak to Brother Valerius for me? He doesn’t approve of me, I know, but I want the best for her.”

“I’m sure I can convince him,” Seregil assured her, patting her hand.

More tears came as Eirual looked down at Myrhichia. “I love all my girls, but she’s like a daughter to me.”

“I’ll go, Seregil. You stay with Eirual.” Alec took the older woman’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to help.”

* * *

Alec found Valerius in his library, poring over a large book by the window.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” the man asked, looking up with amused annoyance.

“It’s Myrhichia. She has the sleeping death,” Alec told him, throat tight as he finally said the words aloud.

Any levity fled the drysian’s face. “Maker’s Mercy!” He rose and fetched his herb bag from a cabinet and his staff from its place by the door. Striding from the room, he bellowed, “Zala, my horse!”

At the brothel Valerius had Eirual and Hyli remove Myrhichia’s clothing and unpin her hair; then he inspected her closely. Alec stood by the door, arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on the carpet. He’d seen Myrhichia naked, of course, but only that one night, and now it felt strange and uncomfortable.

“No fever,” the healer muttered to himself. “No lesions. No bruising. No obvious punctures. No aroma of poisons. No discoloration of the tongue or lips … or the nails. Nothing unusual there …”

Alec heard the rustle of bedclothes as Valerius drew them up to her chin.

The drysian stood a moment in thought, scratching absently under his beard. “I need a cup of hot water.”

Alec went out and found Hyli hovering outside the door. He sent her for the water, then stepped back in and went to the bedside again. Seregil’s eyes met his; they both knew what Myrhichia’s chances were, but Eirual was watching the drysian with desperate, hope-filled eyes as he went about sorting things from his bag.

A serving boy appeared balancing a jug of hot water and a delicate tea bowl on a tray. Valerius filled the bowl, added something from a clay bottle that stained the water green against the pale glaze of the cup, then a pinch of white powder that turned it blue.

“Hold her head up for me, Alec,” Valerius said.

Her hair was warm and silky against Alec’s palm, and he had to swallow again as memories burned behind his eyelids.

“What are those?” asked Eirual.