“How are you?” asked Micum.

“Just a bit rattled.”

“What do you make of all that?” asked the doctor.

“He’s cursed, rather than mad,” Thero replied, his suspicions confirmed. “Or been driven mad by the curse. He came in contact with something very evil, and it’s marked him.”

Kordira gave Sedge a worried look. “Can the curse be lifted?”

“There is a ritual—” Thero tried to stand, but she laid a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down.

“Can you perform it?” she asked as she examined his skull with gentle fingers.

That was a good question. He’d studied the cleansing ritual, and assisted Nysander in performing it, but he’d never done it on his own.

“I can try,” he said at last. “Whether it will work on this kind of magic or not, I don’t know. It could prove fatal.”

“Sometimes death is a blessing for one as tormented as he.”

“It will take some preparation, and I can’t do it here.”

“My rooms are at your disposal.”

“That’s very kind of you.” As much as he instinctively liked the woman, there was no guarantee that she didn’t have something to do with the man’s condition. “But I wouldn’t want to endanger you or your neighbors, and I need a very controlled space. I’d like to have him moved to Mirror Moon as soon as possible.”

“Mirror Moon? Why there of all places?”

“The barons are familiar with the ceremony, and I’ll need their help. And it’s away from the town, in case anything evil is released.”

“It would be best to move him now, then. He’ll sleep for some time. I can come with you.”

To help, or to control the outcome? wondered Thero. “That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to expose you to such danger.”

“The barons must be very good friends, if they are willing to be placed in such a position,” Kordira noted.

“As I said, they are familiar with the process.”

“Doubtless you’ll need more of the sleeping draughts. I’ll prepare some for you to take.”

The warder directed Micum to a local carter who would be willing to transport their patient, and Thero went with Kordira for the draughts.

“Would you mind me watching you prepare them, in case I should have to do it myself?” he asked as they entered her treatment room.

“Not at all.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t entirely trust me.”

“That’s not why—”

She waved his apology aside. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t trust me, either.” She took a large green glass jug down from a shelf and poured a small cup for each of them. She took a sip of hers. “See, just brandy. Go ahead.”

Thero sipped his and smiled. “It’s very good. Is it local?”

“I distill it myself from wild grapes. I’ll be happy to give you a cask if you like it.” She went to another shelf for a clay jar covered with a leather cap. “This is a powder of sticky rush. It grows in the marshes at the foot of Mount Erali. The islanders have used it for millennia. I’d give you a taste of it, too, but then we’d need a cart to take you home.”