Chapter 45: The Curse Beneath Her Smile

“Aaron! Where are you? Something’s happened. Get the bundle I left at your house. Now!”

The boat under Lannor’s hands nearly rammed into Auridon’s little dock. The villagers gathered there stared at Bernie’s fishing skiff, its bottom smeared red from the blood of two men.

Several women clustered around Madam Donna hurried forward, mouths open as if to speak, but stopped when they saw Bernie’s bloodless face. Whatever they had to say was serious. For a breath, they could not decide which disaster stood first.

Lannor was only one man. He had only one man’s strength, one man’s attention. As he dragged Bernie onto the dock, he did not even notice that half the village standing there at this hour was wrong.

“Gods, Bernie ... I’m going! I’m going!”

Old Aaron’s face, already drawn tight, went white with fright. His old legs moved faster than anyone would have credited. Less than half a minute later, he came back clutching the alchemy satchel.

“Get a few people. Torches lit, stand around me.”

Lannor took the satchel and began rummaging through it while giving Aaron the next order. Aaron did not know whether this was some sort of magic rite or something else entirely, but panic had stripped him bare. He obeyed at once, calling several villagers close with torches in hand.

The bolt head had buried itself completely in Bernie’s belly. By old Aaron’s measure, that made Bernie a corpse that had not yet learned to stop moving.

But Lannor was a witcher.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Lannor pulled a small, delicate roll of knives from the alchemy satchel. They were the tools he had commissioned Ivan to forge. Their first patient should have been himself.

“Torches closer.”

Lannor stripped off his studded leather gloves and steel bracers. The torches had nothing to do with magic. Their heat was meant to kill as much filth in the surrounding air as possible, much like working close to an alcohol flame in a biological experiment.