As Sure as the Dawn(164)

“If you’re not sure what’s wrong, have Anomia take a look at her. She’ll know.”

Varus spoke as though Anomia was an oracle. “Anomia’s with her now.” She didn’t tell her two sons that Marta seemed worse with the young priestess present. Varus was enamored by the sorceress, and Atretes’ temper was volatile. He wouldn’t hesitate to order Anomia away from his sister, and that would only serve to make the brothers even more antagonistic toward one another.

She looked over her larder of herbs, trying to decide what best to use. Bitter dock tea would purge her system. Ground daffodils would make her vomit. Elderberry would promote sweating. If something in Marta’s body was causing the intestinal pain, headache, and fever, a strong draught of these herbs would eliminate it quickly enough.

But what if the sickness was caused by something else, something more malevolent?

She pressed the thought away.

Meadowsweet, white willow, five-fingers, and balm were all useful in reducing fevers. So were basil-thyme, holly, and yarrow. Heliotrope eased pain, and chamomile and red poppy tea would make her sleep.

She took dried daffodil and began to grind it.

Usipi had whispered to her before she left that Marta had been troubled all night by terrible dreams in which winged creatures had swooped down upon her and dug talons into her flesh and bone.

“She said she hurts everywhere the creatures touched.”

The fever had risen with the sun.

As Freyja had watched the way the illness manifested itself, she grew afraid Marta was under the attack of spirits.

“How can I help you?” Rizpah said, startling her from her troubling thoughts.

Glancing at the beautiful Ionian, the dark thought gripped Freyja. What if a curse had been cast upon Marta?

Anomia.

The name came to mind almost as though spoken, and with it, her own quick denial. Never. Anomia wouldn’t lay a curse upon one of her own people. If Marta had been cursed or a spell was cast upon her, it was someone else, an enemy. Or someone who envied her or wanted revenge.

She searched the Ionian’s face, using all her powers of perception to try to discern evil.

“What is it, Lady Freyja?” Rizpah said softly without looking away. Why was she staring at her like that, searching her face as though looking for something there? Rizpah came closer. “Tell me what I can do to help you.” She reached out and touched her arm.

Freyja saw only kindness and compassion in Rizpah’s eyes. Still, in self-defense, she shook off her hand. She was high priestess of Tiwaz! She must remember that. She could not allow herself to trust this young woman, whatever she seemed to be. The fact was that her son’s wife was an outsider, a proclaimed believer and servant of a foreign god who sought the destruction of Tiwaz. Freyja knew she couldn’t weaken where Rizpah was concerned.

“Look to your child,” she said, turning her back on her. “I will look to mine.”

Hurt by Lady Freyja’s harshness, Rizpah said no more. Turning, she encountered Atretes’ look. He had heard his mother’s words and was angered by them. “I’ll watch my son,” he said. “Take Rizpah with you.” It was a command, not a suggestion.

“There’s nothing your woman can do,” Freyja said, grinding herbs, “and her presence would upset Marta.”

Your woman? Atretes’ offense deepened. “Upset her?” He set his bowl aside and rose. “Why should Rizpah’s presence upset her? She’s offered to help.”

“Atretes,” Rizpah said in a tone of appeal to be calm. “It’s natural Marta would rather have her mother with her than a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger. You’re my wife. It’s time they accepted you.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Please,” she whispered. “This isn’t the way.”

Varus set his empty bowl aside. “Let Mother see to our sister.” Grasping his walking stick, he rose and limped toward the gate to the animal stalls. “And keep your witch away from her,” he muttered under his breath.

Atretes’ face went red and then white. “What did you say?”

Varus slammed the gate and glared at him from behind it. “You heard me!”

Atretes took a step toward him.

Rizpah clutched his sleeve. “Don’t,” she whispered desperately, but Atretes jerked his arm free. “For the love of God, Atretes, think what you do,” she pleaded softly. “Remember what we talked about.”

The interlude they’d shared in the forest came back with a rush of clarity. Be angry, but do not sin. It took his entire will to check the rage that had come upon him like a wild storm, but he stayed where he was.