Turn after turn, the Gloryhound cut through the Sea of Swords, a trader’s wind at their backs. The Lady of Oceans was merciful, and the ship pulled into the harbor at Crow’s Rest a good twenty hours before schedule. But even with Mother Trelene on his side, it seemed Furian the Unfallen’s luck was all but spent.
Just as Maggot predicted, his wounds had turned septic. By the time they arrived at Crow’s Rest, the flesh about his chest and throat was dark and weeping, and the sweet stink of rot hung over him like fog. Maggot and Mia did their best to keep him sedated, though he slipped in and out of consciousness frequently. He was barely lucid when awake, and murmured fever-dream nonsense while sleeping. What it would mean for the collegium and Leona if he died, Mia had no idea.
A waiting wagon rushed them up to Crow’s Nest, hooves pounding on the hillside. Mia’s knowledge of herbcraft seemed to have impressed the dona, and she rode with Maggot and the dazed and groaning Furian, Leona and Magistrae beside her. Arkades and the other gladiatii were left to tromp up the hill on foot.
Captain Gannicus met them at the gates, Leona’s houseguards carrying Furian to the rear of the house. Despite the ache of her broken ribs, once inside Maggot’s infirmary, Mia began looking for ingredients that might quell his blood poisoning. Maggot herself disappeared into the shed in the corner of the yard. Leona hovered like a mother hen, a kerchief pressed to her nose and mouth to stifle the stench, pale with worry.
“Can you save him?” she asked.
Mia only scowled, sighing as she rifled through Maggot’s chests and cupboards. It was true what the girl had said—it looked to have been months since Leona allowed her to restock. Even with all she’d learned from Spiderkiller and her beloved, dog-eared copy of Arkemical Truths, there wasn’t enough to work with.
“We need hollyroot,” Mia declared. “Maidenhead. Something to kill the swelling, like tinberry or pufferfish bladder. And ice. Lots of ice. This fever is burning him out like a fucking candle.”
“Can you write?” Leona asked.
Mia raised an eyebrow. “Aye. I can write.”
“Make a list,” Leona commanded. “All you need.”
Maggot returned from the shed, waddling under the weight of an old tin bucket. She thumped it on the bloodstained slab beside Furian’s head, tied up her hair and began peeling off the pus-soaked bandages from his throat and chest.
“What are you doing?” Mia asked.
“You remember when you asked how I got my name?”
“You told me to pray I’d never find out,” Mia replied.
The girl dragged her nose along her arm, wincing at the stench of Furian’s wounds. “Well, you didn’t pray hard enough.”
Mia peered into the bucket and saw a great wriggling mass; hundreds of tiny white bodies, black heads, chewing sightlessly at the air. She put her hand to her mouth, gorge rising at the sight of those crawling, squirming …
“Four Daughters,” she gagged. “Those are…”
“Maggots,” the little girl replied. “I breed them in the shed.”
“… What the ’byss for?”
“What do maggots eat, Crow?”
Mia looked at the flesh of Furian’s neck, his torso. The infection was dug deep; the wounds streaked with pus, muscles and skin gone putrid with decay. The veins about the wound were dark with corruption, every heartbeat only spreading it farther.
“Rotten meat,” she whispered. “But what stops them eating…”
“The good bits?”
“Aye.”
“Two jars on the shelf behind you. Bring them here.”
Mia did as she was bid, peering at the spidery writing on the sides. She looked at the little girl, a smile creeping to her lips despite herself.
“Vinegar and bay leaves. You are very good at this.”
Maggot offered a mirthless smile and began applying the larvae to the wounds, sprinkling them like salt onto the rancid flesh. Sickened despite the genius of it, Mia began writing on a wax tablet, making a list of all they’d need to keep Furian sedated, stop the sepsis spreading, kill his fever. She showed the list to Maggot, who looked up long enough to grunt assent, then handed the list to Leona.
The dona looked over the tablet once, gave it to her magistrae.
“Anthea, head to town,” she commanded. “Gather all that Crow bids you.”
Magistrae looked over the list, raised her eyebrow. “Domina, the cost of—”
“Hang the bloody cost!” Leona snapped. “Do as I command!”
The woman glanced to Mia and Maggot, pursed her lips. But still, she looked to her mistress and bowed low. “Your whisper, my will, Domina.”
Magistrae marched out into the yard, wax tablet in hand. Dona Leona remained behind, eyes locked on Furian, chewing her tortured fingernails.
“He must live,” she whispered.
A command.
A hope.
A desperate prayer.
But whether it was because she cared about the man, or cared about the magni, Mia had no idea.
*
They worked into the nevernight, Maggot applying the squirming flyspawn over Furian’s wounds, smearing the edges with vinegar and bay leaves to repel the larvae from the hale flesh, and then gently wrapping it all in gauze. Mia stood by, helping when she could, but mostly observing with a churning belly.
Finger brought their evemeal to them, the emaciated cook peering at Furian as if he were already dead. Fang came snuffling about looking for scraps soon after, and with the pain of her ribs, the nausea at Maggot’s treatments, Mia fed the mastiff most of her meal, scruffing him behind his ears as he wagged his stubby tail. Dona Leona also refused to eat, sitting and staring at the Unfallen, not saying a word. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot. Her cheeks hollow.
The other gladiatii arrived back at the Nest, marching down to the barracks accompanied by the houseguards. Arkades limped into the infirmary, dusty and sore from his long walk. He looked Furian over, pressed a hand to the man’s sweat-slicked brow, watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The long scar bisecting his cheek deepened as he scowled. Mia touched the bandage at her own face. Once more thinking of Ashlinn.
Wondering.
“How does he fare?” Arkades asked.
“We’ve done all we can ’til Magistrae returns,” Maggot replied. “The herbs and brews she’s fetching will help. But it’s no sure thing, Executus.”
Arkades nodded. “Crow, return to the barracks. Maggot will call if she has need.”
“I’d prefer to sta—”
“And I’d prefer a villa in southern Liis and my real leg back,” Arkades growled. “It is after nevernight. Your place is under lock and key in the barracks.”
Mia glanced to Dona Leona, but the woman was paying no attention at all, stare fixed on Furian. Touching Maggot’s shoulder in farewell, Mia limped out into the yard, flanked by two houseguards. Arkades remained, staring at his mistress, brow creased in thought. A small, cat-shaped piece of Mia’s shadow stayed behind also.
“Mi Dona, you should rest,” Arkades said.
“I will stay.”
“Maggot can inform you if there is any cha—”
“I will stay!” Leona snapped.
Maggot glanced up at the shout, returned quickly to work. The executus looked between his mistress and the fallen gladiatii on the bench. Nodding slow.