The Lion's Daughter by Loretta Chase Read Free Book Online Page B

was only a
nightmare, the sun had risen. Or he assumed it had. Through the open
doorway he saw gray, not coal-black. It was still raining,
relentlessly, and a small lake had formed in the entrance, with
sister ponds beneath the two narrow slits that passed for windows.
    Twice
he closed his eyes, only to open them to the same appalling scene.
The hut's stone walls were dark and slimy, and the blanket he lay
upon was damp and rough. His head pounded as though all the fiends of
Hades beat upon it, his mouth was gritty with sand and salt, and his
hollow belly knotted in hunger. “Bloody hell,” he
groaned.
    A
small, cool hand touched his forehead. Startled, he turned to meet a
sober green gaze. He hadn't realized Zigur was crouched beside him.
    “You
still have no fever,” the boy said. “That's good. We
could not make a fire, and I feared you would take cold, but you are
sturdier than I thought.”
    “My
head is splitting into a thousand pieces,” Varian gritted out.
“I lost my last meal on that wretched boat, and I don't even
remember when that last meal was. I'm wet and filthy and —”
    “Then
you must be grateful you don't have chills and fever as well. As I
am, since my bag of remedies is still upon the
    ship.
A chill is not such a bad thing, if properly tended,” he
explained, oblivious to Varian's exasperated gaze. “But what is
to be done without garlic and restorative herbs?”
    Slowly
and painfully, Varian raised himself up on his elbows. He saw that
Zigur's blanket lay next to his own on the tiny square of relatively
dry dirt floor, and wondered bitterly what vermin had emigrated
thence in the night. He was certain the boy's clothes had not been
washed since the long-ago day he'd first donned them. Varian wished
Jason had devoted a bit less time to his little bastard's language
lessons and a bit more to personal hygiene.
    “I
take it then,” he said, “that your magic cures, along
with the ship, are at the bottom of the sea. It only wanted that, of
course.”
    “No.
The rest of us were up at daybreak. We saw the ship afloat, but badly
damaged. Lightning, I think, for diey'd lost their mast. Petro has
gone with the two sailors to bring back what we need. I regret to
tell you that this must be a long stay. I suspect they must replace
the mast altogether. That, and the other work” — he
spread his hands — ”in
this season, it will be weeks before the vessel sails again.”
    “Weeks?
You mean we're stranded here?”
Varian's despairing gaze wandered about the miserable, filthy, disgusting, hovel.
He saw two snails inching up the wall.
    The
boy settled himself into a cross-legged position and, with an
annoyingly patient expression, explained. “This is the mouth of
the River Shkumbi. The region near the coast is all marshland, with
but a few poor villages. To travel by land we need horses, and the
nearest place to hire them will be to the east, about twenty English
miles.”
    “You've
got to be joking. No horses for twenty miles? ”
    “You
are not in England or Italy. Mine is a poor country, and horses are
precious. What fool would keep stables in a great swamp? You cannot
hire so much as a mule here.”
    “You
can't be telling me I'm stuck in this hovel for weeks.” Varian
shook off his horror. “That's impossible. We'll send someone
for horses, or another ship.”
    “And
if fortune smiles upon you, they'll accomplish the mission in less
than a month.” The boy studied his grimy little hands. “As
you wish, efendi. You
are a great English lord. To
    walk
is beneath your dignity. Besides, the journey will spoil your
handsome boots.”
    Varian
glanced down at his muddy, salt-stained boots, then eyed the urchin
suspiciously. “You don't think much of English lords, do you?”
    “I
beg your pardon, oh great one, if I offended,” Zigur said, his
eyes still downcast. “It is my ignorance. I am rarely in the
company of princes.”
    “You're
an impertinent little wretch, and you needn't waste