The Curse-Maker

Начало книги

The man was floating, serene, tunic swirling in the undulating waves like clouds against a blue sky. His mouth was open. He was dead.

I looked back toward Gwyna. She was kneeling in the saddle like a circus acrobat, struggling to see what was going on. At least she seemed focused. Not the aimless woman, the lost wife I’d brought here, hoping to find the woman I loved.

Voices rose from the crowd, agitated.

“Pollution! In our town! The council must-”

“Why doesn’t someone do something? Where’s Papirius?”

“How dare he do this to the goddess? To us?”

They shoved forward, scrambling for a closer look, taking me with them. Another voice, calmer than the rest.

“Can someone help me pull him up?”

The crowd was stiff with excitement, and I pushed my way through. I was stiff, and not so excited, but I was there, even if it was early in the morning after a long trip, and I was just trying to get some goddamn directions.

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