The Curse-Maker Read Online Free PDF Page A

don’t clean. It’s not my fault the mistress don’t care. I’ve not done nothing wrong.”
    â€œYou should have been the slave of a lawyer, Coir. You’ve got a real gift for argument.”
    The knife in her hand fell to the floor with a loud clank, splattering some yellow-green sauce on the couch. Draco was as white as a spring lamb, if not quite as fluffy. He backed up and shrank against the wall.
    Coir stared at me. Her brown skin was browner, and she’d grown her hair long. No fear in her eyes, but a kind of gloating triumph, like a general who knows he’s beaten the better man.
    â€œLeave us, Draco.”
    He bowed so low his head nearly scraped the floor, then retreated into the kitchen.
    I walked over to her and raised my hand to strike her. I had never hit a slave. I’d slapped a woman once. She looked like she didn’t give a damn whether I did or didn’t. She’d already won. I lowered my arm and swallowed the bad taste in my mouth.
    â€œYou’re free, Coir. I’ll be going out of town again in a few days, and I’ll make it official when I return. Leave tomorrow.”
    She’d expected—maybe even wanted—me to hit her, but this she hadn’t counted on. She’d asked me to free her before I married Gwyna, and a combination of cajolery and kindness persuaded her to stay. I thought that was enough. I’d never understand women.
    She looked up, eyes flat and cold.
    â€œWhat about Draco?”
    I stared at her for a long moment.
    â€œDraco!”
    He ran in, bowing all the way.
    â€œI’ve just freed Coir. She’s leaving tomorrow. You’re free as well, if you want to join her.”
    The big man looked more shocked than he had before. His eyes darted back and forth between us.
    â€œI—I don’t want freedom, sir, but—Coir, I—”
    â€œWell, you have it anyway. You can either go or not go. It’s up to you.”
    I looked down at her. Her cheeks were red, her head held high.
    I said softly: “You’ll both have your freedom, even if I have to proclaim it to the governor himself. Now get out of my sight.”
    She walked, in not too great a hurry, to her room. I heard the door clack shut.
    â€œ Dominus —I—”
    â€œNo explanations necessary, Draco. You’re welcome to stay on in the house as a freedman. If you follow her, though … be careful. Be very careful.”
    He nodded with a dim recognition.
    â€œGo on and eat.”
    He nodded again and backed into the kitchen. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and sucked in my gut. Time to meet my wife.
    *   *   *
    I reached my—our—bedroom door. I waited, unsure of whether to open it and fling myself at her or knock. I knocked.
    A small voice said: “Come in.”
    My eyes traced the line of her face and body, from her blond hair to the delicately formed feet. After the initial shock I always felt on seeing her, I noticed some details: She’d lost weight. Her cheeks were pale, thinner, more drawn. Her hair was askew, not neatly tied up in back. Her face was etched with pain. God help me if I made her feel like that.
    She sat up and smiled weakly. “Hello, Arcturus.”
    I sat down and took her hand. Clammy, cold, almost lifeless. I squeezed it. She smiled again, not unfriendly, not unwelcome, but distant, as if she and I and the room and my hand and her hand were not really there, not really connected.
    â€œI—are you surprised?”
    â€œNo. I heard voices earlier, and saw you were talking to Coir.”
    â€œGwyna, I’m—I’m sorry.” So trite, so meaningless, so little. Some blood stirred in her hand, and she pulled it away, then very tentatively reached fingertips to brush my cheek.
    â€œYou shaved?” She was a little surprised. “You always come home in a state. I thought I’d—well, no bother.”
    â€œI stopped