The Curse-Maker Read Online Free PDF Page B

weight. She insisted that we all keep using her old slave name, even with the dark memories. Bilicho told me with a blush that she wouldn’t change it because that’s how he first knew her.
    â€œYesterday. Where’s Hefin?”
    Bilicho whistled, and a small blond missile flew out of what used to be Gwyna’s room and struck him in the stomach. He started to laugh and almost fell down, as Stricta tousled the boy’s hair and straightened out his tunic.
    Hefin stared, then recognized me, putting on his best haughty look, so much like his father. “Hello, Arcturus.”
    â€œHello, Hefin. How are the studies?”
    He shrugged. “Stricta’s teaching me some Greek. I want to learn to read the old Egyptian writing, though. She’s promised to teach me that if I can get through Aeschylus.”
    His eyes bored into mine, trying to command me. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here.”
    He was exactly like his father. A lot like his sister, too. Or like his sister when I left her in May. The words hurt more than I thought they could. Stricta noticed the look on my face.
    â€œGo on now, Hefin, back to your room. Arcturus and Bilicho and I have to talk.”
    He shrugged again and walked to the corridor.
    My mouth was dry, and the words felt heavy when they came out. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your meal.”
    Bilicho drew his eyebrows together. “This is me, Bilicho, your freedman and assistant. The man who helps you think. Actually, the man who does your thinking for you, as I’ve been telling you for years. Don’t be such a goddamn stranger!”
    The tension deflated. Thank God for Bilicho. He always made it easier on me than I deserved. Stricta left and came out again with a plate of soft-boiled eggs, cheese, and a lentil-chestnut stew. She joined us, and I relaxed a little. So this is what it felt like. A family.
    â€œYou get rid of Coir?” Bilicho asked.
    Stricta was reproving. “Let Arcturus eat. And do not speak with your mouthful, Bil-i-cho.” He swallowed and grinned at her.
    â€œYes. Why didn’t you write me?”
    They looked at each other. Bilicho gave me the worried mouth, the one I used to see every time he woke me from a nightmare. No one could shake me out of this one.
    â€œWell, it was a gradual thing. Started back in July. Gwyna—Gwyna started acting strange. Coir did less and less. It got worse, but by then we knew you’d be home.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with her?”
    Stricta stared at him for a few moments, then looked away. He picked at a tooth, and his eyes flickered.
    â€œI—I don’t know. Wish I did. She started to get distant, kind of lost, like, in July. Acting like she didn’t care where she was. Not dressing, eating just enough to keep skin and bone together, but not … enjoying it. Not enjoying anything, from what I could tell. Never unkind, of course, but just—not caring. Real sad, sometimes. Hefin said he heard her crying all the time, and that’s when I took him home. He’s been here about a month.”
    He shook his head, his wrinkled face drooped in pity. “I’m sorry, Arcturus. We both are. She’s just not herself.” He looked over at Stricta and said, in a soft voice I’d never heard before, “Reminds me a bit of you, love, when I was first looking after you.”
    Stricta reddened a little, looked away, and squeezed Bilicho’s hand.
    â€œIt’s my fault. I left her in May. I left her when Agricola’s boy died.”
    They both understood and were quiet. I coughed, but it sounded more like a sob, even to me. Bilicho turned his head, and Stricta hurried to the kitchen. I wiped my eyes and looked at Bilicho, who was studying a spider on the wall. I cleared my throat to let him know it was safe.
    â€œSo what are you going to do?”
    I told him about leaving Agricola, the army—about what