Frozen Tides (Falling Kingdoms #4)(28)

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite rebel!” boomed a jolly voice. “Good morning, Jonas!”

Jonas turned toward the man, who regarded him with a wide, toothy grin. Ah, yes, it was Bruno, Galyn’s grandfather. Jonas was well acquainted with the old man, who had great enthusiasm for the rebel cause, as well as a tendency to speak his thoughts and opinions aloud at high volumes.

“Bruno, please, speak softly.” Jonas looked around nervously.

Bruno’s smile dropped away. “My poor boy, did you lose your eye?”

“I . . . uh, no.” He absently brushed his fingers over the eye patch. “It’s only a disguise. I’m rather recognizable around here, in case you didn’t know. So, hush.”

“Well, thank the goddess for that! Two eyes are much more useful than only one.” The old man signaled toward a worker from the Paelsian ship who’d disembarked and drawn closer to them. “Good, that’s good! Twenty cases, yes?”

“Yes, sir!”

Jonas eyed the ship. “You’re picking up a shipment?”

Bruno nodded. “Been checking here every day for nearly a week because the ship was delayed. But I had to be diligent so someone else wouldn’t sweep in and steal my order. The wine’s so popular the Silver Toad would be shuttered for good without it.”

If he’d been here for a week, he could be of great help to Jonas.

“Bruno . . . do you know when the king will be here? Have you heard people here talking about his departure over the past week? Nerissa told us he’s taking a trip overseas.”

Bruno frowned. “King Corvin? But he’s dead!”

Jonas tried to keep his patience. “No, Bruno. King Gaius.”

Bruno’s entire face went sour. “Bah. He’s an evil snake, that one! Going to take us all down in flames if we give him half a chance!”

“Agreed. But have you heard anything about his departure from Auranos?”

He shook his head. “Not a thing. However, I did see him.”

Jonas blinked. “You saw him?”

Bruno gestured toward the flock of departing ships with his thumb. “Left earlier this morning on a big black Limerian ship with a red sail. Ugly snake crest painted on the side. How could anyone think he’s trustworthy, sailing in on an evil-looking ship like that?”

“He left this morning?”

Bruno nodded. “Passed right by me while I waited in this very spot. I tried to spit on him, you know, to show my support for the rebels, but it landed on a seabird instead.”

The king had already left. And it was Jonas’s fault that they’d missed him. He’d been stubborn in his insistence that he come along. Had Lys left early, while Jonas was still asleep, like she’d wanted to, the king might be dead right now, instead of fleeing off on his next evil mission.

“My boy.” Bruno patted his arm. “You’ve gone very pale. Are you all right?”

“No. I am definitely not all right.” This was just another painful failure to add to his lengthy list.

Bruno sniffed the air, then cocked his head and sniffed again. “What is that?”

“What?”

“I smell . . . ugh, merciful goddess, it’s like a cross between horse dung and rotting meat.” He continued to sniff, then drew closer to Jonas.

Jonas peered at him warily. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sniffing your shoulder, of course. What does it look like I’m doing?” The man’s face fell. “Oh, my. It’s you.”

“Me?”

Bruno nodded. “I’m afraid so. My grandson gave you some of the healing mud, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“Let me see.” Bruno poked his left shoulder, causing Jonas to yelp in pain. “Come on, let’s see it.”

Jonas tried to concentrate on something other than the stench of the docks and the sweaty bodies passing by all around him. Suddenly, he wished he’d never woken up after his injury, that he was still unconscious in his cot at the Silver Toad.

Grudgingly, he pulled his shirt to the side to give Bruno better access to the bandages.

Bruno gently unwound the bandages and peered underneath. His expression turned squeamish. “That looks even worse than it smells.”

“And it feels even worse than it looks.” Jonas glanced down at it. Most of the mud had been rubbed away, exposing a raw red wound surrounded by angry purple marks like lightning bolts and green edges that oozed pus.

“You’re rotting like a three-week-old melon,” Bruno announced, putting the bandages back in place.

“So the healing mud isn’t working at all?”

“That concoction is quite old. It did work moderately when I first received it, but it never would have worked for a wound as serious as this. I’m sorry, my boy, but you’re going to die.”

Jonas gaped at him. “What?”

Bruno frowned. “I’d suggest cutting off the arm, but unfortunately the wound isn’t in the best place for that. You’d have to take the shoulder as well to clear away all the infection, and I’m afraid that just won’t work. Perhaps you could find some leeches and hope for the best?”

“I’m not going to go find any leeches. And I’m not going to die.” Still, as he said it, even he knew that he didn’t sound convinced. He’d seen men in his village fall terminally ill from rotting wounds. Some of the more superstitious Paelsians believed those deaths to be punishments for speaking ill of the chieftain, but even as a child Jonas knew that couldn’t be true.