“You have a feeling about Timoteo’s new physician?” Fedeles cast Atreau a skeptical glance. Then, realizing that the glow of all the surrounding blessings did not illuminate the gloom for his friend, he added, “It isn’t simply the flush of too much wine?”

“Were my warmth inspired by wine, I’d tell you that his naked body is a wanton dream and his eyes are wonders of copper and emeralds. No. He’s striking, but it’s more his character that I found fascinating.”

“His character? Next you’ll be telling me you’ve fallen in love with a girl’s skill at needlework,” Fedeles replied, and he was only half teasing. He reached out to press his palm to Atreau’s brow. “Are you fevered perhaps?”

“You’ll understand when you meet him.” Atreau shrugged off his hand. “He’s exceptionally genial. Though that doesn’t quite describe the quality . . .”

“When words fail you,” Fedeles said, “then I know I’ve had you working too long on my account. You need to rest, I think.”

“Yes. I do. But not as much as I need a physician for . . . her.” Atreau said softly.

Fedeles couldn’t stop the sound of disgust that escaped him.

Just the sight of a physician’s silver signet made Fedeles shudder in horror. When he’d been a student a physician had taken possession of him. For three years the man locked Fedeles’s mind in a prison of gibbering madness while secreting a murderous shadow curse in the very blood and bones of his body. Even after the possession was broken, a vicious remnant of the curse lingered in Fedeles. Every year it seemed to grow and Fedeles’s loathing of physicians grew with it.

Everything about them revolted and terrified him. A whiff of coinflower, the clink of medical instruments, or a glimpse of an exam table could set his body shaking and his heart hammering with panic. And always, his terror roused the shadow within him—ready to lash like a murderous demon. Indiscriminate and fatal.