Make haste, the note had read, so Erin did her best, edging past her fellow novices as they scurried around the candlelit, herb-scented room. They moved from bed to bed, bringing broths and elixirs to members of the King’s guard, who lay feverish in a way that Erin’s Mistress had never seen before.

Either no-one noticed Erin leaving her post or they were not inclined to stop her. With Erin gone, no precious potions would be spilt and wasted tonight. No bottles would be dropped and broken. No candles would be knocked over, dangerously close to bedding.

The Mistress Adept had learned the hard way to give Erin only simple tasks to perform. Tonight she had soothed a guard’s fevered brow with a cool, damp cloth. She had spoken kindnesses to him, telling him he would be well soon, though his skin was horribly pale and waxy.

When the guard’s fever had dipped and he was dozing, a young page had appeared, eyeing the sick nervously. He had thrust the note into her hand, then scarpered before she could speak. The note was folded in thirds, sealed with red wax marked with the Curator’s insignia – a raven – and addressed to Erin Briar, Novice Adept.

Erin read it with growing agitation. If the new Curator, young Master Roth, was unwell, surely he would send for a senior Adept or the Mistress herself? Why would he request her, the girl with the whispered nickname.

Novice Inept.

Erin closed the door behind her, feeling the chill sea air through her roughspun dress. Her boots rang on the cobbles as she made for the gatehouse leading to the inner ward. In the torchlit archway, the castle’s blacksmith stopped her. Upon seeing the Curator’s seal, he waved her on. She dared not ask: were all the guards ill? If so, who was manning the walls? The kitchen staff with ladles? The servants with brooms? Unease settled cold in her bones.

The King’s stone tower was set upon a grassy hill, with the archives atop a second motte near the castle’s seaward wall. Erin lifted her skirts and took the steps to the archives two at a time. She paused at the oak door, then moved close to a flaming sconce to read the note again.

Make haste. Tell no-one. Come alone.

The handwriting was unmistakable. The elegant sweep of the ‘s’ and the extra upward curl on each ‘o’, so artistic and precise. Three weeks had passed since Erin had last sat next to Alden Roth in the learning hall, and secretly watched him wield a quill, her skin prickling as if she were the parchment upon which he wrote.

They and thirty other sons and daughters of the court had gathered to learn about the kingdom and its tenuous alliances. Erin had been Alden’s equal then and could have addressed him by his first name, had they ever spoken. But he rarely looked up from his note-taking, his russet hair hiding his smoky eyes.

Only once did he notice her. It was the awful day when Mistress Adept had interrupted the lesson to fetch her, and his fair brow had furrowed with concern, because everyone knew the Mistress would not intrude unless she bore ill news.

Outside the hall, Erin had caught a few of the Mistress’s words as the shock set in:

Two frothing horses at the gate. Your parents’ carriage driverless.

They were within, but, my dear girl, their wounds were deep. I could not save them.

‘Robbers upon the road,’ the King had declared at her parents’ funeral, an explanation repeated only days later, when Alden’s father, then the Curator, had not returned from his tour in search of new curios. By then, the Mistress had taken Erin in, and the girl had found an ornate box hidden in her parents’ carriage. Erin had sent for Alden’s servant to convey it to the archives for examination.

Erin’s note accompanying the box had been poorly written. Holding onto things had begun to elude her. They had started to fall and break the same way as people. Her world had become as slippery as the quill in her hand. Master Roth, I am sorry about your father. It is not easy being alone. Send for me if you ever wish to talk.

He had not replied. Surely he would not send for her now to chat? Not while it was likely that the healing room held every guard the castle possessed?  

She pounded her fist upon the archives door.

It opened enough to offer a slice of light. Alden stood there, trousered but barefoot, with the sleeves of his untucked shirt rolled up to the elbows. The sudden brightness turned his dishevelled hair coppery and his eyes to pewter.

There was an odd sheen to his skin and a glassiness to his gaze, as if he looked upon a stranger. Saints, she thought. He’s expecting someone else. He has confused me with another, with someone who is useful, while I am only useless.

But Alden opened the door wider. ‘Hurry, please. We have little time.’

Erin stepped into the high-ceilinged entrance hall. As she passed close to him, she caught his scent, reminding her of the Adepts’ herb garden, of the rosemary and parsley she would snip, often catching her fingers. Alden was tall and sturdy, yet shoving the large door closed made perspiration bloom above his brow.

Her heart tripped fast. ‘Ald –’ She caught herself. ‘Master Roth, you are unwell.’

‘That is why I need your help.’

He turned and padded away, crossing the hall. She watched him go, worried by how the cold stone did not seem to bother his feet. How advanced is your fever?

‘I am but a novice,’ she called after him. ‘The Mistress herself should attend you. I shall fetch her here.’

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘No. It is you I need.’

Why? she thought, even as his words lit a flame in her chest. Quickly, she tamped it down. She was too used to failing, to never being enough. Alden had to be mistaken. If time was as short as he believed, then he had to understand the truth immediately.

‘The other healers have a name for me,’ she blurted out. ‘I am the Novice Inept.’

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Alden halted and turned. Regret pinched his eyes and mouth. ‘I have heard the tales. I did not send for you to attend to me. You are here because we must heal the King’s Guard.’

Erin took a step back. ‘I cannot help. I will only make things worse.’

‘Only you will do. You are, after all, the one who sent the box to me.’

The box? Though the hall was less chilly than outside, the cold deepened in her bones. She had felt something when she’d held the box. A burr of power. Realisation struck hard as a slap, and her voice rose, tremulous.

‘The box. It—it is magic! You believe it has done this? I have done this?’

He gave only the briefest of nods. Tears rose and spilled down Erin’s cheeks. She had shed tears of grief for her parents, of frustration at her uselessness as a healer, and of resigned despair. But this was far worse. She was not simply inept. She was a blight.

This is my fault. I am cursed. I break everything. And now, everyone.

‘I must go!’ she called after him. ‘I cannot abide what I have done!’

Her face hot with shame, Erin fumbled to lift the latch and tug on the door. Perhaps she should take the path that skirted the castle walls towards the cliffs. Perhaps it would be a fitting end to her disappointing life.

Alden shoved the door shut, breathing hard. She’d barely heard his rushed footsteps. His grey eyes pinned her in place.

‘This is not your fault. It is mine. I take responsibility for what has befallen. I worked out the secret mechanism to open the box.’

‘But I sent it to you! If I hadn’t –’

His voice softened but lost none of its urgency. ‘Novice Briar, you are not the sum of what happens to you. You are much more.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I remember you from our  lessons. You always asked astute questions.’ A flush swept over his cheeks. The fever, no doubt. ‘You are also kind and caring, which is why you anguish over your mishaps.’

‘Oh,’ Erin uttered.

She dared not believe him, but the Mistress had said something similar once, after Erin had dropped a full piss pot and the clay had shattered on the floor. ‘Kindness is essential in a healer. And you are the soul of kindness.’

Could the rest be true too?

Mayhaps, I am simply clumsy. My heart. My mind. They are both fine. I must try to look beyond that which I cannot control.

Alden broke into her thoughts. ‘I have made this mess. But I hope we shall fix it.’

We. A small flame spluttered to life in her chest again. This time, she let it be. When he turned to go, she went with him.

They entered the room at the end of the hall, where full bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling. From beyond an open window came the crash of waves upon the rocks far below. At the room’s centre lay a table. A square box, lacquered and made of criss-cross inlays of wood, rested upon it, surrounded by books and candlelight. A deep drawer in the box was open.

‘I could not puzzle out the way to unlock it,’ Erin said.

Her fingers had skidded over its surface when she had tried.

‘Did you find anything inside?’ she asked.

‘A golden powder. Before I could examine it, a gust blew it out the window. Well, most of it. A little of it tickled my nose and made my servant sneeze.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Yesterday. My servant fell ill first. And then it began among the guards. I thought the powder had blown out to sea, but the wind was tricksy with a mind of its own.’

‘You think the wind was spelled?’

‘I know so from my research. The box called it forth.’

She blinked at him, struggling to take it all in. ‘But if this is true, how are you not bedridden yet?’

He pointed to the drawer. ‘Look more closely.’

Erin leaned over the box, her hands safely clasped behind her back. She found a sprinkling of small black specks.

‘It looks like poppy seed.’

‘It is, but magicked in some way,’ Alden said. ‘After the powder disappeared, a small bird rose from the drawer and flew out the window.’

‘A bird!’ Erin frowned. ‘But I did not find the box hidden in the carriage for days! The box bears no air holes. How could it –’ She stopped herself, and her eyes widened, seeing his cleverness. ‘You think the seed kept the bird alive. You have been eating the seed.’

‘Yes, it has sustained me through my research. And kept the fever down. The bird. It was a messenger. I believe it has flown home, alerting our enemy that the box is open.’

Erin swallowed. That could only mean – ‘An attack is coming. Which way did it fly?’

‘Due south.’

‘Fanneldane,’ she said, naming the land with whom their kingdom had the most uneasy of alliances. ‘My parents’ carriage passed through its hinterlands.’

Alden’s mouth formed a grim line. ‘As did my father on his travels.’

Erin took a step back and clutched at her hair. ‘Alden, it was all a plot! My parents were not killed for their wealth. The box was planted to be found once the carriage was within the walls.’

Erin crossed to the window and looked out at the darkness. Lights bobbed in the distance. Boats. A fresh despair washed over her. What could she hope to do now?

‘Erin.’ His voice was a rasped plea. She turned to find Alden sagging. She steered him to a cushioned bench, then darted back to the table. With the Curator ill, as well as the guards, they were truly in danger. Without thinking, she removed the drawer from the box and brought it to him.   

‘Eat the rest.’

He took it, licked his finger and dabbed up the last seeds. A little colour returned to his cheeks, but he still looked fragile.

She sighed. ‘Why did you not send for me sooner?’

‘I am the Curator. My father worked alone, advising the King by reading portents, solving puzzles. I was trying to be him.’ He let out a frustrated growl. ‘I fear I am a poor substitute. I am the inept one.’

Erin’s heart twisted. He had been a victim of Fanneldane’s cruel strategy as much as she had.

‘You were doing your best.’

Alden smiled, sadly. ‘You are too kind. I never took a moment to tell you I was sorry about your parents. And I never replied to your note, though I was grateful for it. I was too wrapped up in myself.’

They had little time now for regrets. ‘I forgive you. Now tell me. What can I do?’

He squinted up at her. ‘Tell me anything you know about the box. Where did you find it? Did you feel anything while you held it? If we understand it, we might learn the correct way to destroy it, the way that will end the curse.’

Erin cast her mind back to that day.

‘I found it in a hidden compartment in the carriage. My fingers knew where to feel.’ Erin had been self-assured then, confident with her hands. ‘But when I tried to open it, my hands became slick.’ A new realisation came to her then. ‘The box – it made me clumsy!’

‘It has exerted an influence over you.’ Alden held up the now-empty drawer. ‘But perhaps it does no longer?’

He was right. Erin had carried the drawer to him smoothly. She had been so intent on saving him that she had forgotten to be afraid. She glared at the horrible box, the cause of her despair and self-loathing.

How to destroy it? Burn it? Break it apart and bury it?

Time was too short. She would have to guess, unless . . .

Erin grabbed the box, ran to the window, and hurled it out. Smash, Box, against the very rocks you wanted me to hurl myself upon.

Had she chosen correctly? Holding her breath, Erin turned around.

As if he’d never been ill, Alden rose smoothly from the bench. Relief crossed his face.

‘I knew you would have the answer.’

Erin felt a surge of joy, and then remembered. They were not out of danger yet.

‘Quick! We must alert the guards!’

She held out her hand. He took it gladly. Hope bloomed in Erin’s heart.