In the Time of Dragon Moon

by Janet Lee Carey

  • • •

  THE SOLDIER’S INFIRMARY was housed near the weapons yard. Most of the cots were empty, but near the back, I saw an elderly priest leaning over a cot. I had brought my wound supplies in my basket. Father Ezra carefully undid the bandage to let me check the wound. The reddened skin was finely stitched.

  “A deep wound,” Father Ezra said. “He has lost a lot of blood.”

  A thin sheen of sweat coated Sir Geoffrey’s face. His breathing was too shallow, more like that of a small animal than of a man his size. Father Ezra replaced the bandage. “We will know by tomorrow if he is going to live. I have done what I can. The rest is up to God.”

  I pulled the small jar of the Adan’s soldier’s woundwort from my basket. It was the last of my store. I hadn’t had the time to mix a new batch from the yarrow I’d picked that morning. “I hope this will help.”

  Father Ezra took it, removed the cork, and sniffed the jar. “Yarrow,” he said, “and something else?”

  “Herbs that grow in the mountains where I come from,” I said. “They are powerful.”

  “Thank you, Uma. You are kind to bring it.” He paused, then said, “You are young to have risen high enough to serve as queen’s healer.”

  “I serve her because my father, the Adan, died,” I said past the lump in my throat. “He was the one she wanted.”

  “But you took what God gave you.”

  “Did God give me this?” I snapped with sudden fury, thinking of Father’s death, my own if I failed the queen.

  The priest’s face was calm. “You wanted another profession, perhaps? You have another calling?” His eyes were bright in the candle glow under his thick gray-black brows.

  “No, Father. I have always wanted to be a healer.”

  He nodded. “I saw that when you inspected the wound, in the touch of your hands, and in your eyes when you gave me the salve.”

  “What would your God say about tradition, Father?” I asked, suddenly wanting more from this quiet man. “As a woman, I am not allowed to cure anyone back home in my tribe. It goes against our laws. Only the men are graced with the power to heal.”

  “Yet you are doing it now, Uma, because you must, am I right?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, “because I must.”

  “Already you answer your question,” he said.

  I left Sir Geoffrey in Father Ezra’s hands, and made my way to my herbarium.

  There is more to healing than mixing cures and stitching wounds. In our teachings, body and spirit are bound together. I had been studious. I’d read every page in Father’s Herbal over and over many times. I’d watched him and learned much about the properties and uses of healing plants, but what Father hadn’t taught me, what his Herbal could not show me, were the secrets passed from one Adan to another, ancient knowledge linking body and soul, flesh and dream.

  I am the healer who will cure her, Father said. But he wasn’t here. It was up to me.

  I unlocked my father’s Herbal. The pages made a whispering sound as I turned them, looking . . . looking. Grief. Despair. How do you treat a mother’s pain at the loss of her only son? How do you treat her grief? Does grief reside in the heart or in the mind? In the body or the spirit? How was I to begin?

  In the end I could only think to help Queen Adela sleep; give her dreams that would allow her to experience her pain from a safer place. The remedy I’d given the queen would wear off soon. Now I settled on the strongest sleep potion I knew. Lighting the fire to warm mulled wine, I sharpened my herb knife and slit the precious gyocana pods to get to the small purple seeds inside.

  I also ground sleeping powder for the king, separating the doses out in packets to add to his wine, small amounts to calm him, larger doses to help him sleep. It would be easier to give the packets to another to treat His Majesty, but that broke tradition. Only the Adan or his apprentice touched these medicines. The king was still with his brother, Duke Bion, when I entered with his elixir. His Majesty’s back was to me. He gripped the mantel hard, holding on as if the floor was moving under him and he could not stand without it. He refused my medicine until Duke Bion urged him on.

  Down in the queen’s bedchamber, Lady Olivia slumped over in her chair napping, the head veil covering her face fluttered gently in her breath. The queen moaned, stirring as she began to wake. Her bright blue eyes sprang open when I set the chalice on the bedside table. She blanched white at the sudden memory of her son’s death, drew in a shuddering breath, and sat bolt upright.

  “Your Majesty,” I whispered, reaching for the curative.

  The queen didn’t seem to hear me. With a cracked scream, she gripped my arm, felt the knife under my sleeve. Before I knew what she was doing, she’d torn my herbing knife from my arm.

  “No! Stop!” I lunged for her and gripped her wrists with both hands as she strained, trying to drive the point into her heart.

  Lady Olivia awoke and leaped up, shouting, “Help! Someone help us!”

  The sentries posted at Her Majesty’s door burst in, followed by Lady Tess, who must have been on her way to check on the queen. They dove for Queen Adela. The guards pinned her down. At last I pried the knife from her clenched hands and raced across the room to store it on the bureau out of the queen’s reach.

  Queen Adela screamed, kicked, and clawed everyone who had come to throw his weight in and hold her down. Two guards forced her to sit up between them and managed to pin her flailing arms against her sides, but not without a few scratches.

  The queen moaned and cried out, still squirming between her captors.

  “Stop it, now, Your Grace.” Lady Tess leaned over her, still breathing hard from the tussle. “You have had terrible news today. Your physician will give you something for the pain.” Eyes to me, she jerked her head toward the potion.

  “I don’t want it! I want the knife!”

  “No, you don’t want the knife,” said Lady Tess. “You are overcome with grief right now. You need rest. You need to heal from the horrible shock.”

  The tonic in the silver chalice had cooled. “Drink this, Your Majesty. It will help you rest.”

  “No,” she sobbed, squirming.

  Lady Olivia coaxed, “Sip some, Your Majesty, please.”

  Stepping closer, I pressed it to the queen’s lips and got some in her mouth before she spat it out, spraying my face and Lady Tess’s. Tess glared at me through strands of her disheveled hair dripping with potion. “Can you help her or not, Uma? How will we get her calmed down if she won’t drink it?”

  “Calmed down?” The queen laughed at us all, a horrid, leering laugh that ended in more sobs, another determined struggle to get free.

  “Wait.” I grabbed my knife and rushed down to the castle kitchen. Cook was pulling bread from the mouth of a fiery oven.

  “The queen needs sweetmeats.”

  “Sweetmeats?” he asked, astonished.

  “Now!” I shouted.

  He went to the pantry and came back with a tin. There were just six inside. “Is that all?” I barked. It felt good to shout and spew a little of the dread that was building up in my chest. Cook did not deserve it. At the moment I didn’t care.

  “You will have to make more sticky nut balls for the queen. You understand she’s stricken. You must do your part to help her. Lady Tess expects it,” I added, unsure Cook would take orders from me.

  I took the six with me up to the herbarium, where I slit more gyocana pods and pounded more seeds to powder. A small dose made the patient drowsy, a little more put him to sleep, too much killed him. I had to be careful. Slicing the sticky round nut ball in half, I scooped out the gooey filling, sprinkled in the purple powder, refilled the nut ball, and pressed it together.

  The rumpled sentry outside the queen’s door had long, angry-looking scratches down his left cheek. Inside, Queen Adela was sitting on her bed between
Lady Tess and the second guard. Lady Olivia had wedged herself behind Her Majesty to keep her upright. Like the man’s outside, all their faces were scratched. Somehow the three of them had managed to wrap a blanket about the queen’s hunched shoulders while I was gone. One of Her Majesty’s packed trunks had been opened and hastily gone through. We would certainly not be leaving Dragon’s Keep tomorrow.

  Queen Adela was breathing in great loud gulps. The blanket kept out the cold, but her racking shivers came from her core. I did not realize I’d halted to stand completely still, until Lady Tess gave an exasperated huff and motioned me forward.

  I held out the sweetmeat. “Please eat this, Your Majesty. It will help you.”

  Queen Adela snarled. Lady Tess gave me a nod. Pulling the queen’s mouth open, I popped the sweetmeat inside and made her chew it by cupping her jaw and moving it up and down. Queen Adela screamed into her closed mouth as I made her eat. I didn’t like forcing her.

  “It’s all right,” Lady Tess said. “You are not hurting her, Uma. She won’t be as distraught the next time she comes to.”

  I wasn’t sure that was true. I had treated the queen through many a strange mood. This was beyond me. Beyond all of us. She had never turned a knife on herself until today.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pendragon Summer Castle, Dragon’s Keep

  Death of Egret Moon

  August 1210

  WE KEPT CLOSE watch on her that night. The queen was too undone to attend chapel the next morn. Father Albus gave a short service by her bedside, and served Holy Communion.

  The hours passed with painful slowness as I kept watch with Lady Olivia and Lady Tess. I slipped out when I had to mix more medicine for the king and queen. Always I hurried back.

  By dusk a wild craving grew in me. I feared I would claw someone’s face if I could not go outside and breathe some fresh air. There was no time to check on Sir Geoffrey’s progress in the infirmary, no chance to find and speak with Jackrun.

  The following day Queen Adela agreed to take luncheon with the king in his chamber. Afterward she strolled gingerly out in the walled garden with Lady Olivia on one side and me on the other. Guards followed so close behind I could almost feel them breathing down my neck, but I was grateful to be outside.

  Queen Adela’s face lit up for a brief moment when we’d passed the fountain. Kip was squealing happily on the sunny lawn, playing tug-of-war with Pippin. Her Majesty knelt down, patted the grass, and called, “Here, Pippin. Come here, boy.”

  Her lapdog was having too much fun to release his end of the rope. She stood again. “Bring him to me, Kip,” she said sharply. Kip looked up and froze at the sight of her ghostly face. Dropping his end of the rope, he raced across the garden and through the gate on his short little legs.

  “Come!” the queen demanded of her dog. Pippin whined as he inched closer, then rolled on his back and piddled all over his pink belly. Queen Adela grunted and pushed him away with her slipper. She nearly lost her balance doing it. Lady Olivia and I had to catch her by the elbows to keep her uptight. I have overmedicated her, I thought as we led her to a bench by the roses and sat her down.

  I was feeling a velvety rose petal, wondering whether we should bring Her Majesty back inside, revolted at the thought of being shut up in her room again, when a servant rushed out, bowed briefly to the queen, and spoke to me. “You are wanted in the infirmary, queen’s physician.”

  “Sir Geoffrey?” I said, pulling the petal so hard it came off in my hand. I regretted the name as soon as I’d said it.

  “Geoffrey!” the queen said. “He was sent out to . . . to—” She looked confused.

  “May I leave you for a moment?” I asked Lady Olivia, trying not to sound as urgent as I felt.

  “Your duty is here and you know it.”

  “I won’t be long.” I left without her blessing, fearful of what I’d find when the guard led me through the weapons yard to the soldier’s infirmary. Jackrun was already there with Father Ezra and a younger priest. He turned with a haunted look as I came in, his eyes ringed with circles over rough, unshaven cheeks. Sir Geoffrey’s dead, I thought with a pang. Steeling myself, I stepped past Jackrun and saw the empty cot, the bloodstained sheets. “When did he die, Father Ezra?” I whispered.

  Father Ezra shook his head, took up a candle, and motioned for us to follow him. When we reached a small stillroom lined with medicine shelves adjoining the soldier’s infirmary, the old priest bolted the door. “He did not die, Uma. He vanished sometime in the night. Brother Juniper has looked all around the castle and the grounds for him. Sir Geoffrey was near death. I did not think he could get far in his condition.”

  Father Ezra turned and held his candle closer to my face. “We have told no one else of this just yet. I wondered if you knew anything about this, Uma.”

  “Why would I know about it?”

  “You seemed to care about him, coming here so soon after he was stabbed.”

  “To bring the woundwort, Father.”

  “Then it is safe to guess he left telling no one where he was going,” he said with a sigh.

  Brother Juniper blinked at Jackrun, at me. “I think he ran away out of fear for his life.”

  “His Majesty came down here last night demanding to see Sir Geoffrey,” said Father Ezra.

  “What did you do, Father?” I asked.

  “What God would have me do. I protected the sick and did not let King Arden come near him, but I think Sir Geoffrey was awake enough to hear the king shouting in the outer hall. He must have crept away in the fourth watch of the night when I was at my prayers. He’s not likely to live running off with such a deep wound.”

  Jackrun fingered a liniment jar on the shelf. “The king might see his running away as a confession of guilt.”

  “Was he guilty?” Father Ezra looked from Jackrun to me.

  “It was an accident, Father,” I said.

  “You are sure, Uma?”

  I breathed in the thick air laced with the scent of countless familiar and unfamiliar herbs and ointments.

  “Sir Geoffrey tried to talk Prince Desmond out of jumping from the overhang onto dragonback,” I said. “The prince refused to listen.”

  Father Ezra’s penetrating eyes assessed me a moment. “I will go to Duke Bion with the news that Sir Geoffrey is missing, but not right away. I will wait a few hours more, you understand.”

  “Yes, Father.” Guilty or innocent, Sir Geoffrey would be killed if King Arden caught him.

  Father Ezra stopped Jackrun at the door. “And you agree with this plan, Jackrun?”

  Jackrun gave a curt nod. “Meanwhile I’ll search for him myself if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” said Father Ezra.

  Jackrun slid the bolt aside, and left the stillroom. He didn’t turn and wait for me as I’d hoped, but walked in a fluid motion across the weapons yard, disappearing into the stables.

  Late that afternoon I mixed Her Majesty’s fertility tonic. I doubted that she and her husband would bed together while they were both so grieved, but I couldn’t risk letting her miss a single dose. At the very least the increased bapeeta I added to her potion would help to steady her. I was decanting the tonic when I heard someone coming up the stone stairs. A moment later I caught the scent of horses, of dragons, and knew Jackrun was at the doorway. I’d left the door ajar. It hadn’t seemed as important to lock it now that Desmond was gone. I waited for him to speak as I poured the liquid through the strainer. He breathed heavily behind me as if he’d taken the stairs three at a time, which he likely had, knowing him.

  The silence grew, then there were more footfalls, slower now as Jackrun started back down. I ran out onto the landing. “Jackrun?”

  He turned with such a stricken look, I grabbed the iron railing. “What? What is it?”

  He put a finger to his lips in warn
ing, then sat down. I settled on a stair above his, the spiral staircase too narrow to wedge beside him without our bodies touching. It was chilly in this hollow place. The torches in the hallway below spread a dim, dun-colored light along the wall. I waited for him to speak, already wishing I had squeezed in next to him as I’d wanted to.

  “Did you find Sir Geoffrey?”

  He shook his head. “How is the queen?”

  “She’s in a bad way. I have to hurry back to her.”

  “You know what this does to me and my family?” Jackrun said. “Desmond was the only heir.” I’d been so bound up with my work, so worried about the queen’s health and what it meant for me, I hadn’t taken time to think of what the death meant for Jackrun’s future.

  “I will help the queen have another child,” I said.

  “You have medicine for that?”

  “It is what I’ve been treating her for all along. That and the condition of her mind.”

  He looked surprised. “She’s not young anymore, Uma. Does she really think she can have more children?”

  “She is about the same age as your mother, who bore Kip a little more than two years ago. She has to have a child now.”

  He rested his elbows on his knees, dangling his hands over the stairs. “I’ll be future king if she doesn’t have another child.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  He said nothing for a moment. “The fey folk will be thrilled if I inherit. I used to think about it. What little boy doesn’t dream of being a king?”

  “Your wanting that when you were a child didn’t make Prince Desmond die.”

  He curled his fingers inward, two fists hung in the air. “Babak blames you for what happened.”

  “Because I called out,” I said with an ache.

  Jackrun swallowed. “He’s wrong. The wind blew my cousin off balance. I went to tell Babak so yesterday, but he wouldn’t see me.” So he’d gone to the dragons while I was penned up with the queen. Riding through the woods for the past day and night would explain his rumpled clothes, the new beard growth I’d seen earlier in Father Ezra’s infirmary, and bramble scratches. He must have only just gotten back when he learned Sir Geoffrey was missing, and went riding off again to look for him. He scraped some dry mud off his boot.