“Of course I shall perform the surgery. I will dose him with the littlest bit of poppy so it will dull the pain somewhat, but there is still a risk that he will jerk about, and of course that would jeopardize his life, if he were to lash out while I was cutting him. So I need you to hold him steady, and make sure he does not interrupt the procedure.”
In response, Raifal went even more green, but I couldn’t help smiling a little as he squared his shoulders and approached the bed. “I will do whatever you need, mistress.”
“Very good. Then go to the head of the bed, and make sure you have a good grip on his arms. I can manage his legs.” I think, I added mentally; even in his febrile state, Shaine was a strong man. But I had held down bigger men than he during surgery, and besides, I would have the poppy to help me. I retrieved the vial and tipped a drop into Lord Shaine’s mouth. At once he went limp, and Raifal took his place as I had instructed, holding his lord by the upper arms so he could not twist away from my knife even should the pain penetrate through the poppy’s haze.
Nothing for it, then. I pushed back Shaine’s linen shirt so that I would have clear access to the area. And I saw it was time, for the boil had risen yet higher, the whitish mass underneath straining to push through the overtaxed skin. I picked up the sharp, tiny knife, and made the first cut.
At once a whitish-green pus oozed forth, and even though he had been well-drugged, Shaine jerked.
“Hold him!” I ordered, and Raifal tightened his grip, his gaze studiously fixed on the canopy above the bed. I did not know whether it was because the sight of blood made him green, as it did so many other men, or whether he was simply discomfited by the sight of his lord’s nakedness. I supposed it did not matter much one way or another.
Luckily I had set aside a quantity of clean linens to aid me in my task, for the accounts I had read said that the plague boil could contain much putrescent matter. I mopped away as the pus seemed to rise ever forth, creating an ever-growing pile of filthy cloths at my feet. Sweat grew on my own brow as I worked away, and a knot of unease formed in my stomach. When would it ever stop? I had never seen such a disgorgement before.
At length the pus gave way to a watery yellowish discharge, followed by a gush of blood. Still I worked to clean it away, wondering all the time whether the supply of cloths I had laid in would be enough. At least the blood would help to clean the cut. And then at last it began to slow, and I judged it time to cleanse the wound.
If he had jerked when I made the first cut, Shaine positively convulsed as I poured alcohol over the incision. Somehow he managed to twist out of Raifal’s grasp and strike at me, the bottle of alcohol falling from my hand to the floor.
“Catch him!” I commanded, and to Raifal’s credit, even though he looked pale enough to faint away right then and there, he somehow managed to grab hold of Lord Shaine’s arms and pin him back down.
The alcohol was quite gone when I bent to retrieve the bottle, but I knew I could get more from the stillroom if need be. At least I had gotten the wound clean before he knocked the bottle from my hands.
I did not want to stitch the wound closed; not yet, as there was always the risk of trapping some infection within. Instead, I took up a quantity of clean bandages and bound them firmly against the incision in his groin. The pressure would keep the blood from flowing, and in a day’s time I could reinspect the wound and judge whether any putrefaction had occurred.
If, of course, he lived that long.
For what I had done here was only half the fight. The goddess had given me the vital information I required, but it still lay in my hands to attempt the making of a cure, and to hope it would not come too late. She had given me no assurances, but had she not spoken of love, told me that it would guide me? If she truly were a goddess, then she knew of the love that I felt for Lord Shaine. Surely she would not be so cruel as to speak of love if it was destined to be torn from me.
As much as I wanted to stay by Shaine’s side, I knew I must make haste down to the kitchen. I finished tying off the bandages, pulled down his shirt, and drew up the blankets. Then I looked up at Raifal, who still had his gaze fixed on some spot in the middle distance. “Raifal,” I said quietly.
He jerked a bit, and turned his face toward me. I noticed a bit of relief pass over his features as he appeared to note that his lord was now safely covered up. “Yes, mistress?”
“You have done hard duty here, and it will not be forgotten, neither by Lord Shaine nor myself. But I must ask one more thing of you.”
“What is it, mistress?” His voice sounded strained, but I was pleased to see that he met my eyes directly, with no fear. Perhaps he, too, had passed some test this night.
“I have work in the kitchens—I have an idea for some…medicine…that might help us. But I cannot leave Lord Shaine alone. Will you stay here, and watch over him, until I can return?”
At once he nodded. “Of course, mistress.”
Again I realized that, as alone as I had felt, I was not. Everyone who still drew breath was here to help me, to offer whatever limited aid he or she could. I could not have asked for more than that.
I thanked him and rose, then went to the door. Before I went downstairs I had one more duty to fulfill.
She lay in death much as she had in life, with no sign of the disease that had ravaged her. Whether she had died that way or whether Elissa had done so out of some gesture of respect before she came to fetch me, Auren’s small hands lay crossed on her breast, and her dark-honey hair rippled down over either shoulder. Truly, from where I stood one could have thought she slept only. I knew better, however.
I stepped closer, breathed, “Oh, Auren,” and shut my eyes for a moment, willing the tears away. All the weeping in the world would not bring her back. And should I mourn, I who had seen her rise from this very bed, whole and healthy, and smile as she laid her hand in that of Lord Thrane, who led her from this world to the next? The goddess had said I should not, and yet even I, who knew she had moved on to a better place, wanted nothing more than to fall down at the foot of her bed and weep bitter tears for the young life that was gone, with all its promises unfulfilled.
Very gently, I reached out to touch her forehead, to feel the smooth skin there that would never know a line or wrinkle. “Be at peace, lady,” I said softly.
Perhaps it was only the way the morning light fell against her face, but it seemed that the corners of her mouth were curved upward slightly, in an echo of the smile she had given the Lord of Death as he reached out to take her hand. At some point I knew I would have to send someone up to retrieve her body, and yet it grieved me that she should be sent out to burn on a pyre with the rest of the household’s dead before her father had a chance to make his farewells. But she could not stay here forever, and I had no idea when Lord Shaine would regain consciousness, and, even more, when he would have the strength to hear such unwelcome news.
“Suffice the evil,” I murmured, in the words of the old proverb, and forced myself to step away, to move back to the staircase. No one else shared that room, and even with the sun rising it was very cold; she could remain there for some hours without a problem. In the meantime, I had much to do.
Head high, eyes burning but tearless, I descended the stairs and made a quick pass of the gathered people in the hall. Two more had passed during my absence—the elderly woman who had sorted the dyes, and who I guessed might not have lasted the winter, plague or no; and one more of the stableboys, who had succumbed to the airborne version of the disease. So poor Master Wilys only had two left in his charge, although at least the both of them still seemed to be hale and hearty enough. I looked on the stable master as well, who appeared mostly recovered, although there was a hollow look to his eyes that hadn’t been there a few days before.
“I am well enough to get out of this blasted bed and help, mistress,” he protested, as I told him that he must lie there at least a day more.
“You think you are well enough, but it would n
ot do if you sickened again,” I replied. “Relapse” was also not in my Selddish vocabulary. “I know it must chafe you, but we will need every able body to survive this, and I cannot let you take that risk.”
My tone was stern, and after a bit more fussing he subsided, for I guessed he understood the wisdom of my directions even if he didn’t much like them. “If you will it,” he muttered, and I smiled and said,
“I do will it.”
As I turned away from him, one of the women who had been helping to tend the plague victims approached me. I was glad to see that she still wore the strip of linen tied over the lower half of her face, but above the pale fabric her dark eyes were worried. “Mistress Merys?”
“Yes…” I cast about in my mind for her name. “…Ruanne?”
“I did not wish to have anyone disturb you while you were tending to his lordship, mistress, but I thought you should know that Lord Marten came looking for you, and I said you were with Lord Shaine and could not be interrupted. He swore at me then, lady, but I held my ground. But now—” She hesitated, and then continued, “I heard the girl say you needed to attend to somewhat in the kitchen, but perhaps you should see to Lord Marten, just in case…”
If Lord Marten had come looking for me, I feared the worst. But perhaps he only sought me out for news of Auren. Either way, I did not much look forward to seeing him, but I knew it must be done. Five minutes of my time I could spare for such an errand, no more.
“I will see to him,” I told Ruanne. “You have done good work here, and I thank you for it.”
She bobbed a curtsey, and the linen moved a bit, as if she smiled beneath the mask. But then someone called her name, and she hurried off, leaving me to go to the tower where Lord Marten waited for me.
Meeting with a goddess did not, I found, lend wings to my feet, nor had it given me any fresh stores of energy. Each step up the tower to the suite now occupied by Lord Marten and his children seemed higher and higher, and by the end I fairly had to drag myself up, foot by unwilling foot. Perhaps at the end of all this there would be a time when I could finally lay myself down and seek refuge in sleep, but that time was still as far-off and cloudy as the rest of my future. I could only concentrate on what I had to do now, in the time I had, and hope that my strength would be enough to carry me through it.
Even before I lifted my hand to knock on the door, I heard the hollow coughing from within. Ah, goddess, I thought. And which one is it now? Will it be Lord Marten who follows Lady Yvaine into that next world, or is it young Lord Larol who will meet up with his lost betrothed in that place where mortals cannot reach?
When the door opened, I looked up into the weary face of Lord Marten. As the coughing came from somewhere in the suite behind him, I knew it was not he who had fallen ill.
“You took your time, healer,” he snapped.
“I was attending Lord Shaine, as I know Ruanne told you.” If my own tone was curt, it was only from weariness. The man had lost his wife; he should not have to face the loss of his children as well. “And I fear—I fear we have lost Lady Auren.”
“Ah, gods,” he sighed, all anger disappearing from his visage. He stepped aside so I could enter the suite, but I saw no one else. The coughing came from one of the open bedroom doors, but I could not remember which was Larol’s and which his sister Alcia’s. “Is that how it is to be? For my son to follow his lady from this world?”
“We do not know that,” I said. “Let me see him.”
As if he had not the strength to go within, Lord Marten merely raised his hand and pointed at the door to the left. I nodded and went in, fearing what I might find, and yet hoping it might not be so bad as I thought.
Alcia sat at her brother’s bedside, wiping down his forehead with a damp cloth, although he tossed and coughed and, as I watched, reached up to push her ministering hand away. Like the women down in the hall, she had tied a strip of linen across her nose and mouth. Her eyes glinted with tears, but she ignored her brother’s restlessness and continued to tend to him with a fierce determination that seemed to signal she was not going to give up any time soon. She must have heard me enter, for she looked up, and I saw a little frown pucker her brows.
“We needed you!” she burst out.
“I know, Alcia, and I truly am sorry I could not have come before this. But Lord Shaine was gravely ill as well, and I have just come from—” I cast about for the word for “operate” and instead substituted, “I have come from cutting open the boil, so that the disease could come forth. I came here as soon as I heard that your father had need of me. May I see your brother?”
She hesitated, then pushed her chair back so I might approach and bend over him. As with the others, he burned with fever, and his slender frame shivered and shook from the resulting chills, even though the door was open to the room with the blazing fire beyond, and a brazier burned in here as well. I bent toward him, and he coughed again, each spasm seeming to tear at his lungs. He did have enough strength to hold a handkerchief to his mouth, and so I did not see the discharge that he brought up, but I knew what I would find if I inspected the handkerchief.
Even in the throes of the coughing fit, he struggled to get out one word. “Aur - Auren?”
I feared what the truth would do to him. He had never seemed to be an overly strong boy, and now the disease had its merciless claws in him, shredding at his lungs, overwhelming his body’s ability to defend itself. The news he desired could be the death of him. So I equivocated. “I have come from tending her. She is in her room.” Not lies, not at all, but of course the most important facts had been withheld.
It seemed he guessed I did not tell the whole truth, for his brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth again, only to be interrupted by another wracking fit of coughs.
“Don’t try to speak, my lord,” I told him. The cough could be soothed temporarily by the tincture of coltsfoot I had prepared earlier; I turned from him to pull it from my satchel, glad that I always kept a pewter spoon for such purposes with the rest of my kit. And as he opened his mouth to attempt a protest, I poured a dose of the tincture down his throat. He coughed again, but not as deep—he was more surprised than anything else. “Keep watch over him,” I told Alcia. “This should soothe his cough for a time, and I will come back to check on him as soon as I can.”
“You’re going?” she asked, the panic clear in her voice. I guessed she had thought she would only have to be his nurse until I arrived on the scene, and then she could be relieved of that duty.
“I fear I must, Alcia. I need to go to the kitchen, where I will be making what I hope is a cure. But I cannot help anyone if I do not go there now and tend to the process.”
She nodded uncertainly, as if she hadn’t quite understood what I had said but somehow knew better than to question me. That was sufficient; I sent an encouraging smile in her direction and went out to see their father, who paced in front of the fireplace as if he couldn’t find the strength to sit down and be still.
“His fever is high,” I said, “and the cough quite bad, but I have given him a tincture that should quiet the coughing for awhile, as well as tea that will help to bring down his fever. Alcia seems to be keeping good watch on him, but I must go. The only way I can truly help him—help anyone else in his situation—is to get back to the task at hand.”
“And what would that be?” From his expression, it was clear that Lord Marten thought the only task I should have at my hand was caring for his son.
“The cure to this pestilence,” I said, then turned and left him.
I hoped it would be that simple.
Chapter 18
At least Elissa had been diligent—when I arrived in the kitchen, I saw the table where Merime used to chop vegetables piled with all manner of moldy loaves and rolls. Truly, I had not thought we would have that much, but it was clear that housekeeping duties in the kitchen had fallen by the wayside without a guiding hand, and so food had begun to spoil that would never have gotten to that
state under Merime’s watchful eye.
Elissa waited for me there, with another of the kitchen slaves, a girl even younger than Elissa, named Alinne. They both looked up at me expectantly as I entered the room, and I felt more than ever the weight of need. I could not fail them, or the man who lay recovering from his surgery in the tower above. The goddess had said the answer lay here, but she had given little more information than that. I would have to bring all of my knowledge to bear, and hope it would not fail me.
“You’ve done well,” I said. “Now what we must do is break off all the moldy bits, and gather them here.” I found a bowl on the lower shelf of the work table and set it on the tabletop. “Try not to take any extra bread with the moldy parts, if you can. We want to concentrate the mixture as much as possible.”
“The mixture?” Elissa asked.
“I’m going to brew a sort of—well, I suppose you could call it beer, for lack of a better word.”
“From this?” Her eyebrows lifted. She was not the type to contradict me, but I also knew that every village and hamlet across my homeland made its own brew, and very likely she knew far more about the process than I did.
“Yes, from this. I know it sounds strange, but in that mold is medicine that can help us to fight the plague. But we have to concentrate it, make it into a drink we can give to those who are sick.”
Alinne, whom I did not know well, slanted me a frankly dubious look. But as she had been raised to obey orders, she set about removing the moldy portions of the bread and popping them into the bowl. Since she was small and slender, and her fingers delicate and nimble as well, she proved well-suited to the task. Elissa set to work as well, picking out the bits of mold as deftly as she once used to braid Auren’s hair.
That thought brought a certain choking sensation to my throat, and I swallowed and turned away from them so they could not see the tears starting in my eyes. I could not think of that now, nor could I think of Lord Shaine, lying upstairs with only Raifal to look over him. The sooner I set about this task, the sooner I could bring him the help he so desperately needed.
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