Perhaps I was, in some part of my being, but now my unease lay in a new quarter, in the coldness I had heard and seen in Shaine’s voice and visage. I told myself not to be put off by this, that the news of Auren’s death was fresh and raw, and no one could be expected to recover quickly from such a thing. Logic has its purposes, but it is often not of much use when applied to affairs of the heart. So my steps were heavy as they took me once more up the steps to his rooms, to give him his second dose of the medication as well.
When I entered, at first it seemed that he slept, but as I approached his bed I saw that he was awake after all; a glitter of eyes showed beneath the fringe of dark lashes. This was where my training became unexpectedly useful, for I had been taught how to be cool and calm and professional even under the most trying of circumstances, and that rigor supported me now when I otherwise would have found it difficult to approach him.
“How is your leg?” I inquired. “Any swelling or pain?”
He shook his head, but said nothing.
“Fever?”
Another head shake, this one even slighter than the last.
“And no incidence of a cough?”
“Blast it, woman, I am fine!”
Well, there was a response, although perhaps not the one I would have wished for, given the choice. It was not like him to lose his temper thus, but he had been through more than any man should have to endure. “I am pleased to hear it,” I said coolly. “I have your next dose of medicine.”
He did not reply, instead staring up at the canopy above his head. Since he had not given me an outright refusal, I decided that meant he would not argue the point with me. “It seems to be working quite well,” I continued. “Most seem to be getting better, and we have had no new cases. I believe we may have turned the corner.” Since he continued to gaze, stony-faced, toward the ceiling, I went ahead and poured a measure of the mold broth into a spoon and extended it to his mouth. As before, he swallowed it without protest, his mouth closing firmly afterward. I could see the movement of his throat as he swallowed, but it appeared I would get nothing else out of him.
“Have I your leave to inspect the dressings on your wound?”
Again I was given only a short nod, and I tried not to sigh as I stepped closer and reached out to pull back the blankets. Once I had his voluminous shirt pushed away from the wound, I was able to carefully undo the wrapping and get my first look at the incision site since I had made it. I could see no redness or puffiness, which meant it had begun to heal cleanly, with no hint of infection. If he had been in a better mood, I would have made some comment on his recovery, but I guessed he cared little at the moment how well the wound might be doing. So instead I only fetched clean bandages from my kit and set about covering the wound once again. I had thought perhaps it would need stitching, but it appeared to be knitting itself together on its own. I would let it alone to do its work.
“It is doing well enough,” I said then, more because I felt I needed to say something to fill up the terrible silence that stretched between us. “I will keep checking it daily, but I see no reason for concern.”
“Hmm.”
Some part of me wanted to shake him them, to tell him he was not the only man who had lost someone—there were many in the castle who had suffered as much as he, or more, and yet they hadn’t turned into surly, cranky children. Well, not all of them, I reminded myself, for Lord Marten had also not handled his losses very well. But he at least answered me when I spoke to him, although when I had looked in on him earlier, I had very much gotten the impression that he had answered me by reflex, and not because he put any thought into his replies.
“They are making barley broth in the kitchen,” I went on, doggedly, because I had information I must relay, and at the moment he was my patient first and foremost, not the man I thought I loved, and who I hoped had begun to feel something for me in return. “I’ll see to it that some is sent up.”
Silence was my only reply…not that I had expected anything more.
Briskly I gathered up my kit, and avoided looking at him as I lifted the satchel and left the room.
I did not expect a miracle—that is, I had been given one already. It would have been presumptuous of me to ask for any more. And yet, as the days stretched on, with those under my care gathering their strength, I wondered when things would change, when Shaine would once again look upon me with warmth.
That is not to say we did not have our little tragedies. One of the women from the dye hut passed in the night, a week after I had first dosed her with the mold medication; her heart, as far as I could tell. She had been convalescing, but slowly, and I supposed the strain was too much for her. The ground was still frozen, so we sent her off as we had all the rest, in a pyre that used firewood we could ill afford to spare. But neither would we stack the bodies to wait for the spring thaw, and so another bonfire blazed away into the night.
Shaine did attend her farewell, as by then he had begun to limp about with the use of a cane. I tried to tell him to stay in bed, but he only looked at my with those stranger’s eyes and informed me that he had been a sluggard long enough, and that it was time to resume his duties. To be sure, we had need of every willing pair of hands, for although I had saved many, we had lost almost half the household, and the chores, perforce, were distributed among those who were left. There was no question of asking the lord of the manor to scrub the floors or muck the stables, but he had taken Wilys and some of his men-at-arms who had survived and went forth to hunt what game they could. I did not think it wise for him to be riding, but I also knew that any protests on my part would fall on unhearing ears, and so I only admonished him and his men to stay far away if they should spot any other people.
That they did not, in all the times they went forth from the castle, and I began to wonder whether we were the only ones who had survived, a tiny island of life and warmth in an otherwise dead land. But surely it could not be that bad. Surely it was only that the other survivors were huddled in their own castles and keeps, unwilling to venture forth in case they should come across others still infected with the dread disease. And even if everyone in the immediate vicinity was gone, it still did not mean that all of Seldd had been laid waste. There had to be some left. Even the accounts I had read of the last time the pestilence spread across the continent spoke of some few who had survived. There were always some who never sickened, no matter how dread the disease. Perhaps the goddess had laid her hand on them as well, so that some might live to recount what had happened and leave a record to guide those who would come after.
And one day I awoke in my cold bed to hear a dripping sound from outside my window, and I went to the window to see the icicles that had hung there all winter melting, their forms beginning to evaporate in a warm wind that had come up from somewhere to the south. It would not last; these false springs never did. Yet it reminded me that, as with all things, this winter of death would come to an end, and the roads would be open once again.
And that I was now a free woman.
The thought had flitted through my mind from time to time that I should pack my things and go. For Shaine of Donnishold had shown that even if he had once been inclined to think of me with some warmth, it had been extinguished the night Auren died. I had no doubt he blamed me, though I heard no recriminations from his lips. Indeed, I had begun to blame myself, even if in my heart of hearts I knew there was aught I would have done differently, given the opportunity. There are hard equations that must be made in times of extremity, and I had been trained as much in those as setting limbs and delivering babies. I could not sacrifice the care of many so I might sit with Auren all night. And even if I had, there was no guarantee my presence would have changed anything. When the body decides it wishes to succumb, even the most accomplished healer has not the skill to bring it back from the brink.
So it seemed I had no real reason to stay, although as the days stretched on and that false sign of spring turned to a true one, I k
ept wondering why I lingered. If I had asked, I knew Lord Shaine would have gifted me with a horse, a payment of sorts for the services I had rendered, even if I had failed at the one thing that truly mattered to him.
But still I remained, even as the sadly dwindled number of field hands returned to till the soil now that it was no longer frozen, and a creeping carpet of green covered all that had been snowy waste. I tried to tell myself that my presence was not completely useless—even with the plague now apparently behind us, still there were coughs and colds and the odd sprained ankle and burned finger. If any wondered why I stayed, they kept their questions to themselves. Shaine did not ask my intentions, and I did not voice them. Indeed, I myself did not truly know what they were.
I was, however, the only guest who stayed, for not long after the true thaw Lord Marten and his daughter left us, desiring to see what had come to pass on their own estate. We had had no word, and although Shaine asked if they would stay a little longer, he did so gently, as if he knew they were set on their decision. Donnishold had been a place of death for them. Both the Lady Yvaine and young Larol had burned with the rest of the casualties, but they had a stone set in the graveyard to mark their passing, along with all the other plague victims. I found a bouquet of early wildflowers, forget-me-nots and crocuses, placed across the earth in front of their marker the day after Lord Marten and Alcia left, and guessed it was Alcia who had done so, her final farewell before she returned home. We had no word of how they fared after that, and could only hope that they had not gone home to desolation.
A gentle wind blew from the south on a day not long after the new seed was sown on the freshly tilled fields, and a week since our guests had left us. I had gone to assist in the dye hut, as no one required my other services, and I found the process of coloring the fabric to be quite interesting, a novel use of the herbs and plants I often utilized for far different reasons. Ruanne and I were pinning up a length of rosy linen, and laughing because the fresh breeze kept catching the fabric and trying to lift it from our fingers as we raised it to the drying line.
The gates to the keep stood open. We had not had visitors for months, and it was easier for the field workers to pass back and forth from their labors to the hall where they shared their meals if that entry was not shut. Guards stood there, of course, and there were two more up in the tower immediately above the gate.
I heard one of them call out, “Rider!” and almost dropped the cloth I held.
Ruanne had heard him, too, of course, but she maintained a better grip on the fabric. “Mind the cloth, mistress. Even if they have seen someone, he won’t be here for a few minutes.”
She was right—the guard had a much better vantage point, and anyone he spied was most likely still almost a mile away. But I couldn’t help feeling a shiver of mixed anticipation and fear run along my spine. Who would be coming here, after so many months of isolation?
Somehow I managed to get my side of the cloth pinned up, and then wiped my damp hands against the apron I wore to protect my gown from any errant splashes or drips. Then I moved toward the gate, wishing to see who it was that approached Donnishold. I was not the only one giving in to her curiosity, as Ruanne was only a few steps behind me, and ranged beyond her were some of the other workers from the dye hut who had emerged after the lookout had shouted his warning.
By then we could all see the stranger: a lone rider coming at an easy canter, apparently not driven by any urgency. He wore a dark cloak with the hood down; the bright morning sunlight caught in his fair hair. I caught sight of that hair and frowned, for I had yet to see tresses that flaxen anywhere in Seldd. Even in Farendon hair of that particular shade was rare. One of my fellow members in the Order, Brahn Landisher, had hair that color, but—
I broke into a run, bursting out through the gate even as he brought his horse to a standstill a few paces away from me. His eyes, pale grey to match his silver-gilt hair, gleamed as he looked down into my face.
“Well, Merys,” he said, “it seems we’ve found you at last.”
Chapter 20
Despite his heartache, Lord Shaine was ever the gracious host, and although we could not offer anything terribly fine, he had the kitchen prepare a hearty meal of smoked meats and creamy turnip soup. We sat at the high table, and if both Shaine and I tried to dissemble and show we did not note the empty places at that table, well, I think few would fault us for that.
“You have done well here,” Brahn told us, as he broke off another piece of bread and washed it down with some of the young wine Shaine had ordered brought up from the cellar. “Much of Seldd is—gone, I suppose you could say. That’s the only reason why I was able to make my way here so easily.”
Lord Shaine lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. I supposed he did not much care for Brahn’s tone, which seemed to imply that the only way to escape the depredations of the slavers was to have most of them dead from the plague.
To cover up the uncomfortable silence, I asked, “And how did you know where to look?”
“Ah, that’s a tale in itself.” Brahn smiled, teeth flashing even in the dimly lit hall.
I recalled how easily he had been able to charm everyone back at the Order house, from Lhiare, the musty old librarian, to Selcy, the girl who fetched and carried firewood and anything else the masters could think of. Somehow I had been able to mostly evade that charm; I had never cared overmuch for those who used easy smiles and graceful words in place of hard work. But I supposed I must revise some of my opinion of him, for he had undertaken an arduous task by coming here to Seldd at all, let alone in the aftermath of the plague.
“Well, let us hear it, for there is plenty of wine,” I returned, somewhat recklessly, even as I caught Shaine’s brow furrowing briefly before he said,
“Yes, I think we would all like to hear how you found us.”
Thus encouraged, Brahn held out his goblet so that I might refill it, and then helped himself to a hearty sip before continuing, “At first we were not unduly concerned, for you had often been away from the Order for some time. But the weeks bore on, and winter began to approach, and there was no word of you. Then one day a man who claimed to be a farmer from Threnlyn appeared, and said he’d been told to pass on word from another man, an innkeeper named Frin, that one of our healers had been stolen from his village by slavers.”
“Frin,” I murmured, surprised despite myself. So he did manage to get the message through.
“You knew him?” asked Brahn.
“Only slightly. He was the innkeeper in Aunde, the village where I had been treating an outbreak of tertian fever when I was taken. He tried to hide me.”
Lord Shaine shot me an odd look. “You never told me any of this.”
I lifted my shoulders and replied, “You never asked me.”
Brahn looked from Shaine to me and then back again, and drank more wine. It was hard to say what he saw in our faces. He had been surprised to find me a free woman, and perhaps even more surprised by the way I made free of the household, but he had accepted my status with equanimity. If he thought some of that status might have been conferred by a not entirely professional physician/patient relationship, he was too well-bred to say so. I recalled then that he was the son of minor nobility, a baronet or second son of a viscount, and so possessed perhaps more knowledge of how to navigate such potentially tricky social situations than most of the members of my Order would have been able to.
“At any rate, we knew then you had been taken, but before we could begin to plan how to recover you, we received word that the plague had begun to spread across Seldd. The masters said it was far too dangerous for any of us to undertake such a pursuit.” Once again Brahn surveyed the hall—the quiet forms of the slaves who came to remove empty trays and plates from the table, the surviving men who could still take their place at the high table: Master Wilys, Master Breen. “We were lucky in Lystare, for the masters went at once to the king and counseled him to close the city gates, so that there was no
risk of the disease spreading within the population. And because then it still had only touched the outlying provinces, we headed it off before it could get a grip on the city. But safe as we were, there was no question of anyone riding forth, not while the plague ravaged the countrysides of both Purth and Seldd.” His manner uncharacteristically grave, he added, “I will not detail what I saw as I finally made my way here. Suffice it to say that this is the only estate I have yet come across that shows any sign of resuming a normal life. I assume it must be because of the careful stewardship of Mistress Merys here?”
Lord Shaine’s mouth tightened a little, but he replied in cool, even tones, “We are indebted to Mistress Merys. I have no doubt that none of us would have survived if it had not been for her hard work and quick thinking.”
That was the most praise I had ever received from him for my labors during the plague. I would have taken more comfort from it had I not known that he spoke thus for Brahn’s benefit and not mine.
All I said, however, was, “We were lucky,” and sipped at my wine.
Brahn would not be put off, though, and said, “I misdoubt it was luck and guess that it was more your training. You were ever modest, Mistress Merys.”
His words, rather than cheering me, only served to make me feel more uncomfortable. Truly, at that moment I wished I could rise and go hide in my rooms. Since that option was not available to me, I instead asked, “But how is it you were able to discover where I was, once you determined it was safe to leave the walls of Lystare?”
“Ah, that.” He settled back in his chair and raised his goblet, but did not drink. Somehow I had the feeling it was a posture he affected often in the taverns of our capital city. Men like him always did better when they had an audience. “Well, we did have to wait the better part of the winter, but then Charis and Millarn and I decided to ride south, to see if we could heat up the trail again, so to speak. We did not much fear the plague, as it has a tendency to burn itself out. I will not say that Farendon did not suffer, but the word had spread out from Lystare that the safest course was to isolate each village and town as much as possible, and so we fared better than some. And when we reached the southern marches we began to ask for word of the slavers who roamed in those areas.”
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