The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8)

by Lina J. Potter

  "Those foolish women were happy to serve Albitta!" The eyes of the usually meek Milia flashed with anger. "Now, they're oohing and aahing over me. I have no wish to see them!"

  Lily could relate.

  "How about we make use of them?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Tell them to bring two maids each. They must have some servants, or maybe their families do."

  "Hmm. Not a bad idea. Leir Ervan, make it known to our court sluggards. Let them do their best to retain the favor of the queen and the regent."

  The leir bowed.

  He couldn't say that he liked that enterprise, but if Her Majesty had commanded, then so be it.

  "Wonderful." The countess gave a vicious grin. "Now accompany me to the pantry and the kitchen. These things," she said as she took a quill and circled several lines, "are essential. The hospital requires them, and you can give them to me right now. I'll never believe the palace doesn't have any."

  The leir flinched, but Milia suddenly copied Lily's grin. It didn't work as well, but it was a good honest attempt.

  "And if you can't find anything, Lilian, then feel free to visit me. We'll discuss it."

  "Thank you, Your Majesty," Lily said as she gave her a half-bow that couldn't fool anyone. It was already obvious that the women were friends.

  Milia respected and appreciated the countess too much. And how else could you treat a person who had saved your life and the lives of your children?

  Of course, it was different strokes for different folks, but Milia was a decent human being.

  Lily was almost like a sister to her.

  Leir Ervan sighed and made his peace.

  ***

  The pantry. The kitchen. The servants, the orders, people's irate glances, Leir Ervan bellowing out commands...

  Only after all of that was Lily able to start tending to the wounded.

  No, it wasn't cruel, not in the least. How else would you help a patient if you didn't have sterile bandages, balms, blankets—or only enough for ten people at most? What about the rest?

  Sorry guys, I'll drop by in a week?

  Lily had never been evil enough for that. That's why she had to deal with the butler, talk to Count Lort, bring Milia in... Yes, her job was helping people, giving them medical aid, and just that.

  But in that world, and many others, that required first wheedling money out of bureaucrats. And thus, Lily did what she had to.

  The doors of the west wing finally loomed ahead.

  Here it goes!

  ***

  Over the next three hours, the entirety of the palace staff grew to hate Lilian Earton.

  That said, all the wounded were singing her praises, thus offsetting it.

  Lily made the servants pour boiling water over all rooms one at a time, killing most of the creepy crawlies and bloodsuckers, shake up all blankets and mats, air the rooms, throw all incense burners down Maldonaya's knickers, and generally look after the patients.

  And yes, she put the Roivels, the Elonts, and Losan first. They had gotten the brunt of Alcine's anger, yet they were alive, and that meant that everything could be fixed. Still, fever and infection could quickly change that; she needed to be wary.

  Everyone was glad to see Lily, at least. She appreciated that nobody was resentful of her or bearing a grudge for her having escaped. She hadn't expected such magnanimity, even if there was a simple explanation: Aldonai's will.

  In their eyes, she had never been the one in control; Aldonai had spoken, and that was it. The cards had been dealt. Arguing His will meant asking for even more trouble. Everyone got their own trial and their own burden.

  And so, Lily told Marquis Losan the latest news while skillfully applying dressings, cleaning up wounds, and administering balms.

  At first, the two resident doctoruses regarded her with contempt. If not for the countess' Virman escorts—who glared at everyone while casually fiddling with their daggers—and Altres Lort's strict orders, Lily would have heard a lot of unpleasant words about herself.

  Maybe she should invent streptocide. Yep, definitely. Add it to the "to do" list upon getting home.

  She knew how sulfanilamide had been discovered, although Domagk had much better equipment. But what would she lose?

  Even if she managed to synthesize any type of streptocide, red or white, it would be a breakthrough. After all, it was still used in the twenty-first century despite antibiotics being widely available. Too bad antibiotics were out of the question. She'd love to prepare them, but she had neither the experience nor technology to do that. The simpler stuff, however...it was worth a try.

  She had a feeling it had something to do with fabric dyes. She just had to remember.

  She needed to get home.

  Too bad they couldn't do it yet; that was a fact. First, the coronation, and then the Roivels and Elonts needed to recover... The damage was extensive, cuts and burns, and dislocations all over.

  Lily really hoped that Alcine would get a just punishment in the afterlife. Maybe Maldonaya could hang him upside down for a hundred years or so?

  She knew he had been captured and would be executed. Served him right. She wasn't going to attend, though, and didn't really care for it anyway. That was Wellster's internal matter; let them deal with it themselves.

  Her task was getting her friends and companions back into shape, witness the coronation, finalize the betrothal, and finally leave.

  She missed home. It dawned on her suddenly, leaving her shocked. Home...

  It used to be that her home was her parents, Alex, and college. Was it still? Had it changed?

  Lily asked herself that question and couldn't lie. Her home was her husband, her daughter, her family, the people who loved her. In Ativerna, whether Laveri or Earton. There, she had carved out a place for herself. When had she realized that? During the journey, when she and Jerisson had fought off the bandits? When they went night fishing?

  Or later, when she dragged the queen to safety while deathly afraid for her husband and daughter? When she was writing a note for Concord and praying that Miranda was all right? When she was fleeing the capital, hoping that Jerisson did the same?

  When she returned to Cardin and Jerisson pulled her out of the carriage and embraced her? She saw so many things in his eyes: happiness, love, hope... A miracle that came true. She should be dead, but they weren't, and that was a miracle worthy of Aldonai. Had her prayers in the monastery worked? There was no telling that.

  Lily didn't want to speculate. She simply was happy.

  Your Majesty Edward the Eighth, you did right in sending us on this journey. It's as if you had a hunch...

  Or maybe you had. But still, thank you. I owe you one.

  For the next six hours, Lily tended to the wounded. She cleaned injuries, applied bandages, even performed one amputation...a lot of things. She had no time for the people's judgmental stares or sidelong glances, not a bit.

  Scowl as much as you want, as long as you don't meddle in my business and prevent me from doing my work. And her work was cut out for her, too.

  Festering abscesses, fever, blisters... Ativerna might be slowly introducing hygienic standards, its doctoruses having heard that hands were to be washed. Not so in Wellster.

  One would ride a horse, then dig into a wound, then pick their nose.

  Sterile? You mean stern?

  At least that's what doctoruses thought. Still, one expert could always recognize another, and as they observed Lily, they started noticing things. Idiots might put on airs, but idiots had no place in the palace, or they'd get swallowed up. A clever man would never pass on an opportunity to learn.

  Jerisson peeked inside, looked at his wife, nodded, and left. Half an hour later, servants brought a meal from the kitchen, and the Virmans forced her to eat. Then it was work again.

  Lily didn't mind. First and foremost, she was a medic. Intrigues, plots, wars, and court affairs were not her thing, but the hospital was. She might get up to her elbows
in blood, but it was something only she could do. For good or for ill, she genuinely tried to help people. Thankfully, for the most part, she was successful.

  She would return the next day.

  ***

  That night, Jerisson and Lily kept whispering.

  "How are the Roivels? The Elonts?"

  "It will take at least a month, maybe more."

  "Too long."

  "Yes. But it can't be helped. I'm already as optimistic as they come. A month, as long as the wounds heal as they're supposed to and no complications arise..."

  "And might they?"

  "I've asked them questions. It's quite possible, Jess, especially if they travel."

  "So, what should we do, then?"

  "Well...either stay here or go."

  Jess frowned.

  "I'd go, but...it feels like a dirty move."

  "Then, we stay. I'd rather keep an eye on Milia, anyway. She's getting better, but you never know."

  "Altres said we could stay in the palace as honored guests for as long as we want."

  Lily shrugged.

  She didn't care about that as long as they let her do her job.

  The palace was fine, but she could have stayed in the closest inn just as well.

  "Mirrie says she's become friends with the princesses."

  "Our girl's making connections."

  "She has a hard life ahead of her. Amir will respect and appreciate her, but what would happen then?" Lily sighed. "A different country, different traditions..."

  "I've noticed her learning the language."

  "So have I, and what?"

  "As for traditions...if Amir meets her halfway..."

  "And what if he doesn't?"

  Lily couldn't avoid thinking about that.

  Yes, Amir Gulim was a great match—it was like marrying a sheik—but romantic love existed only in stories.

  Life had traditions, customs... Like, say, the harem.

  How would Miranda handle it? Nobody would conform to her—instead, they would try to break her. Lily understood it, but how would she explain it to Jerisson, who was so proud of that betrothal?

  Amir was a wonderful young man, but would Mirrie be able to live his life? It's not like she would get her own, other than maybe get a hobby.

  Medicine? It was an option, but theory was nothing without practice, and where would she find it in a harem? Except for gynecology, although a wife wasn't supposed to do something like that. Nobody would understand Amir and Miranda if she did it. People were afraid of new things, preferring to destroy them rather than accept them.

  For the first time, Lily considered finding a hobby for Miranda, one she could practice in any place. But what?

  Well, she still had a couple of years. She would see.

  ***

  The next day, Lily once again went to the hospital. Work, work, and more work.

  Who else could apply the dressing? Definitely not the maids, who were yet to learn that they shouldn't wipe off their snot with their sleeves and then put their dirty hands into open wounds. Parasites!

  One upside was the patients' common mood. In the twenty-first century, torture like that was bound to trigger trauma. Here, it was different. The damage had been done by their enemies; nobody really expected any better of them. Enemies were supposed to do something like that.

  Yes, it was painful and hard, but even for the nobles, everyday life in that era wasn't devoid of hardship. The main point was that they were alive, while their enemies weren't, and that's what the latter deserved. Hopefully, they would suffer for all eternity in Maldonaya's clutches.

  No anguish, no qualms, and an absolutely fighting spirit that, according to Lily, increased recovery by at least fifty percent.

  In their world, you survived, you learned your lesson, and you lived on, thanking Aldonai.

  And in turn, Lily wanted to help the wounded and make their continued existence as fulfilling as she could. At that moment, that meant treating their wounds, examining stitches and making new ones, changing bandages... Lots of things required her attention—after all, her medical expertise was very different from the local doctoruses.

  An unexpected pleasure was Thomas Concord bringing Lily her old first aid kit consisting of a large chest that could fit her entire body inside.It contained herbs, good surgical tools, and other stuff that she had carefully prepared in case problems arose.

  Another news that made her happy was Lidarh's survival.Lily had been blaming herself for abandoning her loyal friend so much that she couldn't help but hug Thomas without any regard for their class difference, kiss him on both cheeks (to the secret envy of everyone present), and promise to make up for it. She was in his debt. Nothing was too much for a thing like that.

  The men could understand her. It was a real live Avarian! The countess was within her rights; they would have spared no expense, either.

  Lidarh, who had no idea about the countess' inner turmoil, happily accepted a salted piece of rye bread from her hands, then another one, and even pushed his head against her, offering to go for a ride. She had to comb his mane and promise to do it later. She had no time for it yet.

  The horse was smart enough to realize that and take it in stride. They would make up for it later, anyway.

  Virma, the lands of Clan Hardring.

  "So, you'll be my stepmother now?"

  Ian's eyes were piercing blue and un-childlike.

  The boy, all serious-looking and having grown up before his time, looked so much like Bran, only without a limp, that Angelina felt all warm inside.

  Sometimes, a person you fell in love with came with children attached.

  That required finding common ground with them. But the princess held no doubt that she would succeed.

  Miranda Earton adored her own stepmother; why couldn't Angelina pull off the same as Lilian Earton had? She absolutely could!

  Bran had left the day before. He had to visit the place where his house had once stood, see the dead off. He knew that it would be a while before he returned to Virma, if ever, and didn't want to leave any debts unpaid.

  Angelina wanted to go with him, but Richard dissuaded her. True, Bran needed support, but it would be easier for him to know that Angelina was safe. Plus, everyone had something they might want to keep secret even from their beloved.

  Richard wouldn't have wanted to be seen in a moment of grief, and Bran was likely the same.

  Angelina followed his advice and allowed Bran to make the decision himself, implying that she would accept it in any case. Bran chose to go alone, leaving the children under Olav's care. Hilda was too young, and it wasn't the right place for Ian, either.

  And then, there were certain things that Bran wanted to take with him.

  A fire, murders... Do you seriously think that Gardren's caches would be so easy to find just in one night?

  The attackers would have to spend a month digging around the area, and even then, success wasn't guaranteed. Gold, gems, and other valuables wouldn't hurt Bran in his new life. He had a family to take care of, and he never liked accepting charity. He was already investing in trading houses on the mainland and would want to invest even more.

  With Bran gone, Angelina stayed alone with Ian and couldn't help thinking that it was part of Bran's plan.

  When else would he talk with his future stepmother?

  "Do you mind?"

  Ian shrugged.

  "I don't remember my mother well. Hilda won’t, either. Only Rith."

  "Your father didn't have much luck."

  "Father never lied to me. Both of his marriages were arranged. He needed support to become the chief of the clan, so he married my mother. He never married for love, and he didn't want children, either."

  "Why? "

  "He was afraid that his children would be born cripples, too."

  Angelina shrugged. Maybe the boy expected a different reaction, but...

  "His disability is nothing. People live with worse things."
/>   "He loves you."

  "And I love him, too. I hope you and I can be friends."

  Ian shrugged as well.

  "Because my father wants us to?"

  "No. Because you lost a lot, and I never had anything."

  "But you're a princess, aren't you?"

  "It doesn't mean that I was happy."

  Angelina wasn't dodging questions. Ian was Bran's son, and the only thing Gardren could never forgive was lying.

  Strangers could lie to him all the time, from morning till night, by all means.

  But his family? Never.

  Maybe it was because the Gardrens never really cared about strangers; they had a clan, and they had a plan.

  Strangers were either a tool or expendable resources. Who cared what a hammer or a chisel would think?

  Family was different. Bran was prepared to give his life for his own, and he asked no less of them. Angelina accepted it and approved.

  She didn't swear to Ian that she would always love him, didn't say that she couldn't live without Bran, but tried talking to him as if he was an adult. Ian embraced her tone and reciprocated.

  They would have to learn to live with each other.

  Friendship? It might happen, or it might not. They would have to wait and see.

  But it was a start.

  Wellster, Cardin.

  Maria rode into the capital without any pomp: quiet, unassuming, almost in secret. Still, she was almost beaming with joy.

  As soon as she entered the palace, she sought out Milia.

  "Milia! Ed! Cor!"

  Milia embraced the girl and burst into tears.

  "Maria!"

  "I was beside myself!"

  "I almost went mad with worry!"

  Tears, sobs, confessions...

  It's not like Milia and Maria were like mother and daughter. Still, both remembered the old life before the coup, when G was alive and everyone was at peace, and both of them liked it.

  They had a lot to talk about and cry about, and that's what they did.

  Milia told her stepdaughter about her plans for the immediate future. The most important matter was Ed's coronation, followed by the meeting with the Assembly and the regent's confirmation.

  Then came Maria's betrothal, seeing as it hadn't been quite finalized. Let her be given to Ativerna one more time.