by Chloe Garner
“How long has he been here?”
“Since yesterday,” the woman said, standing and walking across the room to put the back of her hand against Isobel’s forehead. “Honestly thinks burnt rocks are going to help break a fever,” the woman muttered, then saw Andie’s expression and smiled. “He means well, but he’s going to think his moon goddess saved you, when I wipe this thing out.”
She spoke in Greek, and it made Andie’s mind happy to not have to focus to translate. Like the woman could put ideas directly into her head, compared to Sambian.
“How do you know she didn’t?” Andie asked, and Isobel straightened the covers, letting a rush of cool air in along Andie’s clammy skin. For an instant it was bliss, but if Isobel hadn’t let the covers fall again, she would have started shivering.
“Let’s not talk about that,” Isobel said. “Can you drink?”
Andie wrinkled her nose, but nodded.
“Can I just have regular water?” she asked. Isobel sighed.
“Drink a little of the other, first,” she said. “I’ll let you have a glass of regular water, after.”
Isobel helped her sit up - she was too weak and uncoordinated to do it herself - and handed her a clay mug. She put her finger in it to test the temperature, so it didn’t surprise her, then sipped at it. It tasted of various things she might have been able to identify, on their own, but that were only just familiar, mixed together. Ginger and chalk and herbs, strong. If she held her breath and took it in gulps, she stood the best chance of getting it all down. She just had to worry about coughing in the middle.
She swallowed the mixture and Isobel took the mug and refilled it from a pitcher, and Andie sipped at the cold water.
“Your breathing sounds better,” Isobel said. Andie had been trying to take shallow breaths to avoid disturbing the sea of gummy green muck in her lungs, but as she took an experimental, deeper breath, she found that Isobel was right. Her lungs still popped, and it made her cough, but she didn’t feel like she was drowning, any more. She nodded. She breathed out in a slow, firm breath, drawing the phlegm to her throat so she could cough it up, and, glancing to make sure Aistin wasn’t watching, spat it into the bucket. Isobel nodded.
“Can you sleep?”
“Everything hurts,” Andie said.
“I know,” Isobel said. “And it will in the morning, too. But you need sleep.”
She nodded and shifted back down into the sweaty sheets, rolling onto her side and securing the heaviest blanket under her chin.
In her next moments of awareness, Aistin was gone.
The illness ravaged the household, Andie learned as she reached a level of health that permitted Galinda to gossip with her while she took soup and water for lunch or dinner. She was weak from days without eating, but apparently the disease had actually claimed the life of one of the older servants. Isobel stopped coming to sit with her, and she didn’t need to ask why. A few days after her fever broke, Galinda told her that she had an invitation to sit with Isobel and Rafa in the main hall.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“If you’re up for it, you should come see,” Galinda said. Andie agreed to it, and with great pains, they managed to get her dressed. Rafa came to escort her downstairs. She was surprised until she realized how hard she had to lean on his arm to make it. She was out of breath by the time they made it to the main room. He gave no sign of noticing her weakness, escorting her to the new third chair in the center of the room with great dignity. She collapsed into it and spent several minutes trying to figure out how to sit up straight without actually having to support herself. She ended up partially slouched, with her elbows wedged into the arms of the chair. Galinda brought her mead, and Isobel reached out to pause her.
“Do we have wine?” she asked.
“I think so,” Galinda said.
“Go ask Valerie,” Isobel said. “Today, she will appreciate wine.”
Andie had almost forgotten wine. It had been almost since she had left Greece since she had it, and she had simply assumed that no one but the Greeks fermented it. Galina disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a metal goblet filled with the dark drink. Andie smelled it and smiled, settling further down in her chair and sipping at it contentedly.
Rafa and Isobel spoke quietly to each other about various issues within the kingdom, then slipped into another language for a time. Andie was dozing off when a young man came running into the room, followed by several men from the stable and the man tending to the door. The young man threw himself to the floor in a deep bow and took a breath, his throat rasping as if he had reached the end of a great exertion.
“Woe, honored ones, woe,” he said, face inches off the floor. “The king’s son is dead.”
Andie sprung to her feet, knocking her goblet to the floor unnoticed, and nearly passed out. Rafa caught her and helped her back into her chair.
“We grieve,” Rafa said, “but I must beg of you, speak quickly. Which one?”
Andie’s heart thundered against her chest and she blinked, struggling to keep mind and body in the same place as the messenger stared at her.
“Elbing,” he said. “Killed by an unseen of the hairy ones. Ambush.”
Andie started to shake. Isobel was before her, helping her out of the chair.
“It’s inappropriate to show relief before the messenger,” she whispered in Greek. “Go with Galinda.”
Andie nodded, in shock, finding her face wet when she put her hands to her cheeks. Isobel motioned and Galinda was at her arm in a moment, helping her out of the room toward the kitchen. The warm scent of flour jolted Andie out of shock, and she leaned against Galinda, sobbing. Her body was so tired, and her hope so fragile, it was like a physical blow. She cried for relief, and at her guilt for being relieved.
Elbing was an upstanding man, a strong man, who had given everything to protect his home and his people. For a moment, the struggle the Sambians had, day in and day out, to turn back the raids of the forest men, felt real to her. She shuddered with new fear at what the kingdom would do without their warrior prince.
But Aistin was safe. He would come to her again, and she would go to him. They would exchange words. He would hold her hand.
She found a cup of wine in her hands, and she drank it, and it was refilled. Finally, braced by the wine and out of tears, she nodded and brushed her face with her hands.
“Can I go back?” she asked. Galinda scanned her face with open concern for a moment, then nodded.
“Lean on me,” she said. “You’re still weak.”
Andie had no arguments, and she let Galinda lead her back into the main room. Isobel and Rafa were speaking with the messenger. He looked at Andie with fear, like she would collapse again, but Andie settled into her chair with firm determination, sitting straight and keeping her face emotionless. Someone brought her a glass of wine and she motioned to him.
“Watered, after this,” she said. He nodded and she looked away, dismissing him.
“Aistin asked if the lady could accompany me back,” the messenger said.
“That won’t be possible,” Isobel said.
“Yes, it will,” Andie said. Isobel looked at her with surprise. “It’s where I should be,” Andie told her. “If you say I can’t make it, I will believe you, but please don’t spare me.”
“I will go,” Galinda said, stepping forward. Isobel waited a moment, then glanced at Rafa.
“She has the strength,” he said, then gave her the smallest of smiles. “If she can keep from falling off.”
“You’ll take Iovanna, of course. That squirrely little mare you brought would dump you in the first snow bank,” Isobel said. Andie couldn’t argue with that, either. Valerie wasn’t malicious, but she danced as she walked, and it took a confident seat in the best of times to stay put. She nodded, then shot Galinda a grateful look.
“Quickly, if you will,” the messenger said, rising. “They await your counsel.” He spoke to Andie
in the first part, and Rafa in the second. Andie was confused for a moment, then realized a whole conversation had happened while she was gone. She pushed herself out of the chair and finished her wine, finding her nerves steadied under its familiar influence. Galinda took her elbow, and Isobel called for furs. Andie found herself swaddled as she had never been before. No proud processional, was this. She wore more than her own weight in furs, and she took help from three of the stable boys and Isobel to get settled on Iovanna’s back. Galinda sat, ready, in a simple cloak, on one of the other horses. Rafa and Isobel held a fortune in horses, alone.
The messenger checked with them, giving Andie another concerned glance before he set off down the invisible path back to town..
Andie was already exhausted, and with the weight of the furs and the warmth of the wine settling in her stomach, she started to nod off almost as soon as they were moving. Her face stung with the cold and her nose ran, but inside of her cocoon, her body was warm and immobilized. Galinda rode next to her, a hand on Andie’s hip, and as Andie drowsed, somehow the two of them managed to keep her upright on the snow-plowing horse. The messenger clearly wanted to move faster, but all of them knew if Andie fell off, she’d never get back on, so he didn’t push them. The yard out of the royal castle had been trampled flat, and someone announced them. Aistin came out into the yard moments later with wide eyes. He gave the messenger a harsh tirade that Andie couldn’t hear, and then Laukas came through the door into the yard.
“It was my orders, brother. You want to yell at someone, yell at me.”
“Are you trying to kill her?” Aistin asked.
“This is her place,” Laukas said, “and you weren’t going to ask her to come.”
“Is someone going to help her down?” Galinda asked, not yet dismounted out of an evident concern that Andie would make it all this way and still end up falling.
“You had no right,” Aistin said. “You’ve put her in danger. You sent her out with nothing but a messenger for protection, and no ability to flee.”
“She wanders as she pleases every other day,” Laukas said, taking Iovanna’s reins and stroking the mare’s nose.
“Don’t pretend today isn’t different,” Aistin said. “You won’t shame me for being cautious the day our brother dies.”
“Nor will you shame me for asking your betrothed to come. With Elbing gone, the people will want to know that there is hope within the family.”
“Are we betrothed?” Andie asked Galinda. Galinda hushed her.
“What people?” Aistin demanded. “Where are the people?”
“If you worked with people other than priests all day, you’d know how much they need to know that we are here.”
“And if you worked with anyone but farmers all day you’d take the risks more seriously.”
“What does that mean?” Laukas asked. Aistin threw up his arms and made for the door. Laukas dropped Andie’s reins and followed. “No. Really. Tell me what it means.”
A young boy from the stable came and stood nervously by Iovanna.
“Stay put,” Galinda said, rolling out of her saddle and handing her gelding’s reins to the boy. Andie rolled her eyes and grunted.
“I’ll manage,” she muttered, laying forward over Iovanna’s neck and working her leg over the mare’s haunches. Her landing wasn’t even close to graceful, but she kept her feet under her, and that was something.
“Give them some grain and make sure their water isn’t frozen,” Andie said, handing the boy Iovanna’s reins. She half-expected him to be intimidated by the size of the two horses, but once he was clear of her, he ran for the barn with the indomitable enthusiasm of youth, the horses not even bothering to break their walk to keep up with him. It made Andie smile.
She turned for the house.
There were rules to visiting. Someone else’s house, someone else’s responsibility to see to you, but in exchange, you had to let yourself be seen to. Andie was too tired to care. She pushed through the door, startling the attendant there, who struggled to recognize her as she went by.
“Wait,” he called. She ignored him, following the sound of shouting ahead of her as she made her way to the main room. The king was sitting on a chair by the enormous fire, his head in his hands, and Aistin and Laukas were pacing around him as they shouted at him.
“Enough,” Andie said, too loud, but not as loudly as she wanted to. She coughed, struggling to find her knees with her hands in time to catch herself as she bent double. Her head was clear, simply tired, but the cough hadn’t yet gone away. Aistin came to help her and she stood, ripping at the clasps that held the furs in place.
“Get it off,” she grunted. “Just get it all off.”
“Be still,” Laukas said, coming to help Aistin.
“Andromeda,” Galinda scolded as they got down to her normal clothes. “I told you to stay put.”
“And I came in, instead,” Andie said, doubling over in another cough, and going over to stand next to the fire. It was still too cold. The king stood to offer her his chair, but she shook her head, sinking to the hot stones gratefully.
“Chairs are too civilized for me,” she said, then looked at Aistin and Laukas. “But you two. No more from you. I’m here because I chose to come, and that’s all you get to say about it. Now, can someone get me something hot to drink, with honey in it?”
“Where is your kitchen?” Galinda asked.
“No, not you,” Andie said.
“Yes, me,” Galinda answered. “You can tell me what to do, but you can’t tell me what not to do. I’ll be back in a minute.” The young woman put her hand on Andie’s shoulder and squeezed it.
“Very good,” the girl murmured in Greek so bad Andie nearly didn’t understand it. She tipped her head back and grinned, anyway. After a moment, she realized that probably wasn’t the right reaction, just now, and she dropped her head forward again, looking up at Aistin.
“I’m sorry,” she said. He and Laukas stood, frozen, next to her pile of furs on the floor.
“Don’t apologize, child,” the king said, standing. “Not when you’ve finally got them starting to act like royals again.”
“Everyone is going to be afraid. Afraid that we can’t keep back the woodsmen, and afraid that the next king won’t be ready, after everyone assumed Elbing would take the throne all this time.”
“I don’t want it,” Laukas said.
“Neither do I,” Aistin echoed.
“Neither did I,” the king said, glancing at Andie, then turning to his sons again. “And Elbing did. He saw it as his responsibility, to take care of this kingdom. We aren’t the only ones who will suffer this loss. We need to react, but not overreact. There must be a concept of normalcy even as we grieve.”
Galinda returned with hot honeyed mead and Andie sipped at it. Her throat grated when she breathed, and this only helped a little.
“Rafa says you must retaliate,” a voice said from the wall. They turned to find the messenger waiting there.
“Speak,” the king said, returning to his chair.
“He says that you need to display strength, or they’ll come pouring out of the woods and seize the winter stores.”
Andie nodded. It was what her father would have said. Something in the back of her mind remembered sitting with Isobel in the kitchen of her childhood home, watching mountain men flee before Rafa.
“Is he coming?” the king asked.
“Tonight,” the messenger said. “The lady Isobel advocated making public preparation for Elbing’s funeral and private preparation for attack, but Rafa said that the military preparation should be a part of the funeral. A warrior’s sendoff, he called it.”
“I bet Isobel didn’t like that,” Laukas said, and the king grunted. Andie wondered what kind of history the pair in the stone castle had, here. She knew from countless conversations how much Isobel detested killing and war. It was one of the few things sure to make her angry, but it came up often, anyway, with reports of ra
ids by land or by sea being just part of normal life, here. Somehow it had become part of the background, up until now.
“He’s right, though,” the king said. “Summon the captains. We’ll make them pay for Elbing’s death in land.”
Andie coughed again, sagging against her knees as the coughs ripped at her raw throat, and the king faced her.
“While I agree with Laukas that you should be here in this, you need sleep. You’ve banished the demon from your body, but you’re still weak.”
“I’ve done nothing but sleep,” Andie said. “I want to be here.”
He smiled.
“You may disobey your maid, and you may even disobey my sons, but you should obey the king. Sleep, child. There will be trouble enough in the morning.”
Galinda helped her stand and Aistin took one of the larger skins from the pile and wrapped it around her shoulders. He motioned to a woman.
“She’ll show you to her room,” he said to Galinda.
There was another confusing twist of hallways, hallways Andie knew, but didn’t recognize as her mind drifted, and then a cold, dim room. The woman promised someone would come to light the fireplace soon, and then left. Galinda helped Andie into the bed, bigger and more elaborate than her own, and Andie drifted into an unsettled sleep. She dreamed of death and war. Later, night time, by the depth of the dark and the embers in the fireplace, Aistin came and lay next to her, holding her and crying into her hair until he slept.
There was a funeral. And counter-raids. And snow. And cold.
Andie’s body slowly regained its former strength and capability. She stayed at the king’s residence for two weeks, then went back to Isobel.
They had much to discuss.
They sat on stools out in the barn with their feet up on sweet-smelling piles of hay and they talked.
“Aistin wants to be married as soon as possible. This spring,” Andie said.
“Is that what you want?” Isobel asked. Andie looked up at the rafters.