A Cold Wind

by CJ Brightley

  He stood at the window for some time in silence as I stared at my trembling hands. I had no more words, but I was hardly calm.

  Finally he spoke very quietly. “We will speak again tomorrow.”

  “You won’t look at the treaty now?” I stood abruptly, steadying myself against the table at a nauseating rush of pain.

  “I will look at it and we will speak on it tomorrow.”

  “As you wish.”

  No doubt he heard the anger in my voice, for he turned in time to see me bow. I clenched my jaw at the pain, but I did bow with the respect due to his position. Even in my anger, I did not forget that he was a king. A king I had crowned, but a king nonetheless. The pain in my shoulder was dizzying, and I stumbled as I strode from the room, but I did not fall.

  In my room, I found myself too tired even to ready myself for bed, so I sat at the table with my head in my hands. I was too weary to remain angry, but I was also too weary to see the validity of his concern.

  Yori had looked much like Hakan, though I couldn’t have found the words to tell Hakan that. Tall, thin, more a scholar than a soldier, though he hadn’t enjoyed Hakan’s exalted education. A volunteer, the fourth son of a poor farmer who had little prospect of advancing any other way. He followed orders, though I’d seen fear in his eyes before the battle began.

  Eneko and the others thought I’d been trying to save him, but I knew he’d die before I left cover for him. No, that wasn’t it.

  He had Hakan’s face, and I couldn’t bear to see him die alone.

  I’d felt I had no choice, though in fairness we all have choices, every moment of every day.

  The injustice of Hakan’s accusation, his demand, stung me. What difference did it make if I chose to disregard my life? A better cause could not be found. Comforting a dying soldier and securing the border peace were both valid enough causes for sacrifice.

  I’ve never been one to try to hasten my own death, but the past months had, if I was honest with myself, been an attempt to do exactly that. I’d taken chances I never would have before, been more than reckless, though I didn’t take the same chances with my men. They wouldn’t suffer for my despair. Even in my misery, I wasn’t that unjust.

  Yet my body and mind could not seem to agree. When I was wounded, my body had clung to life against my own will. Once I realized I would live, I’d pushed on, to make the men’s sacrifices worth more than a few leagues of ground, to find a real peace with the Tarvil.

  Infection was a slower way to die, but it would do for me. After all the battles I had fought in, it seemed rather anti-climactic but strangely fitting. It wouldn’t be the brutality of war that finally killed me, but the slow poison of my own weakness, my own frailty. My inability to do things as they should be done. To speak as gently as I should, stand as straight as I should, understand others as they deserve to be understood.

  At least I had time to consider all my failures.

  A black mood, certainly, but I was no longer angry, not at anyone besides myself.

  27

  Riona

  I saw him when he returned, though he didn’t see me. The winter had been harsh even in Stonehaven, and all the men were wrapped in thick cloaks. Everyone but him had thrown back their hoods in the sudden spring warmth. His cloak was clasped in three places across his broad chest, the hood pulled low over his eyes. His back was as straight as ever when he rode in, but his exhaustion was evident. Never heavy, now he looked as taut and lean as his sword, hard but brittle with fatigue. When he dismounted he stumbled, and though he steadied himself immediately, he limped slightly as he strode to meet the king.

  The king met him near the middle of the courtyard, and Kemen dropped to one knee in deliberately formal respect. I could not hear what they said, since I watched from a window, but the king pulled him to his feet and embraced him. He nearly fell then, and the king steadied him. Even from a distance, I could see the king’s worry, but they went inside and I saw no more of him.

  He arrived in the late morning, and he and the king were closeted in the king’s working office for two days. Sinta brought them their meals, but I convinced her to let me bring them lunch the second day. I don’t know what I expected. Kemen glanced up at me when I first entered, but after that stared at the table. I wished I could read his expression, but he has always been opaque. He sat close by the fire, though the room was quite warm. I filled their goblets with wine and he thanked me quietly. I might have been anyone. Neither he nor the king appeared to notice the trembling of my hands while I arranged the plates in front of them.

  Sinta relayed bits of information she overheard, swearing me to secrecy. I didn’t pass anything along. I’ve never been one to gossip, and I think she knew I would have gone mad without some news. There had been problems, obviously. Shortages of supplies, weapons, and healers, lack of redundancy in communications, a critical road washed out, an incompetent and untrustworthy company commander. Even if I’d heard it all, I wouldn’t have understood it, but I did gather that the challenge had been as much a matter of organization and discipline as of tactics and skill in combat.

  The king was grateful, more than grateful, for his skill and leadership. But Kemen had brushed that away. He wanted to explain the agreement, and to Sinta’s surprise, she’d heard the beginning of what sounded like a quiet, passionate explanation of Tarvil actions. I wished I could ask him about it, but I didn’t have the opportunity. Nor did I believe I had the right anymore.

  The second day they finished before dinner. Sinta was to bring Kemen dinner in his room, but she let me do it for her. I knocked quietly, and then louder. When I heard nothing, I opened the door quietly. The windows were open to let in the evening light. He appeared asleep at the table, head resting on his arms and his back to me. I spoke gently before I moved toward the table.

  “Sir, I’ve brought you dinner.”

  He pushed himself up slowly, as if he were stiff. “Thank you. But I’m not hungry.” His voice was hoarse and low.

  I put the tray down on the table near him. “Will you not eat anything, sir?” I wanted to be calm, but I was worried, my heart pounding suddenly when I saw the tremor in his hand as he reached for the glass of wine.

  He looked at me, and I think it was only then that he realized that it was me standing there, biting my lip in worry. “Thank you, Riona.” He looked back down at the table, and for a moment I wondered if I should leave.

  “Will you not eat anything?”

  He was so still I wondered if he had heard me. Finally the words came, so quietly that I wondered whether he even knew he spoke aloud. “I’m so tired.”

  Tears sprung in my eyes and I knelt beside him. He closed his eyes as if he could not bear to look at my upturned face. I wished that all the thousands of words of apology that I had thought over the past months would come to me, but my throat closed with my emotion, so I laid my head against his knee. I knew I didn’t have the right, I knew I was being scandalous, but it didn’t matter.

  He flinched when my cheek touched his leg, but he did not recoil more. We sat there in silence for some minutes. Finally I felt him move, slowly, hesitantly. He touched my hair, stroked gently over the back of my head, a comforting gesture more than anything. There could be no desire in it, not after how I had hurt him, but there was forgiveness.

  I don’t know how long we sat there. My heart was full. I wanted to catch his hand, tell him how much I regretted my words, but I couldn’t bear to break our tentative peace. Finally his hand rested on my shoulder, still and quiet. The sun was gone by then, though the glow of sunset left a warm light in the room. I waited and finally moved as gently and slowly as I could until I could see his face.

  He was slumped over the table, his head resting in the crook of his left arm, his right arm awkwardly angled to reach my shoulder. I waited, but he didn’t move, and finally the ache in my legs was so painful that I had to stand. I moved his hand gently to rest on one long lean leg and then stood, grimacing at a su
dden cramp.

  How had I ever thought him ugly? The strong straight line of his jaw and rich olive tone of his skin had a different kind of beauty, but beauty nonetheless.

  I moved the wine glass a bit so if he moved in his sleep he wouldn’t upset it. But for all my care, I stumbled into the chair when I turned away. The noise was startlingly loud in the silence, and I looked back at him, expecting him to wake.

  He did not move, and I stood a moment. Now that I saw him in repose, the hollowness of his cheeks made my heart twist. I left quietly, biting my lip with worry. I wanted to speak to Saraid.

  I saw her in the hallway. She was frowning, hurrying toward me.

  “How is he?”

  “He’s asleep. Why?

  “The king told me to treat his wound. But if he’s sleeping,” her voice trailed away, but she frowned grimly.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  She shook her head and knocked softly. There was no answer, and I held my breath as she opened the door quietly. He was just as before, and I watched from the doorway as she spoke to him and then approached.

  “Sir?” She put one hand on his shoulder. “Sir?” Her voice was more commanding now, but he remained motionless. She bent to look at him more closely.

  “Ria, go get Lani, Joran, and Drokan. Now.”

  I ran. I found Lani first and sent her to the kitchen for Joran and Drokan while I returned to his room.

  He was sitting up, but his back was to me. Saraid’s expression as she knelt in front of him was solemn and gentle. I didn’t hear her question, but he shook his head slightly.

  “It’s the king’s direct order, sir. You may be able to defy him, but I cannot.”

  He spoke so quietly that I hardly heard him at all. “I’ve never defied my king.”

  “What could I tell him, sir?”

  “Whatever you like.”

  Her eyes flicked to me in desperation. I was before him in a moment, kneeling to look up into his face.

  “Sir, please.”

  He blinked, then closed his eyes and shook his head slightly as if to clear it. “I thought…” he stopped and swallowed. His eyes searched my face.

  “Sir, please let Saraid help you.” I didn’t know what she was going to do; if I’d known, I don’t know if I could have begged him so desperately. I took his left hand in both of mine and raised it to my cheek. His hand tightened on mine a moment, and I felt it trembling.

  “Please, sir.” There were tears in my eyes when I looked up at him. He held my gaze for a long moment. Then he let his head rest against the back of the chair, his eyes closed.

  Saraid looked at me, and then at him, and I caressed his hand again.

  His voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “Do as you wish.”

  “Yes, sir.” Saraid stood briskly. “Ria, bring valerian, lavender, and two bottles of brandy. Three or four buckets of water. Lani knows where the bandages and my bag are.”

  I stood but paused to look down at him a moment.

  Saraid spoke to him gently. “Sir, I’m going to help you with your tunic and shirt.”

  He nodded, and she unbuckled his belt. He bowed his head, still sitting, as she pulled his tunic carefully over his head. I wanted to stay with him, but she shot me an urgent look over his shoulder and I hurried away.

  28

  Kemen

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure whether Riona’s plea was reality or a dream. But even in a dream, I was at her command.

  I would have preferred not to endure the pain of the surgery, but Riona had tears in her eyes, and I could not refuse her. The difference between dying that evening during the procedure and dying some days later from the infection was of no real concern. I confess I should have told Hakan; it was unfair of me to give him no warning that I might leave him. Looking back on it, I imagine he knew.

  Saraid tried to be reassuring, but her sudden sharp intake of breath when she saw the wound spoke for itself. She had me drink brandy with something in it before she began. I don’t know how much it helped. She had Lani assist her, as well as some men. I couldn’t remember their names, though I think one of them was the cook. I thought Lani was a bit young for the duty, but from what I remember, she handled it well. For her sake, I didn’t curse at the pain, aloud anyway.

  “When did this happen? What was it?”

  “An arrow. Some three or four months ago.” I lay face down on the bed, bare to my waist, with a pillow under my chest. She had spread thick towels beneath me to catch the blood and whatever else might come from the wound.

  “Bite on this.” A small roll of cloth, to keep me from breaking my own teeth. “Sir, I can’t promise,” she hesitated. “I can’t promise this will help at all. It may not be possible to,” she stopped, as if she thought I had never contemplated the possibility of my death before.

  “I don’t expect to live.”

  She looked as if she wanted to say something more, something reassuring, but finally she just nodded.

  Lani was very pale, and slipped her hand into mine for a moment as Saraid laid out her instruments. I smiled at her, hoping it was reassuring, and squeezed her hand before Saraid asked her to do something else.

  She opened the wound with a sharp knife and flushed it with water. She spoke quietly to Lani, asking for one instrument or another, and finally she said, “Sir. I’m going to have to cut out the infection.” Then to the men holding my arms down, “Tightly now.”

  29

  Riona

  I waited outside his room, dizzy and sick with worry. I asked if I could help, and Saraid relayed the question to him. Lani brought the answer.

  “He said no.” She was white as a sheet, but her voice was steady.

  I swallowed. Before he’d touched my hair, I would have thought he was angry. But all I could think when I caught a glimpse of him sitting slumped on the edge of the bed before Lani closed the door was, he doesn’t want me to watch him die.

  I listened outside the door. There was quiet talk, some rustling of fabric and the sound of water, and a bit more talk. I heard his voice several times, but it was so quiet I couldn’t make out his words. There was a long silence, then a short strangled cry. My knees wouldn’t hold me, and I slid down to sit on the floor, leaning against the wall.

  A choked moan, a gasp, then another moan. I could barely breathe. It took me a moment to realize there was someone standing at the closed door.

  The king. He glanced down at me before turning to lean against the wall himself.

  Then there was only silence, broken sometimes by the low murmur of voices. At length the men came out one by one, each with a respectful bow to the king and a sympathetic glance for me. Joran leaned down to squeeze my shoulder.

  Saraid finally came to the door. Her eyes widened when she saw the king, and she curtsied. “Your Majesty.” She closed the door behind herself and spoke very quietly, her eyes down on the floor. “If he survives the night, he has a chance.” She swallowed. “He could recover well, if he lives long enough, but the infection is deep.”

  She glanced at me, then back at the floor. “It’s in the bone. I’ve cut away what I could, and scraped away the infection I could find, but I can’t promise it will help. The herbs should help with healing. But,” she licked her lips, “he told me he didn’t have the strength to endure the treatment. He might have been right.”

  The king nodded, his face pale.

  “He’s sleeping now.”

  The king nodded again and pushed open the door, though I could tell Saraid would have preferred that he not enter. I followed him in.

  When I saw him, tears sprung in my eyes. He’d always been lean, but he’d been strong, tautly muscled and beautiful. Now he lay quiet and still on the bed, on his stomach and bare to his waist aside from the bandage. He was terribly gaunt. Even in sleep, the muscles of his back and arms stood out beneath skin as thin as parchment. The sharp lines of his ribs moved slightly with each shallow breath. If he’d had pale Tuyet skin, I
could have traced every blue vein across his body. Even his temples were hollow, his cheeks slightly sunken. I could see his pulse in his temples, his neck, and the crook of his elbow.

  The king knelt by Kemen’s face and studied him closely, his mouth tightly set. Kemen’s head was pillowed more at the back, so the angle of his neck was a bit less; he faced into the mattress rather than at the wall.

  Saraid spoke quietly. “He has a fever. Someone will stay with him at all times. He said there was a letter for you in his tunic.”

  The king nodded as if he wasn’t really listening, but finally he nodded again and stood, glancing around the room. Kemen’s shirt and tunic were crumpled on a chair, and he picked them up with a strange expression. He pulled them apart, and then pulled another shirt from inside the first. Then another tunic. Four layers. No wonder I hadn’t seen how thin he was.

  The king pulled a letter from the outer tunic and skimmed the first page by the lamplight, his face tight. Then he stared at his friend again and finally strode out, his steps quick and sharp down the hall.

  Saraid said, “Go get dinner, Ria.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then stay with him while I go eat. I’ll bring you something. He won’t wake for quite some time.” She left then, but Lani stayed with me for a while. She sniffled quietly and finally I pulled her close. She was trembling.

  “He thanked us, Ria. He knew what we were going to do and he thanked us.”

  If I had not already forgiven him, more than forgiven him, I would have for that alone.

  She pulled away to lean close to him. She slipped one hand into his slack one and studied his face while she rubbed his hand gently. He might have been dead for the response she got, but his breaths, though shallow, remained slow and even, which was reassuring.