A Cold Wind

by CJ Brightley

  It sounds now as though I was calm at the time. Perhaps I looked calm to Lani, but inside I was shaking, weeping, breathless with sorrow and worry. She cried in my arms, trying to stifle her tears. I rubbed her back, but my eyes were always on his face.

  The king came to visit him again, pale and tight-lipped in his worry. He sat by the bed for several hours, hardly glancing at me. Kemen did not wake, not even when the king said his name quietly, though he did moan softly once. He looked like death, and the king must have thought so too, because finally he stood abruptly and left the room. I never told anyone, but I saw the gleam of tears in his eyes when he passed me.

  The room grew cooler as night drew on and I pulled the blanket up to cover him. Saraid had brought dinner for Lani and me, but I was too upset to be very hungry. She said there was little she could do, and she would be resting, but to come get her if his fever worsened.

  Saraid came again to check on him in the middle of the night, before the sky had even begun to turn grey. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and felt his pulse at his wrist. Then with utmost care she rolled him to his right side, his right arm curled in front of his face, holding his left elbow all the while so that it did not move. She had me help her slip a cloth beneath his waist and bound his left arm against his body. Perhaps what terrified me most was his limp helplessness, the slackness of his strong hands when she moved him. She bent his knees and put a pillow behind him so he could not roll onto his shoulder. The position looked more natural, almost like he was sleeping peacefully, and though I knew he was dancing with death, it reassured me.

  Some time after she left, the queen slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind herself. The royal child was due in some two months, and she wore slippers because proper shoes hurt her swollen feet. I moved back from the bed, and she took my place with a quiet thanks. She moved the chair a little closer to the bed and slipped her hand into his. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked for a moment, before turning his head slightly to look at her.

  Her voice was very quiet and gentle. “How are you feeling?”

  He smiled but his eyes closed for a moment, as if even the smile took more strength than he had.

  “Hakan came to visit you.”

  His lips moved, but I heard nothing. He tried again, his voice low and hoarse. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

  She pressed his hand to her cheek. If she had been anyone else, I would have been jealous, but her gesture was so sweet and gentle that I couldn’t resent it. It was love, but not a kind of love I could begrudge her.

  “He wept for you, Kemen. He’s afraid to lose you.”

  I think he would have laughed then, but he didn’t have the strength. His words were very low but quite clear. “He doesn’t need me.” He closed his eyes, as if the words had cost him dearly, but a smile remained on his lips.

  She sat by him for some time, but he seemed asleep. Finally she turned to me. “How are you?”

  I ducked my head and shrugged, and she pulled her chair closer to me. To my utter shock, she leaned over and embraced me, her arms about my shoulders. Though I’m older, it was such a maternal gesture that I let myself put my head on her shoulder, biting my lip as I tried to control my tears.

  Finally I moved away, leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. I hadn’t let myself sob as I dearly wished to, but my face felt sticky with tears I couldn’t quite hold in. She sat with me in sympathetic silence for some time, one arm around my shoulders. At least she leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “I think he’ll live.”

  I looked at her in surprise. I confess I thought her terribly naive, sweet but unaware of the gravity of his wound.

  “Sit by him. Hold his hand. He’ll live for you, if he lives at all.”

  I swallowed and looked down. I didn’t even realize I was shaking my head, I suppose in sorrow and despair, until she put her hand on my shoulder again.

  “Give him that comfort. It’s all he wants.” She embraced me again for a moment, then turned and left quietly. I took her place at his side, and though I hesitated, I did finally take his hand in mine.

  He didn’t wake for hours, and when he finally did, I was asleep myself. I woke to a slight movement, for my hand was still in his, my head bowed forward to rest awkwardly on the covers. I sat up only to groan at the sudden pain in my neck and back. He smiled then, a sweet smile that I couldn’t help but return, despite my worry.

  “Would you like a drink? Something to eat?”

  “Please.” In the dim light, his face looked ashen, his lips a leaden grey.

  “Wine or water?”

  “Water.”

  I helped him drink, holding the cup and watching his face worriedly. He could scarcely raise his head, and I helped him with one tentative hand while I held the cup with the other. Even that slight effort drained him, and he closed his eyes a moment afterward to struggle with the pain. I let myself brush the back of my fingers across his cheek, push his hair back from his eyes. He smiled faintly, or perhaps it was my imagination, for he was soon asleep.

  If we were ever more than tentative suitors, I wanted to ask him many things. How he received the scar on the right side of his chest, an uneven circle faded a pale greenish white. Whether he was ever frightened before battle. What I could do to see his smile more often.

  The edges of his collarbones were heartbreakingly sharp. The flickering lamplight cast deep shadows in the lines of strain around his mouth. I laid my head down again after some time, turned to the side so that I could see the slow even pulse in his neck. It was reassuring to see he still lived.

  Saraid smiled when she entered just before dawn. “If he still breathes now, I imagine he’ll make it. He’ll be weak for a long time, but he’ll live. Bring him breakfast in a few hours. I’ll stay with him for a while.”

  “I’d rather stay.”

  “You’re no use to him exhausted. I’ll be here with him.”

  I was going to try to take a nap, but Tanith saw me in the hallway and said the king wanted to speak to me in his working office. I stood outside his door for a moment, smoothing my hair nervously and brushing my hands down the front of my dress in an unsuccessful attempt to look like I hadn’t slept in it.

  I knocked, and when he bid me enter, I curtsied deeply and closed the door behind myself with trembling fingers.

  “You’re Riona?” He has a pleasant voice when he speaks, but it is nothing to the beauty when he sings.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” I kept my eyes on the floor respectfully.

  “Look at me, please.”

  I swallowed and raised my eyes to meet his gaze. There were dark smudges under his solemn, pale blue eyes. He was nearly eight years younger than I was, but he had a natural authority that made it difficult for me to keep my eyes on his.

  “Do you love him?”

  I couldn’t find my voice, and he waited, patient and grave, for my answer. “Yes, Your Majesty.” I took a deep breath to keep my voice from shaking. “I do love him.”

  There was a very long silence. “You will attend him then. You’re relieved of any other duties. He is to have whatever he wants, whenever he wants it, regardless of expense or inconvenience. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  He gazed at me a moment longer, as if he were evaluating me, and finally nodded. I was dismissed.

  Sayen came to me in the kitchen as I was making his tray. “Saraid says General Sendoa is awake now and she wants him to eat. She says he’s doing better than she would’ve expected.”

  I nodded, and she gave me a quick, sudden hug before she hurried away.

  He was awake when I brought him breakfast. I fed him, but he didn’t want much. A few bites of fresh bread, one of bacon, a few berries, and he closed his eyes in exhaustion. I pushed his hair back from his forehead and he smiled faintly. I thought he slept again immediately, but after a moment he spoke.

  “Lani?”

  “She’s not here. Should I get her?”


  “Please.” The word was scarcely more than a sigh.

  Saraid frowned. “Sir, you ought to rest.”

  His breathing quickened raggedly and he strained suddenly to push himself up from the pillow. She cried out in alarm, pressing him down with careful hands. “Sir, rest. We’ll get her. You can see her. Lie down, please.”

  I didn’t want to leave him, so I asked the first person I saw in the hallway to fetch Lani immediately. She came in a few minutes, wide-eyed and breathless from running halfway across the palace.

  She sat beside the bed and clasped his hand in hers, biting her lip.

  “How are you?” The question came from his lips, not hers, and his eyes searched her face.

  “Better, now that you look like you’ll live. How are you?” It was typical of Lani, trying to be cheerful in any situation, but the worry in her voice was obvious.

  He smiled and closed his eyes. “I’ve been better.” He lost his breath, but squeezed her hand.

  She brought his hand to her cheek with a sigh.

  “Brave, helping Saraid.” His words were so quiet she leaned in to hear him better. She shook her head and he smiled again and brought her hand to his lips. “Soft heart. Make a younger man very happy.”

  She made a choked sound halfway between a laugh and a sob and put her head down next to his shoulder on the bed. He let his hand rest on her hair.

  It reassured me to see him smile, but when Lani’s eyes were not on him I saw his jaw tighten.

  “Would you like some wine?” I asked quietly.

  “Please.”

  He smiled again when Lani raised her head. She left still worried but much more light-hearted. When the door closed behind her, I breathed a sigh of relief. I love Lani very much, but my heart twisted to see him spending his last strength on reassuring her. He was utterly drained, so weary and in so much pain he could barely swallow the wine. He slept soon though, and his breathing became more even.

  “Go get some rest, Riona. You can bring him lunch if you want.”

  “I want to stay.”

  “Go take a nap. I’ll stay with him.”

  She was right. I did go rest and fell asleep quickly, but I dreamed I was working and while I washed dishes, his breath slowed and stopped. Saraid tried everything she knew, but nothing could be done. In the dream, I worked happily for hours, thinking of him healing, until later I heard only by accident that the king’s champion had died. I woke with tears on my face.

  Saraid would have told me if he’d worsened, but I couldn’t sleep again, and so finally I got up and tried to do some of the work I’d neglected.

  Saraid found me in the kitchen when I was preparing his lunch. “Ria, he needs sleep more than anything. Go rest and bring him dinner.”

  “But,” I started, but she interrupted me.

  “He needs to sleep. If you bring him food, he’ll try to eat it to please you. Let the man rest, Ria. He’ll be better tonight; the fever is fading.” She smiled reassuringly. “You need rest too.”

  I slept for hours, waking with a start when Lani knocked on my door. “Saraid says you can bring his dinner now.”

  But when I entered, he was asleep and Saraid was frowning. He muttered quietly into his pillow; I recognized it as Kumar, the warrior tongue, but I couldn’t understand it. I tried to remember the sounds of it, so that I could find out what it meant.

  “Waratoshu hani maktai. Hanil amai. Ryuu soktai akashni. Hanil rulakshani amai.” He drew a great breath and let out a shuddering sigh, almost a groan, and turned his face further into the pillow. The rest was muffled, but he frowned in his sleep, flinching away and quieting briefly when Saraid put a damp cloth on his forehead. Then again, “Hanil amai. Amai. Tavarin suvari, ekanska.”

  He was restless all night, but near dawn the fever seemed to fade, not the dramatic breaking I’d expected, but a quieting that Saraid said was easier on his weakened body.

  Saraid changed the dressing on his shoulder twice a day. The first time, she warned me not look at the wound, and I kept my eyes on his face and held his left arm in case he moved. I accidentally caught one brief glimpse of the edge of the wound and the bandage, and it made my stomach turn; blood, some pale slimy substance, dark specks of the herbs Saraid had used, all smeared and crumpled in the bandage. She swabbed out the wound ever so carefully and powdered it with crushed herbs, packed it with honey to draw out the fluid, and bandaged it again. He slept through it without a twitch.

  The next time was not so easy. He lay on his stomach, his eyes closed, but he was not asleep. I held his left arm as Saraid instructed, using my weight to push it into the mattress in case he jerked. She spoke softly to him, warning him that she was about to begin. The muscles of his arm twitched and tensed beneath my hands, but he did not strain against my weight, and I gradually let up a little. His breaths came short and fast, and once, at the very end, he muttered something to himself in Kumar, his eyes half-closed. When she finished, he was trembling and I pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. He slept again.

  When I entered with his tray for lunch, he was sitting at the table, his eyes closed. He ate a little, though not enough to soothe my worry. It nearly made me cry to see the sharp line of his shoulders beneath the thin fabric of his robe. He was exhausted, letting his eyes close sometimes as he chewed. He took a few bites of bread, a few berries, a little of the rich broth Joran had prepared, but it was all deliberate, as if he knew it had to be done but didn’t care much for the job. Too soon he sat back to let his head rest against the back of the chair.

  “What can I do, sir?”

  He smiled faintly, his eyes closed again. “Just Kemen, please.” He paused, as if he were thinking. “A bath. I want a bath.”

  My face heated.

  “I don’t need help if you can have the water heated.” He had to stop and catch his breath, his eyes still closed, and I blushed even more at how I’d misinterpreted his words.

  “I will. Do you want it now?”

  He seemed to sag a little in his chair before taking a deep breath. “I want to go outside.” He opened his eyes to see my doubtful frown. “I need to see the sky. Please.”

  I couldn’t refuse him. “Now?”

  He nodded, his eyes still on my face.

  “I’ll get a blanket then. I’ll be right back.” I nearly ran down the hall. It took me several minutes to find Saraid and ask her if it was dangerous for him to move, and she frowned and hurried back with me.

  When I returned, he appeared nearly asleep. His robe had fallen open to show the white bandage about the top of his chest and crossing over the top of his left shoulder. The line of his collarbone, the definition of the muscles in his chest, the smooth silk of his skin, made me blush suddenly. He was painfully thin, but still he was beautiful.

  “Sir?” Saraid spoke very softly, but he drew a breath and straightened. “I’d rather you not move yet. It’s only been three days.” Her voice was very gentle.

  “Riona will steady me.” His eyes met mine. Please.

  I nodded. “I’ll help him. We’ll be careful.”

  She frowned but finally nodded. He wore breeches under his robe, but he was barefoot. I asked him if he wanted his boots, but he said no.

  He stood on his own strength, though he kept his hand on the edge of the table to steady himself. I put my left arm around him, holding his hip and waist gingerly, and he rested his right arm across my shoulders. I could feel his every rib, the striations of the muscles in his side, the trembling strain of his steps toward the door.

  Saraid followed us out, though she pretended not to because she knew how much he hated for anyone to see his weakness. We paused once when he sagged alarmingly, and I steadied him, but we made it to the garden. He turned toward the roses. He limped a little, a catch in his step each time he put weight on his right leg. When I glanced up at his face in the hallway, his eyes were half-closed, but in the garden when I glanced up again, his mouth was tight, his eyes focused on the g
round ahead of him.

  I had tears in my eyes when he finally stopped. “Can you stand? I’ll lay down the blanket.”

  He stayed upright, swaying a little, though I’d feared he had no strength even for that. Finally I helped him lay flat on his back; though it must have hurt his shoulder terribly, he made no complaint.

  “Thank you.” His eyes were half-closed against the afternoon sun. I only nodded, not trusting my voice, and he looked up at me. “What’s wrong?”

  I blinked back tears and tried to smile. “I’m just glad you’re back.” Back from war, back from death.

  His eyes widened and he reached up to brush the backs of his fingers across my cheek. “Don’t cry, Riona.”

  I caught his hand and held it to my cheek. “Rest, sir.” I brushed at my eyes, put his hand down gently, and pulled the edge of the blanket up to cover his bare feet. When I looked back at his face, he was already asleep.

  It was evening, perhaps five days after his surgery. We came in from the garden and I took Kemen to a small sitting room for dinner. He seemed to be in more pain that day, and I wasn’t sure he could even make it the short distance to his room without the rest. It made my heart wrench to see him trying to hide it, how he smiled and shook his head when I asked if he needed anything.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes with your dinner.” I brushed his hair back from his forehead and caught a pale glint. I looked more closely and saw a strand of iron grey, just one hair, but it stood out from the rest of his blue-black waves.

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  I sent Lani to sit with him while I made his dinner, and I brought Saraid with me when I returned. I wanted to know if she could give him anything else for the pain, but Lani met us at the door.

  “Come see.” She looked worried.

  I slid the tray of food onto a table and nearly ran to him, Saraid right behind me. He was sitting up, hunched forward and trembling slightly. His breaths were quick and shallow, ragged.