“Cook is irritated I took her second batch of hot water.” Cassia walked in with another pot, not an ounce of repentance in her tone.
“I’ll need you to hold him while I sew up the wounds on his stomach,” Ilythra said.
Cassia hesitated.
“Damn it, Cassia. Now.”
“I’m not allowed to touch him. He’s a noble, the king’s son.”
“I’m giving you permission.”
Cassia glanced from Ilythra to the prone prince, laid one arm against his shoulders and the other across his hips.
Ilythra adjusted the lantern and turned to Aclan. “I’m going to stitch you up now.”
Aclan nodded his face pale and strained; his eyes, bright with pain, closed. Ilythra felt a moment of compassion but quickly pushed it away. She needed to concentrate.
Aclan flinched but didn’t cry out. Tears rolled silently down his face to wet the hair at his temples as she sewed up the wounds.
With Cassia’s help, Ilythra covered the wounds in fresh cloth then poured some of the boiling water into a mug, dropping in more willow bark, a few dried lemons, cloves and rosemary.
“Now it’s time for his leg.” With a knife, she cut away the soft leather of his boots. The wound, free from the binding leather, started to bleed. Ilythra applied pressure and cleaned the injury. She looked up at Cassia, who stared with something like fascination. “Are you ready?”
Cassia nodded and held Aclan’s legs still.
With sure stitches, Ilythra bound the gashes in his calf, applied more paste and secured them with a strip of cloth.
“You did very well.” Ilythra reached for Aclan’s hand. “Just think of how impressed the ladies will be by your scars.”
A small smile touched the boy’s pale face.
“Drink this, you’ll sleep.” She held the tea to his lips.
She felt Cassia’s gaze on her. Turning, Ilythra saw something flicker and disappear in the depths of the girl’s pale eyes. “Will ye be needing me for anything else? I’m to sweep the upper room today as well.”
“Can you help me change his bedding?”
Cassia nodded and together, they removed the soil bedding. Ilythra noticed there was no scent on the fresh linens, but she dismissed it. Perhaps Aclan didn’t like the smell.
“If there’s nothing else,” Cassia said.
“No, thank you for your help. If Konrad gives you any trouble, let me know.”
The woman disappeared on her silent gait. Ilythra turned back to her patient. She laid a hand against his throat; his heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm. He was sleeping.
Ilythra let out a long breath. Now that she’d done everything she could for Aclan, she cleaned her own wounds. Three dark stripes decorated one leg. It would scar but had already stopped bleeding. As she cleaned and bandaged it, she considered what had just happened. The wolves. She wasn’t an expert, but she knew wolves didn’t attack humans unless there were extenuating circumstances. So what were the circumstances? They weren’t hungry. They hadn’t been provoked.
Bredych’s image came to mind. Crioch? If Bredych had been behind the wolf attack, why go after Aclan? Why not her? And he’d saved her. He didn’t think she was a threat. Was she? She’d wanted to kill him, but now? Now what did she want? Her stomach churned and she thought she might be sick. He had looked almost proud of her. She shuddered. Then why? What did the wolf attack change?
She gazed at the sleeping prince. I won’t leave him. Now I can’t go tomorrow as planned. “I have a feeling our reclusive keeper has just asked me to stay a little longer.”
Chapter Twenty
As sunlight filtered in through heavy curtains, tinting the room pale blue, Ilythra heard footsteps in the hall outside Aclan’s room. Her head pounded in rhythm with her heart, but her mind felt clearer than it had in a few days. She shifted her position and glanced at Aclan, sleeping in the large bed. His face was nearly as white as the sheets. She had fed him more willow bark and helped him with the bedpan the few times he’d woken in the night. He was weak and in a lot of pain. The footsteps paused outside the door moments before Erhard entered.
A fleeting expression of surprise touched the king’s features as his gaze settled on Ilythra. “I didn’t expect you here.”
“I slept on the chair. I wanted to be close should he need me.”
A small smile touched his face, but not his eyes. He looked tired. “I’m not going to question your skill or practices. I’ll have a cot brought in for you. More comfortable than the chair.” Erhard stood over his son, his back toward Ilythra. “Is that garlic I smell?”
“Yes.”
Erhard nodded but didn’t turn.
“He will live?” Emotion clogged his voice.
Ilythra hesitated. She had a sudden urge to reach out and comfort him. “Yes. Though he’s very weak.”
“Why did you pause before you answered?”
Ilythra rose to her feet. “He will not die from the wound. The danger now is infection.”
Erhard nodded. The creases around his pale blue eyes had deepened. Worry lined his forehead. He did love his son. “Thank you, Ilythra. Both for...” his voice broke. “Both for saving my son back in the forest and tending him now. I am forever in your debt.”
“It—”
He reached for her hands. His scent embraced her. “No, please, just accept my thanks.”
“I do.” She placed a hand on his cheek. How had she not noticed how careworn he appeared? The weight of a kingdom must be heavy.
“I sent men out last night to bring your horse back. She was untouched. I mean...”
Ilythra swallowed back a lump in her throat. She’d managed not to think of Tashi. It was easier that way. “I understand. Thank you.”
“Is it your custom to bury a valued animal or—”
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever is expected—” Ilythra paused, thinking of the Heleini and their ceremonies. Tobar wouldn’t want his gift buried; he’d want her released to the heavens. Given back to Tei. “Can we make a pyre?”
Erhard nodded and faced her. “It will be done.” He stood as if unsure.
“I must attend to some duties. I’ll check on him later.” He inclined his head and left the room.
Ilythra glanced at Aclan then back to the closed door. She fought a brief moment of vertigo and wondered if she should have slept in the chair after all. She rolled her head on her neck. She was still tired, but her headache was gone.
Aclan mumbled and tried to sit up. Ilythra moved to his side. “Careful now.” She helped ease him up on the pillows. “Good morning. How do you feel?”
Aclan grimaced.
“That’s how I thought you’d feel.”
“Got any more of that tea?” His voice was strained.
“Yes, let me check your wounds.” She pulled back the coverings and gently unwound the bandages, checking for the warmth of infection. “Your father was just here.”
He shrugged and whistled through his teeth.
“You’re going to be in pain for a while.”
The door opened, and a servant girl came in with a tray of food. She curtsied, eyes lowered. “To break your fast, Your Highness, milady.”
“Thank you. Where’s Cassia?” Ilythra asked.
“She takes care of the rooms on the other side of the castle, milady. If you’d like—”
“No, that’s quite all right. What’s your name?”
“Miera.”
“Miera, I need some freshly boiled water. Can you get it for me?”
“Right away.” The girl bowed and left the room.
“You don’t have to stay here with me,” Aclan said.
“Actually, right this moment, there is nowhere else I need to be.” She winced whe
n she realized her words echoed Bredych’s statement earlier.
The prince regarded her for several heartbeats. “Rothit says you’re a mighty warrior, that you’re more skilled than even he. He says you could beat him in no time if you’d wanted. Is that true?”
She didn’t want to diminish the tutor in front of his student. “Perhaps.”
“Then why don’t you? I’ve seen you fight with him. It can take quite a while.”
“What purpose would it serve to beat him quickly?” Ilythra considered the young man before her. “Rothit and I are warriors practicing our arts. Neither of us have anything to prove.”
“You’re not like any woman I’ve ever seen.” His eyes held awe.
“Why?”
“You dress like a man and you hunt.”
Ilythra smiled. “The woman on the Faisach do not wear dresses, and I usually only hunt when I’m hungry.”
“Where is the Faisach?” Aclan shifted and then grimaced.
“Far south and west of here.” A longing for the vast open wasteland took her by surprise.
Aclan nodded, his eyelids drooping. “Is that where you’re from?”
Ilythra hesitated. “More or less.”
The prince was resisting sleep. He opened his mouth to respond.
“Sleep now,” Ilythra instructed. “Your body needs to heal. I’ll have the tea and some broth here for you when you wake up.”
“Will you be here too?” His voice sound more like a boy’s than someone who was nearly a man.
“Yes.”
Aclan’s eyes closed. She brushed back the hair from his forehead. There was nowhere else she could be. Bredych had seen to that.
* * *
The wolves had tired him. Not calling them, since that was relatively uncomplicated, but the controlling of them. He hadn’t wanted the king or Ilythra injured, which required great skill and much concentration. A smile touched his features. She’d been magnificent. Better then he’d imagined. So much so that he’d let go of the wolves’ minds toward the end just to see how she managed them alone. When Ilythra fought, it was like poetry, beautiful and potent. He’d always been drawn to beauty. Even when he’d not had the power to possess it.
Bredych set the wineglass down on the table near his chair. Soon after the hunt, he’d retired to his manor, claiming distress from the attack but obtaining assurances from the king that he’d be informed of the prince’s condition. She’s too much for you to handle, Erhard. I don’t think you’d know what to do with a woman like that. She’d even stood up to the king. Of course, Bredych had claimed the king’s mind, dulling his reactions to keep him out of the fray, but she couldn’t know that. And out in the forests, the effects of the scent had been reduced greatly. As it will be if she insists on staying in the boy’s rooms. He’d have to do something about that.
The steady rhythm of his fingers tapping against the wooden table echoed in the darkened room. The keeper was naive, yes, but with potential.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Ack, you shoulda seen yur face.” One of the Rugians laughed, spewing bits of spit and meat onto the table.
Ilythra’s stomach churned. Why were they here? She saw no purpose for them in court. They ate at the king’s table and then disappeared. Erhard had said they were emissaries of some kind.
Erhard reached over and patted her hand. He smiled as she looked up at him. He inclined his head slightly toward the Rugians and shrugged. He didn’t seem to enjoy their company any more than she did.
She returned the smile. Kingdom politics were not her affair. She had been with Aclan day and night for three days. After the first, Erhard had a cot and fresh linen brought in. As she’d drifted off to sleep that night, she was again enveloped in the rich herbal smells she’d become accustomed to in her room. She’d meant to ask Konrad about it, but it kept slipping her mind.
She felt disoriented, as though she were watching the action around her from a distance. Everything was slightly off. Her wounds were healing well and her forehead cool to the touch. The prince’s temperature had spiked the day after the attack. This morning he’d cooled and insisted she go down to dinner and not hover over him like a mother hen. She glanced toward the Rugians, thankful that at least Bredych was absent from the meal. She wasn’t up to sparring of any kind. She felt like she hadn’t slept in a week, her mind foggy, thoughts unclear.
“Are you all right?”
Ilythra turned to Erhard. “Yes. A bit tired, that’s all.”
“You’ve been inside too long. I’ll have Cassia sit with Aclan after dinner. You could join us. We’re hunting pheasant in the western hills.”
“Thank you. No. I think a walk in the gardens will do.”
Erhard patted her arm and smiled. “It’s cool, so wear a cloak.”
She glanced at the king’s hand on her arm. I don’t like being treated like a child. But the thought drifted away like a melody.
After the meal, Ilythra walked the stone corridors; oases of light warmed the cold floors. She felt a little dizzy. Perhaps a walk in the fresh air was what she needed. That and a good night’s sleep.
She made her way through the castle to Aclan’s room to retrieve her cloak. The prince still slept, his face relaxed and much younger in repose. Cassia walked in a moment later. “I’ve been ordered to sit with Aclan.”
Ilythra examined Cassia’s pale eyes. For a moment, she’d glimpsed beneath the quiet girl’s exterior. Anger bubbled beneath the surface, magma waiting for release. Anger at what? She thought to ask the girl but changed her mind. It wasn’t any of her concern.
“I’ll be in the garden should you need me. He should be fine.”
Cassia held up a bag in her hand. “I brought the mending. It’s a sight warmer here than in the servant’s quarters.”
Ilythra nodded and headed downstairs. Cassia’s eyes haunted her. Ilythra chewed on her bottom lip. It wasn’t unheard-of. Men fathered children without a second thought all the time. But if Erhard didn’t seem the type, and if he was Cassia’s father, why did she work as a servant in his house—and where was her mother?
Ilythra quickened her step. Family politics weren’t her concern either. Once Aclan was stable, she’d leave Greton behind her. She needed to... The thought died half-formed. What did she need to do? The image of Bredych holding his bloody sword in the forest returned. Why did he save her?
Because he wanted to her to stay. Trapped. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it.
Tashi’s gone. Sorrow welled in her chest and tears burned in her eyes. She stood immobile, fighting the feeling of being ensnared, unused to the confusion reigning in her thoughts. After several deep breaths, she remembered Erhard had promised her a horse. She’d have to go down the stables and select one, that was all, and then she’d leave as planned.
Ilythra stood still. She needed to do something. With deliberation, she turned around and headed for the deserted corridor and the library.
* * *
Dust covered her cloak, her hands and her face. She placed a large book on top of the stack on a table and reached for another. The room was small, holding two large bookcases full of books, but more than she’d ever seen in one place. She reached for a new book on the shelf and sneezed. It was a book on farming. A few sketches peppered the pages. Ilythra added it to the growing stack of discarded books.
Although she’d love to read each and every one of them, she was looking for something specific. For a moment, her mind went blank. What is it I’m searching for? Her heart skipped a beat. She blinked back unease. The Siobani and the Triune stones. She moved, and her muscles protested. She’d been sitting too long in one position.
There were no windows in the room. How much time had passed? What about Aclan? No one would know to look for her here. Ilythra stood and fought
vertigo. Gripping the edge of a small table, she steadied herself. I’m just tired. After checking on Aclan, she’d drink a warm mug of tea and get some sleep. That’s all she needed.
She stretched and glanced around the little room. She would be back.
* * *
He’d known what he was even then. The thought hit Ilythra full force. She blinked, gazing through eyes that were not hers. I’m dreaming. But this was unlike any dream she’d ever known. The path before her stretched into the distance, shadowed by trees and peppered with fern. In a flash she understood. She was riding the winds of Teann, but where? Through whose eyes?
Third-person thoughts and emotions mingled in her mind. She was two people, herself and someone else. She fought vertigo and panic to quiet her thoughts, so the other’s could come through. A man. Flashes of clear images dissolved and reassembled into something new. Memory.
Slowly a story formed as images and impression coalesced. She felt the poverty, sorrow and lack in his early years. She lived the scorn and alienation of his childhood. And, as the will and fortitude of the man developed and strengthened, she reveled in his intelligence and success. His dramatic rise through the ranks had been merely a by-product of being different from the others and destined for greatness.
As he had every day for many years, while the others dined in the great hall, he’d set off on a path along the riverbank, shunning the crowded table or the halfhearted invitations to sup with inane nobles seeking handholds to boost their positions. The same nobles who spat at his mother while he clung to her skirts as she begged for a crust of bread.
In the fresh breeze that skimmed off the waters and cooled his skin, he marched along the raging river. He’d always thought better in motion. As his mind sharpened, he pondered his circumstance. Now others groveled at his feet; now he wielded authority. He’d learned power was the only thing worth pursuing. And despite all obstacles, he’d grabbed it—from groom to King’s Steward and one of the greatest alchemists in the land. Although few would know his name if they heard it. He didn’t seek popularity or favor from the nobles. He had no need of benefactors or the limelight. He wanted only one thing: more. A few seemingly random accidents and a well-timed rumor of treachery was all it took to clear his path.
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