Shawna Thomas

by Journey of Dominion

  She turned her attention back to Erhard. “I spoke with him just last night.” What had he said? Had he warned her? Hadn’t he said something important? She shook her head, irritated. Why couldn’t she remember?

  He took her hand in his. “I know. He was drinking heavily. He had been for a while. I only kept him on out of friendship.”

  Something about the king’s statement rang false, but Ilythra couldn’t put her finger on what.

  Erhard pulled her to her feet and held her for a moment too long. Safe. Her frustration melted into a sense of tranquility. She felt protected in his arms. Her heartbeat slowed. She wanted to linger, but he let her go and led her toward the door. “Why don’t you go to your chamber and lie down for a while. This has been a shock.”

  Ilythra nodded and moved through the corridor toward her room. She tried to remember if she’d felt so safe in Tobar’s arms, but the memory was elusive and she stopped trying. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. He probably had two more wives and ten more children by now. All she knew was the place she wanted to be more than anywhere in the world was back with Erhard, and that seemed both strange and comforting at the same time.

  * * *

  “Earrings? A gift from my father?” Aclan asked as she bent over him, rubbing cream over the stitches to keep them supple.

  “Yes. A thank-you gift. Does it bother you?”

  “No. Why? Should it?”

  Ilythra shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. It felt like she should be swimming against the current and instead was drifting along, being taken farther out to sea.

  “Do you know that it’s customary for lovers to exchange gifts on the first day of Emdarech?”

  She froze. Did he? Rothit had said something... Ilythra glanced up at Aclan. “We’re not. I mean—”

  Aclan laughed. “If I can’t have you for myself then I guess the next best thing...”

  Anger pierced her confusion. “I’m not a horse to be auctioned.”

  “Of course not. You’re more valuable than a horse.”

  She gently pulled on another of Alcan’s stitches.

  “Ouch!”

  Ilythra raised an eyebrow. “Just testing.”

  “More spirited too,” Aclan muttered and reached for Ilythra’s arm. “It wouldn’t bother me if you were lovers. Though I could never think of you as a mother.”

  She wondered if Aclan knew that she was only a few years older than him. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. A few more days and they’ll come out.”

  “Will it hurt?” His jaw clenched.

  “Yes.”

  He made a face then brightened. “How long before I can practice with my sword?”

  “At least a half-moon. Don’t rush things or you’ll be in bed longer.”

  “With a pretty lady attending me, it’s not so bad.” He puffed up his chest and swept his hands around the room.

  “Then I’ll send Miera up.” Ilythra smiled.

  “I can’t wait to tell Rothit.” Aclan reached for a cup of water resting on a table near his bed.

  She retrieved it for him and sat on the edge of Aclan’s bed. “No one told you?”

  “Told me what?” The prince’s brows drew together.

  A moment of confusion clouded her mind. Perhaps it was a dream. But no, she could feel the weight of the earrings on her ears. She’d been in to see Erhard. She took the unused glass, set it back on the table and held his hands in hers. “Rothit was found dead this morning.”

  Aclan’s face lost color. His mouth opened. Closed.

  “It seems after he left the feast, he walked up the keep and slipped on the icy stairs.” She kept her voice even and quiet, but her throat felt rough from the effort.

  He shook his head and didn’t say anything for several minutes. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he go up the keep that late at night?”

  “I don’t know. He had been drinking.”

  The boy’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears and anger. “Rothit could hold his drink better than any two men I know, and he wasn’t stupid.”

  “Your father said he’d been drinking for some time now.”

  Aclan pulled his hands from hers. “Of course he had.” Tears roughened his voice but didn’t diminish the anger and conviction. “But he wasn’t a drunk. He knew when and where and how much, for gods’ sake. A drunk couldn’t fight like he did.”

  A warning sounded deep in Ilythra’s head. Aclan had a point.

  * * *

  A dusting of snow glowed blue under the weak winter sun. Ilythra walked the path, her boots breaking the snow’s frozen crust the only sound in the garden. She paused before a rosebush, absently noting a trace of snow lingering on the branches; a single rose hip clung defiantly to its icy perch. She’d neglected to gather any herbs to restock what she’d use this winter. She sighed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up in the same situation she was in last spring, when Mohan and Liera came to her rescue.

  Ilythra glanced west. And what are you doing now, Mohan? Seducing a more-than-willing female no doubt. The thought fell flat without emotion, save a slight melancholy.

  “Ilythra?” Erhard stood at the end of the path, near a shallow brook still fighting the encroaching ice. “It’s cold for a pleasure walk.” He neared.

  Was this a pleasure walk? She shrugged. “It’s not that cold.”

  “Yet.” Erhard paused before her. “I’ve always found beauty in the garden, even in the dead of winter. I think that’s when the plants show their true character instead of hiding behind a mantle of leaves.”

  She looked around at the garden. Once she would have noticed its beauty. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic.”

  He shrugged. “We are what we are. May I join your walk?”

  Ilythra answered by extending her arm to the beckoning path. Erhard walked beside her, his scent lingering in the air around him. She puzzled over it; she hadn’t smelled it that last few times she’d seen him, or had she? It was subtle. Once again she wondered which herbs the creator of the fragrance had used. Then another thought struck her—who was the creator?

  “Erhard, who—”

  “Are you comfortable here?” He blushed. “I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

  What was she going to say? “It wasn’t important. Yes, I’m comfortable.”

  “You hesitated.”

  “You’re perceptive.” She stared off into the distance, not seeing anything. Maybe she’d been pushing herself too hard and now that she’d stopped, exhaustion was catching up with her. “I seem to be forgetting things lately.” And I don’t feel anything. No, that wasn’t true. She’d been upset with Aclan earlier and she felt peaceful now.

  He smiled but remained silent for several minutes. “That happens to me sometimes too. I think it’s the product of overexertion.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. Erhard agreed with her unspoken thought. “Maybe I did need the rest. There is little for me to do here.”

  “You must winter somewhere, no?” His teeth flashed as he smiled and his cheek dimpled. She wanted to reach out and kiss it.

  “Yes.”

  “How are you spending your days?” He drew her closer. “I regret that I’ve been busy lately.”

  She breathed deeply, enjoying the warmth and scent of him. “You have a kingdom to run. I hardly expect to intrude on your duties.”

  “Yet you frequently intrude on my thoughts with no shame.”

  She fought the smile and the giddy laughter that bubbled up inside her. She frequently thought of him too. “But your thoughts are yours to control,” she teased.

  “Are they? Can you control your thoughts?”

  She briefly closed her eyes. Definitely not, though she tried. “No, I suppose not. I’ve been spending a lot o
f time with Aclan. I’ve learned the castle, probably better than you. I’m befriending Melior. Before too long, I expect he’ll let me ride him. I walk in the gardens.”

  “I see. But I detect a bit of frustration.”

  “I need to be useful.” Maybe that was it. She’d never been idle. Once she had something to do, she’d feel more like herself.

  “I’ve been told you’ve asked Konrad about opening the castle to treat the villagers.”

  She had? Oh, that’s right. “Yes. And I was informed I needed your permission.”

  “Although it’s my aim to see you happy and enjoy your stay, I’m afraid that might be disruptive.” He paused before a large tree, now bare of leaves. “You could go down into the village and treat them there. I could send a servant to aid you.”

  “That’s not necessary.” She hesitated. “On the other hand, perhaps I’ll take Cassia. I’ve been teaching her whenever she has time to learn.”

  Erhard grinned, his eyes lighting with warmth. “Then it’s settled. We have our own healer.”

  “If the weather holds, I’ll ride down tomorrow.” Why hadn’t she gone down before? She dismissed the thought, which worked against the contentment she was feeling.

  “Be careful. Even if the day dawns with the sun, it may end in the wrath of the mountain. The winds here are fickle and they bring with them much death this time of year.” Erhard’s forehead creased as he placed one hand on each of her shoulders.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  His smile was brief, but he didn’t let go of her shoulders. “Forgive me. I forget that you are very well able to take care of yourself.”

  “It’s nice to be worried over now and then.” He would take care of her. Shelter her if she let him. The desire to let go and let someone else worry about her, make decisions, relieve her of the burden that had been placed on her swelled.

  He dropped his hands. “I...” He hesitated. “The earrings look beautiful on you.”

  “So you’ve said.” Her heart lightened. Is this joy?

  His cheeks turned a brighter shade of pink.

  “I’m sorry. I’m teasing.” She smiled up at him and placed a hand on his arm.

  They continued walking. “How are you enjoying your first Emdarech?”

  “Rothit explained it a little to me. I—” Her throat clogged. Rothit was dead.

  “I’m sorry. I know you were close.” The king patted her arm. “It’s a horrible tragedy. I had a talk with Aclan this morning. He’s very upset.”

  “Yes. He is.” He also didn’t believe it was an accident.

  “He made a point to let me know he likes you.” The king turned to her.

  “I like him.”

  “It is good for him to have you around.” They walked in silence for a moment before Erhard paused again. “It is nice for me to have you around too.”

  Ilythra gazed into Erhard’s pale blue eyes. She felt a sense of completeness, as though nothing else mattered. Confusion blossomed in her mind, wiping out conscious thought. Something else did matter but at this moment, she couldn’t remember what that was.

  “If I’ve misspoke—” Earnest regret shone from his eyes.

  “No.” She reached for his arm. “No, Erhard. I like spending time with you very much.”

  He smiled. “Then say you’ll play a game of Crist with me tomorrow after you get back from the village.”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  * * *

  Ilythra tapped on the door.

  “Come.”

  As she opened the door, she saw Aclan sitting at a small desk, reading. “What are you reading?”

  Alcan shrugged. “Histories.” He didn’t turn around.

  “You weren’t at practice.” She moved to stand behind him.

  “No.” He sighed.

  She softened her voice. She hadn’t wanted to practice Shi’ia after losing her grandfather. “You should be.” When was the last time she’d picked up her practice stick? Alarm quickened her pulse.

  “Why?”

  Ilythra focused on Aclan. “Because Rothit would not have wanted to you to give up.”

  Aclan’s pale eyes narrowed. “Did my father send you?”

  “No. I’m not anyone’s ambassador. I came because I understand.”

  Aclan stared at his hands on his lap. “It’s hard to be in the practice ring. I keep hearing Rothit say, ‘Keep your shoulders lined with your hips. Watch your footwork.’” He met Ilythra’s gaze for a moment then stared at the book on his desk.

  She settled on the bed. “Don’t you see, in that way, you’ll never lose him? A part of Rothit is forever given to you.” Unexpected tears burned her eyes. Where was the emotion coming from?

  Aclan looked up. “I never thought about it that way.”

  “Will I see you in practice tomorrow?” Ilythra rose to her feet.

  “Will you be there?”

  She nodded. “If you need me to be.”

  “Then so will I.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Does that feel better?” Ilythra looked into the hazel eyes of a small child. Her red hair curled around round, tearstained cheeks.

  The little girl nodded.

  Ilythra glanced to the mother. “Keep that very clean. It should heal with a little scar.” She turned back to the little girl. “And no more playing by the fire, okay?”

  Her eyes widened as she nodded her head.

  The inn was crowded with bodies, so much so that Ilythra was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Faces turned to her with a combination of need and distrust. She wondered how long it had been since they’d had a healer in town. Probably not in a long while. As far as she knew, she was the only traveling healer.

  A man, the next in line, walked toward her, a hand held over his stomach and his face pinched in obvious pain. He explained that his stomach had hurt since supper two nights before and his bowels were like water.

  Weariness weighed down her limbs. It was almost time to call it a day. She glanced at the long line. “Any blood?”

  He shook his head, his checks reddening.

  She focused on the man. A headache formed behind her eyes. One thing at a time, and right now he was it. “What did you eat two nights ago?”

  “The last of the summer sausage.”

  Was it any wonder? She dug in her sack.

  “Healer! Healer! Where’s the healer?”

  Ilythra looked up to see a man weave through the throngs, his eyes wild in panic. When he saw her, he actually kneeled.

  “Healer, please. My wife is in labor with our first child. She’s been laboring from sunset yesterday and—”

  Ilythra placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just a minute.” She handed the first man a small pouch. “Sprinkle this much—” she circled her finger and thumb to demonstrate, “—into a cup of water and drink it three times a day. You should feel better in a few days. If not, send word to the castle or come back here.”

  The man accepted the pouch, nodding, and handed her a small copper coin. “Thank you.”

  She handed it back. “Give this to me when you’re better. I’ll take it then.” She raised her voice so the crowd could hear her. “I’ll be back tomorrow after sunrise. If it’s an emergency, send someone to the castle.” Ilythra looked up at the soon-to-be father’s anxious face. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  On the way through the village, Ilythra couldn’t get Rina’s face out of her mind. But the young woman she’d treated on her way to Greton had been delicate and frail anyway. Not following Ilythra’s instructions had only complicated matters.

  “In here.” The man opened the door, cast a worried look in her direction and then entered the small house.

  Blinking
her eyes to adjust to the darkened interior, Ilythra ducked through the doorway. A trestle table butted up against the rough stone wall, a long bench underneath to leave room for walking. Rags were stuffed in various places along the wall to keep out the cold winter air. Thin branches woven loosely together hung from the window, striping the interior with pale light as the sun began its descent. Surrounded by soot-covered rocks, a fire blazed to one side of the room near a narrow cot. A woman lay under a striped woolen blanket, her rounded abdomen clearly defined by the thin cloth.

  Ilythra turned to the man. “I’ll need water.”

  He nodded, wringing his hands. Gratitude for something to do other than worry softened his eyes.

  Ilythra moved toward the bed. A single tallow candle sputtered in a bracket attached to a thick post near the bed but did little to light the room.

  The woman opened pain-filled eyes as Ilythra approached. “My baby,” she gasped.

  Ilythra nodded. “What’s your name?”

  “Nenya.” The woman’s sweat-streaked face contorted with pain.

  “My name is Ilythra. I’m going to do everything I can for you and your baby.”

  The man entered carrying a bucket of water and sat against the back wall. A trough stood on a pedestal against one wall near several baskets of various sizes.

  “Res.” Nenya held one hand out to her husband.

  He moved to kneel by the bed, holding the hand next to his face. “I brought the healer. You’ll be okay now.”

  Ilythra hoped he was right as she washed her hands with soapwort and the tepid water. She instructed the man to put some on to boil. “Nenya, I’m going to examine you. Okay?”

  Jaw clenched, Nenya nodded once.

  Ilythra murmured a prayer and lifted the blanket. She felt for the cervix. The girl was dilated, and the amniotic sac had ruptured. She felt deeper. Breech. Damn.

  * * *

  Nenya’s screams echoed off the walls. Ilythra had turned the baby, but the mother was bleeding heavily. Another contraction, and the head emerged. Ilythra moved to wipe the baby’s face and clear its mouth. “One more, Nenya.”

  “I can’t,” Nenya pleaded. “I’m tired.”

  “You can.” Ilythra infused steel into her voice. “One more, and you can rest with your beautiful baby.”