“You would not try to poison an innocent young healer, would you?” I looked suspiciously at Rafe, who stared back as innocent as a lamb.
“No.” Rafe looked very serious. “On my honor.” Then his grin flashed. “I would not waste kavage that way.”
Everyone in the tent started laughing, and a few pounded on Rafe’s back for his jest.
Taking a deep breath, I put the mug to my lips and sipped.
Once again the tent exploded in laughter as my face screwed up in disgust. I managed to swallow, but it was a near thing. The liquid was hot, thick and bitter.
Joden patted me on the back as the rest of the tent started to share in the pot and make plans for another one. “Most prefer it with some milk and honey to take away the bitter.”
“Yes! That’s right.” I looked around for my other purchases. “Kier told me that. So I brought some with me.”
The silence in the tent was immediate and thick. I froze under all those eyes drilling into me. And a voice, thin and weak, arose from the pallet that lay beside me.
“Kier? You spoke to Kier?” Simus struggled to sit up.
Joden and Prest reached out and pushed him down. I handed the milk and the honey to Rafe, who took it without comment. I turned back to Simus.
“I met a man in the market this morning who told me that the kavage was taken with milk or honey.” I was suddenly very thankful that there were two guards inside the tent with me. Two guards that were looking very nervous. One caught my eye and I gave him a smile. They relaxed a little.
Joden made a gesture, and the rest of the tent started to break up, talking and drinking from their mugs. He helped Simus to sit up and Rafe came over to help. He brought with him a mug, and Simus’s hand emerged from the blankets, weak and shaky, but latched onto the mug like a desperate man.
Joden looked at me. “A man with eyes like blue flames?” I nodded. “Did he send any message?”
I returned the gaze. “He wanted to. I refused.”
Joden’s eyes narrowed. Simus watched me over the brim of his mug as Rafe helped him drink from it.
I did not back down. “I am a healer of any in need of my services. But I am not a…” I could not think of the word for ‘traitor’. “I am not an oath-breaker. I have an oath as a healer, but also to my king. Any rescue attempt this Kier tries will be without my aid.”
The minute my mouth closed, I winced. Joden, Rafe, and Simus relaxed, I could feel the tension leave them when they heard my words. I had probably just delivered the very message Kier wanted them to have anyway. I flushed again.
Simus sighed. “This kavage is terrible. Who made it?”
Rafe coughed.
“I should have known.” He looked up at Joden. “How long?”
“Two days.” Joden replied. “You were brought in with a bad wound and fever.” Simus raised an eyebrow at that, and gave Joden a long look. Joden looked away, as if ashamed, but continued on. “ Lara here treated you, and the wound does well. I do not think you will lose the leg.”
Even more tension left Simus’s body at that news. He took another sip from his mug. “Any news?”
Joden shook his head. “I have had none.”
Simus looked at me and raised both eyebrows. I saw no harm. “All I know is that the Warlord arrived about midday to talk peace.”
Simus thought about that. “You are wrong, little healer. The Warlord is here to talk surrender.”
Chapter 3
As I walked back to the castle that night along the garden path, I felt strangely invigorated. The tiredness that I had felt before had dissipated as quickly as it had come. Before leaving the tents, I’d finished the mug of kavage, once I’d laced it with milk and honey. A strange herb. I wondered if it held healing properties.
Since there seemed little chance that I would sleep any time soon, I went to the castle stillroom off the kitchen area. I waved to Anna as I entered the kitchen, snagged a bowl of stew and some bread, and retreated into the dim recess to eat. I was starving, and couldn’t remember if I’d eaten at midday or not.
Perched on my stool, I ate quickly. The room with its rows of shelves and worktables was cool and quiet. The candle lamp only lit the small area around me. I’d light the rest when I started working. The scent of the spicy stew filled my senses, canceling out the scent of medicines and mixtures. As I wolfed down the food, I looked about, making plans. I’d concentrate on the medicinal recipes. If the fighting started back up, I would need all that I had on hand, and more. The lotions and perfumes could wait awhile.
Hours later the braziers were hot and the mixtures brewing. Water and willow bark were in one kettle boiling down to make fever’s foe. Another pot held the ingredients for the scar mixture, once I’d filched goats’ milk from the larder. As I stirred some of the orchid root mixture, I heard horns blowing. I stopped, listening, but they did not repeat. The Warlord must be leaving out the main gates. If that was the case, they’d been at it a long time. I breathed a silent prayer to the Goddess that things had gone well. Xymund’s pride had caused him to do foolish things in the past. But Lord Marshall Warren was a good man. I hoped he would see the wisdom to peace.
The bubbling pots and the homey smells relaxed me in a way that nothing else could. While I enjoy caring for people, this was a small pleasure of my trade, brewing elixirs that would ease pain and restore health. The closest I’d ever come to magic, that was certain. It gave me a true sense of being needed and a real feeling of accomplishment.
I was yawning madly by the time the orchid root was ready to be poured into the small bottles that I had prepared. Moving carefully, I filled each to the neck and stoppered them loosely. The corks could be tightened once the bottles were fully cooled. The last thing was the fever’s foe. The paste had to be spooned into small jars and sealed with wax. I put the wax to melt, and started to work. It seemed to take forever, but eventually I was perched on my stool, pouring the sealing wax over the last of the jars.
A knock came at the door, and Othur entered. He looked tired as well, with bags under his eyes. I smiled at him as I set down the wax pot. He stood there, rubbed his face with both hands and sighed.
“Long night?” I blew out the flame and gathered up a few of the jars to move to the storage shelves behind me.
Othur nodded. “The King talked alone with the Warlord for hours and has been closeted with the Council ever since. They’ve been at it, hammer and tongs, for some time. They’ve sent for you.”
I put down the last jar, and turned. “Me?” I blinked at him owlishly, surprised. “Why?”
There was a bitterness in his eyes as he shrugged. “I don’t know. But he wants to see you now.” My father had allowed Othur in all the councils and his opinion had been asked for and taken seriously. Xymund had removed the privilege when he’d taken the throne. Yet another reason for Anna to dislike him so.
I quickly finished cleaning the work area, and blew out the rest of the lamps and candles. Othur stood to one side and held the door. I slipped past him, smoothing down the front of my jerkin as I went. There were wax droplets and other stains, not to mention the smell, but the council was just going to have to settle for my work clothes if they wanted a status report about the prisoners at this hour. My jaw cracked in a yawn as I followed Othur through the back halls.
We arrived at the doors only to hear a heated argument going on inside. Othur and I exchanged looks, but made no comment. It did seem to me that Xymund spent more time arguing with his advisors instead of listening.
The guard nodded and opened the door to let me in. The conversation stopped abruptly as the door swung open.
Once again I found myself kneeling before my brother. But when I was granted permission to rise, Xymund was standing looking out the window. He was in formal dress, standing stiff and straight in front of the huge window. His hands were clenched behind his back. I glanced around. It seemed that the entire council was crowded about the room. Lord Marshall Warren was there, along with Archbishop Drizen. Drizen was seated by the hearth and dressed in formal vestments, with Deacon Browdus beside him. Everyone looked tired and worn. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught side glances being exchanged. There was a tension, as if everyone was avoiding looking at me. Something was very, very wrong.