“Simus, I want to ask your advice about something.”
He looked at me carefully, growing serious, and reverted to the language of his people. “I can’t promise to assist you, Your Majesty. The Warlord has made his wishes known, and I am bound to obey him.”
I rubbed my sweaty palms on my dress, trying to remain calm and controlled. “Simus, I don’t understand. Why is he doing this?”
Simus shrugged. “What’s to understand? Does one understand the wind or predict the flame?” Simus gestured me to a chair. “There are things you do not know, little healer. Being warprize carries its own dangers. The warrior-priests and the elders will fight Keir tooth and nail over this, and you’d be in the center.”
“Do they hate Keir that much?”
Simus’s face grew serious. “Ah, that hate lies on both sides, and who is to say whose is the greater? But it matters not. Keir is the Warlord, and his will binds me. You will remain in your kingdom, and be crowned its queen. Once that is accomplished, I will return to the plains, and all will be well.”
“Simus—”
He shook his head, setting his earrings glittering in the light. “No. I will not discuss this with you.” He gestured toward two chairs by the unlit fireplace. “Come. We will have some of Anna’s good cooking and swill this drink called ‘ale’ and you will tell me of your ceremonies. Tell me what a ‘coronation’ is and what tasks you are required to perform.” He raised a finger in warning. “But I will hear no talk of anything else. Understood?” His eyes were kind but firm.
“Understood.”
Eln opened the backdoor of his clinic, and regarded Heath and me and my four bodyguards with a neutral expression. After a slight pause, he stepped aside. Heath and I slipped past him, into the stillroom, followed by two of the guards. It was a bright, cheery place, with a crackling fire in the hearth, and various potions bubbling in caldrons. I felt myself relax as I breathed in the familiar scents of medicines and tonics. I’d learned my craft here, and it felt like home.
“What’s that stink?” Heath asked, screwing up his face.
“A medicine.” Eln moved over to the table to stir a pot. He glanced at me with a questioning look. “What brings Your Majesty to my humble clinic?”
“My majesty needs to talk to you. To talk to someone I can trust.” I sat on a stool. Heath wandered the room, looking at the various bottles and jars. The two guards remained by the door.
“Trust?” Eln focused on me, at the same time he reached out and slapped Heath’s hands away from a jar.
“Trust that you have no preconceived notions of what is best for the kingdom and for me.”
Eln gave me a sharp look before turning to Heath. “Scamp, make yourself useful. There’s a load of new wood at the back. Go cut it for me. And take those two lummoxes with you.”
Heath looked startled. “We’re protecting Lara.”
Eln snorted. “She’s worked in this clinic for many years with no fears. Your muscles are wasted in here when they could be useful. Go. Or I’ll set you to chopping herbs and stirring cauldrons.”
Heath flashed a grin. “At least we won’t be breathing in the stink.” He laughed as Eln scowled. The guards chuckled too, as they headed out the door.
“So?” Eln looked me over from head to toe. His face was still neutral.
“Eln, I know what I want. Everyone at the castle is certain that I’m best for the kingdom, and I don’t think that’s true.”
“And?”
I gritted my teeth. Eln was in teacher mode, which was very irritating. “Simus won’t talk to me. Othur and Warren have already decided what is best for the kingdom. And I’m not sure of what to do next.”
Eln stirred his pot for a moment. “If the kingdom were ill, what would you do?”
“What?”
He shot me a look. “If the kingdom were to somehow stumble into the clinic, weak and ill, what would you do first?”
“I’d ask questions, try to discover what was wrong.”
“Such as?”
Impatient, I glared at him. “What is wrong? How are you feeling? Have you urinated today? Have you vomited? How are your bowels?”
Eln kept silent and kept stirring.
“One of the rules you teach us is that before we can start to cure a patient, we must first understand the disease.” He nodded, taking a pinch of marjoram and sprinkling it into the pot. I sat for a moment, trying to apply my healing skills to my problem. “I need to know what problems my coronation solves, and see if there’s an alternative.”
He shrugged. “You need to start thinking.”
I rubbed my cheek. “So you said.”
“Well, you came up with a punishment for me, I fear.” He smiled ruefully. “Seems my newest patient wants me to read The Epic of Xyson to her on a daily basis. A fate worse than death.”
I sat up, surprised. “Is Atira here?”
“Just so. The Warlord sent her to me, with a pouch of gold. Asked that I see to her, since her healer is no longer available.” He held up a hand at my indignant expression. “His words, not mine.”
“Where?”
“I put her in the corner room. If you’re going back there, take this to her.” Eln handed me two mugs of tea. “She asked for kavage, but will have to make do with this for now.”
I took the mugs and headed for the corner room. It was one of the larger ones, with a big fireplace of its own. Behind me, I heard Eln call out the door for one of the guards to fetch water, and for the others to keep chopping. I had to smile as I ducked into the corner room.
Atira lay there, her leg suspended from one of Eln’s rigs, his weights pulling it straight. She blinked at me for a moment, then a smile covered her entire face. “Warprize!” She struggled to sit up. “No, no, that’s not right.” She narrowed her eyes in concentration. “Greetings, Your Majesty.” She spoke the words in Xyian. “Did I say it right?”
I set the mugs down and helped her sit up. “You did.” Once she was settled, I handed her one of the mugs.
She sipped it, and wrinkled her nose. “If I’d had time, I’d have asked for kavage before they hauled me here. But the Warlord hustled me right out of camp.”
“Maybe Simus will share his supply.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nay, he’ll hoard what he has and use the grounds twice, even if I had a headache that might kill me. Not that I blame him.” She looked at me over the rim of the mug. “I only got hints of what happened at the castle. The Warlord said that I was to be cared for here until the leg is healed, then join him on the Plains.” Her eyes were bright with curiosity.
I took the hint and summarized what had happened. She listened intently, shaking her head when I reached the end.
Heath stomped in, a load of wood in his arms. “Eln never changes, Lara. Always the task master.” He moved to the wood box and dumped his load. As he stood, he flashed a grin at Atira. “How’s the leg?”
She frowned, and answered carefully in Xyian. “It is well. Thank you.”
Heath laughed. “I don’t envy you, stuck here with Eln for the next few weeks.”
Atira smiled. “I have this.” She held up The Epic of Xyson and the reader that I had purchased.
Heath rolled his eyes. “That hoary old thing? There are better books to read.”
Atira’s eyes got big. “There is more than one?” She looked at me for confirmation.
Heath laughed. “I’ll bring you something from the castle that’s better than that one.” Eln’s voice raised from the still-room and Heath grimaced. “Back to work.” He gave me an imploring look as he walked to the door. “Please, don’t be long.”
I laughed at him, then turned back to Atira, switching back to her language. “Will it harm Keir, not to produce a Warprize?”
“Aye.” Atira nodded. “The Warlord sent messages when you were claimed. If he can’t produce you, the people will say that the Warprize rejected him.” She thought for a moment, stroking the cover of the Epic. “The Warlord built this army carefully, explaining that we would not receive the usual share of the spoils. Instead, he made agreements to pay his warriors with money or land. If he can’t reward the army, he will be shamed. Or worse.”