Nine days before his training was due to begin, Relam rose early and ate breakfast with his father. As soon as the king had left, the prince quietly slipped into his mother’s room, sitting down beside a bleary-eyed healer.
“Any change?” he asked quietly.
The healer blinked and straightened a little, peering owlishly at Relam from behind thick spectacles in danger of falling from his long nose. “No,” he replied in a reedy voice. “There has been no change, your highness. The queen sleeps fitfully, and her strength continues to fade.”
Relam sighed heavily and took his mother’s hand, hanging alongside the bed. He felt for a pulse at the wrist and his heart caught in his throat. The pulse was there, but it was so very weak that Relam had almost missed it.
“Is there nothing you can do?” he asked quietly.
The healer shrugged. “We are doing everything we can,” he replied eventually. “Potions, medicines, fragrances, oils, balms - everything we know of. Every so often she recovers and we think maybe we have won, but invariably we end up back here again.” He shrugged helplessly again, and lapsed into silence.
“Perhaps we can change out healers,” Relam growled, thrusting his head forward belligerently.
The healer stiffened angrily, and despite his apparent exhaustion, there was steel in his voice. “I am the best, your highness. Your mother could not be in better care. Besides, would you trust anyone else? I have been the royal healer for thirty years and your family has enemies.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Of course not,” the healer replied indignantly. “Merely a statement of fact.
Relam sighed again and sank back in his chair, closing his eyes. It was no use getting angry with the healer, for Relam knew the man was doing his very best. The prince had seen him at his craft, day in and day out. What Relam felt most keenly was helplessness. All he could do was watch, wait, and hope.
Someone knocked tentatively on the door and it creaked open a few centimeters. “Your highness?” a voice called gently.
Relam stood and went to the door. It was Narin, looking in through the narrow opening, his face lined and worried. “Yes?” Relam asked.
“The Lady Thius is here, asking to see the queen.”
Relam nodded. He had expected as much. Cevet’s mother had been a frequent visitor in the past months. But his mother had never been quite so weak before.
The prince glanced back at his mother, still and frail. “The queen is indisposed,” he replied.
Narin nodded patiently. “Perhaps you would speak with her instead?”
Relam eased through the gap in the door and out into the main room. The door to the hallway was open, and he could see Lady Thius hovering anxiously in the hallway, a large pot in her hands.
“Lady Thius,” Relam said as warmly as he could. “Welcome back.”
“Your highness,” she murmured, curtsying slightly. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” Relam agreed, glancing at Narin.
Lady Thius moved smartly into the room and Narin closed the door behind her. “Is your mother any better, your highness?” she asked immediately.
The prince shook his head gravely. “No. She sleeps now, and she is very weak. I-” He trailed off, making a helpless little gesture.
Lady Thius reached out and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know how hard this is for you,” she murmured. “I lost both of my parents, many years ago. And your mother was always kind to me, a good friend.”
Relam nodded wordlessly, looking back at the closed door to his mother’s room.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Cevet’s mother continued. “That such good people suffer so much. But it is the way of this world.” She shook herself, curls bouncing, then held out the pot to Narin. “I brought this, for when she does wake.”
Relam accepted the pot, sniffing at the steam wafting from it. “Another stew? You are too kind.”
“Anything to help,” Lady Thius replied.
“Thank you,” Relam said graciously, setting the stew on a low table. “We’ll see that she gets it. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Lady Thius whispered sadly. “If she gets any better will you let me know?”
“You have my word,” Relam promised with a slight smile.
Lady Thius nodded, gave another sad little smile, then turned and left. Narin closed the door gently behind her. “She’s a rare gem among nobles,” the guard commander observed. “I doubt any of the others can even cook for themselves anymore.”
“Yes,” Relam agreed. “She’s a lot like Cevet. Pity they haven’t rubbed off on Lord Thius at all.” He grinned at Narin, remembering the disastrous meeting the previous year.
“Nothing new on that front, is there?” Narin asked, obviously thinking along the same lines.
“The Assembly has gone quiet for many months now,” Relam replied. “My father told them off pretty well at the last meeting. Besides, most of their so-called grievances are being resolved. The river is starting to get cleaner, finally, and the harbor patrols have been expanded. The bandits in the woods are all but gone now, and projects are getting started to help the west side of Etares.”
“Not bad,” Narin observed. “That’s every demand save the taxes, which was ludicrous to begin with.”
“Yes,” Relam agreed fervently. “Imagine, all their wealth and they want a reduction in taxes. They should pay the same percent as anyone else. It’s not our fault they make so much more than the peasants.”
“Maybe we should agree to reduce their taxes if they contribute to some public works,” Narin suggested. “Like housing or food for the west side or something.”
“That would have to be closely regulated.”
“But it might be worth it.”
“I think it’s too complicated,” Relam muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “But you can suggest it to my father if you want. He’ll at least hear you out. Anything to keep the Assembly off his back.”
Narin grunted, then lifted the still-warm pot of stew from the table. “We should give this to the healer, in case your mother wakes soon.”
“Here, I’ll do it,” Relam said immediately, taking the pot. “You have more important things to attend to than menial errands, Narin. Like being the commander of the palace guard. Have you heard anything recently?”
“No new threats, your highness. But my network is still keeping their ears to the ground, and the palace guards are always on high alert.”
“Keep it up, Narin.”
“Of course, your highness.”
Relam gently opened the door to his mother’s room and slipped inside. The healer was still sitting there, watching the queen carefully. He looked up as Relam entered, frowning at the pot he carried.
“Your mother sleeps, your highness,” he informed the prince. “She is in no condition to eat right now.”
Relam set the pot down on a low table, careful not to knock over any of the myriad of healing supplies cluttering the surface. “Lady Thius brought another stew,” he explained. “Thought that perhaps it would help her back to health.”
“If she ever wakes long enough to eat it,” the healer sighed. “I do not think she will wake on her own for some time.”
“Should we wake her ourselves to get her to eat?”
The healer considered this. “She needs nourishment,” he said finally. “And by the smell of that stew, it is just the sort of nourishment she needs.”
Relam laid a gentle hand on his mother’s shoulder and shook her. “Mother?”
She stirred slightly, but did not wake. Relam shook her again with no result. The healer frowned and shook her as well. “Your majesty?”
The queen stirred again and her eyes fluttered open. “Is something the matter?” she mumbled. “I was having the strangest dream.”
“Everything’s fine, mother,” Relam assured her. “The Lady Thius was asking after you a moment ago. She brought one of her
stews to nourish you.”
The queen smiled wanly. “Jeselle’s stews are famous for their healing properties. It hasn’t gone cold has it?”
“No,” Relam replied, grinning as he lifted the lid from the pot. The aroma quickly filled the room, setting Relam’s mouthwatering. He grabbed a bowl and filled it deftly, careful not to spill droplets of broth over the table.
“That looks wonderful,” his mother murmured. Relam knelt at her side and began to spoon feed her. She accepted his help, weak as she was.
“Are you feeling any stronger?” the healer asked, leaning over the queen as well.
“No,” Relam’s mother murmured. “My strength . . . is all but gone.”
“You just need rest,” Relam said, his throat tightening painfully. He spooned more of the stew into his mother’s mouth. “That’s all.”
“I’ve . . . been resting,” she muttered faintly.
A short time later, Relam scraped the last spoonful out of the bottom of the bowl. Hardly had his mother swallowed it, then she was asleep again, her breath shallow and uneven.
“She’s worse,” Relam whispered, begging the healer to contradict him.
The healer nodded gravely. “Yes. I don’t understand it. No matter what we do she just continues to . . . fade.”
Relam blinked back tears and set the bowl down on the table again. “I’ll be back,” he told the healer, his voice breaking slightly, betraying him.
The healer said nothing, merely continued his vigil over the queen. Relam stumbled from the room, frustrated, scared, and angry. His vision blurred and swam, and he sank into one of the armchairs around the fire, burying his face in his hands. Hot tears trickled over his fingers and splashed to the floor.
This is wrong, Relam thought, staring at the floor through a watery haze. This is all wrong.
“It’s not fair,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to look into the flames. There was no one more gentle or caring, no woman better suited to rule alongside his father. Compared to the ladies of other houses . . . well, there was no comparison, except perhaps to Lady Thius.
Relam ground his teeth in frustration and struggled to get his emotions under control. He blinked back tears, but more filled his eyes, beading on his lashes, running down his cheeks. His throat felt raw and narrow, so tight that air couldn’t possibly get through. He took a great, shuddering breath to steady himself, but it ended in a choked sob.
How long he sat there, Relam did not know. Eventually, his solitude was broken by the sound of the outer door opening. He looked up and saw his father stumping wearily into the room, followed by Narin and Clemon. The king’s chatelain was gesticulating and babbling as usual, upset over some unimportant matter or other.
“-and there’s talk of a miner’s uprising in the Heights against the lords who run the mines. If that were to happen our iron supplies would positively vanish until the situation was brought under control. And there are also many mines of precious stones in the area, not to mention the rock and marble quarries-”
“Tell the Mizzran lord that it’s time he saw to it that the mining bosses treat his people like humans,” Relam’s father snarled. “I don’t want to hear another word of trouble from that quarter, am I understood, Marc?”
“Of course, your majesty. Now, about the recent droughts near Gobel-Tek-”
“They can wait,” the king interrupted. “One more day won’t change the situation. Good night, Marc.”
“Oh, erm, yes, good evening, your majesty,” Clemon muttered sulkily, slinking from the room.
Relam turned away as the door closed and went back to staring into the flames. He heard his father sigh and go to his mother’s room. The door creaked slightly. “Any change?” Orram asked.
The healer’s murmured reply did not reach Relam’s ears. But the door closed and his father moved to stand by the fire, noticing Relam for the first time.
“Didn’t see you there, son,” he grunted. “How are you doing?”
Relam shrugged. “Not great.”
His father nodded sadly, leaning against the mantle. “I know. I’m hurting too, son. But we must keep hoping she’ll beat this thing, whatever it is.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
As soon as he said the words, Relam wished he could have them back. His father flinched and recoiled a half pace, and the room seemed to darken. Relam shivered slightly as the fire flickered, the flames dwindling.
“Life will go on,” the king whispered finally. “Believe it or not, life goes on.”
Relam hunched his shoulders and leaned forward, staring into the flames. Silence stretched between him and his father, an uncomfortable, oppressive silence that muffled everything else. Finally, the king turned and went back to the sick room, closing the door quietly behind him.
The young prince stayed where he was a moment longer, then stood and meandered to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. It was nearly time for dinner, but he was not hungry. Not anymore. Such trivial things as food did not seem to matter at the moment. The only thing that mattered was his mother, and the slim odds that she would recover.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the rug that covered the stone floor under his feet. The tasseled edges were starting to fray in places, and there were places where he could see between threads to the gray stone. The rug was nearly worn out, he realized. Before long, the royal decorators would start clamoring for it to be replaced.
A knock came at the door, tentative and quiet. Relam ignored it, still staring at the rug.
The intruder knocked again, more forcefully this time, then jiggled the latch. Relam glared at the hardwood portal, willing the visitor to go away.
But they didn’t. They knocked again, still louder, the door banging against its frame. Relam surged to his feet and crossed the room in two long strides, throwing the door open, drawing breath to reprimand the intruder.
“What is it?” he snapped irritably. Then, he realized it was Aven standing in front of him, slightly crouched, one foot back, right arm up to defend himself, frozen in shock.
“Rough day?” the boy asked cautiously, not meeting Relam’s gaze.
“You could say that,” Relam grunted. “Is there a reason you were trying to break my door down?”
“I’m working a shift in the kitchens tonight,” Aven explained. “There’s a feast being hosted by the Assembly of Nobles. Lord Thius wants to know if the royal family will make an appearance.”
“We won’t,” Relam replied shortly.
An awkward silence stretched between them for a long moment.
“I also wanted to see how you were doing,” Aven said uncertainly, making a helpless little gesture. “With your mother sick and all-”
“I’m fine.”
Aven raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Really?”
“Yes,” the prince growled, gripping the door tightly in his right hand.
“Your eyes are red, you know, and you look terrible. Have you even slept this week?”
“Go,” Relam snarled, anger and frustration building within him. “I’m in no mood for talk, Aven.”
“Fine. Is there anything you needed me to take care of, or-”
“Go!” Relam roared. “Get out! Can’t you see, you’re not wanted here?”
Aven stumbled backwards, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Across the main room, the door to the sick room opened and the king peered out frowning. Relam did not wait for his father’s glare to find him. Instead, he slammed the door in Aven’s face and threw the bolt home. Then he stomped over to his desk and sat in the chair there. His head was throbbing painfully, and there was a terrible pressure behind his eyes. Worse though, was the weight in his chest. The weight of guilt.
“He had it coming,” Relam muttered through gritted teeth. “Barging in here when my mother is ill and needs rest. He deserved it.”
He kicked one of the legs of the desk for emphasis. It did not help his anger or frustration. The only result of n
ote was a new throbbing injury to his right big toe. Relam glared at the unyielding desk and thumped its surface with his fist.
Several minutes later, someone knocked at the door again. Relam was half asleep at that point, dozing in his chair. He blinked away his exhaustion and looked around, trying to identify the source of the noise. Finally, he realized that someone was at the door again.
Sighing, he stood and went to the door, peering through the peep hole. He saw his father’s face on the other side, looking straight through the cunningly concealed gap.
“I know you’re there, son. Open the door.”
Relam stepped back, contemplating his father’s request. He was starting to turn away when his father spoke again.
“I could get in anyways, but I would rather not do it that way. Open up, Relam. We need to talk.”
“Can it wait?”
“No.”
Relam sighed and drew back the latch. The door swung open almost immediately and his father entered, his face lined with worry and pain.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
His father nodded and shut the door quietly. “I figured. That’s why you drove off Aven.”
Relam winced and looked away.
“You know I’m no champion of the lower classes,” his father grunted, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don’t hold with mixing with servants more than necessary. But that boy looks up to you, Relam.”
“Because I’m a prince.”
“No. Because of everything else that you are,” his father countered, looking into Relam’s eyes. “You are a fighter, but you are noble. You work hard though you are born to wealth. You do tasks yourself though others would gladly do them for you. You take time for those you are told are beneath you.”
Relam shrugged. “Well . . . I guess.”
His father snorted. “You also got him a position in the city guard.”
“With some help.”
“It was still your idea.” Relam’s father leaned forward earnestly. “Like I said, son, he looks up to you. Don’t let him down.”
The prince snorted derisively. “I just did, didn’t I? Running him off like that?”
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 25
