by Amelia Brown
“We had hoped that your help would not have been necessary.” The Queen continued when it looked as if her husband would not.
Luveday wondered what could rob such an elegant man of his speech, and what did they mean by her help? The only skills that would mean anything to the Royals were her healing abilities, and the court was full of men whose experience and reputations far overshadowed her own. And yet, Luveday thought she noticed a hint of desperation in their eyes. The unease returned along with a twisting in her gut.
“’Tis not common knowledge but Prince Holden has fallen ill.” Lady St. James gasped as the Queen continued. “Of course, we have tried everything…”
“Every crackpot, bone mender, and tinker.” The King growled.
A gentle hand came to rest on the King’s own, and Luveday got to witness a rare personal moment between husband and wife. “You are our last hope, Lady Luveday. If you cannot help him…” she looked away, for that moment she was just Augusta, a mother desperate to save her son, and not the Queen of Anora.
Jane nudged her companion with her elbow and Luveday grappled with herself to find the words that might give them some comfort. “I wish I could bring you some solace, your majesties. I cannot imagine your worry.” The Queen looked at her, gauging her sincerity. “I cannot make you any promises. I will need to see the prince before I can tell you if I can be of any help.”
“Straight to the point.” He nodded to himself. “I told you, my dear.” Edward smiled at his wife before rising to his feet.
The royal couple seemed heartened by her answer, though Luveday couldn’t fathom why. “So, you did, husband.” The Queen rose to her feet as well, the two ladies followed suit a moment later, trailed along behind her without question.
Luveday wondered how deep into the castle they would venture while trying to distract herself from the doubts and fears that were turning her insides to knots. She looked to Jane as they turned a corner down another long hallway. The woman reminded her a bit of her mother, with her sharp wit, an easy laugh, and a pragmatic disposition. That is where the similarities ended; the woman was tall nearing six feet while her mother was only a few inches taller than Luveday’s five-two. Lady St. James was slim, almost athletic in build, with chestnut locks and warm doe colored eyes. Though the two women were physically different in nearly every manner, there was something in their spirit that linked them in Luveday’s mind and heart.
The older woman still had Luveday’s right arm around her own and would give it a pat or a reassuring squeeze now and then. Luckily, their destination was not too much farther along, and finally, they came to a pair of carved doors. Two guards stood in the hall appearing as if they might be part of the high stone structure, though Luveday detected only the slightest hint of breath from each of them. The Queen let herself in, though Lady St. James moved to do it for her. They entered an anteroom that was dark despite it being the afternoon. The heavy drapes on the window to their right let in a small sliver of sunlight that was almost blinding in the darkness. It was the sudden dimness and sharp contrast with the world outside that distracted Luveday long enough to miss the fact that there was a man in the room, who stood silently waiting by another set of equally massive carved doors. Like the first, the creatures and designs that marked the door’s surface were obscured by thick shadows, shadows that hid the man as well. The Queen stopped only when she had reached his side. The two had a whispered conversation; the subject of which must have been Luveday as both occasionally looked to where the two ladies stood just inside the far doors. Momentarily forgotten, Luveday took the time to look around her.
The few candles that lit the room created little vignettes of the life of the person that lived within. The room at first seemed stark, but that was due more to the darkness than design. A single candle sat on a round table and illuminated some books, parchment, and ink. Scribbles and drawings covered cotton parchment and vellum as if the writer’s mind where too fast for his pen. Stepping closer out of curiosity, Luveday noticed that the subject of interest was medicine, more specifically the human body and the issue of humors. Luveday’s nose wrinkled as the absurdity of some of the notions penned there.
“Not to your liking, Luveday?” Jane came up to bend over the table, studying the scene but touched nothing.
Luveday smiled at her friend; the brief time they had known each other, they had become familiar with each other’s expressions. Their rapport was as easy as if she talked to Emmalyn or Elysant. She turned her mind away from that life and all the dreams she’d put behind her to study the thoughts of their mysterious healer. “No, they don’t suit me.”
“You think you can do better girl?” A male voice reminded her that they were not alone. Luveday turned toward the hostile character.
The Queen put a hand on her companion’s arm, and the man stilled. “She cannot do worse. He is dying.”
She had turned away, but the whisper carried in the quiet room. The man nodded as he gave Luveday a hard look. “Logan is Prince Holden’s man, and he will help you with all you need. You are to take over care of the prince immediately. We are putting our trust in you, Lady Luveday.” Her tone said more than her words; do not fail us. The Queen gazed into the little healer’s eyes for a long moment and was satisfied that her unspoken message was received before leaving.
Rounding the table, Luveday came closer trying to get a better look at the man, but he turned away opening the doors behind him. The room beyond was large and full of clothes. Male clothes, rich in color and texture hung around the room on pegs. On closer inspection the walls were lined with some sort of dark fabric, a glass lantern sat in the middle of the room on a simple wooden stool that was barely knee height. Luveday realized they were in the prince’s closet, but before she could speak the servant opened another set of doors on the far wall.
Following behind, Luveday knew that the prince must be somewhere beyond but how many rooms might lie between them; she had no idea. The next room was much more to a boy’s liking, full of hunting gear, old toys, boots, and even a real saddle tossed over the back of an old wooden horse. The prince was growing up but had yet to put away all of his childish things.
“Sir Logan?” Luveday called out as Jane caught up to them. “Sir?”
“It is just Logan, My Lady.” He sounded exasperated, or maybe exhausted was a better fit.
“Logan.” She stopped as he turned to look at them.
“My Lady.” He waited.
Luveday tried not to be put out by his impatient and impertinent manner. “I am truly sorry to hear about Prince Holden’s condition, but, please, can you tell me a bit about him?”
The man seemed to grit his teeth. “The Queen has put me at your disposal. What would you like to know?”
If he was not pleasant at least Logan was willing to work with her, she thought. “How old is he? What was his constitution before he became ill? Was there a previous bought of illness? When exactly did the first signs appear?” Luveday looked up; realizing that she might be overwhelming the man, but when she met his gaze, there was a peculiar look in his eyes.
“His Highness has always been a rather active boy, trying to keep up with his elder brother, Prince Archibald. He has seen sixteen summers, and if it were up to me, he would live to see a hundred more.” His voice softened for the first time since they had met, and Luveday could clearly see that the man loved his charge. “When he was ten summers he became ill for about a fortnight but was none the worse for wear.” A distant and thoughtful look came over the man, and Luveday wondered how old he was, and how long the prince had been in his care. The lantern in the room did nothing to illuminate the subtle nuances of his face, though Luveday stood close enough to make out many of his expressions. “If I recall correctly, his highness became pinked and easily tired a few days before he was confined to bed. That was almost three moons ago.”
Jane gasped. “Three moons and the boy has not improved? What of Master Pope; is he not the best healer
at court?”
Logan laughed and sneered at the name. Luveday clenched her teeth remembering her brief meeting with the man. “Master Pope continues to pour strengthening potions down the Prince’s throat and swears they are all that is keeping the boy alive. The Queen and King have given up on his fool’s errands. He has left his servant behind while he travels to find some silly plant he claims to be our savior.” The derision in Logan’s tone left no doubt about his thoughts on the master healer. Luveday had to agree; she had no faith in the drunken lout and was grateful that she would not have to deal with him today. She could not forgive him for nearly killing Iain.
“So, who is left to care for the boy?” Luveday turned to Jane, unbelieving the older woman had asked such a question. Logan took it as she expected and the emotional wall between them was raised once again.
“Who, you ask, My Lady?” The smile on his face was all white teeth and anger, a startling and unnerving sight in the darkness. “Why, let me announce you!” He spun on his heels and threw open the doors in front of them.
The doors banged against the wall as every eye on the room turned toward them. Logan dressed in dark robes swept into the room and in a voice made too loud in the ensuing stillness said, “Good day, healers of the realm. May I introduce Lady St. James and Lady Luveday.” Luveday took a step forward into the light cast by the massive fireplace while Jane stayed in shadows. “Lady Luveday is a healer for the North,” the men scattered around the room seemed to come to their senses enough to look down their noses at her as Logan continued his dramatic and satirical monologue. “She has traveled here, with what fabulous, unheard of, healing concoctions I do not know. I can but wait with baited breath,” Luveday noticed that Logan’s voice, though mocking had grown a little horse. “The lady has been given dispensation by the Queen.” There was a collective intake of breath, “Her will is the will of the Her Majesty; her words are as if they were spoken from royal lips.” Now a growl passed through the room, and hate-filled eyes glared daggers at the little healer. Logan, taking great glee in the spectacle, cleared his throat before continuing. “From this moment forward the prince is in her capable hands. Do not glare at me so, gentleman.” He said the word gentlemen as if he would rather spit in their faces than call them such. Bowing with mock humility, he said simply, “I am here but to serve,” before sweeping away into a dim corner of the room.
With every eye turned to her Luveday took a deep breath and for a moment almost panicked when she could not draw enough air into her lungs. She coughed as thick incense coated her throat, while laughter filled the room. Someone commented on a healer healing one’s self, but Luveday didn’t stop to think. Lurching toward the heavy velvet drapes on the windows, Luveday struggled to find the opening she knew must be there. A moment later hands came to help as she threw open the panels and opened the pained glass window beyond.
With her first breath of fresh air, the tears in Luveday’s eyes subsided. Angry voiced rang in the room behind her, but all the lady could think about was easing her racing heart with deep breaths of the evening air. For a moment Luveday looked out over the crowded city and noticed that the unpleasant place seemed almost magical from the castle window. That was until one of the men came up behind her shoving her out of the way as he tried to close the window again.
Her helper appeared at her arm, and for a moment Luveday recognized something about the young man but couldn’t put her finger on it, though he grinned gamely at her, she had no notion of who he was. Her attention was taken up by the healer in front of her as he grumbled under his breath slamming the window closed and locking the latch.
He whirled at her, “You foolish girl! What idiot taught you of the healing arts? You will kill the prince in a week.” The man was out of breath and hoarse by the time he finished talking. Luveday’s eyes were beginning to sting as the incense started to regain its hold on her.
“Quiet man,” A familiar voice said at her side causing Luveday to glance at the bearded man taking up her cause. “This is Lady Luveday of Lander’s Keep. Have you not heard of her deeds in the High North? She saved Prince Benjamin’s life from Sterling.”
“This little mouse? Don’t make me laugh.” He pushed past them into the room where the rest of the men had gathered to gawk at her.
Luveday didn’t hesitate. She opened the window again, took a deep breath and turned to face the crowd. The healer who had just closed the window turned back as if he meant to do her harm, but one of his companions claimed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She scanned the crowd of fifteen or so men as her vision cleared. They ran the gambit of size, shape, and color, but the one thing they had in common was that they were, perhaps, the bottom of the barrel. These men looked sneaky, underhanded, dirty and far too confident for their own good.
Steel settled into Luveday’s spine as she brought all of her determination to bear down on them. A few men had the good sense to fidget at her change in demeanor, but the rest just glared back.
“Their Majesties, the King and Queen, have asked me to take over the care of Prince Holden.” Some were disconcerted at the mention of the King; Luveday almost smiled at the change in the room. Her expression remained hard and piercing. “Like this room, it is time to clear the air. Those of you who are here for the King’s coin will be compensated…” The grumbling and denials started as if on cue. “…for your time and efforts but let us face facts gentlemen.” They quieted as if to listen. “The prince is dying; even the Queen can see that. Do you really want to be here when that happens? Would you rather not take the coin and go than be tossed out on your collective arse?” Some agreed, while others looked around to gauge their competitions reactions. “I am only offering this choice once; it would be wise to take it now.” Two stepped forward as if to confront her but Luveday didn’t so much as flinch. “I have no wish to mince words with you or prove who has the greater skill. I am here to save that boy’s life, God willing.” Her gaze swept over the group once more. “I have no time for anyone who does not share that purpose.” She walked through the crowd to find Logan in the middle of the room, the great bed holding the frail body of the unconscious prince dwarfed the man and room. “See to it, Logan.”
Luveday turned to the bed, and her patient as a fresh breeze washed through the room. Luveday found the fragrance burner and snuffed out the flame. Checking the bed linens, and the emaciated boy inside, she was happy when her friends returned to her side. A male voice chuckled at the room cleared of healers, only the two of them remaining. “What do you need of me, My Lady?”
Troubled by the state of the prince, Luveday turned to him with a furrowed brow. “Thomas, tell me everything you know about the prince’s condition and all the treatments he’s received. Start from the beginning and don’t leave out a single detail.”
It was several hours later, and much work that Luveday rested, and finally thought to introduce her two friends. Jane was happy to meet the apprentice of Master Pope, while Thomas was delighted to be included in the regard of such a noble lady. The two chatted quietly in the corner as Luveday made her way back to the small study.
More candles had been lit, and light flooded the room as night settled over the castle. Logan sat at the table scribbling on clear corners of parchment. Luveday chided herself on not realizing the room belonged to him. Logan, as servant and friend to the young prince, had tried to take an active role in his charge’s care by writing down the healers’ treatments. As the line of failed attempts grew, and new healers came to try their hand, his was the only complete record of medications and crackpot schemes.
“I see it is you I should have asked about the Prince’s care and not Thomas.”
Logan looked up at her, setting down his quill and folding his hands before him. Not for the first time that night, he studied her with unnerving patience as if waiting for something to be revealed.
Luveday stared back, too tired and troubled to be unsettled by such a direct gaze. “May I see your notes?” T
he man handed over a handful of papers, still not speaking to her.
As she studied them, he finally asked, “Are you so bold that you think you can do what a hundred healers and wise men could not?”
Luveday briefly wondered if the number of healers was accurate or an exaggeration but batted it aside as it was not his point. She looked at him over the papers in her hands. “I would not say I am bold, or overly confident, nor would I call those men healers or wise men.” She looked at him, but he did not react.
“Yet you dismissed them and their knowledge out of hand.” He was clearly agitated with her.
She placed the paper back on the table and looked down at him. Leaning in she tilted her head as she often did when she was curious. “Why do you say it was out of hand?”
He seemed surprised by her question or her nearness, whichever one it was she couldn’t say, but he started and leaned away in his chair. “They have had years more experience no doubt.” He paused to look at the glass doors of the bookcase behind him. The leather volumes there were worth a fortune. “They have studied under great men and traveled the world.”
“And that somehow makes them better than me?” Luveday stood up to her full height, short as it was. Logan looked perplexed. “And yet they took the money and ran, didn’t they?” Anger colored his face, but he didn’t speak. “They lacked heart.” She said, before turning away, taking the scribbles and notes with her.
Luveday sat on the floor. A lantern atop a stool sat by her side, a smooth board in her lap, a notebook and pencil case beside her thigh and for a moment she felt a sense of déjà vu. For a heartbeat, she was transported home and several years in the past as she studied for college exams on the floor of her dorm room while her roommate slept not five feet away. Glancing up and across the room’s expanse, she could see the bed where the prince lay. His breathing was shallow, a little wheezy and his skin dry but too warm. They had changed the sheets and bedclothes as they bathed the prince. Luveday was chronicling the healers that had seen the prince and the treatments they had given. Truthfully, she was unsure how the boy had survived so long. To her modern sensibilities, half the procedures and a number of the potions he had received were enough to kill a healthy man, let alone the weakened prince.
