Fury (Tranquility Book 3)

by Krista D. Ball

  Arrago closed his eyes. Bethany put a hand on his shoulder. “How is Celeste?”

  Amber licked her lips. “She lost a lot of blood, and we’re struggling to stop the bleeding. We are trying our best, Arrago. You must believe that.”

  Bethany stared at Arrago, who had not opened his eyes. He clenched his fists.

  “I will send for Edmund right away,” Bethany said.

  “No,” Amber said. “No. He’s too sick and the baby is just born. We…” She looked at Arrago and her eyes teared up. “We can’t risk anything happening to the baby right now. Arrago?”

  “Yes?”

  “You need to come see her.”

  Arrago nodded and soberly followed Amber back into the bedchamber. Bethany watched them go, the realization of what was to come dawning on her.

  “Why can’t the healers help?” Lendra asked.

  Kiner spread his hands. “They can’t put the blood back in her, Lendra.”

  Lendra paled. “She’s not going to make it, is she?”

  “Probably not,” Kiner said.

  “Shit,” Bethany said and collapsed into an unoccupied chair.

  Erem let out an exhausted sound. “It’s just as well that Allric’s gone to fetch the nurse who was with Opal. Amber doesn’t look well enough to nurse anything right now.”

  “She barely looked awake,” Kiner agreed.

  “And no sight of Eve yet,” Erem added. “I can only imagine the state she’s in, trying to save a Queen’s life.”

  Bethany drew in a ragged breath. “All right, send word as soon as you know anything.”

  “Why? Where are you going?” Kiner asked.

  “Bethany, you really should stay,” Lendra said. “What if Arrago needs you?”

  Bethany pushed herself up from her chair and walked over to the sideboard. She took the biggest serving plate there. “Send word if he needs me.”

  She pulled off the covers to the dishes. Most contained cold meats, which she didn’t eat, but Edmund ate meat, so she put a variety of cold options on one side of the plate. Other dishes contained cheese, smoked kippers, nuts, and jams. Those she could eat and she piled the plate high, along with boiled potatoes, half a penny-loaf of bread, and various cakes and buns.

  “I’m going to sit with Edmund. He shouldn’t be alone. Which of these buns have the pork in them?”

  “All of them,” Lendra said with disgust.

  Bethany wrinkled her nose. “Is the cake safe?”

  “Assuming you’re okay with lard,” Kiner answered.

  “If I can’t see it, I don’t mind so much.”

  “Heathen,” Erem muttered.

  “Shut up, I’m hungry. Promise to send down word as soon as you hear anything.”

  Erem nodded. “Promise.”

  “But you shouldn’t go down there,” Lendra said. “You might get sick,”

  Bethany gave her little sister a smile. “Oh, honey. I’m already sick. I’ve just had the coughing sickness before, so it’s not hitting me very hard. Send word, no matter what.”

  “We will, I promise,” Lendra said.

  Bethany covered the food with another plate and then wrapped the entire thing in one of the towels the maids had left behind for removing hot lids. She wasn’t close with Edmund, but they’d become friendly over the months serving together. She also knew him well enough to know that his heart was aching right now. He shouldn’t be alone. No one should be when their love was dying.

  ****

  The midwife wiped her hand on a towel and touched Celeste’s cheek. “You gave your king a boy. You did your duty, Majesty. Rest now. Save your strength.”

  Celeste squeezed Arrago’s hand, but it was a feeble gesture. The little strength she had left in her was only from the healers dragging out every last minute of life. Arrago glanced at the blood-soaked bed sheets and knew in his heart that Celeste wasn’t going to make it. He’d been in battle and had seen blood, but this was so much more intimate.

  Around him, exhausted women worked. The senior midwife kept nodding off as she cleaned Celeste’s bare legs. Two of the healers were unconscious on the floor, no longer able to do their tasks. More had been called for, but it would take another hour before they came up from the camp. Healers were in short supply, especially with the coughing sickness so widespread.

  Eve was covered in blood and sweat. Her curls were pinned back from her face and her eyes were red and swollen. She’d not spoken to him or acknowledged his presence; she was single-mindedly focused on Celeste.

  Amber had passed out on a sofa that was pushed up against the wall. The little creature Celeste had brought into the world slept softly in Amber’s embrace.

  “I’m so scared,” Celeste whispered.

  “I know.”

  He’d never seen a baby born before, but he’d seen plenty of animals born at the monastery. The chief midwife, an old woman with a stern expression, was convinced Arrago would pass out, but he’d kept his wits about him. For Celeste, if no other reason.

  “You gave Taftlin a king today, Celeste,” Arrago said. “Your son will be king.”

  “My son,” she whispered through cracked lips. She gave him the ghost of a smile. “What do you want him named?”

  Tears welled up in Arrago’s eyes. “He is yours. You name him.”

  He put his hand on her forehead. Her skin was clammy from her toils and the fever the healers said had settled in an hour before. How could a fever set in so fast? Eve thought Celeste might have been afflicted with the early stages of the coughing sickness, and the stress of labour had made her too weak to fight it off.

  Bleeding and a fever. That couldn’t be good.

  Celeste closed her eyes and was silent for a few moments. Arrago’s heart pounded. He squeezed her hand. “Celeste? Are you still with me?”

  She slowly opened her eyes. “Henry, after my father. Eli, after the man who saved me. Edmund, after his father. Arrago, after the man I married.”

  Arrago shushed her. He looked at the women in the room. The little one’s parentage was not common knowledge. His friends knew, and that was it. He’d not even told his advisors yet—nor was he certain he would.

  Arrago cleared his throat and said, “The Queen is obviously very ill.”

  The younger midwife said in a slurred voice, “Majesty, this is the birthing room. Secrets stay inside these walls.”

  The elder midwife nodded. “If you say he is your son, Majesty, then he is your son.”

  “Henry Eli Edmund Arrago,” Arrago said, his voice brimming with pride and emotion. “What a great king he will be, my lady. He will make you so proud.”

  Little Henry fussed and Amber let out a groggy yawn. “Oh, hungry already?”

  “Amber, meet Prince Henry,” Arrago said.

  “Your Royal Highness,” Amber said with a sad smile as she took the little boy to her breast.

  “He needs to go away,” Celeste whispered, tears trickling down her cheek. “Too many people are sick here. You should send him to my aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Arsenia. She lives in the country. Lots of fresh air. You’ll need to send knights with him.”

  “Don’t you worry, Majesty,” Amber said, “I won’t let anything happen to your precious little boy. If you wish, I will go, along with his nurse.”

  “The nurse will be here soon. She’s with Opal. We called for her,” Arrago said. “And I’ll send him away if you think that is best.”

  Tears trickled from Celeste’s heavy-lidded eyes. “Don’t let him forget me.”

  Arrago’s jaw trembled. “I would never do that. He will know everything about you.”

  “Only the good stuff,” Celeste said with a small smile.

  Arrago laughed through his tears. “Only the good stuff.” He looked up at Eve. “How much time does she have?”

  Eve wiped at her forehead. She glanced at Celeste and said, “I’m sorry, Majesty.”

  “It’s okay, Lady Eve,” Celeste whispered. “Tell him.”

 
“If the fever doesn’t break…” Tears spilled down Eve’s face. “Maybe the new healers can help. I can’t…I can’t do any more. I’m sorry.”

  Celeste patted Eve’s hand, but Eve was already asleep, head drooped forward. “Don’t let her feel guilty for whatever happens. She tried her best.”

  “I promise,” Arrago said. “Celeste, would you like me to send for Edmund?”

  The elder midwife scowled. “Majesty, Sir Edmund is ill and—”

  He held up his hand. “Amber can take Henry elsewhere. Celeste should be allowed…” His voice cracked. “Would you like me to send for him?”

  Celeste gave a weak nod.

  Arrago motioned to one of the younger midwives, who jumped to her feet and left the room. “We’ll bring him up. Henry can stay until Edmund gets here, okay?”

  “I’m so sorry, Arrago.”

  “None of that. I’m not going to change a thing that we’ve agreed to. As soon as Lord Stanley wakes, I will sign the law that makes Henry my heir. No matter what happens now, your son will be king.”

  “Our son,” Celeste whispered. “He’s yours, too.”

  Arrago smiled and kissed the back of Celeste’s hand. “I already love him as much as if he was. I will try to be a good father to him.”

  “You were a good husband, Arrago Cedar.”

  “And you were a good wife, Your Grace, Celeste Clover. Rest now. I’ll wake you when Edmund arrives.”

  When Celeste closed her eyes, Arrago buried his head in his hands and wept.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Past

  Bethany pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders before sitting on the wooden chair in the dingy room. The windows had blankets over them, but creases of light crept around the edges. Edmund lay in the bed next to her, but he didn’t speak. At least he’d gotten the chance to tell Celeste he loved her one more time before she died. At least he had that comfort, whatever it was worth.

  Bethany kept her silence, knowing any words uttered would be to comfort the speaker and not the suffering. His love was dead. In his position, she'd draw no comfort from others' words. So she kept her silence, also knowing that having someone there mattered the most. She'd need that, and thought Edmund might, too. Arrago had everyone else around him. Edmund was alone in many senses of the word. She also understood exactly how that felt and wanted to offer what comfort she could.

  So they stayed there, together, Edmund's lung-wrenching cough the only sound breaking the silence. From other rooms came the muffled sounds of coughing and moans of agony. She didn’t concern herself with it. She'd recovered from the coughing sickness before. If she got it worse, then she'd fight it off. It never lingered.

  “Thank you,” Edmund whispered. “For staying.”

  What could she say to a man in so much pain? Finally, she decided to say, “Arrago can't be here with you. I thought someone who was a friend should be.”

  “Thank you,” he said again, this time his voice tinged with the tears she couldn't see. “There wasn’t even a coronation yet, and she’s dead.”

  Bethany remained silent.

  “It’s my fault she’s dead. I should have kept my hands to myself.”

  “None of that,” Bethany said sternly. “First, she was as willing as you, was she not? Don’t take away her choice in this. Second, she loved you, Edmund. What woman doesn’t want to be intimate with the man she loves? Don’t be a fool.”

  “But she’s dead.”

  “She might have died if it was Arrago’s child.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  In the gentlest voice Bethany could muster, she said, “And neither do you.”

  Edmund’s breath was ragged and hoarse. “I miss her already.”

  From elsewhere inside the castle echoed a droning organ. The service in the private chapel had begun. Northern funerals were different than Southern ones and elven funerals were different yet again. Up here they buried their dead, laying the rich to rest inside crypts and tombs built into living rock. The poor buried their dead in the ground, whenever possible. In the dead of winter, the bodies were buried in snow and covered in rocks and trees.

  “Do most villages still have communal burial sites? They had them when I was a little girl.”

  “Yes,” Edmund said. “For all King Richard’s faults, he did believe in dignity for his own people. They stopped for a while, but he brought them back.”

  Bethany grunted acknowledgment. She was just filling the air with conversation and was struggling to find words that could be considered comforting.

  She caught the melody of the music drifting into the room. She could hear voices singing along, both the distant gathering further off in the chapel and the voices in the corridor outside as they hummed and sang along.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “I love Northern funeral songs.” She looked at him and smiled.

  Edmund chuckled. “They make me cry.”

  “Me, too.”

  Edmund began to whisper the words of the song, his voice cracking and halting. “The gift of this world…the cry of babes…sights I’ll never see…loves I leave behind…the gift of this world…” He sobbed through the words.

  Bethany grew in a deep breath. “Do not weep for me…” Her voice cracked.

  “For I am with Her,” Edmund finished.

  Tears trickled down Bethany’s cheeks. She broke down as she pictured all of the people she’d lost. Drea. She’d lost her sister before Bethany could ever make it right. Torius never knew that Bethany loved him. She hadn’t even known she would miss Aneese until she was gone. Flashes of faces from battles long fought. Names she didn’t remember. Some she never knew. All gone now. But here she sat. Alive. Breathing. For what?

  Edmund was openly weeping.

  Bethany gritted her teeth against the sobs in her throat but couldn’t stop the tide. She was so damn tired of hurting. She needed this war to end and she needed the wars to stop because it was too much for her. She couldn’t lose any more friends. She didn’t want to lose anyone else. And more were going to die soon, all at her sword.

  She might lose Arrago. Or Allric. Sweet Apexia, she could lose Jovan or Kiner, who were like brothers to her. Or Lendra, making her truly alone in this world. She could be the one to order their deaths. She could be the one to bring the sword on their necks.

  A cold hand grasped hers and Bethany intertwined her fingers with Edmund’s. She buried her face in her other hand and sobbed. It hurt so much and the hurt didn’t seem to end, not even long after the music finished playing.

  ****

  Arrago walked to the sickrooms, his steps heavy. He wanted to check on Edmund, now the final good byes were said. He’d changed into his old clothes. Just simple brown trousers and a brown tunic. He pulled a cloak over his shoulders and put the hood up, hoping that would be enough to escape the notice of most people in the dim corridors, where only the occasional wall sconce was lit.

  He would miss Celeste, but not the way Edmund would. He mourned the woman he’d married and the friend he’d made in her. In their private moments, they’d not been intimate in the way that spouses should be. Instead, they were intimate intellectually. She’d shared everything she knew about the nobility, power struggles within Taftlin, personal likes and dislikes, and everything she could remember that would help Arrago. In exchange, he’d played chess with her and talked about music and plays, and how she hated saffron. He let her be herself, in love with another man, carrying another man’s child, and he never did anything to make her feel ashamed or guilty for that.

  In time, she might have become his best friend. Maybe he might even have fallen in love with her. Perhaps they might have had a true marriage.

  But that possible future was gone now. Whatever small regrets he had, he could only imagine the grief Edmund was feeling. If anything ever happened to Bethany, they’d have to tie Arrago to a tree to stop him plunging into his grief. He did
n’t know if Edmund would want to see him, but in case he did, Arrago meant to be there.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” an elven guard said when Arrago rounded the corner to the private room. “No one is allowed past here.”

  Arrago pulled back his hood. He held up his candle to his face. “I’m here to see Sir Edmund.”

  “I apologize, Majesty. I did not recognize you.”

  “That was the plan,” Arrago said, his voice weary. “Please don’t tell anyone I’m here unless pressed. I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “Of course. Majesty, may I offer my condolences on the loss of the Queen?”

  “Thank you.”

  Arrago opened the door as quietly as possible. He closed it quietly behind him, balancing the candle holder in his hand. The fire had almost died down and the room held a chill. Edmund was asleep on top of the blankets, but nevertheless he was asleep and still. Bethany was slumped over the small table next to his bed, an extinguished candle and its holder next to her.

  He set his own candle on the floor, took a fire iron and moved the fire’s coals until they flamed to life. He added some wood from the log rack. He would have preferred to put Edmund in a room with a new coal fireplace, but the healers and nurses said the coal dust would make his cough worse. So he was down here with the other sick people, gasping and grasping to life.

  He gazed at both of them for a moment. Of course Bethany had come here. It didn’t surprise him. No wonder she hadn’t been at the service. She knew Edmund would be alone. She understood what Edmund was feeling.

  He touched Bethany’s face and his heart ached. How Edmund must be grieving. If he’d lost Bethany…

  “I still love you,” he whispered, before kissing her forehead. She groaned, but he shushed her back to sleep.

  He opened the wooden chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out a blanket. He wrapped himself in it and lay on the floor in front of the fire. He could be a king tomorrow. Tonight, he’d stay with his hurting friend.

  CHAPTER 9

  Three Weeks Later