by R. J. Price
Av looked to Jer. “Leave. Now. Find Em, get her into her rooms.”
“But if he's ill, I'm probably ill,” Jer protested.
“The ones who are taken quickly are not contagious. Go,” Av said sternly to Jer.
Chapter Four
Av helped the steward to the healer's hall, deposited him in one of the semi-private rooms, and informed the healer on duty there was an outbreak. The healer hardly believed him, but sent word immediately. Outbreaks were something the palace took very seriously.
Consumption only ever broke out at the palace and only in spring, when the weather was wet enough for it to be carried on the water. The illness flowed out of mines in the mountains near the palace, down the mountains with the spring thaw, and into the rivers and wells. This much Av knew from his mother's time on the throne. They had been the first to find the mines, to propose burying them to prevent further outbreaks. The idea had been correct, but came too late.
One last outbreak swept through the palace, killing Av's mother, nearly killing his father in the process. Av, a victim of the sickness, had been weak for months afterword, his muscle eaten away by the illness. His father retired, claiming publicly that consumption left him too drained to continue his duties as master.
Privately Ervam sternly told his sons there was no way he would step back onto palace grounds while Em was alive and on the throne.
There hadn't been another outbreak since, but Av and Jer learned the signs, kept a careful watch. Av had asked for seclusion in a few cases, which turned out to be a cold running an odd course, not consumption itself.
Leaving the healer's hall Av found his way to Lady Telm, house master and head of house. Rarely in the study assigned to her, Telm took a hands-on approach in training and managing her staff. Av found her on hand and knee, scrubbing at the floor with a brush alongside the newer staff.
“Telm,” he said, because there were others present.
“What?” she snapped at him. “This floor will not clean itself, boy.”
“I need into Lady Aren Argnern's rooms. I believe she's been taken by consumption,” Av said, knowing Telm would find it a very good reason for interrupting. He also knew she would escort Av herself, rather than risk one of her staff taking ill.
Dropping the brush into a bucket, Telm huffed and stood with all the irritability of a woman past her prime who had been ordered about all her life by people younger, and less experienced, than herself. There was an odd annoyance to the way she motioned for him to follow her, to the cold silence as they walked through the palace.
“There you will find your Lady Aren,” Telm said, jabbing a finger at the closed door.
“Why are you irritated with her, Telm?” Av asked.
“I am irritated,” Telm paused, then continued, “with the state of the political affairs of this court and the apparent assumption that when a woman stops bleeding she should be put out to pasture somewhere, where she can no longer bother anyone with her dithering theories, no matter how much experience she has or what she actually knows about the young lords and ladies at the palace. If you people would listen to me instead of ignoring me, perhaps we would not have consumption at the palace now. I've been telling you for months that there was something wrong, very wrong, here, and all you do is ignore me and take away my title like I'm some sort of chit to be disciplined because I haven't the manners enough to keep my mouth closed when it best suits you.”
Av stared at Telm, uncertain what to say.
“It is the duty of the master to listen to the unburdening of the ranks,” Telm reminded him.
That gave him something to work with, and Av cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Lady Telm, this is the first time you've used me to unburden yourself. You also said, 'you people,' as if I have been ignoring you when I've received no word from you.”
“That woman must have my messages intercepted,” Telm said with a growl.
Telm was shorter than him, with a lesser build and a good deal less training, but that didn't stop Av from wanting to hide from her anger. It was a mark of her rank, one of the few marks Av could see on Telm. She was too weak, to be noticed by most unless she decided to rant, rave, and throw things.
“How long have things been strange?” Av asked Telm.
“Two months, nearly to the day,” Telm said. “It has nothing to do with that lady in there. I've already investigated her. She is no threat to throne or queen, but she will be one to your sanity. I don't know what bit her, but she is stubborn and bull-headed. If she were bleeding to death she'd probably not search out a healer because she believes she can manage her own affairs, and herself.”
“Why don't you like her, Telm?” Av pushed.
“I never said I don't like Lady Aren Argnern,” Telm said. “You made that assumption. In fact, I wish her all the best. Strength, wisdom, and courage to do what is necessary.”
Av considered that. “You still said that in an odd fashion.”
“What is necessary is not what she wants,” Telm said, tapping the side of her nose. “I need to get back to the scrubbing.”
“We have an outbreak on our hands, Telm.”
“Yes, three others are abed with it. I told the healer's hall this morning, when they were discovered. I tried telling Em, my warning was ignored. Four others are ill with the quick sickness, spirits rest their souls. I hold Em responsible for their deaths,” Telm said.
“How long have you known about this outbreak?” Av demanded.
“Three days,” Telm said quietly.
“How dare you risk the lives of the people at court!”
“How dare you!” Telm shouted back. “You stand there and tell me I am wrong? I am not like you, master. I may not be of worth to any of you, but I serve the throne. Not that creature you have sitting on it, not you, not your father, your mother, or the commoners, but the throne. I do as it bids.”
“Why would the throne want an outbreak to start?” Av asked.
“It wants someone very specific to be ill. I've no idea why.”
“How many need to die for the throne's ambitions?” Av asked.
“And how many has Em killed already?” Telm countered. “More than this outbreak will. Wherever this illness has come from, it is not the mines in the mountain, Lord Av, it is not in the water and will not spread far. I allowed it to run its course. When I was alerted this morning by my staff, who should have noticed the symptoms far earlier, I did my duty. I reported it. It would do well for you to recall that Em does not enjoy my presence, nor the fact that I am most in tune with the part of her duties which she ignores, the knowing of things which are unknowable to commoners.”
“Is that the only reason you didn't report it?” Av asked Telm.
“I will admit, I had hoped that whore would take ill,” Telm said to the air around Av, not directly to him. “Whomever the throne wants ill is female. I don't know her age, I don't know her rank. I have a nagging suspicion it's found someone at court who it favours and has, perhaps, gifted us with a weaker consumption in order that, should a real outbreak happen, she not be taken from us as your good and gracious mother was taken ten years ago.”
“When this is over, you and I need to have words,” Av said to Telm sternly.
“No, master, when this is over life will return to normal. Ask your father how well threats work on me.” Telm bowed stiffly before she turned and marched off, slapping down her feet to make as much noise as possible.
Throne, queen—normally both worked together, entwined for the remaining days of the queen. Av still didn't understand the relationship between the two, but he knew more than most commoners. Those who sat the throne sometimes referred to it as if it were a person with its own hopes, thoughts, and ambitions. Which made little sense as the throne was an inanimate object. How could a seat have dreams? How could it give orders with no voice?
Shaking his head, Av made note to have a real discussion with Telm once all was said and done. The woman obviously c
arried a heavy burden and Av felt the need to encourage her to unburden on him, before she voiced her strong opinions on Em.
Av walked into the rooms and straight for the bed. It was not slept in, neat and tidy. Concern laced his thoughts, and fear made his hands tingle. He turned slowly, looking over the rooms. Everything had a neat, orderly look to it as if the servants cleaned and Aren had not returned since the cleaning. The room felt impersonal, as if the occupant was holding everything back. This was a temporary, uncomfortable home.
The hearth was cold, though there was wood stacked beside it, the clothing folded and set away properly. Aren's court dress was hanging in the wardrobe with care, her court slippers sitting under the dress. Slippers—not the little boots that were gaining popularity—were an old fashion dating to a time when ladies liked being able to move quietly through the halls. Av wondered if the slippers had been Aren's choice, or if they had been brought out of necessity, lack of coin to purchase something newer.
He looked over the writing desk, covered in scraps of paper with numbers and letters scrawled over them. None of the letters meant anything, passages taken out of books for practice. The books piled on the desk had no titles on the sides, borrowed from the palace's expansive library. Flipping through one, Av scanned the neat lettering for any sign of where Aren might have gone.
The book was about magic, which was not the study choice of many ladies but Av often found that Em's ladies, those closest to her, had a good grasp of magic. If one of Em's ladies had taken ill, however, Em would have made the outbreak very public. The queen would be huffing and puffing, demanding the healers produce a cure for the incurable.
Setting the book down, Av considered who, besides Em's ladies, might learn about magic voluntarily. Studying to be an aide for a healer, perhaps. Or a tutor. A nanny to a ranked member of the court. A knowledge of magic could benefit a young lady greatly, but did not narrow down where Aren might have gone after leaving training the day before.
The room lacked the trinkets of a lady.
Av pulled to a stop and scanned the room once more. There were no tokens from a lover, no well-loved toy brought from home for comfort, or little pieces of art. Just numbers and letters and clothing. The room was sparse. It reminded Av of a warrior who passed through on his way from the Northern Wastes to the southern border.
Frowning at the room Av walked to the bathing room. He knew he would find the same tidiness, the same discipline there, but he hoped—prayed—he would find some hint of where Aren had gone. Opening the door he snapped his fingers to turn on the light.
Clean walls, clean tub.
Blood on the other side of the tub, on the floor. Av moved around the tub, kneeling at Aren's side. Blood trickled out her ears and nose, her eyes closed, mouth slack. Bleeding was never a good sign. Av grabbed a cloth and wet it, using the cloth to wipe at the blood. The heat coming off her was a good sign, it meant her body was fighting the illness and hadn't given up yet.
Having cleaned the blood away Av watched helplessly as more of it trickled out of her nose. Aren gurgled, coughed, and sat up, vomiting blood onto his lap. He said not a word, but caught her as she collapsed again. Grimacing, Av wondered what to do. He wasn't entirely certain placing Aren in the bed was best. Em would be furious if a mattress were destroyed because of blood and illness.
Swearing, Av wiped the remains of blood from Aren's mouth and dropped the soiled cloth to the side. He picked up her limp body, surprised at how light she was. She was little more than bone and skin. What had happened to the two months of training with him? Gone overnight? Or had Av simply not noticed Aren wasting away before his eyes?
He carried her to the outer room and set her in the bed, atop the blankets. He retrieved another cloth from the bathing room and lifted Aren's head, sliding the cloth under before setting her head back down. After caring for his mother and father when they had been ill, Av had learned that replacing one cloth was easier than replacing the bedding. Until Aren stopped bleeding, there was no telling how many times he'd have to clean up bloodied cloths.
“How many are ill?” he asked without looking to the open door.
“Seventeen, including her,” came the frightened voice of a healer, whose name Av could not recall. “The others are in the hall, but they weren't. Like that. What's wrong with her?”
“Consumption,” Av said, turning to the healer.
Too young to have worked during the last outbreak, she only knew the symptoms, not the awful reason why the illness was called consumption. Av sighed at her, motioning to come into the rooms.
“You're a healer, you're going to be exposed to it no matter what you try, so come here,” Av said motioning again.
She shuffled in, eyes wide, innocent sadness plastered on her face. Healers couldn't help what they were. Most started off with the baleful, adorable eyes and were slowly consumed by bitterness in their dealings with idiots.
“The illness has made its way into her body. It's eating her,” Av said. “Blood from the ears and nose, vomiting blood.”
“Well, maybe I can...” the healer reached for Aren's hand.
Av snatched her hand back. “No, never. All you can do for the consumption is allow it to run its course. Never attempt to do anything else, ointments or potions, nothing works. Trust me.” He released her hand. “We used to have an outbreak nearly every year. We tried everything.”
“Lady Telm says it won't be large,” the healer whispered, “but nearly all those in the hall have taken ill in the last two days, those ones never survive.”
“That's true,” Av said.
“Did she get taken quickly?” the healer asked.
“I don't know,” Av said.
“Hopefully she survives,” the healer said, drawing herself straight. Her training came out finally. “If we cannot move her, we need to keep watch over her here. I'm an apprentice; I can take some watches, but not all of them. Everyone else is busy in the hall. They told me to leave because I dropped a pan and made a mess.”
“I can also watch her,” Av said to the healer. “I've had the illness before and cannot have it again. The only other person I know of for certain is Lady Telm. Go find her and ask her, politely, if she would take up watch with us.”
“What will you do?” the healer asked.
“Take first watch,” Av said.
If Aren was going to pass, she would do so soon. By taking the first watch Av spared the young healer from experiencing her first death early in the outbreak. He would also have to accept responsibility for seeing to Aren's cremation or burial, depending on what her bloodline preferred.
He doubted anyone would be coming to claim Aren's body.
The healer glanced at Aren, then to Av. She nodded, but there was doubt in her eyes. She seemed to suspect why Av was taking first watch, but made no attempt to stop him as he drew a chair up beside the bed and sat.
Av watched Aren's slow breathing, holding his own each time her chest lowered, releasing it as her chest rose once more.
He had a long wait ahead of him.
Chapter Five
Aren dragged her eyes open, groaned, and rolled to her side, hiding her face from the sun with an arm. She felt bone-weary weak and knew that she was ill. Having decided that she was ill, she dragged the covers over her head and was determined to sleep the day away. Lord Av's rules be damned.
“You are awake?” came a commanding voice.
She forced her eyes open, and demanded her body sit up despite how hollow she felt. Blinking blearily at the older woman with grey hair, dressed in serving grey, Aren tried to figure out why the servant was in her rooms while she slept. Looking at the closed door, Aren turned back to the older woman and made a questioning sound.
“My name is Telm,” the woman said. “I am head of house, and have better things to do than watch over a fool stupid enough to get ill. However, you were taken by consumption and highly contagious. Being a survivor of the illness, I was assigned to you to make c
ertain you were taken care of. If you are awake, you have gotten through the worst and will live. I, on the other hand, have half my staff in quarantine because of you and three others dragging this sickness in with you.”
“What?” Aren managed, her head not quite focusing as she knew it should.
“You were ill; you are getting better now,” Telm said pointedly.
“I was contagious?” Aren asked, feeling a pang of annoyance with herself.
If she had recognized the signs of illness she should have taken herself to a bed instead of insisting on going through the motions of a life no one else knew existed.
“Yes.”
“I would rather you not be bothered by my being ill,” Aren said to Telm.
“No, you would have rather I not see you, but saw you I did,” Telm said.
Aren pulled the blankets up, feeling cold suddenly. She had an idea as to what Telm meant, and she prayed she was wrong. Prayed that she could pass it off as a young woman being hesitant about others seeing her body. Telm looked at Aren, met her eyes, and Aren knew her prayers had gone unanswered.
“The interim steward noticed in the reports you are looking for work in the serving staff. There is a place in the kitchens for you, if you would like it. It's the only place you could work in the palace and go unnoticed,” Telm said sternly. “If you do not pull your weight I will find you. You would not be the first I bent over my knee. Am I understood?”
“Yes,” Aren said.
“Good,” Telm said, almost sounding cheerful. “Sleep today, start tomorrow. I have already spoken with the head cook. She knows you will be able to do little more than stir or peel while seated, and will ensure there is work of that sort available. Be happy you are not one of the fourteen who succumbed to the illness.”
“The queen—” Aren started.
“Is healthy and well.”
“Good,” Aren managed.
