by Cate Rowan
And then she could go home.
She called up her kyrra to ease the pain in Rajvi’s throat. When she did, she was gratified by the Sha’Lai’s evident relief.
Soon, Varene told herself, she could take real action. If the illness was so enigmatic for everyone, she’d have to treat the symptoms as best she could and hope her herbal strategy could vanquish the source.
“As I felt with the prince Tahir, this is a malady I have not encountered before.” She placed a reassuring hand on the Sha’Lai’s shoulder. “There may be things I can do—more, I hope, than just the relief for your throat, my lady. But before attempting them, I will need to be sure the other patients are the same. Sometimes those suffering from the same malady have discrepancies in the feeling, in the pattern of the illness. And if the pattern inside any of them is familiar to me, I would have a greater chance of helping all of you.”
“O Lord?” called a timorous voice from the antechamber.
“In here, Sohad,” the sultan answered.
An angular man in a shin-length tan robe rushed in, giving obeisance. “You honor me with your summons, Great Sultan, and may my abilities be found worthy of your—”
Kuramos interrupted him with a quelling glance. “Have you made any progress against the illness?”
Sohad swallowed and shook his head. “No, O Lord, not yet, though I am working hard to save all I can, and—”
“Royal Healer,” Kuramos said, turning to Varene, “this is Sohad. He worked with Yaman, my Royal Physician, for just six months before Yaman’s…unfortunate end. He’ll escort you to the other patients. You two will have much to talk about, I’m sure.”
He glanced at the assistant, whose expression reflected surprise and uncertainty. “Sohad, Varene na Seryn is the Royal Healer of Teganne. Since Yaman is dead and I now have no Royal Physician, treat this woman as if Yaman had come back to life in her.”
Varene blinked. What an odd way to put it.
Sohad, too, seemed astonished. He nodded, but his dark eyes looked none too pleased. “Yes, O Lord. I hear and obey.”
Kuramos swung his curt stare to Varene. “Sohad will help you with your pack,” he pointed to her canvas travel pack by the doorway, “and provide whatever else you need to do your work.”
His dismissal was clear, but the sultan hesitated a moment, holding her gaze. “May Naaz grant you luck.”
Sohad retrieved her pack and gestured courteously for her to accompany him, but his eyes continued to betray resentment. Varene walked out behind him, realizing her troubles might have borrowed a new face.
In the Sha’Lai’s inner chamber, Rajvi spoke first. “The Healer will need a good handmaiden. Preferably one with experience in the infirmary.”
The sultan grinned down at her and crossed his arms. “I’ve already sent for the Staff Mistress. Perhaps I’ve learned a few things from you since we came to the thrones.”
“Imagine that!” She chuckled. “You’re good to ignore my meddling.”
He made a dismissive gesture. “You’ve kept our household intact and functioning for nearly two hundred years. I plan to tease you about it for several hundred more.” The goddess willing.
He searched her face, aching to dispel some of the unease that had been coiled in his chest for days. Fear clamped him each time he walked into a patient’s chamber. He’d taken to scanning their expressions, committing each one to his heart, in case it was the last time he’d see his loved ones alive.
He released his pent-up breath. Rajvi, at least, seemed to have gained some energy from the Healer’s ministrations.
“Hmm,” Rajvi said. “Your long-term plans for merriment at my expense are duly noted.” She pushed herself up higher on the pillows and nodded toward the door. “And what do you think of this Tegannese Healer?”
Kuramos stared thoughtfully in the same direction. “Bright and dedicated.” His lips quirked. “But quick to feel slighted. As for her professional skills, quietly competent. Or at least I hope so, for all our sakes.” He shifted his weight to the other foot. “Though I do wish—”
“—that magic wasn’t a part of her healing,” Rajvi finished.
“Yes. It’s…inconvenient, to put it mildly.”
“For what it’s worth, dear one,” she said drolly, “her magic didn’t feel evil.”
The corners of his mouth tugged up. “I’ve never said magic is evil, exactly. Even if others believe I have.” He sat on the edge of her bed. “What was it like?”
Her nose wrinkled thoughtfully. “Odd. A little ticklish. Like butterflies on my nerves.”
He arched a brow. “Rajvi Sultana, you act like you enjoyed it.”
“I appreciate being able to swallow without grimacing.” Rajvi folded her hands over her stomach and gave him a coy look. “The Healer’s beautiful, isn’t she.”
His smile broadened as he stared at his Sha’Lai. “So she is. And why do you mention it?”
“Ha, as I thought! You aren’t immune to women’s charms just yet.”
“Never!” he chuckled, but his expression soon dampened.
“So Sulya’s allure has truly soured, then.”
He grunted.
She gave him a quiet look. “I did warn you of her family’s designs.”
“You did, yes.” He stood up, irritated by the reminder, though she’d been right. “But we’ve been over this before. If I’d turned her down when her family offered the alliance, there would have been repercussions.”
“True, true.” She looked up at him coquettishly. “But it didn’t hurt that you wanted her in your bed, fast and often.”
He threw his head back and laughed, then looked down at Rajvi, smiling with all the delight in his heart. He was lucky indeed to have her for his Sha’Lai.
Their parents had done well in choosing this arranged marriage, and Kad had been the stronger for their partnership. What difference if passion had never bound them? Friendship had made them each content in their own way, and both believed honor and duty invaluable. Besides, like his father, Kuramos had always known he couldn’t get everything he wanted in a wife from just one woman. That would have been impossible. The gods were never that kind.
As he and his Sha’Lai smiled at each other, their merriment faded and crumpled.
Rajvi swallowed. “How are they, Kuramos?”
“Alive. So far.” He clasped her hand. “Maitri and Zahlia are sleeping as best they can. The Healer helped Tahir’s throat as she did yours, but said he was desperate for liquids. He looked to be in a coma.” His voice quavered, and he clamped his lips together.
His wife knew him well enough not to comment. “Mishka hasn’t shown any signs? Or Sulya?”
“Neither. Not yet, at least. Maitri won’t let Mishka enter her bedchamber, just in case. Which isn’t easy for a child.”
“No.” Rajvi picked at a loose thread at the edge of a sheet, worrying it between her nails. “None of this is easy for anyone. Least of all you.”
He shrugged. “All we can do now is hope Naaz will hear our prayers.”
She looked up. “Maybe She has.” Rajvi nodded once more toward the doorway.
“Maybe.” But his voice betrayed his doubts.
CHAPTER SIX
As soon as they re-entered the sunshine of the courtyard, Sohad turned to Varene and gave a half-bow. “Where would you like to go now, Royal Healer?” His tone was devoid of warmth.
“I can carry my pack,” she said half-apologetically, reaching for it.
He drew it out of her reach. “The sultan told me to help you with it, so I will.”
“No, really, it’s fine…” She put her fingers on the canvas.
He raised his chin and stepped back, keeping the pack in his grasp. “I’ve been given an order by my sultan, Healer. I intend to obey it.”
She stopped and blew out a breath. Clearly she was doomed to garner enemies in Kad. “All right. Though perhaps you and I should come to an understanding.”
She mustered
the kindest smile she had in her arsenal, but did not curtsey or bow her head. Diplomacy was important, but so was the authority she’d need to do her job. “I want you to know that I appreciate the…awkwardness of your position. You were the assistant to the Royal Physician, a man who is very recently deceased. Now someone else has appeared out of nowhere to take his place—amid a crisis, no less.” And that person is Tegannese and a woman, to boot. “I imagine all this was a bit unexpected.”
In fact, she suspected Sohad wanted Yaman’s job. No one became the assistant to a Royal Physician—or Royal Healer—without ambition. Another universal prerequisite, or so she dearly hoped, was healing talent.
Sohad listened to her speech without betraying any emotion. His closed lips remained firm.
Sweat broke out at the small of Varene’s back. Please, let me say the right thing, find the right words. Let me have ONE person on my side in Kad. “The sultan wishes us to work together, and as Yaman’s assistant, you know the patients, and how things are done here. If I ask for your advice on a matter, I hope you’ll give it.”
He inclined his head politely. “Of course, Royal Healer.” But the cool hue of his eyes remained, meaning his trousers were still in a twist. He’d give only what he had to.
So be it. “I’m certain your help will be invaluable. As for where I’d like to go, first I want to cleanse my hands.”
She walked to the fountain Kuramos had showed her and washed while Sohad waited beside her, blank-faced and yet still bristling with hostility. A shame. His lanky features might even be pleasant when they’re not knitted into a scowl.
“I’ve already seen Prince Tahir and the Sha’Lai.” She gestured toward Rajvi’s door. “Please take me to the patients suffering the most.”
Sohad blinked and pulled his head back a fraction. “Are you certain? That would mean palace servants, but the royal family’s importance…”
She cocked a brow. In Kad she was expected to take care of the royals first, regardless of urgency? Royal privilege was one thing, but in matters of life and death, privilege held little sway with her. The patients most in need deserved her aid first. She hadn’t expected that others would see it differently.
But then, she wasn’t a servant of the palace, nor dependent on the royal family for her daily bread or her life. Maybe Yaman had taught Sohad to give the ruling family precedence. She certainly hoped it wasn’t a royal expectation. She’d think much less of Kuramos if it were.
Well, since she wasn’t being paid for her service here, she’d do things as she saw fit. “I’m certain. Take me to those most ill.”
His eyes flickered with something she couldn’t interpret. “The infirmary, then,” he said. “Follow me, please.”
Follow, follow, follow. Was this what all the women did here? Man in front, woman in back. Last.
The courtyard’s fragrances and bird calls quickly faded behind them as they moved through hall after grand, stately hall. Guardsmen ignored her. Servants gazed curiously at her clothing from beneath politely lowered lids. A nobleman she recognized from the throne room stopped in his tracks and stared as she and Sohad walked by in silence.
At last they neared a wide door guarded by a statue above: a beautiful and forbidding woman holding a scroll and torch. The Kaddite goddess Naaz, Varene guessed. Creator of life, supreme sentencer of death.
She didn’t much care for that second part, and gazed with resentment at the statue’s implacable face.
They passed under it into what was clearly the Royal Physician’s working area. Jars of herbs, much like her stores at home, lined the top shelves. Some names she recognized, but others were unfamiliar. Two body-length tables sat near shelves populated with medical instruments, only some of which she could identify. Many others looked rather barbarous. Was that a fleam for bloodletting? And a trepanon to bore holes in skulls? She fought to keep disgust from her face. At least the place smelled clean and was well-kept.
Sohad bowed, his mouth a flat line. “Of course this Infirmary is at your disposal, as am I.”
“Thank you,” she replied with an internal sigh.
“Ridiculous!” boomed a baritone from a connecting room. “We must continue the venesection! Bad blood’s the cause here. Open the veins to let the rotted blood out.”
“Bah!” answered a tenor. “Fevers develop from an excess of yellow bile. These people need emetics. A judicious application of nux vomica will do it. I’ve been doing this for three hundred years, and my patients never need more treatments.”
Curious and disgusted, Varene stepped toward the voices, but behind her, Sohad grumbled. “Windbag frauds. Patients never need more treatments when they’re dead.”
Varene whipped her head around to look at Sohad. Had she really heard that? But he’d turned away to lean her pack against the wall. His rant was accurate, at least. Venesection and emetics! Had time run backwards? She moved decisively through the open doorway toward the speakers. “Good evening, sirs.”
Three men in vermilion robes rotated toward her as one. Their gazes took in her gender and her odd clothing, and each looked as if he were smelling a privy.
“May we help you?” asked the tall baritone, a man with a hawk’s nose and a brow like an overhanging crag. His nose hitched higher as she neared.
“I appreciate the offer,” she said with a determined smile. “I’m curious about your ideas about this illness. I’m—”
“That’s not our concern,” said the tenor, whose mushroom-colored beard had been braided into a six-inch plait. “We’ll choose the course of action and instruct you on how to medicate the patients. Servants,” BraidBeard grumbled to CragBrow. “They should know their place. Uppity even within the palace of the sultan, can you imagine?”
“My lords, I see we are having a bit of miscommunication.” Varene’s smile grew feral. “I’m not sure you quite understand who I am.”
“We don’t need your name, woman.” said CragBrow. “Just do as you’re told.” He turned his tall body to face his colleague, presenting Varene with only his shoulder. The third man, pale and rheumy-eyed, shot her an uncertain look over CragBrow’s shoulder before closing ranks with the other two.
The moment bulged and sizzled. These men deserved a comeuppance. She selected her words carefully. “I think not, my lords. I will do as I choose.”
As CragBrow swiveled, aghast, BraidBeard’s face mottled. “Who is your overseer, woman? She’ll be informed of your insolence. No doubt you’re in trouble already, dressing so deplorably in the palace.”
“Oh my,” she said, tilting her head to the side, mock-sweetly. “I would love for you to tattle. I suspect my ‘overseer’ will be outraged to be called her.”
“Enough!” BraidBeard stomped his sandal. “Your impudence is without bounds. Assistant! Assistant!” he shouted until Sohad came near. “See that this maidservant gets a beating.”
With delight, Varene watched emotions war on Sohad’s face—anger at being called so dismissively, joy at being able to one-up men he clearly didn’t respect, and resentment at the truth. Which would he choose?
Sohad clasped his hands behind his back. “Good sirs Kemal, Hatim, and Bairam,” he said, nodding at each one in turn, “I’m afraid such will not be possible. At least not without the express permission of the Great Sultan himself.”
Matching incredulous frowns grew on the lips of CragBrow-Kemal and BraidBeard-Hatim. Bairam’s eyes had taken on a hunted look at the mention of the monarch.
“The woman you speak of,” and Sohad gave Varene a respectful nod, “is the Royal Healer of Teganne. She’s here by the Sultan’s own request. In fact, he informed me that since Yaman is dead, she should be treated as if Yaman had come back to life in her. So, technically, she outranks even you.” He gave an apologetic bow, but as he descended his mouth formed a tiny smirk.
“Pshaw!” Kemal’s hairy eyebrows, each like little nests, rose high.
“Preposterous!” said Hatim, straightening his spine in af
front. “The sultan would never invite a heathen sorceress into his palace! If I thought that true, I’d leave the palace at once.”
Sohad seemed to relish this for a moment, and stretched his hand toward the exit. “That is, of course, your choice.”
A great deal of sputtering commenced, along with nervous glances from Bairam. “An outrage,” sputtered Hatim.
“Indeed,” said Kemal, and lowered his voice. “Perhaps delirium is one of the illness’s symptoms. We should warn the Sultan that the illness may be spreading.”
“Please do tell the sultan of this exchange,” said Varene, ever so sweetly.
The triumvirate exited with shocked grumbles and more looks of disbelief.
Varene pivoted toward Sohad and beamed a grin. “Well done. And now that we’ve removed the idiots, let’s get to work.”
One side of his mouth curved in return, and for a split second, she saw approval in his eyes.
Sohad led Varene into the men’s infirmary hall with its two rows of raised pallets. He wondered what the Tegannese woman would think of it, and tried to see it as she might.
The austere room overlooked the river and the sultan’s annually flooded wheat fields. The view and afternoon sun lent an artificial cheer to a room that death knew well. Sohad’s remaining patients had refused to let the curtains be drawn, despite the heat.
Of the twenty pallets, five were occupied. Four had been emptied in the last three days, their occupants succumbing to the sickness. The faint stenches of stale sweat and fear hovered in the air. Occasionally patients coughed so hard it seemed their lungs might leap out their mouths.
The city’s physicians had only made the patients worse. And as much as Sohad wished otherwise, he didn’t yet have the experience or knowledge to cure this scourge—nor the authority to overrule others’ harmful tactics.
She had the authority, and had just used it. But did she have the skill the patients would need? How could a woman do what Kad’s leading physicians could not?
And would she employ her unholy magic to do it? The sultan had brought her here, so Sohad could only assume the great lord had his reasons. But sorcery tore at the fabric of man’s righteous submission to the gods. How could the sultan choose magic over piety?
