Ever sat straighter and rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. He was greatly relieved to hear that none of the children had died, but it made no sense. Then again, his day had made little sense to begin with.
“This is what I propose.” Ever stood. “As we have only just returned from the rescue, I have not yet had the time to consult with Queen Isabelle. She was the one who was with the children in the other land. Since none of the children seem to be in mortal danger, I will take this night to talk with my wife and consult with the Fortress. Perhaps the queen can shed some light on the situation. First thing tomorrow, we will visit your children ourselves.”
A quiet murmur arose from the men and women present, but one voice screeched out above the rest. “The king cares for his sleep more than our children!” It was the same woman who had interrupted them earlier.
Ever marched down the dais and over to the woman. “And would you, madame, prefer me to travel there now as I am, and perhaps injure your child even further? For I can assure you, such things do happen!”
The woman still glared, but she took a step back. “I find it hard to believe the Fortress’s celebrated king could be so careless,” she muttered.
“Come now, Agnes.” A woman with a small babe tucked snugly in her left arm gently pulled on the rude woman’s hand. “You have his word. There are only six hours left until the morning light. The children will benefit more if the king is rested.” She looked at Ever, her gaze similar to that which Isa wore when she looked at Genny and Henri. “Your Highness, do whatever you must to help them. I know the Maker will watch over them as we wait.”
Ever’s heart softened at the kindness in her voice, for he was very weary indeed. “Thank you, madame. As you have said, I will see you early on the morrow.”
Garin followed Ever out of the throne room, but neither of them spoke until Ever stood outside his own chambers.
“She was right,” Garin said softly. “The Maker is watching over those children tonight, and you will need your strength tomorrow. Good night, Ever.”
Ever paused, his hand on the door, but as he went in, for the first time in his life, he didn’t wish Garin a good night in return. He could not bring himself to pretend that everything between them was as it had been.
As he shut the door, he expected to see Isa’s sleeping form already in their bed, but to his surprise, she was standing out on the balcony with a blanket pulled over her slumped shoulders. He went to her and wrapped his arms around those shoulders. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, and for a long time, they stood still. If nothing else, Ever told himself, he was thankful for this. His wife had been returned to him safe and sound. For though he had told no one else at the camp, he had feared the worst when she didn’t return after that first day. Only the power of the Fortress had kept him from tearing the cottage to shreds with his bare hands.
“We are needed in Soudain early tomorrow,” he finally mumbled into her hair. “The children who were returned have come down with a mystery illness of sorts.”
In response, Isa briefly stiffened, but then she relaxed into him again. “That is strange,” she said. But something in her voice gave Ever pause. She didn’t sound like it was strange, or that she was even surprised by it.
Ever wanted to ask, but instead, he decided that he had another topic he needed to discuss. It might just drive him mad if he didn’t. “Garin and I spoke after you left,” he began, suddenly very afraid of what she might think. Should he even be telling her this? “It’s about the veil.”
She finally turned to look at him. “What about it?”
“Garin says that because a Fortier sealed the veil between the two worlds, only a Fortier could have torn it again.” He took a deep breath. “He also thinks that a Fortier must have fathered those children.”
Isa’s dark eyes widened a little, but she kept them trained on the darkened mountain. “He thinks it was you.”
“Well, at first, yes,” Ever hurried to explain as she turned to fully face him. “But he would have known if I had done such a thing. I swear Isa, those children are not mine!”
Instead of crying or looking suspicious or even studying him, as Ever had expected her to do, Isa gently took his face in her hands and gave him a tired smile. “I know.”
“You know?”
She smiled and lightly touched his chest, sending ripples of warm relief through the rest of his body. “I will admit that Henri does have moments when he reminds me of you. I thought that the day I met him. But,” she turned her lovely moonlit face up to him, her pink lips parting softly, “four years have passed, and you still forget my gift sometimes. Ever, I know that you have only ever been faithful, even before you knew me.” She gave him a meaningful look before taking his hand and leading him over to the bed. “I don’t need my gift to know that.”
“But how?” He wanted so desperately to believe her, but it seemed too good to be true.
She pulled the covers over herself and leaned back into the pillows, looking suddenly as exhausted as he felt. “Because I know who I married. And you, Everard Fortier, are a good man.”
Tired or not, Ever leaned over to give her the kiss she deserved. How he had survived without her, keeping any semblance of sanity, he would never know. For though the world was falling to pieces around him, the look his wife was giving him now made him feel as though somehow, everything would be made right.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Panic
Although she’d lived in Soudain her entire life, it occurred to Isa that she had never visited this part of the capital city before. The houses were small and cruder than those in the main city blocks, patched up with straw thatch and mud. The people looked haggard as well. Such an area was no place for a young lady on her own, her father had sternly warned her once when she was seven. And now she understood why as she glared back at some of the men who were making not-so-subtle examinations of her person.
“Why would they put the tent here?” Ever asked her as he stopped his horse before a flimsy canvas structure. “The children were taken from all over the city, not just the outskirts.”
“Because the well-off said they were too good for such a commons.” A scowling skinny woman appeared before them, wiping her hands on her apron. Her wiry hair was pulled back beneath a dirty rag. “Said they would keep their children in their own homes and buildings, rather than have them mingle with the riffraff. It took you long enough, Your Highness.”
Isa stared, shocked at the woman’s audacity, but Ever just shook his head ever so slightly as if he had been expecting such treatment.
“Your Highnesses,” a man hustled out of the tent and stepped in front of the rude woman, “we’re so thankful you’ve come. Please, follow me.” Ever helped Isa dismount before nodding at his guards, three of whom followed them into the tent. The other two stayed outside with the horses to ask questions of those who lingered outside.
As Isa’s eyes adjusted to the dark of the tent from the brightness of the morning sun, she made out ten little mattresses lined up in a row, each with a child lying upon it. When she drew closer she was surprised to find that none of the children had shared symptoms as she had expected to find. On one child, large, brown boils covered his face, neck, arms, and legs. The next little girl had a broken arm. The boy after her appeared fine, but his parents stood over him, looking anxious.
Isa knelt down beside the mattress closest to the door and laid her hand upon the child’s forehead.
“I remember you,” she whispered to the little boy, forcing a smile upon her face. The little boy gave her an ornery little smirk. He had given the guards particular trouble before returning home. “Tell me, does this hurt?” She pressed gently against the child’s arm, just above a boil.
He gave her a slight nod.
“Poor baby,” she murmured. “You’re burning up. Do you feel hot?”
At this, he shook his head and gave her another grin. “Only my skin hurts. I feel good enough
to climb a tree, but Mummy says I must stay in bed.” He crossed his skinny arms, a disgruntled look coming to his face.
Isa smiled. “I am thankful you feel well, but I think your mother is right. You need to stay in bed until your skin stops hurting.”
“My papa is a healer,” he said as she continued to examine him. “But he can’t heal me. Can you?” The hopeful look he gave her made Isa’s heart ache.
“We’ll do our best.” Isa felt her smile falter just a bit. “Now, I have a question for you. Did you talk to anyone while you were in that strange world? Anyone besides your friends?”
The boy immediately shook his head.
“Are you sure? I need you to think very hard and really try to remember.”
He bit his lip for a moment, then his face lit up. “I talked to that woman with the yellow hair before she brought us cookies. She asked me about my mummy and papa.”
Isa’s heart sank as she looked up at his parents. “You say that this began after the soldiers brought them home?” His mother and father stood behind the bed with pinched faces and clasped hands.
“Not even an hour after,” the mother said, her eyes never leaving her son. “We sent for help immediately. The fever came so fast. I didn’t think he’d make it through the night...” Her voice broke as she leaned down and gathered the little boy in her arms, who promptly began to squirm.
“But after we were told your husband was otherwise occupied last night,” the father dared a fierce glance at Ever before turning back to Isa, “we realized that he wasn’t being affected by the sickness. At least, not in the way such fevers usually go.”
“And he has remained like this since then?”
“Aye.”
Isa thanked the parents and ruffled the little boy’s hair once more before moving on to the next mattress, and then the next. Before long, she had talked to the parents of every child. Determined to leave no stone unturned, she then went to visit the eight families who were keeping their own children at home. Each story was essentially the same, but Isa grew wearier with each home she visited. The weight of helplessness was in each parents’ heart, and as a result, in hers as well. The skinny woman, Agatha, whose daughter had blisters covering her hands, at one point accused Isa of being apathetic. If only she knew. If anyone understood their plight, it was Isa. Not only because of her gift but because Isa had a story like theirs all her own.
Something deep down, possibly the Fortress, warned her that theirs might not be a plight Ever’s fire could easily fix. For there was a new power here that she felt slipping through the blood of each child as moved about their little bodies. The strength was foreign but also familiar. It was the same power she had felt back in the torn veil, and the same strength that now moved through her blood as well. Ever hadn’t been able to feel the tear in the veil as she had. And now she wondered if he would be able to heal such a malady that seemed to come from the same source. And yet, he had to try.
“I need her away from the other children,” she told the father of the girl on the last mattress. Ever sent her a questioning look, but she gave him the slightest shake of her head. If this didn’t work, she didn’t want it to incite panic among the people.
As soon as they had the girl by herself in a corner, Ever took the child’s throat gently in his hands. Her voice had disappeared her parents had told them. She couldn’t even whisper. Isa relaxed a little as her husband’s familiar blue light moved from his hands into the child. The Fortress’s fire was always comforting. They stayed that way for a few minutes, Ever kneeling before the girl’s pallet with his eyes closed in concentration, and the child watching the ceiling with wide eyes as she waited.
But something is wrong, a voice inside her whispered as Ever’s face tightened infinitesimally. He should be done by now. Please, Fortress, let him heal her! But as seconds stretched to minutes, Isa could see the parents beginning to shift nervously as well, and she could feel Ever becoming agitated. Finally, he let go, but she could see from the tightness in his eyes that he was not at all confident in the work he’d done.
“Well?” the father asked his daughter. “Did it work?”
The girl opened her mouth, but to Isa’s dismay, nothing came out.
“I need to speak with you.” Without waiting for the parents to respond, Isa took Ever by the hand and led him over to another corner of the tent.
“I don’t understand,” Ever said, looking at his hands. “I had hoped it was simply an effect of spending time in the Fae world...”
Isa shook her head, looking at her feet. This was not a conversation she’d planned on having here in front of their subjects, but she needed to tell him.
“Last night, when you were talking with Garin...” She stopped and drew a deep breath, willing her voice to stay steady. “While you were talking to Garin, I fell asleep and had a dream.”
“A dream?” He raised an eyebrow, and she nodded.
“I dreamed that everything in me was emptied. I felt dry, parched, as though I’d walked for miles in a desert. Then I realized I was in a desert. I came upon an old orchard, where trees grew in the sand. But none of them bore any fruit. I woke up then, and had the most terrible pain.” She closed her eyes.
“Where?” Ever’s voice was strained.
“Here.” Without thinking, she placed her hand in the same spot that had kept doubled her over the evening before. “Ever, I know I haven’t conceived yet, but there was always the possibility. I could feel it. But now...” she shook her head. “I’m barren.”
Ever’s heart was more unreadable than usual. He opened and closed his mouth twice before simply staring outside the tent for a long minute and rubbing the back of his neck, the way he did when he was unsure of what to do.
“It was her,” Isa continued before she lost her nerve and her self-control. “It was Sacha. It had to be!”
“But how?” Ever finally looked at her, his eyes still indecipherable.
Isa had asked herself the same question the night before. “There is only one answer I can come up with. She baked us all cookies. I couldn’t feel anything at the time, but there was just so much power everywhere... I can only guess that she used some sort of Sorthileige.”
“Couldn’t it have been the other food?”
Isa shook her head. “According to the children, she spoke with every child, asking them their parents’ occupations before giving them their treats.” Now that she thought of it, why hadn’t Sacha talked to Genny or Henri? Perhaps she had but did nothing to them because they were orphans. They had no parents to affect.
“But why all the different maladies?” Ever looked back at the children over her shoulder.
“She chose what she knew would hurt each family the most. The boy with sores is the son of a healer. Who would visit a healer who can’t heal his own son? The girl without a voice is from a family of minstrels. The one with blisters comes from a family of bakers.”
“But what about you? Did you tell her you were the queen?” Ever looked incredulous.
“I know better than that,” Isa huffed. “I told her you and I protect the region.” Isa sighed. “Still, any wife would have one overarching duty for such an important calling.”
“Which would be?”
“Produce an heir to follow in our footsteps.”
Ever’s jaw tightened as he closed his eyes again. “When were you planning to tell me this?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.
“I wanted to! Last night, when you came to me and the dream and pain had passed, but then you told me about the children, and I didn’t want to worry you even more!” She took one of his large, calloused hands in her own. “I didn’t understand the connection until this morning. I am sorry, Ever. Truly!”
“One might think,” he pulled his hand free, “that our ability to have children could actually be my concern as well, worry or no.” He stalked toward the tent door and motioned to his soldiers. Isa followed more slowly, trying desperately to keep her tears at b
ay. It hurt to hear, but he was right. Her pain was his business, and by hiding it from him she had only muddled things further.
“Get the med packs,” Ever was quietly telling his men when she caught up to him. “We’re going to do what we can for these children before heading back up the mountain.”
The men exchanged looks of confusion, but they knew better than to question him. Soon they were all attending to the children. Isa helped one of them set the little boy’s broken arm, but her attention remained on Ever, who was furiously mixing a salve for the boils and blisters. All around her, Isa could sense the confusion and frustration of the parents and the others who had come to watch the king work his miracles. Why hadn’t the mute girl’s voice been restored by his fire, and why wasn’t he using that fire on any of the others?
And sensing the state of Ever’s heart was even worse. Panic. Fear. Frustration. Self-doubt.
And sorrow. One wouldn’t know it by looking at him, ferocious as he appeared, but inside, he was mourning, just as Isa had done the night before.
When they were all done, Ever and his men quickly gathered their supplies before reloading their horses, and they were just about ready to go when the skinny woman ran after them.
“Wait, Agnes!” A man named Emile ran after her, but she shook him off before jabbing her finger up at Ever.
“What now? Are we too lowly for your precious fire? Are you that much high and mightier than us peasants? You won’t even have mercy on our children?”
Since the night before, Isa had felt like a piece of string being wound tighter and tighter. Now, that string snapped. Dismounting from her horse, Isa strode back to the woman and stopped when their noses were less than a hand’s breadth apart. “You would dare to speak to your king this way?” she hissed. “The king comes all the way from the Fortress to your home, and you attempt to shame him so?” She took a step forward. “If the Maker does not deem it the proper time for your daughter to be healed, do you think anything my husband does shall change that?” She grabbed the woman’s wrist and gripped it tightly, despite the woman’s protests.
Beauty Beheld: A Retelling of Hansel and Gretel (The Becoming Beauty Trilogy Book 3) Page 9
