As his eyes roamed the large, empty great hall, he noticed Cedric smirking at him.
“What?” Pelor demanded.
“Tired already?”
“I’ve never met a woman so horny,” he said, too tired for tact.
The sixteen year old winced. “I didn’t need to know that.”
“Well then don’t tease me about it.”
“You need a night off,” stated Cedric unnecessarily.
“You think?”
An idea flickered through Pelor’s mind, slowly taking shape. “What about you, boy? Lost your flower yet?”
Cedric turned red. “No, sir.”
“Want to?”
In the blink of an eye, Cedric turned from bright red to deathly pale. “Mean it?”
“Course. I could sure use a drink. And you could use a woman. I know a little place.”
“I’ll get the horses saddled,” said the prince, jumping to his feet.
“Let’s walk,” countered Pelor. “And lose the insignia.”
Cedric glanced down at his tunic, embroidered with the royal emblem. He nodded once and raced to his room. In record time, the lad was back, eager to get going. Pelor followed him out of the castle, fingering his bulging coin purse. Since becoming Mirabelle’s plaything he had not wanted for gold. She gave it to him without hesitation so long as he asked shortly after sating her appetite. He would easily be able to treat Cedric to a night of debauchery, and maybe something else.
Pelor smiled to himself. If he was going to take control, he needed the heirs out of his way.
It didn’t take him long to get the sixteen year old drunk. A little more effort and Cedric was bumping into the other patrons, quickly annoying them with his high-handed manners.
“Clean yourself up, boy,” said one of the other patrons.
Cedric swayed in place, trying to focus on the man in question.
“You gonna take that from him, Ced?” Pelor asked, using a new nickname to hide the boys true identity.
“N-no, sir,—burp—I am not.”
Cedric swayed again before taking an unruly swing at the other man. Drunk he might be, but Cedric was still a prince of Tolad and well trained. The punch went low, hitting the man in the shoulder rather than the face. The man grunted with the impact and returned hit for hit.
Pelor carefully stayed clear of the fight, without giving them too much space. At just the right moment, Pelor slipped his foot into the on-going battle. Cedric tripped over the appendage, falling head first into the bar. He hit it with a loud thwack and flipped over, falling on his back.
Fighting an inward smile, Pelor glared at the fighter as he knelt beside Cedric, placing his fingers in front of the prince’s mouth. He felt nothing. Knowing it was futile, Pelor gave Cedric a rough shake before checking for breath a second time. He looked up, glaring at the other patrons.
“He’s dead,” he announced.
The man in question shrugged. “Shouldn’t have been here in the first place.”
“Do you know who this is?” Pelor demanded. “This is Prince Cedric. You there, call the guards.”
Pelor stood, turning on the man who had been fighting Cedric. He quickly grabbed his arm and twisted him around until he had the arm pinned against his spine. Pelor didn’t have to hold him long before the guards appeared, taking the offender into their custody.
It was a long night of explaining again and again how Cedric had died—first to the guards, then to Arabelle, and finally to his wife. He did not get to sleep until the sun was beginning to turn the horizon gray.
At least he hadn’t been required to have sex.
Bethany sat quietly, stitching away at a new dress for Dinah, the oldest of her nieces. Instead of making new clothing for herself, Bethany had committed herself to clothing the children. Sevar sat beside her, stitching away on a scrap of clothing, trying her best to match Bethany and Dinah’s stitches. Dinah was as sweet as sugar as she corrected Sevar’s efforts. The mute girl did her best not to roll her eyes at the other girl.
Bethany knew Sevar wanted to do what was right, but most of the time she was in trouble for tearing her clothing while climbing a tree or playing swords with the boys. She simply had too much energy and bravery to be a good little lady. It made Bethany’s heart ache to watch the girl try so hard to be other than what she was.
Erin stood beside the door to the great hall, obediently keeping his distance. He was still required to keep her within his sight at all time, but now he stayed near the door or walked a few feet behind her. She hadn’t told him to do any of this, but since their aborted kiss, he had kept his distance on his own accord.
The ache in Bethany’s heart pulsed, as though it was alive and aware. She hated the distance between her and Erin. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to pour out all her fears and hopes, and let him put the pieces of her heart back together. He was the only one who could ever make her feel better, and yet he acted as though they were strangers.
Bethany blinked, fighting the fresh tears pressing against her eyes.
Bethany looked up at the men sitting a short distance away, talking over strategies for the summer months. They knew Wolfric would be attacking them at some point during the summer, and now was the time to prepare for it.
“We simply have to raise the taxes,” her brother was saying.
“Yes, my lord,” simpered one of the counselors. “But if they have nothing left to give, then we will gain nothing but angry people.”
Gilead waved his hand, dismissing the brave man’s argument.
“I am their king. What do they have to be angry about?”
“How ‘bout angry cause you’ve stolen everything,” murmured Bethany to herself.
The room fell silent. She glanced up, suddenly realizing the men had heard her soft voice.
“You have something to add, Bethany?” demanded Gilead, his face reddening with anger.
Knowing they had already heard her, she plowed forward. “Your counselor is right. You tax them into starvation and suddenly being under Wolfric’s rule doesn’t look so bad. Do you really want your people to hate you?”
“They wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, they would, and they do. You’ve taken everything from them.”
“To keep them safe!” countered the king, beginning to sound as though he were a child whining about his bedtime.
“Yes, but even peasants have their limits.”
Bethany’s eyes scanned the group of men, hoping for someone to support her. Finally, her eyes rested on Miach. Her husband-to-be glared at her, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Of course, I am just…” began Bethany, intending on saying something belittling in the hopes of soothing Miach, but she couldn’t stomach it. “Of course, you haven’t spent much time with your people. Maybe you’ve forgotten what it’s like to wonder where your next meal is going to come from.”
Gilead burst to his feet, toppling his chair in the process. He crossed to her in three long strides before pulling her to her feet by the neck of her dress.
“You ever speak out like that again, and I’ll have you horse whipped,” he growled, his garlic breath bathing her face until she thought she might gag.
Bethany stared him down, remembering the countless whippings she had already received. His threats meant nothing to her.
As if on cue, Dinah began to cough. They looked down at her, suddenly realizing this fit of coughing was something abnormal for such a small child. Gilead released Bethany and stepped away, while the princess dropped to her knees. Dinah kept coughing until a large gob of reddish brown phlegm appeared in her hand. Bethany used a scrap of cloth to clean her hand before scooping her up into her arms.
Bethany turned to stare at the men.
“I am putting the sick into seclusion. Please send for a healer. Sevar you stay here.” Bethany paused, eyeing her brother. “Do you have a problem with this, my king?”
Gilead glared at her subtle insult and nodded tow
ard the door. Bethany took her cue and walked away, Erin following her at a safe distance.
By the time Bethany had rearranged the children’s room—one for the sick and one for the healthy—two more children had begun to cough. The three sick children became feverish within an hour, burning so hot it was uncomfortable for Bethany to feel their sweaty heads.
Without thinking about their mutual coldness, Bethany looked at Erin who stood beside the door. Even in a simple glance, he saw the hurt and worry in her features. He gave her a nod of sympathy but remained where he was.
Bethany looked away to hide her tears.
Erin watched as Bethany climbed to her feet and lifted her arms over her head to stretch out her back. She walked to the next bed, her gait looking off. Even from where he stood beside the doorway Erin could tell she was reaching the end of her rope. The last two nights had offered her little rest as she tended to the growing number of sick in the castle. It was now nearly impossible to walk from one bed to another. They had crammed four more cots into the packed room just last night.
Bethany knelt beside the next invalid and wiped the sweat from the child’s brow. It wasn’t just the children that were falling to the dreaded sickness. They already had five adults sleeping on cots. The large bed originally designed for the room held four small children.
Erin eyed Bethany through half-closed eyes as he leaned against the wall and shifted his weight to a different foot. He was tired of standing and watching, but he refused to offer Bethany any aid. She didn’t want him near her, and so he dutifully remained beside the door.
Briefly, Erin had considered asking Gilead to replace him as her bodyguard, but decided he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him bowing out. She had rejected him, and he was determined to be content with her decision, even if it was the wrong one. They were perfect together. He had three months of proof, and yet she still preferred Lord Miach, the landed noble.
Erin cringed. He simply couldn’t wrap his brain around the idea that Bethany, his Bethany, had reverted to the pampered princess he had known in Tolad.
“Bethany?” said a voice from the doorway, breaking Erin’s train of thought.
Erin turned to see the queen mother standing just outside the door, trying her best to see inside the room without actually entering it. Behind her stood the king, keeping his distance from the elusive illness. Erin swallowed the scoffing laughter that threatened to bubble up.
“Yes, Mother?” said Bethany as she turned on her knees.
“I don’t think you should be doing this. You’ll get the illness.”
Bethany bowed her head, too tired to trust herself from saying something harsh. Erin watched her take a deep breath before speaking.
“The healers are stretched thin as it is.”
“Doesn’t mean you need to be doing this,” argued her brother.
Bethany glared at him, her gentle façade wavering. “Yes, I do. As you have made perfectly clear, my duty is to my people. That duty dictates every aspect of my life, including this.”
To Erin’s amazement, Bethany’s eyes flicked briefly to where he stood as she spoke of duty. Erin felt his face crumple into a grimace completely beyond his control. She hadn’t rejected him because she wanted the old lord, but because it was her duty to marry to the advantage of her kingdom, and Erin had hated her for it.
Well done, ol’ fool! his mind screamed at him. You’ve done it again.
The queen didn’t respond but turned and walked away, followed by the king. Bethany returned to her work, mopping away the sweat already forming on the sick child’s brow. She rose from her position, nearly stumbling with fatigue. Erin jumped forward without thinking and caught her elbow.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice strained.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For doubting you,” he said, doing his best to be completely honest while not compromising her precarious position.
Erin watched as Bethany’s lower lip began to quiver. She was near tears, and Erin knew how much she hated to cry.
“What can I do to help?” he asked to distract her.
“Umm,” she said, looking around at the sleeping bodies.
“How ‘bout you take a little break on the empty cot. I’ll stand watch. If anything happens, I promise to wake you.”
Bethany looked around again, almost as if to find some excuse for refusing his offer. When she couldn’t find anything, she nodded wearily. Bethany stepped past him, briefly squeezing his hand, and slumped down onto the empty cot. Erin sat down beside the cot, wanting to watch her more than the patients.
“You need to know that I will always love you,” he said before he could censure himself.
Erin sat, waiting with bated breath for her response, but she just continued to breathe evenly. Slowly, Erin realized Bethany was already fast asleep and free from the burden of his declaration.
The scarred knight shifted until his back pressed against the cot, giving him a clear view of the whole room. A gentle cough rung out now and then, breaking the silence of the room. Even in their sleep they continued to cough up reddish-green mucus.
Even the most seasoned healers didn’t know what to make of the illness. From what Erin could gather from Bethany’s conversation with Healer Pharem, they were treating them with herbs used to clear stuffed-up noses and herbs used for fevers. They didn’t know what would help the coughing. Erin thought back to his years in Tolad, wondering if he had ever seen anything similar.
Queen Arabelle had often suffered from a persistent cough. Erin had watched her pour honey into her mulled wine whenever the cough got too prominent. When Bethany woke, he would make the suggestion.
He hoped it would be a good hour or two before he needed to wake her, but it was not to be. Only a few minutes after he thought of the idea the youngest of the children, her nephew Tobit, woke to a horrible fit of coughing.
Bethany woke with a start just as Erin began to scramble around the other cots to where the one year-old lay. Between the two of them, they rolled him onto his side, allowing him to cough the phlegm up. As the child coughed and coughed, his white face began to turn red and his coughs grew weaker.
Erin began to chew on his bottom lip, only aware of it when he began to taste blood. Eventually, the tiny boy stopped coughing and collapsed into an exhausted slumber. Bethany rolled him back onto his back and held her hand in front of his face.
Before he knew what she was doing, the princess shoved Erin out of the way and tore the boy’s soiled tunic open. She pressed her ear against his chest, furtively listening for a heartbeat. After a long, agonizing wait, she lifted her head and placed her hand in front of the boy’s nose one last time before shaking her head.
“He’s gone,” she said, tears already streaming down her face.
Without giving any considering to Miach’s threats, Erin pulled her into his arms and let het cry on his shoulder. The children had been in Dothan for less than a week, and already two had perished under Bethany’s watch. He could only imagine the pain and guilt she was currently feeling.
Before Bethany could properly grieve, one of the servants who had volunteered to work in the sick room appeared in the doorway. Unlike most of the royals, Bethany was well loved by the workers. Before Erin had arrived in Dothan, Bethany had learned all their names and something of their stories. As a result, multiple women had come forward, willing to help Bethany stem the flow of the illness.
“Please go fetch the king and the queen mother,” Erin said.
The maidservant, still frowning, bobbed a curtsey before racing away.
Before he could warn Bethany, he felt her relax in his arms, her sobs ending. He was about to warn her when he felt her slump downward. Erin’s strong arms kept her from slipping out of his grasp. Careful not to wake her, Erin scooped her up and deposited her limp body on the empty cot. He watched the rise and fall of her shapely chest for a short second, confirming that she was in fact j
ust sleeping.
Before he could do more than confirm her continued health, he heard rapid steps approaching. Erin climbed to his feet and tip toed out of the room. He stopped Gilead and the queen mother halfway down the corridor, followed closely by the maidservant.
“What’s wrong?” demanded the queen. “Where’s Bethany?”
“Sleeping. Tobit has passed away.”
“And she’s sleeping?” demanded the king.
“She cried herself to sleep. She hasn’t slept any the last two nights.”
“Then we better let her rest,” said Debowrah. “You’re sure Tobit is dead?”
Erin nodded, hating giving her such bad news.
“Go have the men build a pyre,” Gilead said to the maidservant.
She nodded once before scurrying away.
“This won’t be the last death,” Erin said. “We won’t be able to burn a pyre for every body.”
Gilead glared at Erin, thinking through what he had just been told. “How many more do you think will die?”
“Surely not many,” interjected the queen. “Tobit was only one year old. No doubt he was simply too young and weak to fight it.”
Erin shook his head. “I don’t think so, my lady. True, he had little chance of surviving it at his age, but I suspect many, many more will die before this is over.”
“How do you know?”
“Call it a gut feeling.”
The queen mother rolled her eyes and gave him a derisive hurrumph. Debowrah had never warmed up it him. Erin thought she suspected him of feelings for her daughter. She had no idea how right she was.
“Tobit is family. He will be burned upon a pyre, as is proper. If we have many more deaths in the city, I’ll have pits dug.”
Erin nodded, perfectly happy with the king’s compromise.
“Isn’t there any good news for today?” the queen mother asked, her own tears beginning to brim her blood shot eyes.
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 73
