Chapter 23
When I opened my eyes, Ser Elías was gone.
The room was cold– there was a breeze from the hall, the fire in the hearth had burnt out.
Half of his armor was discarded by his hair.
His book was face down in his seat as if he’d left in a hurry.
Moonlight bled across the floor and I heard the faintest of fanfares somewhere else. Shuffling. Chaos.
I ventured into the hall. A figure nearly crashed into me, headed toward the men’s corridor.
They apologized–the candelabra highlighting her face enough to see was the maid from before.
She carried a pitcher of ice. Another, one with a stack of folded linens stood at the threshold of a room.
She was next to Sam. He paced anxiously, his thumb hooked against his teeth.
He caught sight of me. His jaw flexed as we met eyes, but there was hardly any color to his face. He called out to me.
“Love, go back to bed,” he said, softly. Almost as soft as his pale complexion. “Your Highness,” he realized, correcting himself. “Sorry. Please.” He gestured toward the way I came.
“What? Why? What’s happening?” I asked.
He frowned and said nothing else. Then I realized he was torn between telling me or not, and I promptly knew that something had happened to Mr. Evergreen, something bad. My breathing raced, and I walked past him into the room, despite his immediate protest.
“Svana, wait!”
“Mr. Evergreen?” I asked. The room was alive with staff and worry.
Mr. Evergreen lay in the four post bed, gray and ashen. Had no one been rushing around him, delicately navigating the space around my apparition, I would have thought that he was dead. His skin slicked in sweat, worse than it’d been in the hall, and he moaned incoherently.
“A-A fever?” I asked. “I-”
Ser Elías stood from the side of his mattress, his hand left Mr. Evergreen’s wrist. He tried to move me toward the door. “Go back to bed. It’s under control.”
“Under control?” I asked. “But he-? Where is-?” Every other word sucked in a deeper feat of air that stung the corners of my eyes. “How did this happen? He saw the doctor. I made sure of it.”
“Yes, and the doctor is here now.” Eli nodded to him. “You should-”
“Stop it!” I shoved him, silencing the room for a moment, and for several seconds. “Stop it, Ser,” I tried, softer. “Please. I-I can help,” I said, pleading with the maid, trying to take her cloth. “I can help; I want to help. I want to help. Please, he’s my, my friend.”
Elías nodded once to her and she conceded, handing me the rag and basin of frigid water.
Sameer eyed me as I sat beside Mr. Evergreen.
I dabbed his face; I didn’t care. I didn’t care if the Prince understood that very moment that I was in love with his friend.
I didn’t care if he would be angry or hurt when he pieced together the meaning behind my shattered resolve, or why, until my Sword had recovered, I would not leave his room.
“We’re trying to keep him comfortable until it breaks, Your Highness,” the doctor said.
I nodded. “How long will that take? Morning?”
“If we’re lucky,” he replied. His eyes went from me to the men in the room.
“And if we’re not?” I asked.
“A week,” he said.
“A week?” I nearly choked. “You said a week to heal. What sort of-”
“Your Highness,” Ser Elías cut in, incisively. His hand touched my shoulder.
The doctor looked between us.
“Ice,” Cyrus muttered. Or maybe it was, “I see.”
I wilted. “...What is he talking about?” I asked. “Ice? Is he hot?”
“Likely, yes. But your guess is as good as any of ours,” the doctor said.
He stood, pulling instruments off of Mr. Evergreen’s body and packing them into their case.
“He’s been talking on and off since I arrived an hour ago.
Now.” He turned back to the Prince. “Alcohol, at least twice a day, poured into the wound. Don’t rebandage him until I’ve had a chance to examine him again.
If he gets worse, fetch me immediately, but until then, the slurring, the delirium–it’s all quite normal for this type of infection.
So is puss and a god awful smell.” He looked at me again, almost apologetic for the terms. He nodded, then headed to the door.
“Keep his shirt open like that to breathe.”
“Thank you for getting here so quickly,” the Prince said. His hand shook as it met with the physician’s but it was certain, grateful.
“He’s lucky,” the doctor told him. “Another day and I’d be in Lawrence.” Then he bowed. “I’ll stay put until I hear from you, Your Highness. I can always make my rounds another time.”
“Thank you,” Sameer said. “I’ll see to your compensation. I swear it.”
“I see, I see,” Cyrus muttered.
“Your Highness?” Sam asked. “A moment please?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood. I followed him into the hall. I kept my eye on the maid who’d taken my place if only to make sure she tended to him gently. Sameer sighed, deeply.
“Don’t feel obligated to stay,” he said. “You can leave and go back to bed. It’s alright.”
“...What?” I asked. I half-scoffed.
“You don’t have to take care of my friend,” he went on. “I can, or they can. You’re not-”
“Mr. Evergreen is my friend,” I argued back. “How dare you suspect I could leave him to decay while I go and what? Sleep in my precious downy-feathered bed? I am offended that you think that is an acceptable role for me! How dare you assume my character! I should–!”
“Thank you,” he breathed. He fell into me, wrapping his arms around me in a very unexpected hug.
“I–”
“Thank you for taking care of him,” he said, breathier. When he pulled back, he touched the corner of his eye, “Sorry. Sorry, I-”
“Are you crying?” I asked.
“No.” Sam coughed, clearing his throat. “No. I’m not crying. I’m just very tired.”
I stopped. Completely. And for a second, I felt sorry for him. After a minor delay, I touched his arm to soothe him. His face altered. He gave me a weak smile.
“Everything will be okay,” I said, neutrally.
Sameer nodded. “Of course it will. You’re so wise.”
Behind him, Cyrus writhed, bucking his hips once. He tried to twist to his side, but Ser Elías laid him flat again, his hand on his arm to calm him, pressing him gently into the bed.
“Everything will be okay,” I repeated.