Chapter 7
y chambers are predictably plush. After drying my tears, I take inventory: a big four-poster bed draped with pastels, a desk, an empty bookshelf, a wardrobe, a closet, and a huge marble fireplace wafting sweet-smelling pine smoke.
My scant belongings have been laid on the bed.
They look out of place amid the silk and velvet: too shabby and devoid of color.
I notice my satchel has been cleaned and emptied…
in other words, searched. When I start to unpack, I realize the futility.
My wardrobe is already overflowing with garments that look like they’ve been stitched specifically for me.
Marveling, I withdraw dress after dress, each more luxurious than the last. There are outfits for all seasons: garden frocks and evening gowns, day dresses with fluffy skirts and sleeves looped with ribbons.
I find a dark blue winter cloak with fur trim and six pairs of shoes, including several sparkling pairs of slippers.
The closet drawers contain several new work dresses in soft, fine-woven linen, and I’m relieved to see that my uniform includes a white kerchief.
When I open the bottom drawer, I encounter a heap of sheer, short, lacy undergarments… and quickly slam it back shut.
The best part is my washroom. It has hot running water and a claw-foot tub, something I’ve ardently fantasized about but never actually seen.
After some experimenting, I figure out how to fill it.
When I sink into the steaming water, I decide it’s the single most decadent thing I’ve ever experienced.
After bathing, I pull on the most subdued pair of pajamas I can find and crawl into the sheets.
But sleep doesn’t find me. I’m too busy strategizing for the day ahead.
Cygnus had a lot of Gods-damn nerve calling me unqualified, considering he’s only one year my senior.
Unless he started studying in diapers, I can’t be that far behind.
I may not have had a fancy royal education, but I had Mother’s scrutiny to contend with, and I’m willing to bet that was about a hundred times stricter.
Determination roars through me. Mother told me that when she started school at the High Houses, some other students looked down on her because of her upbringing in the Ironwoods.
Elves came from all over the Midlands to study at the Evermorean universities, but even back then, it was considered more sophisticated to grow up in the Hartlands.
She had one strategy for overcoming their bias: Be so good they can’t dismiss you. So that’s exactly what I’ll do.
And when I find the cure, no one will ever doubt me again.
My first night in the castle is restless torture. I jolt awake at every chime of the clock, panicking and slick with sweat. At five, I crawl out of bed and draw another bath to brace for the day ahead. I’m sure it will be a long one.
Upon my arrival at the hospital, it takes a few minutes to be directed to Cygnus’s office. I find him hunched over his desk. Determined to be the bigger person, I greet him as cheerily as I can. “Good morning!”
He doesn’t look up from his papers. “You’re late.”
I glance at the clock in annoyance. He’s correct—by two minutes. At least he and Mother would get along.
“Last night, we had six wounded soldiers brought in from Karapesh in Sontaag, so I won’t have time to onboard you this morning,” he continues. “Anna will show you the ropes.”
“Who’s Anna?” I ask.
He gestures vaguely down the hall. “She’s our head of staff. You can find her in the storehouse. Big woman, curly brown hair. You can’t miss her.”
“Is she my boss, or are you?”
“She’s second-in-command. If you do something to upset Anna, you’ve done something to upset me. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” I return, with some bite. “Do you need any help with the soldiers? If there’s any way I can assist…” I trail off as he finally looks up at me, and I read his expression. The acidity could wither daisies.
“Right now,” he says, “the most helpful thing you can do is disappear.”
I leave with my face burning.
When I track down Anna, I’m relieved to find her far more welcoming.
A direct, no-nonsense woman, she reminds me of a taller version of Mother.
She only asks a few questions about my competencies before launching into a straightforward explanation of the hospital’s operations.
“The Crown funds everything, so there’s no cost for our patients.
People travel from all over to get treated—that’s why we’re practically always full.
We might see hundreds of patients in a single month. ”
“How have you functioned without an apothecary?”
“Oh, our medicine for patients is imported from Sulnik,” she clarifies. “Your predecessor, Ragglestaff, was brought on to serve the Crown. Not the public. He pitched in here and there when we needed extra hands, of course. But even toward the end, he was busy with private projects.”
My spirits sink a little. I’d been looking forward to the opportunity to test my skills. But of course, the cure needs to come first. Perhaps when I’m finished, I can speak with the queen about weaning the people here off their reliance on Sulish medicine.
Anna gives me a quick tour of the staging area before leading me out onto a patio.
We follow a stone path down through the hospital’s designated terraces, which contain rows and rows of waist-high planter boxes.
The plants look wild and unkempt, but I spot a host of familiar friends, like yarrow and calendula. “Did Ragglestaff tend these?”
“Once upon a time, yes. Most of it’s gone wild now. Pretty to look at, but no one here knows how to use them.”
I drag my hand over a patch of yarrow. The heads have dried and gone rough. “That seems like a waste.”
“Indeed. But we’ve been stuffed to the gills. With all that inflow from the western front, resources are spread thin.” She continues down the terraced steps until we stop before a small, thatched-roof cottage. “I should warn you, the storehouse has been somewhat neglected. It’s a bit of a mess.”
She pushes open the door.
First, the smell hits me—chemicals and carrion.
As we venture in with tentative steps, I decide she was too kind when she called this place a mess.
Cesspool might cover it. The place looks like it’s been ransacked.
Rubbish and broken bottles are strewn across the floor.
Several cauldrons have tipped, their contents leaking and rotting in some places.
The scant equipment looks rusted beyond repair.
Pinching my nose, I ask, “How long has it been like this?”
“A few months or so?” She covers her nose with her apron. “I didn’t realize how bad it’d gotten. We’ve been under strict instructions not to touch anything.”
We hurry out, gulping fresh air when the door shuts behind us.
I’m itching to start, but the tour is not over yet. Anna leads me back inside and into the hospital’s main washroom, which smells heavenly in contrast. The walls are lined with shelves of glass bottles labeled in black script. This must be the imported medicine she mentioned.
I’m ready to head back to the storehouse, but before I can do so, Anna hands me a list. “Cygnus left a list of jobs he’d like you to complete.”
I glance down, skimming quickly—
· Wash laundry in hamper #8
· Fold bandages in hamper #3
· Fold sheets in hamper #4
· Change all chamber pots on the staging floor
· Scrub the laundry room floor
· Dust the bookshelf in the Head Healer’s office
—and look up incredulously when I finish. “These are common chores.”
Anna tuts at my expression. “Everyone needs to start somewhere!”
When Anna leaves me to my work, I curse Cygnus internally.
I should have known he’d try to sabotage me.
He made it clear he thinks I was only hired as a glorified consort—maybe he thinks I’m some prissy nobleman’s daughter who’ll refuse to get dirt under her fingernails.
Or maybe his aim is to make me so busy that I can’t complete the work.
Perhaps he thinks I’ll go whining to Finn.
It doesn’t matter. He picked the wrong girl to underestimate.
If he wants to make me his maid, I’ll be the best damn maid he’s ever seen.
I tackle the most distasteful task first. It takes two hours to empty the chamber pots, including the trek up and down stairs, three hours to fold laundry, and an inestimably long stint in purgatory while scrubbing the floor of the staging room.
Irritation doesn’t bode well for my Talent.
I start sweating in the first five minutes, trying to keep it at bay, and can’t stop.
By midday, I’m an aching, sticky mess with shit stains on my apron. Staff members snicker behind my back.
Still, I work quickly and hard, racing the clock to return to the storehouse.
I complete the stupid list a little after three, which leaves just a few hours to get started on cleaning Ragglestaff’s mess.
I’m so focused on my real work, it’s not until Cygnus clears his throat that I realize he has been watching me.
“Oh. Hi. Sorry, I was just—” I gesture at the mess. “How did it go? With the soldiers, I mean.”
“Everyone’s stable.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I was just checking to see if you’re settling in.”
“I am. Thanks.”
“I…also wanted to mention our earlier conversation.” Cygnus hesitates, his eyes boring holes in the floor. “I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration on you.”
I feel a little rush of appeasement. This is not an apology, but perhaps the closest I’ll get to one. “You’ve decided not to hate me, then?” I ask.
“I’ve decided not to blame you.”
“Very generous.”
Cygnus looks up. “It’s not your fault the Crown put you in a position to fail.”
Never mind. Still a prick. “What makes you sure that I’m going to?” I grind out.
He blinks. “Because you have no idea what you’re doing.”