All Fall Down (35 page)

As with everyone else who had been well enough to notice its appearance, Raifal gave the substance I poured into the spoon a dubious look, but he took it readily and without complaint.
 

I told him, “And I can take over watch from here for a while, so you can rest.”

“And what of you, mistress?” Raifal asked, relief over the prospect of getting some sleep warring with worry for me on his features. “You have been awake all night as well.”

Too well I knew that, felt it in every muscle and bone in my body. But I would go without sleep for longer than I already had if it meant the safety of the man I loved. I could not tell Raifal that, of course, but I said, “And not for the first time. It is part of my training, to go without rest when necessary, and to make sure the needs of others are met before I tend to my own. I will do well enough here—you should go to the kitchen and see about getting some food, and then as much sleep as you can manage.”

Still he hesitated, but then he lifted his shoulders. “I am hungry.”

“Well, there you have it. If you see Elissa, tell her that I bid her get some sleep as well. She has been a great help to me this night.”

At the mention of Elissa’s name, something in his eyes lit up, just the smallest bit, and I thought again that some regard had begun to grow between the two of them. I could only hope that they would both be able to live, and thrive, and go on to learn something more of one another.

In the meantime, though, I was content to see Raifal give me a little bow and then go as I bade him. For myself, I took the chair he had vacated and drew it a little nearer to Shaine’s bedside. I knew I should wake him and give him the medicine he needed, but he slept so soundly that I was loath to rouse him. Slumber has its own healing properties, that mysterious time when the body can draw in upon itself and use its own resources to combat whatever ailed it. Surely it would not hurt to give him a little more time. For if he woke, and was lucid, I knew I would have to tell him of Auren, and that I did not wish to do. Not yet.

So I sat there, with the light of the morning sun painting his fine jaw and cheekbone with its golden brush, and waited, and called myself a coward.
 

Chapter 19

I will not lie and say I did not doze from time to time; I felt my head fall down toward my breast more than once, and on each occasion I jerked upward, startled at how easily the dark cloak of sleep had attempted to spread itself around me. And still Lord Shaine slept, and again I wondered if I should wake him. At least no one came to disturb me, and so I thought that perhaps the medicine had begun to do its work, and the need for me was not as great as it had been a few hours earlier.
 

But then his eyes opened. He blinked against the morning light, and stared upward as if not sure of where he was. After a pause he shifted ever so slightly, and I saw his eyes fasten on me. “Merys.”

His voice was hoarse, but I could discern no trace of a cough, and none of the frightening slurring of the night before. All good signs, I told myself.

“Some water, my lord?”

He nodded, although a slight frown etched his brow. I rose from my seat and went to pour him a half-mug of water from the pitcher that had been sitting on a side table. I did not recall bringing it out. One of the slaves must have brought it up at some point during the night. As I tilted the pitcher, I noted that my hand trembled. Weariness, or nerves?

Whichever it was, I knew I could not delay. I crossed the room and took my seat once again, and helped him to a semi-setting position so he could drink without spilling the liquid down his front. When he had swallowed a few much-needed sips, I said, “And I have some medicine I would like you to take. You’re the last—everyone else has had their dose, but I thought it best to let you sleep while you could.”

When he spoke, the words sounded less rough than before. The water must have done him some good. “Medicine? I thought there was no treatment for the plague.”

I hesitated. It was one thing to speak of goddesses to Elissa, who was young and credulous. I did not know how Shaine would take such tales; he had never been one to speak much of the gods. In that way we had been much alike. Perhaps we would have time later for me to tell him the whole story. Whether he would believe me or not, I had no clear idea, although he did know that I was the level-headed sort not much given to fancies. Physicians could not afford to think in such ways—we must focus on the here and now, and what will work best for our patients.
 

“It is—something I wished to try, based on some of the treatments we developed at my Order,” I said after a pause of several seconds. “It will take some time for me to know for sure how it is working, but I’ve had no new reports of anyone else sickening since I gave everyone their measure.”

For a time he was silent, staring down at the shape of his legs beneath the layers of blankets. He placed one hand on his groin, as if to feel the blanket there, and his lips thinned.

“Is there much pain?” I asked. I needed to inspect the incision, to make sure it had stayed clear of infection, but that could wait a bit more.

“Not much. You cut the boil, I assume.”

“Yes, my lord. There was nothing else I could do, and I thought—”

“You did what you had to, as always.” He shifted on the pillows and made an odd impatient gesture with one hand. To be laid up again, so soon after he had recovered from that knife wound, probably chafed, but of course his temporary incapacitation was far better than the alternative. “How many?”

“My lord?”

“Stop that, Merys.” The dark blue eyes caught mine, and held. They were clear enough, with none of the glassiness of fever. “With all that has happened, you still call me ‘lord’? If it comforts you to do so in front of others, then do not abandon the practice immediately, but you have no need of such things when we are alone.”

“Yes…Shaine.”

“How many have we lost, Merys?”

I took in a breath. If I stopped to count them, then I would guess that roughly half of Donnishold’s denizens had not survived the night. No one had had time to take a formal count, however—we had all been too busy trying to keep those who were yet alive from succumbing as well. But I knew I must answer him as honestly as I could. Somehow I managed to hold his gaze and said, “Ourrel is gone, and Merime…but you knew that. Four of the boys from the stable, and roughly half the dye hut workers, as well as the field hands. Lady Yvaine, and young Lord Larol.” At that Shaine shut his eyes, his mouth tightening to a narrow line.
 

“That is a blow,” he said. A few heartbeats passed, then, “And what of my daughter?”

It was the hardest thing I had ever done, to not look away. Once again tears stung my eyes, and I replied, in barely a whisper, “She is gone, my lord. We all did what we could, but she had already been through so much these past months, and—”

“I understand.” The words might have been spoken by a stranger, so harsh they sounded. He turned away from me then, to stare up at the swaths of dark fabric that hung above his bed. “Tell me nothing more, Merys. I do not wish to hear it.”

“She—she did not suffer overmuch—”

“I said I did not wish to hear it!” This time he forced himself up on his elbows, and then winced at the pain the movement must have caused him. Still looking away from me, he added, “Give me this medicine, and then go. I wish to be alone.”

There were times when I found it necessary for me to push my suit, and others when retreat was the best option. From his tone I knew that any more comments or protests would be met with more anger, and so I said quietly, “If you wish it,” and retrieved the mostly empty flagon of the mold mixture from my satchel and poured him a measure with my last clean spoon. He took it without saying anything else, but only gestured toward the mug of water I had set down. No doubt he wished to wash the taste of the tincture from his mouth. I handed him the mug, waited for him to drink the rest of it, and took it from him. Afterward I stood and returned it to its place on the side table, and busied myself with replacing the flagon and spoon in my satchel.

As I gathered it up, however, I ventured, “I do not think it a good idea for you to be alone—”

“Oh, I am quite out of danger,” he cut in. “See to the rest of your flock, Mistress Merys. They have far more need of you than I.”

There seemed to be little I could say in reply to that. I only murmured, “As you wish,” and left him staring up at the ceiling. Still there remained the matter of checking the dressings on his wound, but that would have to wait. At least he had taken the medicine.
 

Somehow it seemed more difficult for me to descend the stairs than it had been for me to climb them. The dreamlike state was gone, replaced by the cold realities of the morning after. Grief came in many shapes and forms; I had seen enough of it over the years. But it had never struck so close to home before. It was always a sad thing to lose a patient, but it was also a reality of a physician’s life. I could not save everyone. But those I had watched over in my time since leaving the shelter of the Order’s house in Lystare had never been as close to me as those here in Donnishold. Every death was as a loss in my own family, and if it pained me that much, I couldn’t begin to think how it must be for Shaine, who had lost his only child—the daughter who had survived, when all her siblings and her mother had left this world far too soon.
 

It would take some time, I tried to tell myself. Of course he could not be expected to react in any sort of rational way right now—he was still recovering from a severe illness himself, and although I guessed he would never have been able to accept the death of his beloved daughter with any sort of equanimity, it was all the more difficult now when so much of his strength should have been devoted to his own recovery.
 

So I tried to convince myself, and it must have worked. Either that, or I was so weary myself that I did not have the strength to begin to understand what his words might have meant. Did he blame me, as young Alcia blamed me for the death of her brother and mother? It was not completely unexpected, I supposed. People tend to think that healers, once they have cured one ill, are somehow magically able to cure them all. But in the end, there was very little I could have done. Perhaps if I had grasped what my dreams had meant earlier, and created the medicine as soon as I got back from Lord Arnad’s estate. I was not a priestess or a seer, though. How could I have known those dreams were anything but the normal jumble that passes through our minds as we sleep?

I stumbled a little as I stepped off the bottom stair and entered the hall. At once Ruanne came to me, her steady hand guiding me to a nearby chair. “You must get some rest, mistress. You are not ill?”

“No.”
Sick at heart, and weary beyond endurance, but not ill.
“I have just told Lord Shaine of his daughter’s passing. He…did not take it well.”

Her dark eyes glittered with companionable tears. “A tragedy, mistress, but he’ll come to accept it. But now you should sleep.”

I shook my head. “I cannot. There are so many thing I must look into—”

“What?” she inquired, tone skeptical. “No one has sickened, and most of those who were given their medicine are sleeping. True, Master Wilys is fretting, and he seems so hale I’m of half a mind to tell him to get out of bed and go help in the kitchen, only I misdoubt he’d like to hear such a thing from a slave. So the best thing you could do for everyone is to sleep—and eat something,” she added, giving me a critical glance. “You look as if you’re about to fall over, begging your pardon.”

“No need for that,” I replied. Something in her friendly, no-nonsense words made me very much want to burst into tears. It felt wonderful to have someone worrying about me, and inquiring as to my welfare. I knew if I began to articulate these thoughts, however, most likely I would begin sobbing, and that would only alarm her and force me into explanations I wasn’t sure I could begin to make. I continued, “I do feel as if I am about to fall over, to tell you the truth. Is there a spare corner where I could curl up for a bit? I confess that I am not sure I could climb all those stairs back to my room.”
And pass Shaine’s rooms…and the room where poor Auren sleeps forever.

Sympathy was clear in her lined but still pretty face. “No need for that, mistress. I’ve a spare bed here that hasn’t been used—someone brought it in for one of the dye girls, not knowing that the poor dear had succumbed before she ever made it in here. You sleep, and let us manage for a bit.”

Something in me wanted to argue with her, to protest that I should not lie in sloth while there was so much yet to be done, but I found I had no strength for any further protests. She led me over to the pallet, and helped me down onto it. I had barely placed my head on the pillow and shut my eyes before darkness washed over me, and the hall and all its inhabitants disappeared in a deep flood of slumber.
   

If I had hoped that sleep would lead me to another meeting with the goddess, then I was to be disappointed in that hope, for I had no dreams at all, only a period of deep blackness that might have resembled the slide into death itself. The indifferent observer might be amused by what would seem from the outside to be an abrupt about-face, from skeptic to believer. In answer I can only say that those who have not had an encounter with Inyanna—or indeed, any of the gods—cannot know what it is like, to be faced with something one had not thought to exist, and to realize that there are far greater powers at work in the world than one might ever have guessed.

But although I had relented in my disbelief, I was not to be rewarded with a return visit. Whatever advice and guidance the goddess had seen fit to grant, it appeared she was not inclined to give me anything else. And when I rose from my pallet some hours later—almost twelve hours, to be exact, with the next day well begun—I did so not knowing what was to come next.

As it turned out, those slaves who were able had joined Ruanne in the kitchen, and had set about following my instructions to force another batch of moldy bread. From that it was simple enough to concoct another batch, and once again dose the castle’s inhabitants, most of whom appeared to be on the mend. Those who were not I treated with the same homely remedies I always used to assuage a fever or quiet a cough, and I gave them more of the broth, hoping that the repeat application was what they needed to send them on the road to recovery. But no one had died, and no one else had come down sick, so it seemed the goddess’s hand had guided me truly in this. I should have been feeling relieved.