At last summer came again, and the outside temperature grew to be uncomfortable. Plants wilted in the heat, though they were constantly watered by their caretakers. Bars and inns began doing a roaring trade in cold drinks, serving workers, soldiers, nobles, and commoners alike. The heat spared nobody in its oppressive rule.
Even with the coming of spring and summer though, the queen remained in ill health. Every now and then she would recover enough to visit friends or leave the royal apartments for a few hours. But within a few days, she would sink back into the same recurring, wasting illness. She was all skin and bone now, frailer and paler than ever before.
As a result, Relam spent much of his time trying to help his mother back to health. His father had a kingdom to run, of course, and knew little of healing in the first place. The royal healers did as much as they could, but Relam insisted on taking over simple tasks for them, helping where he could and learning along the way.
Eventually, the day approached when Relam would begin training with Oreius. He had heard nothing from the old man in the interim, and Tar had not mentioned him to Relam when he visited the training ground. But the prince thought it safe to assume that Oreius would still train him. Which meant in less than two weeks his year of freedom would be over.
Nine days before his training was due to begin, Relam rose early and ate breakfast with his father. As soon as the king had left, the prince quietly slipped into his mother’s room, sitting down beside a bleary-eyed healer.
“Any change?” he asked quietly.
The healer blinked and straightened a little, peering owlishly at Relam from behind thick spectacles in danger of falling from his long nose. “No,” he replied in a reedy voice. “There has been no change, your highness. The queen sleeps fitfully, and her strength continues to fade.”
Relam sighed heavily and took his mother’s hand, hanging alongside the bed. He felt for a pulse at the wrist and his heart caught in his throat. The pulse was there, but it was so very weak that Relam had almost missed it.
“Is there nothing you can do?” he asked quietly.
The healer shrugged. “We are doing everything we can,” he replied eventually. “Potions, medicines, fragrances, oils, balms - everything we know of. Every so often she recovers and we think maybe we have won, but invariably we end up back here again.” He shrugged helplessly again, and lapsed into silence.
“Perhaps we can change out healers,” Relam growled, thrusting his head forward belligerently.
The healer stiffened angrily, and despite his apparent exhaustion, there was steel in his voice. “I am the best, your highness. Your mother could not be in better care. Besides, would you trust anyone else? I have been the royal healer for thirty years and your family has enemies.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Of course not,” the healer replied indignantly. “Merely a statement of fact.
Relam sighed again and sank back in his chair, closing his eyes. It was no use getting angry with the healer, for Relam knew the man was doing his very best. The prince had seen him at his craft, day in and day out. What Relam felt most keenly was helplessness. All he could do was watch, wait, and hope.
Someone knocked tentatively on the door and it creaked open a few centimeters. “Your highness?” a voice called gently.
Relam stood and went to the door. It was Narin, looking in through the narrow opening, his face lined and worried. “Yes?” Relam asked.
“The Lady Thius is here, asking to see the queen.”
Relam nodded. He had expected as much. Cevet’s mother had been a frequent visitor in the past months. But his mother had never been quite so weak before.
The prince glanced back at his mother, still and frail. “The queen is indisposed,” he replied.
Narin nodded patiently. “Perhaps you would speak with her instead?”
Relam eased through the gap in the door and out into the main room. The door to the hallway was open, and he could see Lady Thius hovering anxiously in the hallway, a large pot in her hands.
“Lady Thius,” Relam said as warmly as he could. “Welcome back.”
“Your highness,” she murmured, curtsying slightly. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” Relam agreed, glancing at Narin.
Lady Thius moved smartly into the room and Narin closed the door behind her. “Is your mother any better, your highness?” she asked immediately.
The prince shook his head gravely. “No. She sleeps now, and she is very weak. I-” He trailed off, making a helpless little gesture.
Lady Thius reached out and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know how hard this is for you,” she murmured. “I lost both of my parents, many years ago. And your mother was always kind to me, a good friend.”
Relam nodded wordlessly, looking back at the closed door to his mother’s room.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Cevet’s mother continued. “That such good people suffer so much. But it is the way of this world.” She shook herself, curls bouncing, then held out the pot to Narin. “I brought this, for when she does wake.”
Relam accepted the pot, sniffing at the steam wafting from it. “Another stew? You are too kind.”
“Anything to help,” Lady Thius replied.
“Thank you,” Relam said graciously, setting the stew on a low table. “We’ll see that she gets it.
