“It’s the least I can do,” Lady Thius whispered sadly. “If she gets any better will you let me know?”
“You have my word,” Relam promised with a slight smile.
Lady Thius nodded, gave another sad little smile, then turned and left. Narin closed the door gently behind her. “She’s a rare gem among nobles,” the guard commander observed. “I doubt any of the others can even cook for themselves anymore.”
“Yes,” Relam agreed. “She’s a lot like Cevet. Pity they haven’t rubbed off on Lord Thius at all.” He grinned at Narin, remembering the disastrous meeting the previous year.
“Nothing new on that front, is there?” Narin asked, obviously thinking along the same lines.
“The Assembly has gone quiet for many months now,” Relam replied. “My father told them off pretty well at the last meeting. Besides, most of their so-called grievances are being resolved. The river is starting to get cleaner, finally, and the harbor patrols have been expanded. The bandits in the woods are all but gone now, and projects are getting started to help the west side of Etares.”
“Not bad,” Narin observed. “That’s every demand save the taxes, which was ludicrous to begin with.”
“Yes,” Relam agreed fervently. “Imagine, all their wealth and they want a reduction in taxes. They should pay the same percent as anyone else. It’s not our fault they make so much more than the peasants.”
“Maybe we should agree to reduce their taxes if they contribute to some public works,” Narin suggested. “Like housing or food for the west side or something.”
“That would have to be closely regulated.”
“But it might be worth it.”
“I think it’s too complicated,” Relam muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “But you can suggest it to my father if you want. He’ll at least hear you out. Anything to keep the Assembly off his back.”
Narin grunted, then lifted the still-warm pot of stew from the table. “We should give this to the healer, in case your mother wakes soon.”
“Here, I’ll do it,” Relam said immediately, taking the pot. “You have more important things to attend to than menial errands, Narin. Like being the commander of the palace guard. Have you heard anything recently?”
“No new threats, your highness. But my network is still keeping their ears to the ground, and the palace guards are always on high alert.”
“Keep it up, Narin.”
“Of course, your highness.”
Relam gently opened the door to his mother’s room and slipped inside. The healer was still sitting there, watching the queen carefully. He looked up as Relam entered, frowning at the pot he carried.
“Your mother sleeps, your highness,” he informed the prince. “She is in no condition to eat right now.”
Relam set the pot down on a low table, careful not to knock over any of the myriad of healing supplies cluttering the surface. “Lady Thius brought another stew,” he explained. “Thought that perhaps it would help her back to health.”
“If she ever wakes long enough to eat it,” the healer sighed. “I do not think she will wake on her own for some time.”
“Should we wake her ourselves to get her to eat?”
The healer considered this. “She needs nourishment,” he said finally. “And by the smell of that stew, it is just the sort of nourishment she needs.”
Relam laid a gentle hand on his mother’s shoulder and shook her. “Mother?”
She stirred slightly, but did not wake. Relam shook her again with no result. The healer frowned and shook her as well. “Your majesty?”
The queen stirred again and her eyes fluttered open. “Is something the matter?” she mumbled. “I was having the strangest dream.”
“Everything’s fine, mother,” Relam assured her. “The Lady Thius was asking after you a moment ago. She brought one of her stews to nourish you.”
The queen smiled wanly. “Jeselle’s stews are famous for their healing properties. It hasn’t gone cold has it?”
“No,” Relam replied, grinning as he lifted the lid from the pot. The aroma quickly filled the room, setting Relam’s mouthwatering. He grabbed a bowl and filled it deftly, careful not to spill droplets of broth over the table.
“That looks wonderful,” his mother murmured. Relam knelt at her side and began to spoon feed her. She accepted his help, weak as she was.
“Are you feeling any stronger?” the healer asked, leaning over the queen as well.
“No,” Relam’s mother murmured. “My strength . . . is all but gone.”
“You just need rest,” Relam said, his throat tightening painfully. He spooned more of the stew into his mother’s mouth. “That’s all.”
“I’ve . . . been resting,” she muttered faintly.
A short time later, Relam scraped the last spoonful out of the bottom of the bowl. Hardly had his mother swallowed it, then she was asleep again, her breath shallow and uneven.
“She’s worse,” Relam whispered, begging the healer to contradict him.
The healer nodded gravely. “Yes. I don’t understand it. No matter what we do she just continues to . . . fade.”
Relam blinked back tears and set the bowl down on the table again. “I’ll be back,” he told the healer, his voice breaking slightly, betraying him.
The healer said nothing, merely continued his vigil over the queen. Relam stumbled from the room, frustrated, scared, and angry. His vision blurred and swam, and he sank into one of the armchairs around the fire, burying his face in his hands. Hot tears trickled over his fingers and splashed to the floor.
This is wrong, Relam thought, staring at the floor through a watery haze. This is all wrong.
“It’s not fair,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to look into the flames. There was no one more gentle or caring, no woman better suited to rule alongside his father. Compared to the ladies of other houses . . . well, there was no comparison, except perhaps to Lady Thius.
Relam ground
