Chapter 5 No.5

What man would choose a half-breed back-water provincial Lady over a Royal Princess indeed, she wondered. But then, Sylvin was no ordinary man.

"We shall see," she retorted with more bravado than she felt. "Was there anything else, My Lord?" She inhaled sharply, the scent of him a bitter bite that clung to the back of her throat with lingering flavour. She recognised the chemical nature of it. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your posey pipe, Lord Rithelwen," she added, her lip curling up from her canines.

Lord Rithelwen's nostrils flared with displeasure. "Careful, Yelena," he cautioned his voice quiet and dangerous. "Such observations might be taken for human magic, and we all know your heritage..."

"I am Fae," she told him. "As much as most of the nobility of this land, our Kings included. No family tree is untouched by humans."

"Perhaps," his concession wasn't one. "But not many so closely."

"Are we done?" She held his eyes. "I believe I have a missive from my husband this day, and I am eager to read it's contents," she lied, because Sylvin never wrote. She did not know if he could – if he knew enough of the Fae or Human tongues in order to write. His words had always been few and far between.

"I'm surprised that he managed to send something considering how busy he has been," Lord Rithelwen commented, obviously seeing through her lie. "I would be keen to hear his views of how the war progresses and how soon we can expect victory."

"I will let you know what he says," she refused to flinch.

A pair of maids, coming down the spiral servants' stairs, laughing, fell silent as they came upon them. They dropped curtseys to her with murmured: "My Lady."

Yelena raised her eyebrows at Lord Rithelwen. "My housekeeper will be along any moment," she told him. "To see what keeps me."

"Forgive me," he eased back. "I would not want to inconvenience you... My Lady," his tone was heavy with menace.

She hurried to the kitchen door, only glancing over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold.

He remained, glowering at her.

In the kitchen, the housekeeper, Arithen, looked up as Yelena entered. Arithen was working dough against the scarred wooden table. A stew was simmering over the hearth, and a scattering of maids and kitchen hands were employed scrubbing and peeling.

"My Lady?" Arithen raised her eyebrows.

"The vultures gather," Yelena told her. "I seek sanctuary in your kingdom, whilst I prepare this brew for my father," she laid the chamomile out onto the table.

"Hmm," Arithen eyed off the herb. "If you do not need all of that, My Lady, our evening meal will be better for it."

Yelena divided her harvest into half, and wielded a knife on her half, cutting the flowers, leaves and stems into an unrecognisable mince. She scooped the mince into a square of linen, and twisted it tight, until the herbs wept through the cloth, the droplets falling into a bowl held ready below.

"Have you ever heard of a Fae falling ill?" She asked Arithen under her breath.

The Fae housekeeper's eyes flicked to Yelena's and down to the dough that she kneaded beneath her powerful arms. "We fall ill, My Lady. No creature is utterly free of ailment."

"Like this, though."

There was a long silence and the housekeeper frowned as she worked the dough. "No," she admitted. "Not like this. Fae do not endure ailments like the humans. We eat sour fruit and suffer a stomach upset. We sneeze in the spring when the air is heavy with pollen. We suffer fever from a festering wound..."

"This is different," Yelena said what they both knew.

"Yes, My Lady."

When she was certain that every herbal tear had been gathered, Yelena discarded the cloth and contents onto the fire. She took a cup of water, and the bowl of faintly green liquid and set both onto a tray, along with a serve of oatmeal which congealed on the hook by the fire. She added berries, honey, and a dash of milk from the cows to make the oatmeal more appealing and took the tray with her back to the main hall.

The villagers had departed, having given up on their aspirations for payment, and she climbed the stairs unbothered, ignoring that the carpet that had once glowed in vibrant hues now blended almost with the stone, mud and ash dulling its threads, and the under-weaving showing through where the surface had worn away underfoot.

A shutter banged somewhere, blown by the window, and its thud was a weakened heartbeat of a keep crumbling away beneath her. The tighter that she clutched at it, the swifter it sifted through her grasp. Like her husband, her lover, falling through her fingers like water, like sand. Her efforts to hold it futile.

For a moment, she paused outside her father's door, despair like the tear of fingernails through her chest, tears rising to her eyes. She wanted to give beneath the pressure, beneath the un-ending pain. If she caved beneath it, it would become someone else's burden. She did not know, however, onto whose shoulders that burden would fall, there were so few left to carry it.

She fought back the tears, shaking her head from side to side in stubborn refusal to cave, and she bared her teeth, sucking in her breath as she composed herself.

"A moment," she told herself. "It is just a moment, a moment in time."

When she was certain she had her emotions under control she balanced the tray onto her hip and opened the door into her father's chambers. The Lord's and the Lady's chambers were connected by a central door, but her mother's chamber had long been vacant and gathering dust.

Her father was barely distinguishable from his bedding. For a moment as she carried the tray across to a table set by the bed, she could not make him out, and her heart began to race for the mound that he made seemed not to move, and then he coughed, and she had never been so grateful for that sound of illness.

"How are you today, father?" She asked.

He pushed himself to sitting, leaning heavily against the bed head and holding a handkerchief to his mouth as his movement caused his cough to shake through him. He looked, she thought, older than his years, his skin grey tinged, his eyes shadowed. There was a sour smell to the room, of illness and decay.

"Better," he said summoning up a smile. "Much better."

He lied. They both knew that he lied. She mixed water and the herb's tears together and used her magic to heat it until the air was scented with underripe apple and something more bitter. She carried the cup to his bedside and waited until he took it from her hands.

"Chamomile harvested in the first rays of the day," she told him. "After this you will feel more yourself."

Whilst he sipped the brew, she opened the shutters, washing out the sour scent of illness.

"I will be up and about in no time," he told her.

She leaned her forehead against the cold stone of the window lintels, looking down at the courtyard. In her memory's eyes, from the slightly altered perspective of the nursery window, she saw the arrival of a party of knights, and the tilt of a helm towards her.

"Yelena," her father murmured picking up on her melancholy.

She drew in a deep breath and plastered a bright smile on her face that did not reach her eyes. "I have some oatmeal for you, with honey and berries. After which, you should rest. Conserve your strength. Hopefully by afternoon, you will feel well enough to have a bath!"

"Are you telling me that I smell, daughter?" He teased.

"Would I do such a disrespectful thing?" She laughed.

"Absolutely."

As she eased the chamber door closed, she almost bumped into Arithen who held a bowl of steaming water. "The bread is on," Arithen flushed, embarrassed. "I thought I would help his Lordship bathe."

"He needs it," Yelena resisted teasing the housekeeper for her rather transparent attraction to Yelena's father. "He could do with a shave too," she added.

"Of course, My Lady," Arithen's lip curled with humour. They both knew that Arithen had kept the Lord's bed warm before this mysterious illness had rendered him too ill for such things. "Ah, I meant to tell you, My Lady. More guests arrived during the night," her eyes communicated the nature of the guests in case Yelena had been in any doubt. "They have been shown to the normal accommodation."

"Thank you," Yelena opened the door for the housekeeper and closed it behind her, before leaning back against the wood with a weary sigh. Just what she needed, she thought, more trouble.