Chapter 48 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

Badly Healed Wounds

Ellika was unnaturally glum as she followed Glaes through the wards, though she tried to be good. They went to any patient who called to them, and did as Glaes had said they would. Ellika dutifully read letters and books to some, wrote letters for others, smiled charmingly at everyone no matter how putrid, and even held a few hands. But she drew the line at kissing anyone. “I don’t care how lonely they are,” she said firmly.

“Very well,” said Glaes, leading Ellika up the broad flight of stairs to the third floor. “Your presence alone cheers them up, your highness.”

“Because I’m a princess?”

“Because you’re a pretty young girl smiling at them,” answered Glaes with a chuckle. “Most of them don’t know who you are. You surprise me that you’ve done this much this graciously. I thought you would put up more of a fight.”

“Ah, well,” sighed Ellika, smoothing out her plain striped dress. “This is at once harder than I thought it would be and easier.” Glaes prompted her with a questioning brow. “Well, I mean, I don’t like sick people. I don’t like being around sick people. I don’t want to be here, at all. But knowing I have to be here and I can’t get out of it--well, one just does what one has to do. Then one can get through it and go do something one likes.”

“Just so,” said Glaes.

“You don’t like this either?” said Ellika.

Glaes laughed softly. “When I first became a postulant, I hated it. Absolutely hated it. But now it’s my favorite duty.”

“Why?” said Ellika, genuinely curious.

“Because no house needs the touch of the Lovers more than the Healer’s House. Here, even the littlest care you show someone has immediate benefit. We do more good here than anywhere else, I believe.” Glaes opened the wide swinging doors to the fourth ward. “I trust you can get through this ward on your own. I will go next door to the third ward. When you’re finished, come find me.”

Ellika walked into the high-ceilinged room, her footsteps echoing slightly. Was anyone actually in this ward? Most of the curtained-off beds were empty; the few patients were fast asleep. They were to a person swaddled in bandages and plaster. This must be where the most severely injured were brought, she thought.
Finally, at the back of the ward, she saw a young man in the soft cotton trousers and shirt in which the Healer’s House clothed the male petitioners. The young man was sitting up in a chair beside his bed, with a laprobe over his legs; he looked spindly, a good-sized man who’d apparently had a long convalescence. His nose was crooked, but he was rather handsome in an unaristocratic way. His hair was a dark reddish-brown, and he was dusted with freckles. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t place who; in fact, he looked positively familiar.

The young man looked up. His eyes were a soft blue; they opened wide when he saw her, as if startled. But he quickly schooled his face into a neutral, almost hostile expression. “Yes?” he said.

Ellika lifted her brows, but gave him her best sympathetic smile. “I’m here as a devotee of the Lovers,” she began.

“Where’s Glaes Beloved?”

“She’s in another ward. My name is Ellika--”

“I know who you are, your highness,” he bit out.

“Oh! Well,” said Ellika uncertainly. Never in her life had anyone not been glad to see her--or at least, never in her life had anyone made it that obvious. “I--is there anything you need, anything I can do for you? Do you have any letters you need read to you, or letters you need written for you?”

“Thank you for your concern, ma’am,” he said sardonically. “But as it happens, I am a university student. I realize the nobility prefers its underclasses illiterate. I’m so very sorry to disappoint.”

Ellika looked as if he’d slapped her. “I do beg your pardon, sir!” she said stiffly, turning to leave.

The young man winced and reached out, tugging at her skirts. “Please, forgive me,” he said humbly. “Please don’t go.” She turned around reluctantly and clasped her hands in front of her, her mouth set in a pretty little line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, but I don’t feel terribly well today and it makes me cross. Please,” he said, beginning to struggle to his feet, “take the chair and I’ll go back to bed.”

“Nonsense,” Ellika said briskly, surprising herself; her tone was exactly that of her old Nurse. Where had that come from? “Nonsense,” she repeated, pushing him gently but firmly back into the chair. “You’re staying where you are. It’s your chair. I can make myself quite comfortable here,” she said, perching on the edge of his pallet and adding conspiratorially, “as long as you don’t tell stories about having a princess in your bed.” That had the usual, desired effect; he blushed and smiled up at her, and she sat back in satisfaction. “Now, then, let’s begin again. I’m Ellika. What’s your name?”

“Bernid Wallek,” he said, extending his hand.

She took it in her own and gave it a gentle shake. “Mr Wallek, I’m very glad to meet you,” she said. “Now, tell me how you came to be here.”

When Temmin returned to his rooms after lunch, he’d almost expected the Teacher not to be there. His tutor had been extremely upset, and perhaps embarrassed by that display of emotion; Temmin never could read what was going on behind those gray eyes.

But silhouetted against the windows was the now-familiar black figure, and his relief at the sight surprised him. “For a moment, I thought you might not be coming back,” Temmin said tentatively.

“What?” said the Teacher, turning back from the windows. “Whyever wouldn’t I?”

“Well! You seemed rather--disturbed,” he said, sliding into his library chair.

“I was rather disturbed, but that’s hardly a reason to interrupt our lessons. Are you ready to work?”

“If you are,” said Temmin with a little frown. He picked up the book and opened it.

Temmin came to; the sun was still high. “Get something to eat. I’ll be back after tea,” said Teacher shortly. “I want to get through this today.”

Temmin watched the black robe flow through the door, then sighed. When Jenks came in with his tea and his post, Temmin said, “Jenks, who founded the royal armies?”

Jenks blinked in surprise. “The cavalry and infantry? Tremont didn’t have its own standing army until 638. Harsin the Third founded it.”

“Harsin the Third was six in 638.”

Jenks shrugged. “And you were the Duke of Whithorse at age four, your highness, at which point you added private bathrooms to the residential wing of the great house. Or rather, your mother did in your name. Why, sir?”

“Well, who did it for Harsin the Third, then?”

“What is that bat teaching you, sir? The Coucil of Regents, of course,” said Jenks, shaking his head. “Now, eat something. I worry that Temple isn’t feeding you right, you asking silly questions like that.”