“Are you saying that they might have been Wrannaman arrows?” Etan asked.
“No! Goodness, no, although there are clans who do use poison. But our arrows are much too small to make such holes as you say she had when she was brought in from the Kynswood, and our bows would never have penetrated her flesh so deeply—they are for close-up work, birds and snakes and other small animals. Those wounds were made with war arrows.”
Thelía had finished examining the patient’s wounds, which had largely healed, though the fever still would not release her. “And poisoned, too, perhaps. Does any other tribe or people that you know use such things on their arrows?”
“Poison? I cannot speak for this Sitha’s own people or their cousins the Norns,” said Tiamak. “And that is a problem not easily overcome—we have so little knowledge of her race in their ordinary state of being. But there are others in the lands below Nabban where mortals once used poison on their arrows when they went to war—or when they carried out a killing and wished to make certain the victim did not survive. He frowned. “In fact, now that I think on it, there are clans in the Thrithings, especially in the Lake Thrithings, who used to make a poison just to smear on arrowheads. They called it Demon’s Helmet—you know it as wolfsbane. But I did not think it was still in use.”
Etan felt suddenly queasy. “If this is wolfsbane that has poisoned her, there is no cure!”
“We knew already that she was beyond our physicking,” said Lady Thelía.
“I am sad to say that my good wife is correct.” Tiamak shook his head. “But there might be some value in a very, very small amount of foxglove being given to her.”
“Foxglove? You mean that thing the children call Fairy Houses? But that is a poison, too.”
“As you know, Brother, many things are poisonous in one measure but helpful in another,” said Tiamak. “And in any case, I am sadly certain it will not cure her, but perhaps it will give her a bit more life and even bring her back enough that she can speak to us a little before the end.” He shrugged. “I can think of nothing else. Wife, can you?”
“No,” she said. “I will prepare the foxglove for you—I have a little in the herb garden.” So, after pulling the covers back over the pallid, motionless Sitha, Lady Thelía went out.
“My wife and her garden could kill me five times at a single breakfast, if she so chose,” said Tiamak with a smile that surprised Etan—it did not seem like a light matter. “It is a capital reason to be a good husband, did I not have enough reasons already.” He felt the Sitha woman’s forehead once more, then turned away. “And you said there was something else you wished to speak to me about, Brother?”
Etan had been waiting with as much patience as he could muster to tell him about the book he had found in Prince John Josua’s effects. “Yes, my lord. While you were gone, Lord Chancellor Pasevalles asked me if I would go to look at some books of the late Prince John Josua’s. Princess Idela wondered if we might want them for the library.”
“That was kind of her,” said Tiamak. “But I thought we had all of John Josua’s books.”
“Apparently not, my lord. She has at least one chest you haven’t seen before. Of that I am sure, because of what I found there.”
As Etan described the discovery of A Treatise on the Aetheric Whispers and what he knew of its author, Fortis the Recluse, Tiamak listened with an unusual, remote expression. Etan could not help wondering if he had got things wrong somehow, if the book was not, in fact, the infamous object he had been so certain about.
“. . . And so I have it now, my lord, hidden in the engineers’ drawing room,” he concluded, “though I do not like to leave it there. I have gone back to examine Prince John Josua’s possessions again, and although I did not find anything that made me fearful like the Treatise, I must confess there are several other volumes that I didn’t recognize, and many of which I cannot even identify the language in which they’re written. Did I do wrong?”
Tiamak was silent for a while and Etan grew ever more certain that he had made some mistake.
“Have you told anyone else about this book?” the little man finally asked. “Did you say anything of it to Princess Idela?”
“No. I did not want her worried. I meant to tell Lord Pasevalles, but we were interrupted.”
Tiamak nodded. “I would like to see it. I have heard of it, although I have heard very little. I did not know that the church considered it such a dreadful thing.”
“It has been on the proscribed list for two centuries, my lord.” Etan made the sign of the Holy Tree. “Even having it . . . I fear that I endanger my soul.”
To Etan’s great relief, Tiamak did not laugh or even smile. “You have clearly been under much strain of late. I can see it in your face, Brother.”
“It frightens me,” he confessed. “Just knowing it is in the castle frightens me, but it is worse having possession of it myself.”
Tiamak nodded. “I understand, but of course I cannot tell you whether you are right to fear. It was very difficult for me, in my old life, to get much news of the things other scholars did. I only heard what my friends in the League of the Scroll told me and what I could learn from the few wise folk I could find in Kwanitupul. I do not know if the Church is right or wrong to be so concerned with the bishop’s book, but as I said, I would certainly like to see it. Can you bring it to me later tonight?”
“I’m afraid I will not be free until after evening prayers at the cathedral, my lord.”
Now Tiamak did smile. “Until this evening, then. In the meantime, I must help my wife do what we can for this poor woman, and then I have business with the king and queen.”
Etan sensed that he had been released, or even dismissed, but he could not help lingering. “One more question, Lord Tiamak?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you see the Norns that attacked the royal company? The ones the northerners call White Foxes? Are they as fearsome as legend makes them?”
“I did not see them this time, no. He Who Always Steps On Sand was watching out for me that evening, and I was far from the fighting. But I have seen them before—seen them in this very castle, in the last days of the Storm King’s War. I do not know about the book you found, Brother Etan, and its apparently black history, but I can promise you that the stories about the Norns are true—they are fierce, they are clever, and they hate us. Yes, the White Foxes are to be feared. May the heavens grant we never see them in our lands again.”
Suddenly wishing he had not asked, Etan made the sign of the Tree again before he went out.
“I’m sorry everything is still in such a muddle,” Jeremias said. “It’s been very . . . things have been . . .”
“Things have been a muddle for all of us,” Simon told him. “Don’t worry.”
“It’s just that . . .” Jeremias broke off, his eye caught by Miriamele, who was being helped out of her dress behind a screen by two of her ladies in waiting. She saw him and gave him a look, which made him redden.
“Master of the Bedchamber is a title of honor, Jeremias,” she said, her gown halfway down her shoulders. She wore only a shift underneath. “You don’t actually have to stay with us.”
Jeremias turned an even deeper shade of pink. “I beg your pardon, Majesty.”
“Yes, it truly has been a long day,” Simon said, wondering why Jeremias would not take the hint. “Everyone is tired.”
“I just wanted to thank you. For including me in the Inner Council.”
Simon waved his hand. “You have always been a good friend, Jeremias, and you saved my life on the Frostmarch Road. I intend to give you more honor—and responsiblities, too, never fear. But I notice you didn’t say much.”
The Lord Chamberlain shrugged and would not look up at him. At times, he seemed little more than the awkward youth of Simon’s own childhood, somehow transported into the thickening body of a middle-aged man. “What would I have to say? I keep track of food and linens. I don’t know anything about making war.”
“Please, Jeremias,” said Miriamele, her voice a little impatient. “Nobody is going to make war, at least we hope not. We simply have to be prepared for what may happen. Just like you with your linens and food.”
Jeremias was looking at the floor, but squared his shoulders. “Still, you have been good to me, Simon. You both have.”
Simon could tell he wanted to say something else, but the king had been listening to people all day long and he was dizzy with talk. “You’re my friend and always will be, Jem. Now, would you please accompany the queen’s ladies to the outer room? We’d like to go to bed.”
Jeremias looked stricken. “Of course! I’m sorry, it’s late. I wasn’t thinking.”