“What does the king think of all this?”
“Gervase thinks the keeper of our ancient traditions has lost his mind. He won’t refuse to set the tests, though. It was already causing talk that he took twelve masked strangers into his service. He can’t afford to alienate the court any further.”
“He can’t?” It was hard to imagine my stepmother caring if she alienated the whole of Skalla. “Why not?”
Angelique paused. Her gaze flicked around the empty corridor, as if to make sure we were alone, before alighting back onme.
“He’s scarcely been king for two months. The troops are more loyal to their barons than to him. And the times are…tense.” Her mouth tightened into a thin hard line. “Watch your step while you’re here, wedding planner. And if you ever feel the need to flee, let me know. I might be able to help.”
She turned on her heel and strode onward. I followed, wondering exactly what kind of snakes’ nest my stepmother had shoved me into.
When we reached the chirurgeon’s surgery, it proved to be an untidy chamber deep in the bowels of the castle, reeking with horrible odors. The chirurgeon himself was a white-haired man with dirt crusted under his fingernails. He didn’t bother to wash his hands before examining me. I disliked him immediately, and the feeling soon became mutual.
He diagnosed my arm as sprained rather than broken and bound it competently enough. The haircut he offered was quick, rough, and uneven, but it still came as a relief since, after everything that had happened, my hair reached below my waist and was impossibly tangled, not to mention matted with pumpkin debris. It had become so heavy that I felt like I was floating with it gone.
But then, the chirurgeon took offense when I refused apoultice for the scratches on my shoulders. When I sniffed it, it smelled distinctly of pig dung. Since I likewise turned down the offered courses of leeches, laxatives, and purgatives, we fell into an argument while Angelique looked on with amusement.
“You,” he snapped, “are a silly cow who’s going to choke on her excess bile!”
“I’ll take my chances with that rather than bleed, shit, and vomit myself to death under your tender care.” I had a vague notion my responses might be a bit out of character for a handmaiden, but I couldn’t bring myself to stay silent. Very little offends me like subpar medical practice.
“If the two of you are done quarreling,” Angelique said drily, “might I ask for another treatment?”
The chirurgeon recovered the tattered shreds of his dignity and turned to Angelique with a much more solicitous air.
“How have your headaches been lately, my dear?” he asked.
“Not so bad as they sometimes are,” she replied. “I’ve nearly recovered from yesterday’s.”
He nodded and examined her skull for a few minutes before smearing a paste on her forehead that smelled of garlic and wormwood. I judged it harmless, though it was also completely useless. But I had to clench my jaw to keep from objecting when he applied a leech to her inner elbow. She wasn’t my patient. At least he hadn’t attempted to drill a hole in her head.
He waited until the paste grew crusty, then rinsed it off and told her if she came again the next day, he would prepare a lozenge. I shuddered to think what might be init.
“Have you suffered from headaches long?” I asked when we were back out in the hall.
“Since I was a child. Some days I can’t get out of bed.” She shrugged. “The chirurgeon does what he can, but nothing works well.”
“Where does it originate?” I couldn’t help myself. “What partof the head, I mean. And are they ever accompanied by nausea or distorted vision? Or by sensitivity to light and sound?”
“What an odd little duckling you are,” she said. “How did a handmaiden come by such strong opinions about medicine?”
I’d been right—I was being too assertive about this. I’d have to be more careful. “My parents were…” I hesitated. What made the most sense for the persona I’d created? Very few nobles become doctors, even the kind of minor noble who’d be chosen as a handmaiden. The chirurgeon certainly hadn’t struck me as being among the aristocracy. “They were interested in such matters,” I said. “Patrons of the local academy.”
“How fascinating.” She stopped before a stout wooden door and unlocked it with a key from her ring. “Here we are. The women’s wing. We’ll see about that bath and then find you a bed. One without any peas in the mattress.”
I hoped a warm bath could be arranged, but I sorely needed any bath at all, even a cold one. And a bit of soap would be better for my injuries than pig dung.
“By the way,” I said as I stepped through the door, “why exactly do you have a ‘women’s wing’?”
Chapter Thirteen
Spinning My Wheels
“Once upon a time,” said the oldest of the Yvettes, “when the world was younger and the mountains soared a little higher, there was a sorceress-queen whose daughter was the most beautiful maiden in the land.”
I pricked my finger with my embroidery needle and gave a yelp. Sewing fabric was a very different skill from stitching flesh, and my facility with the latter had not transferred as well as I might have hoped.
The circle of women, from adolescent to elderly, turned as one and glared at me for the interruption. I ducked my head in apology.
