Astin’s eyes should have been on his surroundings, but he found himself watching for her reply instead. Her blonde hair was pinned back and threaded with blue ribbon. She played with the end of it as she stared at the queen blankly.
‘We were discussing the loss of livestock in Ireland,’ Kendra said, helping her out.
Lyndal nodded. ‘Yes. Any loss of livestock is tragic. But at least without walls, the Irish are free to hunt and fish wherever they please.’
Astin wished he could have seen the queen’s face after that response.
‘The absence of walls makes it easy for thieves,’ Kendra said, ‘and is the reason their animals got sick in the first place.’
‘Andyet, I’ve not heard of one Irishman requesting a wall be built,’ Lyndal replied.
‘Because they do not know any better.’
Lyndal looked away. ‘Or perhaps they’ve learned from our mistakes.’
Queen Fayre spoke up at that. ‘What is the answer, then?’
Lyndal’s eyes went to her. ‘I think history has proven, quite definitively, that no one cares for the opinion of a merchant on this subject.’
‘But you are not like them,’ Kendra said. ‘You are just as much one of us as you are one of them.’
Lyndal’s eyes met Astin’s, and he saw how much that statement pierced her. She might have had meat back on her bones and some nicer dresses, but he understood that every inch of that beating heart was merchant. She had lived in that borough her entire life. Starved, suffered, grieved in it. She wore the trauma of that existence like a crown of thorns.
Astin pushed his horse into a trot and rode ahead of the carriage and other guards, past the muddy gravesites, stopping at the leaning huts at the far end. They were more like shelters built for animals. Risk of harm to those in his charge was low, but he still treated every man, woman, and child he passed with the same suspicion he would when guarding the king.
Wasting people emerged from the huts, pale-faced and wary. Mothers held tightly to the hands of children, relaxing a little when they laid eyes on Queen Fayre. She represented hope for a broken system. Her timely return to Chadora had made her somewhat of a hero.
The queen mother was first to exit the carriage when it rolled to a stop. As she stepped down, her eyes moved along the line of people staring back at her. There was no hiding her shock at the conditions these people were living in. Kendra was next, taking one look at the sick, then anchoring her feet where she landed. Lyndal looked like any other noblewoman as she elegantly took the driver’s hand and joined her cousin on the ground. The flash of shock on her face was quickly replaced with a convincing smile as she moved towards the merchants.
Astin gestured for Kendra to follow, and she reluctantly moved to his side, using him as a barrier between herself and the sick.
‘You don’t need to hover theentirevisit,’ Lyndal whispered at Astin over her shoulder.
Normally the breeze in the lazaretto borough carried the smell of death, but Lyndal’s floral scent seemed to have taken over the air.
‘That’s the point of a guard,’ he replied without looking at her.
She slowed her pace. ‘Must you look so serious, then? You’re scaring people.’
Now he looked at her. ‘Good.’
The queen mother wandered the length of the line, bowing her head and pausing occasionally to speak with people. She managed to maintain a sensible distance without being obvious about the fact. Kendra tried to mimic her gestures, holding a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
Then there was Lyndal.
She walked straight up to the woman at the end of the line, taking hold of her hand and asking questions. Then she pulled one of the jars out of her basket and handed it to her. ‘Share it around. You only need a spoonful each morning. The symptoms should start to settle within a few days.’
‘What on earth is she doing?’ Kendra whispered to Astin. ‘Some of these people are literally bleeding from the mouth, and she just marches up and touches them.’
Astin’s eyes never left Lyndal. ‘It’s scurvy. It’s not contagious.’
‘We do not know that. The king has isolated them for a reason.’
Yes, because he’s an idiot,Astin thought. He said nothing as he followed Lyndal along the line, watching as she took hold of icy hands, squeezing encouragingly as she chatted away.
Towards the end, she crouched in front of a young boy, brushing hair off his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his gums swollen and protruding from his mouth.
‘I don’t like cabbage,’ the boy said, his cracked lips stained with blood.
