One of the men in black stepped forward and came to the right side of the bed, his colleague behind him. “Madam, my name is Walter. I am the head physician in the keep. This is my fellow physician, Dermot. We cannot treat you for the pain yet. You need to eat and drink water. Your body has gone too long without sustenance.”
Tears sat on my lower eyelashes. I felt my face pinch and I fought back a sob.
“Fucking hell,” my husband whispered, wincing, but his eyes stayed on me.
Walter went on. “There are broken bones in your forearm. I think the power entered at your amputation and it shattered the bones inside. And the muscles in your right arm are all strained and torn. I know you are in pain. Can you sit up?”
I could not.
Alric moved to sit behind me and, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulled me into a sitting position against his chest. It reminded me of our positions like this but in reverse, both when I had bathed him and when he had lain in my arms, read me poetry and told me of his youth’s heartbreak.
The physician named Dermot fed me cold porridge and I, with no regard for my own dignity, moved my head forward like a baby bird in their nest to eat. While Dermot fed me, Walter reached across my body to slightly unwind the bandage on my stump and check the wound.
I kept my eyes away, on the spoon.
Prince Peregrine, perhaps realizing I deserved some privacy, paced his own bedroom near the entrance to the balcony, head down, hands clasped behind him.
Behind me, Alric kissed the top of my head.
Dermot produced some jerky, hazelnuts and peach slices and fed them to me, while Walter ran his hands over my legs and gripped along the way, feeling for what I was unsure. Both physicians were formal and remote in their manner, which I felt was easier than had they been kind.
A tin cup of water was tipped to my lips. I gulped it down and gasped out, “more.”
Dermot refilled the cup from a pitcher on a bedside table and returned the rim to my mouth.
Walter stood up and looked at me. “You will walk again. I thought the magic may have ruptured other bones, perhaps in your spine or your hips and legs. But it came through the left wrist and exited out of the right hand. Your back and arms have born a blow. The magic and the amputation alone could have killed you. You were as a conduit and sometimes conduits fall apart.”
“How soon will she recover?” my husband asked, his breath in my hair.
Walter crossed his arms, watching me slurp down a third cup. “I would like her to stay in bed for the rest of this week. Madam, your left arm will be in a sling for a season at the least. The bones need time to mend. And I would recommend you do not overuse your right arm in the coming days. Someone will have to feed you.”
“I can do it,” interjected Alric.
The physician nodded but his eyes stayed on me. “Try to walk around the room tomorrow but if you cannot do it, go back to the bed and rest. Our prince has graciously given you his room to recover and I would prefer not to move you down to the infirmary.”
Water dripping down my chin, I said, “The infirmary?”
“That is where they first tried to take your body—” Alric said into my scalp, cutting himself off at his use of ‘body.’ “That is where they wanted to take you first.”
“But the prince insisted on giving you his room,” Walter added.
“Of course,” Peregrine said from across the room. “You stay as long as you need, lady.”
I nodded at Dermot’s offer of one more slice of peach and gratefully chewed.
“I think you can now weather some lightleaf and a pain tonic,” Walter said, waving to Dermot, who rummaged in the crate for two vials, adding them to my cup.
I ran my tongue over my teeth, my mouth dry and sour. “Can I have a chew stick?”
Peregrine stopped in his tracks, then went to a desk, the surface full of pitchers of blue flax blossoms, and pulled open a drawer. He brought over a cup carved from bone and gilded in copper, full of chew sticks. When he handed it out to me, he cringed, realizing my right arm was limp and my left hand was missing. “I am sorry, lady,” he said, frozen in place, unsure if he should pull one out and put it in my mouth.
Alric pulled his left arm from around my waist and pulled one from the cup. He guided it up to my mouth, letting me move my head on my own for the last bit and take a bite.
I ground the twiggy consistency into my mouth and swallowed the herbal and minty paste it made. I repeated this, swallowing instead of spitting out the saliva and macerated stick.
Dermot then held the cup out to me with the pain tonic and I sipped.
“You will fall asleep within an hour or so. That should relieve the pain. We will visit you again in the morning,” Walter informed me and the physicians left.
