Not that the king was my enemy. Actually, I rather liked him. He just happened to have the power to break my family without even thinking about it.
When I found him, he was sitting behind a desk, reading papers. Reports, I assume. Being a king probably means you read a lot of reports. (Though it was hard to imagine Bastian the Demon doing that. Had he really cared about how many bushels of grainwere being produced in any given province? Maybe he’d had Lady Sorrel read them instead.)
The king looked up. Hope flickered across his face, there and gone, like a lizard on a fence post. My heart sank. I had stayed up until the small hours of the night, trying to find something—anything—but no amount of careful heating or added reagents had turned up anything useful. One of the fabric swatches had yielded the tiniest bit of precipitate, probably indicating a trace of arsenic in the dye, but unless she wore it soaking wet against her skin every day for six months, I didn’t see how it could be the cause. I’d tell Nurse to remove it anyway, just in case.
My expression must have told him everything, because the flicker of hope faded. I winced internally.This man held his younger daughter’s body in his arms, and now I have to tell him that I’m no closer to curing the older one.
I squared my shoulders. Nothing would be gained by dithering. “I know you’re riding out today,” I said, “and I wanted to update you on my findings, Your Majesty.”
He inclined his head. “And what have you found?”
“Not nearly as much as I’d like,” I admitted. “I’ve tested everything I can think of… clothes, food, lotions… even the soap. I’m about to start in on the spices, although I can’t figure out how that would affect only her and no one else at Witherleaf.”
The king nodded. “Do you think itispoison, then?”
I knew I should be calm and reassuring and professional, but what I actually said was “Hell if I know.” I stared at one of the walls, registering that it had been tiled to waist height in a shade of blue that was probably meant to be restful. I did not feel restful, and I had my doubts that the king did either.
“Will you keep trying, then?”
I jerked my eyes away from the wall to the king’s face. I could read nothing in his expression. We might as well have been talking about bushels of grain.
If I said no, I could go home.
If I said no, I’d be the woman who had failed the king’s daughter.
And if I say yes, I’ll probably be the woman who failed the king’s daughter a month from now.
She wasn’t going to die immediately. If I left now, she might go on for quite a long time. Long enough, maybe, for me to fade from memory. Most of the courtiers thought I was either a tutor or a mistress anyway.
It would be sensible to go home. I could tell the king that if it was poison, it was nothing I recognized, and I could suggest that he get an expert to treat Snow. (Iwasan expert, mind you, and I’d put myself against any physician in Four Saints on the subject of poisons, but I would happily swallow my pride if it meant fewer repercussions for my family.)
Which is why I was very surprised to hear myself say, “I’ll keep trying. I feel like it must besomething,but I can’t put my finger on it.” I snorted. “I’ll be honest, it may just be injured pride that I can’t figure it out, but I need more time to work on it.”
I had forgotten for a moment that I was speaking to a king. How long had it been since I’d added aYour Majesty? But he smiled, brief and genuine, and said, “Thank you for not giving up.”
I wanted to say that there were no guarantees, but he knew that already. Instead I gave him an awkward curtsy, said, “Travel safe, Your Majesty,” and fled.
You absolute numbskull, you could have gone home. This is probably only going to make your eventual failure worse.
“I know, I know,” I muttered to myself, startling a glance from a passing servant. “I know.”
I still had no proof at all that it was poison. It could still have been some illness that the physicians didn’t understand. When had I become convinced that there was an actual cause and that it was something that I could find?
I had nothing. I had tested everything but the walls. And yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something important.
And I’ll bet gold dust against sand grains that Snow knows exactly what it is.
The thought startled me. I’ve never liked physicians who blame the patient for their illness. It’s probably why I work so hard on the lotus addicts. But once the thought had crystallized, I couldn’t ignore it.
Something strange was going on in Witherleaf, and it centered around Snow. And Saints help me, if I didn’t figure out what it was, curiosity was going to eat me alive.
CHAPTER 12
Two days went by, and Witherleaf settled into a quieter rhythm in the king’s absence. There were no more meals in the large dining room. I joined Lady Sorrel for tea instead.
“I am glad you’re here,” she said to me, a smile creasing the wrinkles on her face. “I get so little company, and I get so depressed after they leave. Worse when it’s Randolph. He’s grown into such a fine man, but so serious.” Her smile faded, and the lines at the corners of her eyes were not all from laughter. “Though how could he not be serious, growing up the way he did?”
“He’s a good king,” I offered. “Everyone says so.”
