Hello again, everyone!
Did anyone catch the references to previous chapters that have been cropping up? There are a few more in this one for those who are interested.
Many heartfelt thanks to Eregnar, narniadreamer1, and Dryad Warrior Queen for your lovely reviews! I've updated the previous chapters with your suggestions and input. Hearing from you all makes me very happy. :)
Do let me know what you think, please. Constructive criticism or general comments are welcomed. It's difficult to know if the effect I have in mind is coming across without feedback.
Chapter 20: Page
It was like being in a chamber made of frost.
Even the slightest breath would cause everything to shatter.
The feeling had spread swiftly, Toman recalled, and already the shadows seemed longer and the air colder. Never before had he thought such things about the golden halls of Cair Paravel.
He'd been selected as page since the fall of the Witch. He'd served them since the four children from Spare Oom had taken their thrones. He had served through their coronation and the feasts that followed. He'd served them through the first winter and then the celebrations that followed the breaking of spring. He'd served them for years now.
And not once had things felt quite as grim as they did now.
He shivered and his feathers rustled unpleasantly. He was small for a griffin but he was strong and feared few things. This…this settled strangely in his bones. It felt like a breath before a great plunge. A slowed, wading misery that was nearly unbearable to endure. There were whispers in corners and low tones but there was little anyone could do to change things.
For deep within Cair Paravel lay the High King, wounded and possibly poisoned.
It was difficult to say definitively as very few knew the full extent of the High King's condition. Not even the palace at large knew anything other than that there had been an attack of some kind. Troops, not seen in such number since the Battle of Beruna, patrolled the hallways, walls and courtyards.
Toman, however, carried on as he would have ordinarily. His duties to care for the King Edmund's things were not to be neglected, despite the increased security.
On his way down the corridor, he'd seen Rinklerhim and Nysha countless times bearing water, books, and herbs of all kinds. At least once a day, they left bearing porcelain dishes of blood-stained cloths and troubled expressions.
As he made his way there now, Nysha was making her daily trip. She was concentrating intently, as she was wont. By Aslan's mane, he'd never seen a clumsier centaur. She could knock over a bookshelf, shatter three urns, and spill wellwater, with only a sneeze. How she'd survived in the palace thus far was due only to her kind nature.
Several times over he'd been privy to the way her eyes changed and her whole demeanor became steady. She calmed those she tended like no one Toman had ever seen. Her tone became soothing and low and her hands, though they still shook, knew their purpose. Furthermore, she had a kind nature and Toman had spent several pleasant evenings passing banter back and forth during official events.
On this night, she was pale and her lips were tightly thinned. She focused intently on the dish in her hands and her gait was carefully moderated.
"Nysha," he spoke quietly so as not to startle her.
Her eyes flew up and she came to a stop, her dish tilting precariously. "Toman!"
"Careful," he gestured to the contents of the dish. The blood instead was streaked thoroughly with a dark, thick substance and smelled like no blood ever should, rotten and slightly sweet.
"Oh, yes," She righted herself, her eyes darting about nervously.
"He'd not recovering as he should, is he?"
She fidgeted again. "We can't say for certain."
"Nysha…"
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Something's wrong. I've never seen Rinklerim look as he does. The wound is complicated."
Toman felt a strand of frustration and confusion. "Why haven't they used the cordial?"
The loose curls about Nysha's neck shook as she turned her head. "The High King has forbade them. He says it is only to be used in dire situations. They don't know how many drops the bottle holds."
"Doesn't this merit such a description?"
"Not yet. Rinklerim wants to try one last remedy. After I've disposed of this, I'm to return to his side."
"Nysha…how long does he have…if they don't...if the cordial isn't an option."
Her gentle eyes grew watery and she bit her lip nervously.
"I see." He blew out a breath through his beak. "May Aslan be with you." And he'd never meant something more fully.
"And with you." Her smile was soft and sweet, and then her attention turned fully to her assigned task.
He watched a moment as she made her way gingerly down the hall. He felt a strange sense of relief. The burden of the High King's condition was still there but somehow, strangely, he felt lighter, happier even. If anyone could care for High King Peter, it would be Nysha. And Rinklerim, of course.
Toman shook his head and moved toward King Edmund's room. He had bedclothes to see to before his liege-lord returned. With thoughts of healing potions and Nysha's gentle smile, he saw to his duties in the cold silence that echoed through Cair Paravel.
It was late when King Edmund returned, footfalls heavy and slow. His face was gray and lined with weariness as he shrugged off his outer tunic and sank into a chair. "Hullo, Toman."
"My lord." He bowed, wings curling about his body as he did.
The King drew a hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes and chin. "It's a bloody awful business."
"Indeed, my lord." Toman felt his earlier unease return tenfold.
"If Pete wasn't such a dolt…" he huffed, his voice dipping almost into a growl. "Ah," he threw himself to his feet and paced roughly for several minutes. "I can't understand it. What would there be to gain from attacking Susan?"
"To weaken you?"
"Or anger us." King Edmund turned on his heel, boot grinding firmly into the wood. "But why now?"
"There has been a good number of visiting dignitaries of late." Toman began brushing down the King's greatcoat with a stiff brush, each stroke clearing his mind.
He snorted, something he did with relative frequency when he was tired or frustrated. "I don't think Cair Paravel has entertained so many before but it is rather bold for a guest to attack their host. Or rather cunning."
"Pete would crow to the skies if he heard me say it, but I wish he were here."
Very rarely did King Edmund look like anything other than dignified. Like Queen Susan, the two were graceful and benevolent in every situation. High King Peter and Queen Lucy could be persuaded to toss off their royal visage with very little trouble. But this night, King Edmund the Just, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Table looked simply like a young boy who was frightened for his family.
And then that was that. The moment passed and he was a King again. He was quiet, preoccupied and terse, as he readied for bed.
Toman followed him, as silent and dark as a shadow.
Suddenly, the King's head snapped up. "Bloody hell. I'm not sitting around and waiting for something to happen." He stormed to the door, shirtless and with his hair protruding in a thousand different directions, and wrenched it open.
What was a page to do with that?
Toman blinked. The pillows were fluffed and the window had been opened to let the cool night wash out the stale summer air. His duties were completed, save for the fact that the King was not yet in bed. He was storming the halls instead.
Head spinning, he moved after King Edmund. The hall was already empty. King Edmund could move very swiftly when it suited him but Toman thought he knew where the Just king would be. He scampered down the hall and stopped just shy of the High King's room.
Voices echoed behind the wood but, instead of the quiet or agitated tones he'd been accustomed to hearing, he heard disbelief and then calm instructions. The door opened and Nysha darted down the hallway, hooves clattering.
She returned in only a few moments with a flushed face and a small bottle cradled in her hands. The door closed behind her with a 'boom' and everything when quiet. Too quiet.
Toman was used to waiting but this, this wait tested even the patience of a page. His duty was to wait on and tend to his sworn lord, regardless of weather, circumstances, or extraordinarily long waits. He was also a griffin, a creature known for wisdom and patience. Oh, he would wait.
He did wish for a moment that Nysha was by his side though. She would abate some of the boredom. Her currently duty was more important but he couldn't quite shake the feeling.
There was a click and Toman's head shot up.
He looked on King Edmund. His liege-lord looked still looked weary but there as a slight upturn to his lips. "It's done," he breathed and sagged against the wooden panels of the door. "It'll be hell to pay when Pete finds out, but he'll be alive."
"He'll forgive you, my lord."
"Not before wrings my neck, but yes, we'll manage." The smile that spread across the King's face was brighter and fuller than any summer morning and, just like any summer morning, banished the darkness and promised a brilliant, full day.