The Darkwater Saga 0.5 By Divine Right by Patrick W. Carr

Author:Patrick W. Carr [Carr, Patrick W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042080, FIC009000, FIC009020
ISBN: 9781441265333
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2015-08-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

“Hmm. Hmm. This is going to sting a bit.”

I sat on a high stool within Galen’s apartments, two levels below the top of the tor where Laidir held court. The sloshing sounds of a bottle being shaken came to me, then the soft pop of a stopper being pulled.

His voice came from behind me. “I’m getting a bit tired of stitching up servants. The duke and his men are turning me into a seamstress. Brace yourself.” A burning sensation hit me almost as greatly as the original strokes that laid my back open. I hissed a sound like water dousing a fire.

“You have a gift for understatement,” I said once I could breathe normally.

A chuckle drifted over my shoulder, and I felt a push against my back, but no discomfort. “The balm deadens the pain,” he murmured, “but only after it makes you relive it. I’ve asked my alchemist to reformulate the mixture without the use of spirits, but so far he’s been unsuccessful.”

I drew a shuddering breath. “Have you tried a better?”

Galen laughed. “Myle is the best. He’s gifted and incredibly talented as well, though somewhat difficult to work with. If a different mixture can be found, he’s the one to find it.”

I turned my head, careful not to disturb Galen’s embroidery. “Would he know anything about poisons?”

Galen paused in his needlework. “That’s a dangerous question, master Dura. Who are you planning to poison?”

I shook my head. “No one.” In that moment I appropriated an informal title that Laidir had implied moments earlier. “I’m the king’s reeve.” I assumed the king’s physician would be loyal but, even so, thought it best to hedge my speech. “A man died some time ago from a stroke. The circumstances of his death made me question whether it was natural.”

“Hmm,” Galen said in a tone that might have accompanied a shake of the head. “Most poisons are actually medicines taken to an extreme, but I’ve never heard of one that could mimic a stroke. If anyone would know if it could be done, it would be Myle, but getting the information out of him will be a challenge.” He blinked at me beneath bushy eyebrows that made him look like an owl. “I did say he was difficult to work with, didn’t I?”

“I’m a reeve. He’ll talk to me,” I said.

“No,” Galen said. “You don’t understand.” He sighed. “And any explanation I offer probably wouldn’t do it justice. You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

He quieted, and sometime later I jerked when he tapped me on the shoulder. Somehow he’d managed to wrap my wound without my knowing. “That’s the effect of the balm,” Galen said. “It will help you sleep. There’s a pallet over there.” He pointed to the corner.

I stumbled to the promise of slumber as if it offered some deeper salvation than just rest and lay down, my body going lax almost before it hit the pallet.

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