The Shadow Queen by Deborah Kalin

Author:Deborah Kalin [Kalin, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781741768855
Google: DGiYllCS5OoC
Publisher: E-Content Generic Vendor
Published: 2009-07-15T18:22:56+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

I LIVED IN a ceaseless nightmare, wracked by fever, even the slightest touch lancing me with pain. Light blinded me, voices haunted me and a constant knot of agony in my gut nailed me in place.

I had nothing to gauge the passage of time except the occasional touch of the faceless, hovering overhead, and the frequency with which they poured their dark, choking brew down my throat. It was as if I was drowning in the mattress, pulled down and under, all my cries going unregarded.

But I didn’t drown, and eventually, little by little, I began to swim back to the surface. Gradually, the moments when calm granted me rest grew more frequent, lasting longer each time. The voices haunting me quieted a notch further, until I realised it was my own cries that had ceased.

Eventually I opened my eyes to find not a faceless creature with hands of lead, but Roshi. She was sitting on the bed’s edge at my feet, propped against a bedpost, dozing. Her features were drawn and dark shadows rimmed her eyes.

The suite was silent, though distant sounds from the Turholm drifted in: the snuffling of the pigs as they hunted in the gardens outside my window, a clatter of hooves, footsteps in a nearby corridor. For a moment I lay still, relishing the pleasure of having my mind returned to me, though new physical discomforts crept over me, too. My back ached, stiff with lying down so long.

Before long dark memories, the scrape of the plate across the bench, prowled at the edge of my thoughts.

When I stretched, Roshi jerked awake, her gaze flying to me.

‘You look dreadful,’ I said.

She smiled, relieved. ‘You look worse.’

‘I feel worse,’ I said, shifting as a sharp pain ratcheted down the muscles of my left side. The sheets bore the rank odour of sickness in their weave. My mouth was dry and raw, and the ache in my head made thought slow and difficult. ‘What’s happened? Since the dinner, I mean,’ I said, trying to push myself up.

‘Don’t sit up,’ said Roshi, holding the edge of a cup to my lips and gently tipping it. The water was icy, cleaning the horrid taste from my mouth.

‘Not too much,’ she said, pulling the cup back. ‘I doubt your stomach is strong enough. You’ve had enough salep poured through you to turn you into an orchid yourself, and that was the nicest part of your treatment. It was … unpleasant.’

Her talk of orchids made no sense to me, but I had no inclination to learn the details of my treatment.

‘The leech fears permanent damage to your stomach,’ she added with a sorrowful look.

‘What poison was it?’ I asked.

‘There’s a pinkish flower which grows along the border of the little garden with the fish pond.’

‘The autumn saffrons?’ I’d always thought them purely decorative, planted to give colour to the garden when the spring and summer flowers wilted and dropped. I shook my head in an attempt to dispel a growing ache.

She shrugged, then gave me an angry frown.

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