Chapter 5
Anora
William passed down the corridor, his feet pounding the floor, and I watched him scowling as he descended the great stairs to the floor below. His guard went with him, both of them moving in haste so much that they ruffled the tapestries as they passed each one. I peeked down the dim passage where the king's chambers stood open, voices lofting out to greet me. My stepmother, Lady Catherine, cried; I could hear her sniffles over the warm baritone vibrations of my father's voice.
I tiptoed that direction, hoping to hear what they were speaking about, but knowing they kept their voices quiet so as not to allow for eavesdropping. When I approached the door and hovered, leaning against the cool stone wall, Catherine called, "You may come in, Anora. The plaith has told us what your father has is not contagious."
Startled that she knew I was there, I straightened my skirt, brushed my hair back and entered the room. Father lay on the bed beneath the covers, his head wrapped in a bandage, his eyes sunken in. I could hear him wheezing with each breath, and I ached to run and fall up on his chest.
The chambermaids busied themselves with cleaning around the room, leaving Catherine to sit by his bedside and comfort him. I rushed to his side, but I blinked back my tears.
"Papa, oh look at you." I sat on the edge of his bed opposite my stepmother and took his hand. "What happened? Are you okay?"
He squeezed my hand, though his grasp was weaker than normal. His eyes slowly drifted to Catherine's face then back to mine. I cast a worried glance at her. She'd always been kind and loving to me, the way a real mother would be, and only after I learned last winter that she was not my mother but in fact my stepmother, did she treat me differently--more like a sister or friend than a daughter.
"Your father has had a stroke. William has called for the healers again, but we fear the sickness might take him sooner than the plaith predicted." Catherine took a wet cloth from his forehead and exchanged it for one out of a dish, squeezing excess water back into the dish. She draped it across his forehead and sighed. "It's time to prepare for the worst, Anora."
I couldn't look away from his eyes, forlorn and melancholy. "Father, it's not true. You're not dying. You must stay here. We need you."
"When the Lord decides I must go, then that is my time, Anora. Not before. You be brave for me. You are a strong young woman." He coughed and wheezed, and Catherine covered his mouth with a cloth. When she pulled it away I saw blood peppered the white linen.
Determined to make sure my father lived, I reached into my pocket where I held the soap I purchased in the market. Kari had told me that it was for healthy living, that the one who used the soap would be healthier. It was worth trying. If every plaith and healer in the city couldn't cure him, perhaps Kari and her soaps and lotions could. I would stop at nothing to save him.
"What's this?" Father narrowed his eyes as I held out the small package.
"It's soap, Papa. I had my chambermaid buy it in the market."
"It smells heavenly," Catherin cooed, taking it out of my hand. She held it to her nose and smiled. "Like honey and basil--" she sniffed again "--and a hint of peppermint."
I nodded. "I've used her hair growth shampoo and it really works." I bit my lip and winced as Catherine turned toward me. I'd wrestled with whether to let them know the soaps had a purpose, but the only way to be sure he tried it was to convince him that it could heal him. "I know what you're thinking, but I promise it works." I couldn't tell them of the aphrodisiac soap. It worked better than all the rest, but if I told them they'd ask me who had used it on me, or on whom I used it. I wasn't prepared for that conversation.
"And this one?" Father reached for it, taking it and holding it to his nose a moment. "What does it do?"
"The woman at the market told me it has healing properties. It is supposed to boost your immune system." I held my breath waiting for the lecture. Father was not someone to trifle with when it came to new things or mysterious things. I felt guilty sitting next to him just knowing I was searching for the witch.
"This woman, what did she look like?" Catherine took the soap back, untying the thread around it and unfolding the paper. She smelled it again, her brow knit.
"Oh, I don't know. She was just an old woman." I shrugged. I remembered vividly what she looked like. Those brilliant purple eyes and the way she had such beauty even though she was older. I'd found myself slightly attracted to her at the time, but I chalked that up to being upset with Isabel after the startling revelation that she had slept with that man.
"Yes, well, we can try it." Father smiled softly. "Run along now. You should have Isabel turn down your bed. We have a lot of preparation for the carnival. You'll need to sew your dress, and--" A coughing fit took him over, Catherine at the ready with the handkerchief. I waited until he was calm, then stood and pressed my lips to his forehead.
"I love you, Papa. We are not letting you die. We will find a way." I slipped out, but once in the hallway I hovered, listening to Catherine's voice as she spoke to him.
"It has to be."
"You shall not speak her name in this room. Do you hear me?"
