Royal Assassin

The thought trailed away between us. I glanced up from the King to find Wallace peering ’round the door at us. There was something in his face; I know not whether to call it satisfaction or confidence, but it roused me to fury. In two steps I had reached the door. I slammed it, and had the satisfaction of hearing him yelp as he jerked his pinched fingers out. I dropped into place an ancient bar that had probably never been used in my lifetime.

I moved to the tall windows, jerked aside the tapestries that covered it, and flung wide the wooden shutters. Clear sunlight and fresh cold air spilled into the room.

Fitz, this is rash.

I made no reply. Instead, I moved about the room, dumping censer after censer of ash and herb out the open window. I brushed the clinging ash out with my hand to free the room from its reek. From about the room I gathered half a dozen sticky goblets of stale wine, and a trayful of bowls and plates of untouched or half-eaten food. I stacked them by the door. Wallace was pounding on it and howling with fury. I leaned against it and spoke through the crack. “Hush!” I told him sweetly. “You’ll waken the King.”

Have a boy sent with ewers of warm water. And tell Mistress Hasty that the King’s bed requires clean linens, I requested of Verity.

Such orders cannot come from me. A pause. Don’t waste time in anger. Think, and you’ll see why it must be so.

I understood, but knew also that I would not leave Shrewd in this dingy, smelly room any more than I would abandon him to a dungeon. There was half a ewer of water, stale, but mostly clean. I set it to warm by the hearth. I wiped his bed table clean of ash and set out the tea and pastry tray atop it. Rummaging boldly through the King’s chest, I found a clean nightshirt, and then washing herbs. Leftover, no doubt, from Cheffers’s time. I had never thought I would so miss a valet.

Wallace’s pounding ceased. I did not miss it. I took the warmed water scented with the herbs and a washing cloth and set it by the King’s bedside. “King Shrewd,” I said gently. He stirred slightly. The rims of his eyes were red, the lashes gummed together. When he opened his lids, he blinked red veined eyes at the light.

“Boy?” He squinted about the room. “Where is Wallace?”

“Away for the moment. I’ve brought you warm wash water and fresh pastries from the kitchen. And hot tea.”

“I . . . I don’t know. The window’s open. Why is the window open? Wallace has warned me about taking a chill.”

“I opened it to clear the air in the room. But I’ll close it if you like.”

“I smell the sea. It’s a clear day, isn’t it? Listen to those gulls cry a storm coming. . . . No. No, close the window, boy. I dare not take a chill, not as ill as I am already.”

I moved slowly to close the wooden shutters. “Has Your Majesty been ill long? Not much has been said of it about the palace.”

“Long enough. Oh, forever it seems. It is not so much that I am ill as that I am never well. I am sick, and then I get a bit better, but as soon as I try to do anything, I am sick again, and worse than ever. I am so weary of being sick, boy. So tired of always feeling tired.”

“Come, sir. This will make you feel better.” I damped the cloth and wiped his face gently. He recovered himself enough to motion me aside as he washed his own hands, and then wiped his face again more firmly. I was appalled at how the wash water had yellowed as it cleansed him.

“I’ve found a clean nightshirt for. you. Shall I help you into it? Or would you rather that I sent for a boy to bring a tub and warm water? I would bring clean linens for the bed while you bathed.”

“I, oh, I haven’t the energy, boy. Where is that Wallace? He knows I cannot manage alone. What possessed him to leave me?”

“A warm bath might help you to rest,” I tried persuasively. Up close, the old man smelled. Shrewd had always been a cleanly man; I think that his grubbiness distressed me more than anything else.

“But bathing can lead to chills. So Wallace says. A damp skin, a cool wind, and whisk, I’m gone. Or so he says.” Had Shrewd really become this fretful old man? I could scarcely believe what I was hearing from him.

“Well, perhaps just a hot cup of tea, then. And a pastry. Cook Sara said these were your favorites.” I poured the steaming tea into the cup and saw his nose twitch appreciatively. He had a sip or two, and then sat up to look at the carefully arranged pastries. He bade me join him, and I ate a pastry with him, licking the rich filling from my fingers. I understood why they were his favorites. He was well into a second when there were three solid thuds against the door.

“Unbar it, Bastard. Or the men with me will take it down. And if any harm has come to my father, you shall die where you stand.” Regal did not sound at all pleased with me.