Margaret linked her arm with her father’s. It had been a long while since he had felt well enough to take the long walk to the palace. She smiled up at him. It was nice to see him outside. “It’s nice out today.” Margaret turned her face toward the sun.
“It is,” he agreed, patting her hand.
“Are you sure you want to walk all the way there, Papa?”
“We can send for Hanson if I get tired,” he said. “You and your mother have been keeping me cooped up since my last attack, and I want out.”
“The healers said that you needed rest, Papa.”
“They also said I needed to live normally.”
“People have been asking about you at the palace.” Margaret smiled up at him. She knew dwelling on what the healers said would only put him in a bad mood.
Her father grinned. “Then they’ll be happy to see me there.”
Margaret deliberately walked slower than her normal pace so her father would not tire quickly. It took them almost double the time it would to get to the palace than before his attacks began. Margaret looked at the steps leading up to the palace with dread. “You’ve walked all the way here, Papa. Are you sure that you want to go in and spend the day?”
“I’m not an invalid, Margaret,” he snapped. “Not yet, at least, and I plan on living my life until that happens.”
Margaret sighed, giving in. “All right, Papa. We’ll go in.”
They took the stairs even slower; her father’s balance was not what it used to be, and he had difficulty climbing them without getting dizzy. When they made it to the entrance, her father led them to a bench rather than entering.
Margaret squeezed his arm sympathetically. “We can stay here for a while if you’d like.”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
“Lord Dorcia?”
Her father popped up with ease, and Margaret followed suit, linking her arm in his when he swayed. He leaned against her to steady himself.
“Lord Crawford, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Margaret said.
“It’s been too long, Lord Dorcia,” he said. “I’m glad to see you out and about again. Gossipers were making their rounds, saying you were on death’s door.”
Her father smiled tightly. “No, not quite. I’ll be back to myself in short order.”
“Good to hear it.” Lord Crawford tipped his hat to them.
Wearily sitting down, her father said, “Call for Hanson, Margaret. I’d like to go home now.”
Margaret put a bundle of herbs the healers had requested for her father’s draughts in her basket. Her back was to the street as she paid the vendor.
“Poor girl,” she heard someone say.
Margaret looked around to find the child being spoken of.
There were no young children.
“I heard her father’s fallen out of favor with the king because of his illness. Did you hear he got lost on the streets and no one could find him for hours?”
Margaret’s face burned hot. Her father had gone out by himself on a day where he was feeling like his old self and had an episode on the streets. Some poor guardsman had to practically carry him back to Cerule House when they finally figured out who he was.
“I heard the queen thinks they’re cursed by God because they tried to climb too high. Haven’t you heard how Lady Catherine spoke to the queen? It’s audacious!”
Margaret turned around and glared at the women. How dare they! The women were too engrossed with their conversation to notice her or her glare.
“Undoubtedly, she thinks Lord Dorcia’s reputation will protect her.”
Margaret could stomach no more of their talk. She purchased her wares and went home. She was greeted by her mother pacing near the stairs in the foyer, fear clear on her face.
“Margaret!” she cried.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Margaret asked, dropping her basket and hurrying to her mother’s side.
“He—your father—he-he’s gotten worse.” Tears slid down her cheeks as she held back a sob. “He’s had another episode.”
“Why are you down here, then?” Margaret demanded, hitching up her skirts and running up the stairs.
Her father lay on the bed, eyes distant. Spittle ran down his chin, and his clothes were slightly disheveled.
Margaret turned when she heard someone behind her; it was her mother. “How long has he been like this, Mama?”
Her mother wiped her cheeks free of tears, but they were immediately replaced. “Half an hour at least. I’ve called for the healer, but he’s not come yet.”
Margaret picked up a cloth and wiped her father’s face. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “It will be all right, Papa. We’ll take care of you.”
After an hour, the healer arrived. He immediately went to Margaret’s father and took several tools from his bag.
“You have to make him better,” her mother commanded. “He can’t get any worse.”
“If you would, my ladies, leave me to my work.”
Margaret glared at him, but she left with her mother. “Is that a new healer?”
“Healer Witman must be busy,” her mother said. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”
“If you say so, Mama.”
She covered her face. “He can’t die. Without an heir named, we could lose our lands. The queen will petition for our title to be taken after that incident in the dining hall, and we’ll be ruined.”
How could that be the only thing that her mother thought about? Her father was dying, and she was worried about her lands! Before she could say anything to her mother, the healer appeared in the doorway.
Margaret stood, asking, “How is he?”
“He’s resting as comfortably as he can, but he might have some difficulty coming out of it. He had two more episodes while I was with him, and his condition hasn’t changed much,” the healer said. “You should prepare yourself for him not to be quite the same when he begins speaking again.”
Margaret covered her mouth, tears coming to her eyes. How could this be happening?
Bruggen entered the library and bowed his head to Margaret. “My lady, Lord Nicholas to see you.”
Margaret furrowed her brow. Nicholas? They had sent the occasional letter to each other after he had profusely apologized, but she still obeyed her father’s wishes in not seeing him. “What is he doing here?”
“I couldn’t say, my lady.” Bruggen pursed his lips. “Shall I turn him away?”
Margaret knew the rounds had been made in the servants hall about what had happened between them. Clearly, Bruggen disapproved as much as her father did.
“No, I’ll see what he wants.” She set down her book and went to the foyer, where he waited. “Lord Nicholas, is there something I can help you with?”
“Come with me.” Nicholas held out his hand to Margaret. “You’ve been trapped in here for too long.”
“I’ve been forbidden to see you, if you remember,” Margaret said slowly. “And you’ve been forbidden from coming here.”
Nicholas sighed, his hand still outstretched. “You know I didn’t mean the things I said, Lady Margaret. Will you not come with me and let me prove it?”
Margaret hesitated. She still felt a flutter in her stomach when she looked at him, and she had missed being in his company all these months. “Where are we going?” Margaret slipped her hand into his.
“Don’t worry, it’s nowhere dangerous.” He led her toward the door.
Margaret hesitated. “I don’t know if I can leave my father for long.”
“You have servants who can help him.”
“He isn’t doing well, Nicholas…he’d want his family around him.”
“You deserve an evening to yourself.” Nicholas pulled her along. “I’ve planned a feast in your honor.”
Margaret smiled slightly. “That’s kind of you.”
When she and Nicholas arrived at his father’s home, Margaret was surprised to see her friends in the dining room. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Lord Nicholas invited us,” Elise said. “He said it would be a very special evening for you.”
Margaret turned to Nicholas, smiling at him. “What have you done?”
Nicholas waved his hand to a servant, and a small orchestra was led in. “I had a few pieces commissioned for you especially, to express my love for you.”
“Did you?” Margaret smiled brightly. She was pleased that, even after all this time, he still had feelings for her.
“I did.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Shall we sit? I’m sure the others are famished.”
Margaret nodded, letting Nicholas pull out her seat. When she sat, the music started. It must have cost him a small fortune to not only hire the singers and orchestra, but commission brand new pieces for her.
Nicholas clapped his hands, and footmen poured into the room for each side, each plate more extravagant than the last. She saw game pies decorated to perfection, stacked in intricate patterns. She gasped when a croquembouche taller than she’s ever seen was carried in by two footmen and placed in the center of the table.
“Your chefs have outdone themselves!” Margaret said.
Nicholas gave her a mischievous grin. “I’ve had three extra chefs brought in just for this dinner.”
“What’s so special about this occasion?” Margaret asked.
“You’ll find out before the champagne course, my dear.”
Margaret’s eyes went wide. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m not going to ruin the surprise for you,” he said.
Margaret grew anxious as the dinner went on. It was now well dark out, and she did not want to be away from her father; certainly not as long as she already had. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves still, and she didn’t want to ruin their fun, but she was ready to leave.
“Nicholas,” she whispered. “How much longer until this dinner is finished?”
“Did you really just ask me that?” Nicholas asked, throwing down his napkin.
Margaret frowned. “It’s been hours, Nicholas, and I told you I couldn’t be away for long.”
“Do you want your surprise now, then?” he snapped, standing abruptly. “Fine. Get up.”
The room went silent, and Margaret awkwardly stood. She looked around the room, and her friends looked as uncomfortable as she felt. “Do we need to do this now? Can it not wait?”
“No, you’re in a hurry,” Nicholas snapped. He grabbed her hand roughly and shoved a ring on her left ring finger. “Do me the honor of being my wife.”
Margaret looked down at the ring, then back up at him. She’d dreamed of the day someone would propose to her, and this was not it. She should have listened to her father—Nicholas was selfish and arrogant and cared for only himself. She should have ended their courtship entirely the moment her father had his first episode fighting over her relationship and not entertained his letters. She shouldn’t have even come. He was causing stress on her family, stress on her, and he was not worth it.
“No.” She took the ring off and set it on the table. “I’m going home, where I’m needed.”
“Margaret!” Ingrid’s eyes widened.
Margaret ignored her and stepped away from the table.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” Nicholas yelled.
Margaret ignored him too and exited the dining room. She heard him raging all the way down the hall. She’d made the right choice, and she felt the tension flow out of her with each step.
Margaret wiped her father’s forehead with a cold wet cloth. He’d had another episode that morning, and he’d been left sweating in bed. Margaret hadn’t seen her mother for several hours, but she didn’t want to leave her father’s side to find her. She pulled the velvet rope next to the bed and waited for her father’s valet to appear.
“What can I help you with, my lady?” he asked when he entered the room.
“I was wondering where my mother was,” Margaret said. “Has anyone seen her?”
“I believe she went into the city, Lady Margaret.”
“Does anyone know why she’s been gone so long?” Margaret frowned. It seems that her mother was gone more often than she was home. Why wouldn’t she want to be with her husband?
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady. She only said that she had business there.”
Margaret sighed heavily. “Thank you. Could you have the cook send up broth for Papa?”
“Right away, my lady.” He bowed before leaving the room.
Margaret sighed again, looking at her father. His face looked worn; his cheeks hollow with exhaustion and dark circles settled permanently under his eyes. White that hadn’t been there before his episodes appeared at his temples, and his hair was no longer as thick as it had been even a few months ago. Despite all the concoctions and draughts the healers had given her father, nothing seemed to work. Margaret had yet to lose hope, but lately, it seemed harder to keep her spirits up. Her father’s episodes were becoming more frequent than she or the healers were comfortable with. They were almost daily now.
Her father no longer was able to leave the house for fear of having an episode in public, where no one could help him after the last time. Margaret was happy for that, at least.
“Where is that broth?” Margaret asked herself, irritated.
“Sweetheart,” her father said wearily, “why don’t you go rest? One of the servants can help me, or I can wait until your mother gets home.”
“I don’t want to leave you, Papa.” Margaret moved to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing hair off his forehead. “And we don’t know when Mama will be home—she never is anymore.”
“I’ll be fine, Margaret,” he said. “You need to rest yourself. You’ve been here all day.”
“Papa—”
“Listen to your father, Margaret,” her mother scolded from the doorway. “You never obey commands.”
Margaret stood from the bed, clasping her hands in front of her. Of course she would show up when Margaret was talking about her. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t want him to be alone.”
“A servant could have sat with him.” Her mother took the chair next to the bed. “Now go away. Your father wants you to leave, and I’m here now.”
Margaret hesitated. “Yes, Mama,” she said finally, heading toward the door.
“You don’t have to be so cruel to her,” her father said when she was almost out the door.
Her mother scoffed. “I’m not cruel. I’m preparing her for whomever she marries.”
“She will not marry someone like that,” her father said firmly.
Margaret was happy she was out of earshot for the rest of their conversation. She did not want to hear more about how her mother did things for her own good without care for anyone else’s feelings. She went to her room to lie down before dinner was served for herself and her mother.
“Margaret! Margaret, wake up!”
Margaret groaned, swatting at whoever was shaking her. “Go away.”
“Margaret, your father is having another episode.”
She shot from the bed, eyes wide. “What happened?” she asked her mother.
“He was eating when he suddenly had another attack.” There was fear in her mother’s eyes as she gripped onto Margaret’s arms.
“Have you called for the healer yet?” Margaret asked as she quickly walked to her father’s room.
“No,” her mother said as they reached the doorway.
Margaret whirled on her. “That should have been the first thing you did!” she yelled before storming to her father’s bedside.
He looked pale, spit-up spilling down his cheek. One side of his face looked slack compared to the other, and he struggled to speak. He reached toward Margaret but collapsed back, his eyes fearful.
Her nose burned as she fought back tears. Margaret grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, pulling it to her mouth. “It’s going to be all right, Papa. Mama is getting the healer.”
The healer arrived after what felt like ages, and Margaret was shooed from the room despite her protests. She was kept out until late in the evening and then forced to go to bed instead of checking on her father.
Margaret poked her head into her father’s room in the morning and saw he was sleeping, so she went to her mother’s room instead. They needed to have a talk about her mother’s behavior now that her father was even worse than before. She stopped short when she saw it. Everything was strewn about the room, clothes, sheets, jewels—everything that could be on the floor was. “Mama?”
She moved further into the room. Almost all of her mother’s jewels were missing, but none of her clothes were. “Mama?” Margaret called again, her voice higher as she started to panic.
She moved toward her mother’s closets and found her wedding ring on the floor. Margaret’s eyes welled with tears, rapidly spilling over. She ran to the call rope and pulled it urgently before collapsing into a chair. She put a hand to her chest to calm her fluttering heart as she took long deep breaths. What had happened?
“My lady—” Her mother’s lady’s maid stopped short when she saw the room.
“Where is she?” Margaret cried.
“Lady Margaret?”
“Where is my mother?” she demanded.
“I-I don’t know, my lady.” The lady’s maid looked as panicked as Margaret felt, her eyes wild and darting about the room.
Margaret pulled herself out of her chair, wiping furiously at her face. “How can you not know she’s gone? You’re her lady’s maid!”
The lady’s maid looked as much at a loss as Margaret. “Her ladyship didn’t say anything last night, Lady Margaret…she only said she wanted to sleep late in the morning after his lordship’s ordeal.”
“Find out from the other servants if they saw her leave this morning or if she asked one of them to help her.”
“Yes, my lady.” The maid rushed from the room. She hadn’t even curtsied in her hurry.
Margaret picked up the ring, staring into the deep blue sapphire. “Mama, what did you do?”
After her mother disappeared, Margaret was the sole caretaker for her father. She had no inkling as to the first thing to do. Her mother had been gone for three weeks now, and Margaret almost never left her father’s side. The servants helped where they could, but there was only so much she would trust them with. She’d tried everything she could think of, consulting herbalists, healers, and priests. She even started to consult the alchemists—despite their admonishment by the church as a black art and a sin against God—in her desperation to help her father.
The last healer they would try was on his way now. He was one of the most famous healers in Aratia. His Majesty had wanted to keep him on retainer, but he could not afford to keep him for more than a year. As it was, Margaret was paying him enough to feed a village for three months for him to come all the way from Glessic. There was no price she wouldn’t pay to help her father if she could.
Margaret poked her head into her father’s bedroom to check on him and found he was sleeping. She decided instead of waiting for the healer in her father’s room, she would wait in the library and hope to ply him with sweets and tea to allow her in the room for his examination. Only one out of the six healers she’d brought to see her father had allowed her in the room.
She went to the kitchens and saw the cook pulling scones out of the oven. Good. They would be still warm when the healer arrived. That would be a nice touch. “Please make sure the kettle is on the fire so that tea will be ready when the healer gets here at noon,” Margaret told the cook.
“Yes, m’lady,” the cook responded, not taking her eyes off her task.
Margaret nodded, satisfied—not that the cook could see it—and went to the library to wait. The sun shone through the windows in sharp beams, lighting the room effortlessly. The library had become her refuge since her mother left—it was a place she could escape her own reality with the stories others had written. She went to the shelves, running her fingers along the spines until she found a favorite of hers: The Adventures of Sir Donehugh the Great. She most enjoyed the tales of chivalry and adventure. She brought it to one of the chaise lounges in front of the windows and relaxed with a sigh.
She’d just gotten into the story when Bruggen entered the room. “Healer Dellis to see you, my lady.”
Margaret stood quickly, setting the book on the chaise. “Let him in.”
Bruggen bowed, opening the door to let the healer in. He had bronzed skin with a mess of black hair that curled at his forehead. He was younger than Margaret expected—when she’d heard of his reputation, she’d expected a man older than her father, not someone younger than him.
“Healer Dellis,” she said finally, “thank you for coming. Would you care to take some refreshments before you see my father?”
“I understand that he has been seen by many others?”
Margaret furrowed her brow. He was straight to the point. “Yes, he has. He’s seen everyone from priests to alchemists.”
Healer Dellis looked surprised. “Those charlatans are worthless, my lady. They likely did more harm than good.”
“I was desperate,” Margaret admitted.
“Might I see him?”
“Yes, of course.” She walked toward the door, extending her hand in the direction she would go. “Please follow me.” She headed toward her father’s bedroom. “He’s been too weak to get out of bed for three weeks now.”
The healer looked at her sharply before asking, “Have you moved him at all?”
“The servants help him sit up or stand to make it to the chamber pot on a regular basis, but he doesn’t seem willing to do any more than that.”
“At least he has that. Have you noticed any bed sores when you bathe him?”
Margaret shook her head. “No, he hasn’t had any of those. He gets bathed once in the morning and once in the evening to keep him clean enough not to get them.”
“That’s not the only way one would get bed sores, my lady, but you moving him so often will help keep him from developing them.”
Margaret smiled as she opened the door to her father’s bedroom. “Papa, there’s someone here to see you,” she said cheerfully.
Her father barely turned his head in their direction, his hollow cheeks looking deeper in the midday light. His mouth twitched as he tried to speak, and he soon gave up, sighing. Margaret went to his side, turning down the bed to give the healer better access in his examination. She did a quick examination of her own, checking to see if there were any changes from the last time she had sat with him that morning.
“Papa, I’ve brought the illustrious Healer Dellis all the way from Glessic to see you,” Margaret told him gently as she brushed his thinning hair off his forehead. She decided she wasn’t going to give him a choice in whether she stayed and nodded toward the chair in the corner, saying, “I’ll be right there if you need me.”
“Thank you, Lady Margaret,” Healer Dellis said.
The healer helped her father to sit up, putting his ear to his back and tapping several areas before straightening again. He laid her father back down and repeated the process on his chest. Healer Dellis snuck a quick look to Margaret. “Has he always been this thin?”
She shook her head. “He started losing weight after his worst episode a few weeks ago. He barely has any appetite.”
“Does he have any trouble swallowing?”
“Sometimes.”
“That’s probably why he’s been losing weight. If he can’t swallow, he can’t eat. Are you feeding him solid food or soft food?”
“A mix of both.”
“Have your cook mash his food as one would for a babe.”
“I will do that as soon as you’re finished here,” Margaret assured him. She could kick herself for not thinking of that before.
“Good.”
Healer Dellis went back to his examination, poking and prodding her father more than she was comfortable with, but he was the best healer money could buy. And he certainly knew more than she did on the matter. He asked her father to do several tasks, like push his feet against his hands and squeeze his fingers, but the reason why escaped her. None of the other healers had looked at him for more than five minutes to examine him, and Healer Dellis was closing in on half an hour.
At last, the healer straightened and turned toward her. “Lady Margaret, I’m afraid that I don’t have hopeful news for you and your father.”
Margaret stood, clasping her hands tightly in front of her to keep them from shaking. “What is your prognosis, then?”
Healer Dellis looked first to her father, then to Margaret. “I’m afraid my Lord Dorcia has had a stroke and has developed a palsy along with it.”
Margaret put a hand to her mouth. “Was every episode a stroke?”
“It’s possible, though without having seen him before, I couldn’t say one way or the other, my lady.” Healer Dellis pulled the covers back over her father. “The only thing that can be done for him now is to make sure that he has a balanced diet, good water, and fresh air.”
Margaret sank back into her chair, her stomach sinking with her. “There’s truly nothing else I can do?”
“You can try the mineral waters from Bomack’s springs. They’re alleged to have healing properties that might replenish him enough to show some improvement, but he will not return to the way he was, my lady.”
Margaret stood, smoothing out her skirts to hide her trembling hands. “Thank you, Healer Dellis…I’ll see you out if there’s nothing else?”
“Thank you, Lady Margaret. I am truly sorry I don’t have better news for you.”