Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (45 page)

She rushed into her quarters to get more of the medications she’d need before running to Ammon’s chambers and shooing the anxious knights out the door. “You’ll be no help to me standing in my way! I’ll call if I need you!”

Once they were gone, she put a pot of water over the fire to boil and set about preparing proper bandages and sorting through the teas and poultices scattered on the desk. This time, she vowed, she would not leave until he was better and until he’d told her exactly what she wanted to hear, his
queen
was going to make his life very difficult.

***

With a yawn, El arched her back and stretched wearily. She had spent every moment of the last few days nursing her still-unconscious husband. Although she had been treating the wound aggressively, the infection was still wreaking havoc on his body. As the fever waxed and waned, she bathed his face with cool water and listened to the ranting of his tortured dreams. An agitated Fulgid paced the length of the bed, hovering over Ammon and nuzzling his hand hopefully. He refused to eat or sleep and allowed no one but El near the bed to tend to Ammon.

El had her belongings brought to Ammon’s chambers along with every book she could find in the palace library on medicinal cures. She had also sent for the entire collection of jars and bottles and the stacks of handwritten books from Sasha’s dilapidated house by the north gate. In the short lulls between Ammon’s fevered spikes, she immersed herself in the books, desperately searching for anything that might help. If Ammon's body weakened any more from the fever, the infection would kill him.

Each day Erik came to ask if there were any improvements, and today was no different. El was sitting at a desk piled high with tattered books and foul smelling jars when he entered carrying two steaming mugs. With a concerned look, he placed one in front of her and glanced into the bedroom. She sat back and nodded with gratitude before slowly sipping its contents.

Erik sniffed one of the jars before making a face. “How is he doing?”

She pushed back a stray strand of dark hair from her eyes and looked at Ammon sleeping fitfully in the bed. “The same. He’s not getting worse, but he’s not getting better either. Whatever this is, it happened too quickly to be an ordinary infection. I’ve already tried everything I know, but nothing seems to help. My grandmother knew of more treatments and cures than I’ll ever learn, so I’m going through her notes now.” She pointed at a teapot steeping beside the fireplace. “That’s one of her elixirs mixed with two others I found listed in a book in the library. I’ve been giving it too him every few hours since yesterday morning. If it works, then hopefully we’ll see results tonight. If not…” She felt her voice choke.

They both eyed the young man lying in bed grimly. Soaked in feverish sweat, his blond hair lay on the pillow in thick strands. Blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling while his lips quivered, mouthing soundless words. Erik placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I will take care of the matters of the palace until you can both resume your roles. If there is anything I can do, please let me know!”

El nodded with appreciation. “Thank you, Erik.”

After he left, she pushed the empty mug aside and climbed into the bed beside Ammon. She leaned against the headboard and gently pulled his fevered head onto her lap and began dabbing his face with a cool, damp cloth. As she wiped his face she studied his half-open eyes. She had always been attracted to tall men with dark complexions and commanding attitudes. Ammon however, was exactly opposite of that. His blond hair, blue eyes, and lightly-tanned skin were quite different from anyone she'd ever seen before. He was only a little taller than she was, and his muscular frame moved with a grace very much like his golden dragon. He was painfully modest and gentle, yet had shown he could effectively command those around him. Men seemed to want to follow him and his strangely-colored little dragon. She laughed ironically and leaned her head back. Not just men it seemed, despite her efforts, she was drawn to him just as much as they were.

She yawned. Perhaps it was all part of the prophecy, although she hated the thought that her life might be already planned out for her. Her eyelids began to droop. Maybe tomorrow she’d send someone to the library…to find the book of prophecies…tomorrow.

As sleep finally overtook her tired body, she sank to the pillows with Ammon’s head still on her lap and her fingers laced through his hair. She hadn’t noticed
that Fulgid had stopped pacing and now lay curled beside her on the pillow.

***

Ammon fought in a void. Through the murky, sluggishness of his fevered mind, he struggled against the invisible bonds that held him down. What or why he fought, he didn't know. Perhaps it was the stubbornness in him that refused to give up or give in. So within that void he struggled and strained, grasping desperately at the slippery, fleeting memories that flashed past with faces and names he knew but couldn't quite remember. With each endless minute, he fell deeper into the blackness. How long he had been lost, he couldn't say, time had no meaning. Maybe he'd always been there, maybe that’s all there is—darkness eternal and infinite. No, that couldn't be right. There was something…someone he couldn’t quite remember…and so, he fought.

Suddenly during that silent struggle, a sliver of golden light pierced the darkness. It shone so brilliantly that it was almost painful to behold, but Ammon grasped at it with every fiber of his being. Slowly, ever so slowly, the light grew to envelop him, surrounding him in a gilded bubble of warmth and light. Light! Oh such blessed light that fractured the impenetrable blackness and cradled him in its protective womb! Ammon let the glow wash over him, through him, like he was no more than a ribbon of silk in the wind.

***

Ammon awoke feeling like the mountains had fallen on him. The world spun dizzily the moment he tried to lift his head, so he lay still and tried to recall what happened. Something moved slightly on the side of his head and gently tugged at his hair. Instinctively he tried to reach for it, and as soon as he moved his right arm, a shock of pain in his chest made him groan involuntarily and he gasped. Suddenly a cool cloth appeared and began to dab at his forehead while another hand stroked the side of his head. Confused, he tried to speak but his mouth was parched and his tongue felt like wood. He swallowed several times and worked enough moisture into his mouth to finally croak. “What happened? Where am I?”

The cloth lifted and the outline of a face appeared above him, but his eyes couldn’t focus enough to see who it was. He heard the splash of water as the cloth was dipped and again applied to his face. Weakly, he tried to push himself up, but again the pain wracked his body, and he lay back down with a grunt, blinking. He licked his lips and tried again, louder this time. “Where am I? What happened to me?”

Once more the face reappeared and a hand felt his forehead. He heard El’s voice exclaim excitedly. “The fever has broken at last! Thanks be to God! Ammon, how do you feel?”

Ammon thought for a moment as he became more aware of how uncomfortable he was. Every bone in his body seemed to ache except for the few that simply screamed in agony. His eyes were blurry and there was a taste in his mouth like someone dumped refuse in it. “I feel…like I swallowed a slug…whole! What happened, El?”

She moved slightly and he realized he was lying with his head on her lap. “You don’t remember?” The flat tone of her voice indicated she didn’t approve much of whatever happened. She moved again and the room slid into a sickening spin. He groaned loudly and the movement stopped. “Would you like me to stay in this position?”

He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, please…”

A moment passed and then the cool, damp cloth returned and began to gently wipe his face. Her voice softened. “I guess I should have known your fever had broken. Fulgid got up an hour ago and ate something for the first time in days. He must have sensed you were getting better. You had me quite worried, you know. I tried every kind of herb and mixture I could find to treat you and nothing seemed to work. For awhile I thought…we thought we’d lose you.”

Her voice became stern for a moment. “I’ve worked too hard to lose you like that, so you’d best not do it again, you hear me? And you owe me a new knife for the one I ruined trying to get that stupid armor off you!”

Ammon again tried to force his eyes to focus as he fought down a wave of nausea. He had no idea what she was talking about, or why she tried cutting his armor with a knife, but if he owed it to her, well, that was that. He’d buy her a whole armory of knives as long as she didn't move his head again. “I’ll get you a new knife. Better than the one you had, I promise.”

He heard El laugh softly. “You owe me more than just a knife. A queen ought to at least have a ring to show she’s married don’t you think?”

Ammon knew there was only one suitable answer simply by the way her hand suddenly gripped his hair firmly and pulled his face toward hers. She made him say yes three times before she relented. He lay there quietly and wondered what happened to make him wake up weak, in pain, and held captive by a woman who demanded a wedding ring and a good knife from him.

Chapter 14

A Sword, Knife, And Ring

Ammon struggled unsteadily to his feet and waited for the pain to subside. It had been nearly a week, and he was only now just barely able to move on his own and what little stamina he had was quickly depleted just walking across the room. The wound was healing slowly, and the muscle spasms in his side were excruciating. His right arm hung limply in a sling making it virtually impossible to even dress himself, so El became his constant companion, graciously helping him with even the simplest tasks.

If that wasn’t humiliating enough, he learned the news of El rescuing him had spread through all of Laton. Curiously, she never mentioned it in front of him though, not even when Stalwart came to find out what he’d learned about Tirate’s defenses. He was surprised to learn she had information of her own to offer. Apparently, while he was checking the placements of crossbows around the tunnel, she had gone the other way and found more of the dragon killers hidden in the tree line. He reluctantly conceded the plan would have been doomed even if the crevice were still open. They would have to come up with another plan to retake
Gaul.

Stalwart visibly sighed with relief. “I must say I’m glad to see you won’t be doing this. I’d much rather see a plan that didn’t place our king at such risk. With all respect sire, next time will you please let one of my men do the reconnaissance?”

Ammon could see the smirk on El’s face, and he rolled his eyes. “I had Fulgid with me for protection, it was just bad luck that I got shot. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now, El blocked the crevice and no one will be passing through.”

Stalwart grinned. “Aye, and it was good thinking too. Luckily for you, she was there, or you’d be dead. Dragon protection or not.”

Ammon decided not to argue. She had indeed saved his life and risked her own to do it, but on the other hand, if she hadn't been there in the first place, he might have made it back unscathed. There was no way of knowing, so it was better to just drop the whole issue. Instead, he asked Stalwart for his ideas to retake Gaul. Stalwart gave numerous scenarios, all of which meant heavy losses, and Ammon rejected each one politely. He would not allow hundreds to go to their deaths, especially in a war he couldn't guarantee to win. It had to be a sweeping victory with minimal loss. Unrealistic or not, that is what he insisted upon.

When El rose to prepare a fresh pot of the horrid tea she forced him to  drink every hour, he leaned forward and whispered to Stalwart. “May I ask a favor of you? I need to replace the knife El ruined when she cut off my armor, and…I also need to know where to get her a…ring.”