The Golden Deer

Chapter 5

She sat long in the stairwell, not standing to leave until long after the sun had slid beneath the horizon. Her body was stiff and her mind was blank but she knew that she wanted to be at her brother's side, whatever might be happening to him.

She moved lightly through the halls, mindful of the hour, certain most of the castle was abed by now. When she reached the hallway to Alan's chamber she paused in surprise.

A crowd had gathered outside of Alan's door, clustered in little whispering groups, looking quite grim. Her stomach twisted with a fresh wave of fear.

She tried to slip through the crowd but the courtiers noticed her immediately. She could feel the word of her arrival move through them and suddenly they were parting for her, bowing somberly. Nobody ever bowed to her outside of formal functions.

Vultures she thought viciously. She knew they were only waiting to hear the news and if they were suddenly trying to endear themselves to her...another nauseating lurch of fear rolled through her as she pondered those implications.

She approached the door which Alan's guard opened without question.

A great, teaming spectacle greeted her.

In one corner Richard, Patrick and the other librarians were having a furious whispered argument over a pile of frail-looking manuscripts. Physicians and midwives were elbowing each other for space by the roaring fire, mixing poultices and potions. Monks and healing midwives were sprinkling holy water and burning scared herbs respectively. Servants were scampering about carrying blankets, towels and giant ewers of water. The room was hot, smoky and dank.

Alan's bed had been moved to the center of the room where he lay, accompanied only by the king. He was hunched over, sitting awkwardly on a wooden stool at the side of the bed, clutching tightly at his son's hand.

Evy crept to her brother's side. He was white as death, his eyes open and glassy, staring eerily out at nothing. She knelt slowly beside the bed and took up Alan's other hand. It was cold and clammy.

"Father," she whispered. He took no notice.

"Father," Evy repeated, with as much force as she could muster. He raised his face to her, gray with fright. For a moment he was no longer an intimidating king, just a helpless father watching his son slip slowly from him.

"Father," she said again, for lack of anything else. "Is he...will he be...?"

She trailed off, she couldn't manage the words. She couldn't see beyond her brother's ashen face.

"The fall sweat," he croaked, surprising her. "It's just the fall sweat."

"The sweat?" She asked uncertainly.

"He will be fine," the king insisted with a confidence betrayed by the look on his face.

Evy brushed the sweaty hair from Alan's forehead, feeling the king's heavy gaze tracking her movements.

"You shouldn't be here," he said suddenly.

"What?" She asked, blankly.

"The sweat is highly contagious. You should be in your rooms," he snapped at the nearest person, a harried-looking physician. "Escort the princess out, she cannot be exposed to this fever."

"The king is right, come along," the physical seized her arm.

"Father-" she started. "I want to be with Alan."

"Evelyn," the King said wearily, looking directly into her eyes. His forlorn gaze pierced her like a dagger. "Go away."

The king turned tender eyes to his son. The physician steered Evy through the chaos, Evy too stunned to protest.