Stars of Pale Fire

VI. Someone Else's Headache.

  Silver's never been poisoned before. Not in this life, at least; not in this vessel.

  It hurts more than he expected. Every cough is like his body is trying to get rid of his own organs; every twitch sends shockwaves of pain all across his nerves like a fire scraping across each individual nerve. He's felt pain of course. He's a warrior, a hero. But never pain like this. He can't fight this.

  He opens his eyes as the door opens, and shifts his gaze but nothing else. A golden-haired woman removes her hood, shutting the door without touching it, and she regards him with a golden gaze. Silver grins, baring his teeth.

  "I know you," he says, the sensation of speaking much like having molten iron tipped down his throat. "You're that witch-woman."

  "I'm a physician," Gwynestri replies calmly, crossing to him. She looks how he remembers, not that he's ever met her before. Not in this life, not in this vessel, this wretched corpse he's residing in. "Have we met, Your Highness?"

  "Not recently," Silver replies. Gwynestri reaches and pulls his eyelids back, and a great light shines from her palm. Silver's other eye shuts immediately, squinting. The light is so bright. Everything is. They had to cover his windows with three curtains to make the headache go away. "You say you're a physician?"

  "Something like that," she agrees, closing her hand. The light goes away. "Your staff was right. You're all but dead already."

  "How convenient," Silver says, baring his teeth in a grin, his eyelids crinkling at the edges. "I'm sure that has nothing to do with my wretch of a younger brother. Did you hear that my father decided to pass the crown directly through his own blood? I thought the nobility would go into apoplexy."

  "They did," Gwynestri says, smoothing her dress down. She looks at him closely. "You think your brother did this?"

  "I know he did," Silver says. His left eye burns like fire, and he grins. His fingers twitch as he tries to raise a hand to point at his head, but his body doesn't comply. His hands are like lead. "We share a mind. The great curse of our bloodline, you know. Nothing is ever forgotten."

  "Your bloodline is very short right now."

  "Truly. My family tree is but a sapling." Silver exhales, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. "I pity the poor sap a thousand years down—having to bear everyone's memories. Have you ever had someone else's headache?"

  "Not that I can recall," Gwynestri says.

  "Good." Gwynestri rises, moving to the door. Silver watches her with his eyes, but does not move his head. "Lady Gwynestri?" He calls as her hand lays on the knob. She looks back. "Don't lie to my mother. It's easier if you just tell her truth."

  "I will," Gwynestri says, inclining her head. She smiles wryly. "We'll arrange a lovely funeral."

  "Ha." Silver sighs. "It's already prepared."

  Silver sits up sharply, slapping a hand to his left eye. It burns. He inhales deeply, holding his breath to suppress a scream. It's an old trick from the orphanage. The bruises have faded by now, but he still doesn't dare make noise after a nightmare. Just the thought of it makes his palms burn with old lashes.

  He screws his eyes shut, raking a hand through his hair, and swings his legs around to get out of bed. He has to scooch in an undignified way to actually get to the edge. Elyon and Gwynestri arranged for lodging within the palace itself, and Silver was given an entire bedroom to himself. It's awful. The room is the size of a small house, and his bed could fit five of him. He ever hasn't had a room to himself. He doesn't favor it.