“Ah,” Cavor relaxed a little, closing his eyes. “Joseph, you are a wonder worker.” He sat quietly, then opened his eyes. “I have come to a decision. You are wasted in Narbon, Joseph. I will that you move to court.”
It was not a request, and both Joseph and Garth knew it.
“No!” Garth cried. They must go to the Veins!
Joseph glared at him angrily, then turned to the king, wiping his face clean of any expression. “My King, I am flattered that you so crave my attentions. But I have responsibilities in Narbon, and Nona, my wife, enjoys it so much, and—”
“And nothing, Joseph!” the king snarled, and Joseph physically rocked at the expression on Cavor’s face. “You will move back to the palace. Your place is as the royal physician as it was years ago—and Garth seems to have the talent to be trained as a royal physician as well—despite his curious reluctance to do so.”
“My apologies, sire,” Garth said, bowing as gracefully as he could. “It’s just that my friends are in Narbon. And—” he thought quickly, “and my father and I are on our way to the Veins for our compulsory three weeks’ service. Sire, I learn so much in the Veins that I would not like to miss out on the experience. Perhaps once my father and I have completed our duty we can return to the palace.”
And perhaps not he thought, keeping his face as expressionless as his father’s. Perhaps not.
Joseph did not know why Garth was so keen to get to the Veins, but perhaps it was not such a bad idea. Cavor might well forget about them once they had left. Three weeks was a long time to sustain a royal whim.
“I don’t know what you can learn down the Veins that you can’t learn here,” Cavor snapped.
“Well,” Joseph began, but Garth broke in, visited by sudden inspiration.
“Sire, the prisoners—curse their venomous souls—are subject to curious fungal diseases in the Veins. Perhaps…perhaps, sire, your arm has been infected with such as that.”
“I’ve never been near the Veins!” Cavor all but shouted, and both Joseph and Garth recoiled at the strange light in his eyes.
“No, of course not,” Garth hurried on, his previous suspicion of the king now flaring into near certainty, “but fungal spores are carried by the wind easily enough, sire, and who knows? On a day when the northerlies blew perhaps you were unlucky enough to have caught such a spore.”
“My son has a point,” Joseph murmured deferentially. Where had Garth learned to lie that well? “I would like one further chance to examine the fungal diseases of the Veins. It might help me discover a final remedy for your arm.”
Cavor subsided. “Three weeks, you say? Well, your Touch healed my arm for close on two months the last time you came through, so perhaps I can spare you for three weeks. And it would be worth it if you discovered a final cure for this damn mark.”
To one side Garth visibly relaxed, and Joseph risked a glance his way.
“But I shall send for your lady wife and your household goods while you are gone, Joseph. When you return your home shall be here.”
Joseph inclined his head in a show of acceptance, mentally cursing. Damn!
Cavor watched him carefully. “Perhaps after a week or so of the Veins, Joseph, you will regret your decision to see out your service. I shall provide you with a letter which will enable you to return early, should you so wish.”
“As you will,” Joseph murmured, then stepped back, and indicated that Garth should Touch the king.
Garth delicately laid his hands on the king, and only narrowly avoided flinching as he felt the foul corruption of the infected flesh flood through his fingers and palms. Joseph nodded quietly as he saw and recognised his son’s struggle.
Garth closed his eyes and tried to loose as much healing through his hands as he could—but it was hard, very hard, because the arm he wanted to do this to currently laboured down the Veins, and some part of him wanted to harbour his energy for that battle ahead.
He hoped he would never have to return to Ruen until Maximilian sat the throne.
But here he stood with his hands on the current and, according to the Manteceros, legal king and it presented a dilemma that Garth had avoided thinking about until now.
What to do about Cavor? In a boyish way, Garth had somehow assumed he would rescue Maximilian from the Veins, and the country would welcome him back with open arms and parades through the centre of Ruen.
But would Cavor welcome him back? No, Garth did not think so. Not at all. So what could he do?
Garth started slightly, realising the power of his Touch was faltering along with his concentration, and he put the question to the back of his mind. Maximilian and Vorstus would know what to do. He frowned, bending his attention to his task, and let the Touch flow unhindered through his hands.
“I’ve had bad dreams,” Cavor whispered. Startled, Garth opened his eyes.
Joseph paused in the act of laying out fresh dressings. “Yes?”
The king had his eyes closed, leaning back in his chair. “Very bad dreams,” he said, and his voice had a singsong quality about it.
Joseph stared at the king, wondering what haunted the man’s soul so badly it bubbled forth in his dreams. Joseph hoped it wasn’t anything too dark. Not if he was going to be forced to finish his working life in this artificial world.
“I dream of dark places,” Cavor muttered. “Of rock faces splintering with the pressure of an ocean of water.” He shuddered.
Shocked, Garth’s grip loosened about the king’s arm. Joseph opened his mouth to remonstrate with him, then saw the expression on his son’s face. He slowly closed his mouth and shifted his gaze back to the king.
“I dream of being lost in this dark place. Unshackled and free, and yet not free. I despair.”
“Gods,” Joseph murmured, “the infection has touched his mind.”
But Garth knew better. He let go of the king’s arm.
“I raise my pick and strike the rock, then strike it again, and I know I am home.”
Tears filled Garth’s eyes and he had to turn away. Was the bond between Maximilian and Cavor so strong they shared dreams and experiences? Did Maximilian dream of wandering the palace corridors, smiling and bowing to the courtesans in flowing silk dresses as they passed?
“And sometimes I dream of the Manteceros.”
Garth turned back again, evading his father’s eyes.
“I dream I claim, and the Manteceros appears and asks who dares the dream, who comes to claim…but this time it refuses me, and it turns away into the mist, and I feel the mark flare into fire, and I wake screaming.”
Cavor’s voice had risen so that by the end he was shouting into the quiet chamber.
But his eyes were still closed, and so Garth dared the question, hoping the king would reply automatically. He wanted to gain Maximilian every bit of information he could to enable him to succeed.
“How did you claim, sire? How do you dare the dream? I—”
He got no further. With a roar Cavor lunged into full wakefulness and seized Garth’s arm in powerful hands.
“Who do you think you are, boy?” His hands twisted viciously, and Garth cried out and sank to his knees. “Only kings are privy to that information! How dare you!”
“Sire!” Joseph lifted his hands, appalled, but hesitated to actually touch the king. “Garth meant nothing by the questions. He is but a curious boy.” His eyes flared and he hissed at Garth. “An utterly irresponsible boy who should apologise right now!”
“Sire,” Garth was almost crying with the pain now. “I meant nothing by the question! Truly! I apologise if I have trespassed into forbidden knowledge.”
Cavor’s grip lessened slightly. “Foolish boy.”
“Yes,” Garth’s voice cracked, through fear as much as pain. “I knew not what I said.” How could he have been so stupid?
“He is but country-bred,” Joseph said, his face pale as he watched Cavor’s grip gradually lose its intensity. Gods, but Garth had come as close as he could to a broken arm without actually experiencing it! “And witless for it, sometimes.”
Cavor recovered his composure. “Well,” he said, and let go completely. Garth almost slipped to his knees in relief. “He’ll have to learn some manners if he’s to survive at court. Now,” Cavor’s mood swung in the blink of an eye, and now he radiated bonhomie again. “I have some sweetmeats here. Sure to please both you and the boy, Joseph. Here, taste. Now, which apartment would you prefer to live in, Joseph? The airy quadrangle suite that you had once before, or perhaps one of the remodelled apartments in the main building itself?”