My head was pounding and my legs were shaky when I returned to the keep. I went to my room, for I had no stomach for the noon meal or the loud conversations that went with it. I lay on my bed, intending to close my eyes for just a moment, but fell into a deep sleep. I awoke halfway through the afternoon and thought of the scoldings I would face for missing my afternoon lessons. But it wasn’t enough to rouse me and I dropped off, only to be awakened at suppertime by a serving girl who had come to inquire after me at Burrich’s behest. I staved her off by telling her I had a sour gut and was going to fast until it cleared. After she left, I drowsed but did not sleep. I couldn’t. Night deepened in my unlit room, and I heard the rest of the keep go off to rest. In darkness and stillness, I lay waiting for a summons I would not dare answer. What if the door opened? I could not go to Chade, for I could not obey him. Which would be worse: if he did not summon me, or if he opened the door for me and I dared not go? I tormented myself from rock to stone, and in the gray creeping of morning I had the answer. He hadn’t even bothered to call for me.
Even now, I do not like to recall the next few days. I hunched through them, so sick at heart that I could not properly eat or rest. I could not focus my mind on any task and took the rebukes that my teachers gave me with bleak acceptance. I acquired a headache that never ceased, and my stomach stayed so clenched on itself that food held no interest for me. The very thought of eating made me weary. Burrich put up with it for two days before he cornered me and forced down me both a worming draft and a blood tonic. The combination made me vomit up what little I’d eaten that day. He made me wash out my mouth with plum wine afterward, and to this day I cannot drink plum wine without gagging. Then, to my weary amazement, he dragged me up the stairs to his loft and gruffly ordered me to rest there for the day. When evening came, he chivied me up to the keep, and under his watchful eye I was forced to consume a watery bowl of soup and a hunk of bread. He would have taken me back to his loft again had I not insisted that I wanted my own bed. In reality, I had to be in my room. I had to know whether Chade at least tried to call me, whether I could go or not. Through another sleepness night, I stared in blackness at a darker corner of my room.
But he didn’t summon me.
Morning grayed my window. I rolled over and kept to my bed. The depth of bleakness that settled over me was too solid for me to fight. All of my possible choices led to gray ends. I could not face the futility of getting out of bed. A headachy sort of near sleep claimed me. Any sound seemed too loud, and I was either too hot or too cold no matter how I fussed my covers. I closed my eyes, but even my dreams were bright and annoying. Arguing voices, as loud as if they were in the bed with me, and all the more frustrating because it sounded like one man arguing with himself and taking both sides. “Break him like you broke the other one!” he’d mutter angrily. “You and your stupid tests!” and then: “Can’t be too careful. Can’t put your trust in just anyone. Blood will tell. Test his mettle, that’s all.” “Metal! You want a brainless blade, go hammer it out yourself. Beat it flat.” And more quietly: “I’ve got no heart for this. I’ll not be used again. If you wanted to test my temper, you’ve done it.” Then: “Don’t talk to me about blood and family. Remember who I am to you! It isn’t his loyalty he’s worrying about, or mine.”