“What’s happened to him?” Kettricken demanded. And so I told her; reporting all that Burrich had told King Shrewd, for I thought she had as much right to word of her husband as Shrewd had to word of his son. She blanched again at mention of the attack on Verity, but kept silent until my telling was done. “Thank all our gods that he draws closer to my Mountains. There he will be safe, from men at least.” That said, she drew closer to where Patience and Lacey were preparing the root. It had been steamed soft enough to crush into a pliable mass, and they were letting it cool before applying it to the infection.
“Mountain ash berry makes an excellent wash for such an injury,” she suggested aloud.
Patience looked up at her shyly. “I have heard of that. But this warmed root will do much to draw the infection from the wound. Another good wash for proud flesh such as this is raspberry leaf and slippery elm. Or as a poultice.”
“We have no raspberry leaf,” Lacey reminded Patience. “The damp got into it somehow and it molded.”
“I have raspberry leaf if you are in need of it,” Kettricken said softly. “I had prepared it for a morning tea. It was a remedy my aunt taught me.” She looked down and smiled oddly.
“Oh?” Lacey asked in sudden interest.
“Oh my dear,” Patience suddenly exclaimed. She reached to take Kettricken’s hand with a sudden, strange familiarity. “Are you sure?”
“I am. At first I thought it was just … But then I began to have the other signs. Some mornings, even the smell of the sea can make me so miserable. And all I want to do is sleep.”