Father!
Verity pushed at me roughly. Get back! Let go of him, he hasn’t the strength for this. You’re draining him, you idiot! Let go!
It was like being repelled, but rougher. When I found myself and opened my eyes, I was sprawled on my side before the fireplace. My face was uncomfortably close to it. I rolled over, groaning, and saw the King. His lips were puffing in and out with each breath, and there was a bluish cast to his skin. Burrich and Kettricken and the Fool were a helpless circle standing about him. “Do … something!” I gasped up at them.
“What?” demanded the Fool, believing I knew.
I floundered about in my mind, came up with the only remedy I could recall. “Elfbark,” I croaked. The edges of the room kept turning black. I shut my eyes and listened to them panicking about. Slowly I understood what I had done. I had Skilled.
I had tapped my king’s strength to do it.
“You will be the death of kings,” the Fool had told me. A prophecy or a shrewd guess? A Shrewd guess. Tears came to my eyes
I smelled elfbark tea. Plain strong elfbark, no ginger or mint to disguise it. I pried my eyes open a crack.
“It’s too hot!” hissed the Fool.
“It cools quickly in the spoon,” Burrich insisted, and ladled some into the King’s mouth. He took it in, but I did not see him swallow. With the casual expertise of years in the stables, Burrich tugged gently at the King’s lower jaw and then stroked his throat. He ladled another spoonful into his slack mouth. Not much was happening.
Kettricken came to crouch by me. She lifted my head to her knee, put a hot cup to my mouth. I sucked at it, too hot, I didn’t care, I sucked in air with it, noisily. I swallowed it, fought choking against its bitterness. The darkness receded. The cup came back, I sipped again. It was strong enough to near numb my tongue. I looked up at Kettricken, found her eyes. I managed a tiny nod.