A Pox On All Their Hovels, Part 3

CHAPTER 10
It is the Seventh hour by the Shadow on Willowwalk, the 33rd day of Whistlewind in the year 626. Outroost Keep - Aughol's Chambers -- (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Aughol Zahir) A chamber of quarried gray stone, about 15 by 15 feet, with a flat ceiling that's about 15 feet above the floor and is supported by a trio of thick cylindrical pillars. Iron sconces are affixed to the walls, allowing for torches and lamps to provide illumination for the room. - Chaori Balsam comes in. No one seems to be in the hallway behind her. Aughol Zahir is currently quite securely tucked into his finely-crafted bed, skin pale and breathing ragged.

Chaori Balsam sets her satchel down on the desk. She cautiously approaches the bed. "Baron?"

Aughol Zahir glances to the side, slowly shifting himself upwards as he notices Chaori. "Miss Balsam, it is quite good to see you." Though he tries hard to conceal it, his voice seems quite less steady then is usual.

Chaori Balsam smiles brightly down at you. "It is good to see you as well, Your Lordship. How long have you been ill?"

Aughol Zahir forces himself to smile, before giving a slight shrug. "I imagine I caught it yesterday, in the market."

Chaori Balsam replies, "Then I'm here in plenty of time, my friend. Let me just get the first dose of the treatment down you. I swear it only tastes like poison."

Aughol Zahir manages a hoarse laugh, nodding. "I'll take your word for it." Chaori Balsam turns away and swiftly mixes up a dose of the vicious stuff. The vile result is a cup of liquid that promises to taste foul. "This really does taste better in one gulp," she warns. "Your servants shooed me right up here. Is anyone else ill?"

Aughol Zahir nods slowly. "Indeed. I'll try to drink it all at once..."

Chaori Balsam brings the cup over and hands it to him . Aughol Zahir takes the cup, frowning. A few seconds later he lifts the thing to his lips and drinks deeply, nose wrinkling in disgust.

Chaori says, "There really is no way to improve the taste. I wish there were."

Aughol Zahir manages to swallow the entire cup, shaking his head in disgust afterwards. "I think that stuff is more like to kill me then heal me."

Chaori Balsam takes the cup away and puts it down. "No, it won't kill you. It just tastes as if it should. Mind if I sit and chat? I suddenly have several dozen less patients, but I'm still getting worn out."

Aughol Zahir nods his head, frowning slightly. "Sure. What would you like to talk about Miss Balsam?" Chaori says, "Oh, some gossip that might distract you from your fever. How much do you know about Master Lark's further adventures?" Aughol Zahir offers a slight shrug. "Not much. Well. Not really anything, truly." Chaori Balsam sighs. "You really should have thrown a chair at him. When he left us, he went to the Lightholder and collapsed from the dark pox. Dozens of people had to be shut in there with him. Most of them left last night. The quarantine was lifted after the news came that there were people suffering from the dark pox in the palace."

Aughol Zahir nods his head. "Indeed... So I suppose this is all quite my fault." He falls back onto his pillow, sighing. "Indeed. If only I weren't such a kind man."

Chaori Balsam sternly says, "This is no one's fault. He was incubating the dark pox and had no symptoms. The toll of the sick and dead is growing high. The Emperor died last night."

Aughol Zahir lets his mouth drop at the news of the emperor. "What? The emperor?!?"

Chaori Balsam sadly says, "Yes, the Emperor. I don't know what they were thinking of, not having him treated until I arrived."

Aughol Zahir merely shakes his head, obviously in shock. "Is the imperial council going to survive?" His eyes are fixed on Chaori, watching her in wait of response.

Chaori says, "If they behave, they should. I haven't seen most of them today. The Imperial Tax Assessor and her fiance' are taking the fever hard, but they grow no worse. The Chancellor may be sicker than they, but is not as weak and dizzy. The Surrector looks tough enough to pull through; he was barely fevered."

Aughol Zahir nods his head, "Seems like what one would expect. The chancellor is a tad older then the others. I suppose it'd be too much to imagine that Gabriella was in the Keep?"

Chaori says, "Sadly, she was. You should have heard her scream at the Blades who were enforcing her husband's order to keep everyone out of the hall outside the Emperor's suite."

Aughol Zahir nods his head. "Did she catch the pox?" He inquires, his eyes shifting upwards to the ceiling.

Chaori says, "She was so hysterical it would be impossible to tell. Red as a tomato, I tell you." Aughol Zahir manages a faint smile. "Well, if she did, having to rely on you could be quite a humbling experience."

Chaori Balsam says with a flash of anger, "I will write that woman a referral. When I told her that her husband was in conference with the Chancellor and they did not wish to be disturbed, even to save their lives, she called me a few names I will not repeat and promised to have my tongue cut out. Seeing me would do her no good."

Aughol Zahir continues to smile faintly, nodding once more. "Indeed. Well, mayhaps she'll be able to find another healer... Mayhaps she won't be able to. Should be interesting either way, I"m sure."

Chaori says, "Perhaps she'll go home to her children. I honestly don't care, so long as she leaves me in peace. I knew she wouldn't remember the business was supposed to be over. So much for the Surrector's word, I fear."

Aughol Zahir sighs softly, "Indeed. I'd try to reassure you, but a sick man's word rarely has the effect."

Chaori says, "Unfortunately, the guard you lent me is not allowed inside Fastheld Keep."

Aughol Zahir frowns slightly. "And where is he?" He inquires.

Chaori says, "Right outside in the hall. I'm also supposed to have a pair of Blades, but they keep being given other orders. I tell you, I have an easier time treating the people in the Lost Hope Inn than I do the ones in the palace. The ones in the Shadow District complain about the taste of their medicine, but they drink it down without a murmur. Master Lark did try to blackmail me this afternoon, but the others only protest when I try to make them comfortable."

Aughol Zahir raises an eyebrow at the words about Lark. "And what did he try to blackmail you with?" He inquires, sitting up on the bed.

Chaori says, "Not guessing he was incubating the dark pox. No use, of course. I wrote to the Chancellor days ago about that."

Aughol Zahir shakes his head quickly. "Shadow take him." He swears quietly, before dropping back flat on the bed.

Chaori Balsam soothes, "I'll be fine, I'm sure. If not, maybe I'll move to the Shadow District. Lark also gave me a very fat purse this afternoon for my troubles."

Aughol Zahir raises an eyebrow. "Indeed. Well, are such sudden mood swings common for those who contract the pox?"

Chaori says, "No, but he's been at death's door for days and is wondering how the Imperial Council will choose to execute him."

Aughol Zahir raises an eyebrow. "Did you explain that it is completely not his fault?" Chaori says, "The Chancellor surely understands. I am to see him today, if possible." Aughol Zahir sighs softly, closing his eyes. "Miss Balsam, you'd best take your leave then. I would not have myself be at fault for you once more falling sick."

Chaori Balsam says gently, "I'll manage, I promise. Try to sleep now." She quietly leaves.

CHAPTER 11
It is the First hour by the Light on Fealty, the 34th day of Whistlewind in the year 626.

Chancellor's Suite  --- (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Talus Kahar)

A spacious chamber with walls of polished biinwood and arched windows overlooking the courtyard below, this is the room that the Imperial Chancellor calls home.

The room includes a washbasin, a chamber pot that servants frequently replace for cleaning, a wardrobes for clothing, and a four-post bed with an arched white canopy, polished biinwood headboard, thick beige blankets and comfortable fowl-feather pillows. An angled writing table is provided for the chancellor or his vassals to work on correspondence. A bedroll is provided for a vassal to sleep close by the chancellor's vicinity.

High wooden doors lead out into the quarters corridor.

Oren Nillu is in bed.

Chaori Balsam enters, looking tired. "Good evening, Your Grace. How are you?"

Oren Nillu opens his eyes. There is sweat coating his face and the pillow beneath his head is wet. "I have been better," he replies, his voice hoarse with accumulated phlegm. "Your medicine did little, if nothing, to help me. Not that I blame you. I am old and you did warn me."

Chaori Balsam unpacks her satchel and sets to work with that, the pitcher she brought in and the mixing bowl. "At least you don't look worse, just tired. Did you forget to drink all your medicine?"

"I drank the foul thing," Oren answers, turning his head to cough. The sound is loud and filled with the venomous sounds. "It did not help. If there are any miracles in that bag of yours, Balsam, now is the time to produce them."

Chaori Balsam sadly says, "No miracles, Chancellor. There's a priest out in the hall, if you're interested. I think his name is Bandus Flint. Have courage. You haven't broken out into spots yet."

Oren Nillu says nothing and waits.

Chaori Balsam finishes preparing another cup of the foul mixture and brings it over. "I know precisely what this tastes like. Please. Get it down in one gulp." Oren Nillu sits up slowly and reaches wearily for the cup. It visibly shakes in his grap as he approaches it to his mouth. With a more practiced ease, he drinks it down in long sips. By the time he is done, he offers the empty container back to the healer. "Hopefully, this will help." Chaori Balsam says, sounding tired, "I hope so, too, Your Grace. The treatment takes time to work. I was sick for days. Partly because I couldn't stay in bed. See, you're already doing better," she ends with a faint smile.

Oren Nillu drops back down on the bed and closes his eyes. "Yes, well. How are the rest of the Council members?"

Chaori Balsam replies, "The Imperial Tax Assessor and her betrothed are no worse. They are both still feverish and very weak. I haven't looked at the Surrector yet, but I suspect he's one of those types who hardly ever gets sick."

Oren Nillu smiles faintly. "That he is. Very well. Thank you, Chaori. I believe I will sleep now. The fever... it makes it hard for me to think. Perhaps when I wake on the morrow, your medicine will have improved that."

Chaori says, "I sincerely hope so, Your Grace. Rest now."

Oren Nillu closes his eyes and does just that.

Chaori Balsam cleans up, packs up and quietly leaves so as not to wake him. Private Quarters  --- (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Talus Kahar)

Soldiers of the Emperor's Blades, at least two but usually more, split shifts at the top of the stairs in this, the most sensitive of all the guarded sectors of the Fastheld realm. Here, the Emperor, Empress and other royals keep their private dwellings.

The long corridor is lined with doors to the rooms of lesser royals, then comes an archway - also guarded - that leads to the palace nursery, where newborn royals are kept by nursemaids in their earliest days, and then the corridor ends at the high wooden doors that open into the Imperial Suite.

"I will pray for your good health and speedy recovery, Surrector," the priest replies, eyes fixing on the closed door to the Imperial Suite. "I shall pray for us all." He sighs, then inclines his head and steps toward the stairs.

Chaori Balsam emerges from the Chancellor's suite, calm of mien.

Bandus Flint heads into Rulers Passage. Bandus Flint has left.

Duhnen crosses his arms at his chest, watching Bandus head away. He sighs quietly as well, not moving from his position.

Chaori Balsam walks over to Duhnen. Looking closely at him, she asks, "How are you feeling, Surrector?"

"Fine," Duhnen replies to Chaori, looking to her. "My fever broke last night, and I'm not feeling so hot all the time anymore."

Chaori Balsam looks at you a moment more and smiles. "You look fine to me. I must caution you that because you were barely ill, you may not be immune to the dark pox. Please be careful."

"I'll do my job. Should I get ill again...I'll fight that off too." The Surrector shrugs. "Things just won't wait for me."

Chaori Balsam sighs. "Speaking of things that won't wait, I have still more patients to see. Good evening, Surrector."

"When possible, make a bit extra of that concoction," Duhnen says to Chaori. "I'll give it to my wife."

Chaori Balsam pauses. "I can make that up now, but will she drink it?"

"I'll give it to her," Duhnen responds.

Chaori Balsam nods. "I will need a few minutes. I wonder if I can get a jar from the kitchen? It's really too much for a vial." With that, she wanders down the stairs. Five minutes later, she reappears with a small jar, filled with a vile-looking liquid.

Duhnen frowns faintly at the liquid, shaking his head. "Disgusting," he mutters, waiting. "I'll go in soon and give it to her."

Chaori Balsam nods. "The sooner the better. I am not responsible for the results if she doesn't get it all down. I also must warn you that the treatment does not always succeed."

"The entire jar?" Duhnen frowns at that. "I didn't have to drink that much when I was sick."

It's a small jar, about the size used for spices. It contains one big mouthful of liquid, the standard dose.

Oh. Ok.

Chaori says, "By the way, the kitchen says you get to wash that."

"I'll get them to wash it. I'm too busy," Duhnen shrugs at that, holding his hand out for it."

Chaori Balsam gives you the little jar. "I warn you, they'll complain. For your wife's sake, please keep her calm. Is she coughing yet, or just fevered?"

"It's their job," Duhnen shrugs. "She has a fever. Broke out in it last night."

Chaori Balsam says reassuringly, "She has a long ways to go before you need to worry. If she becomes delirious, get the fever down by putting her in a cool bath. There are perhaps five other healers here right now; two were healing people before I was born. Don't worry."

"The woman who taught Duchess Mikin is located around the Crossroads," Duhnen informs her, sighing. "Thank you. Good luck with the other patients."

Chaori Balsam says, "Thank you, Surrector. They need all the help they can get. Light keep you well." She turns and walks towards the stairs.

CHAPTER 12
It is the Third hour by the Shadow on Fealty, the 34th day of Whistlewind in the year 626.

Lightholder Crossroads - Interdistrict Carriage Hub  (Outdoors) (Cover: Fair)

A small village has sprouted on the edge of the Lightholder River where the cobblestone roads from Fastheld's other prominent districts intersect, in the shadow of Caryas Hill and the majestic gray silhouette of Fastheld Keep - the seat of power for the entire realm.

Sutlers, traveling performers and other small-time merchants ply their trades along this main crossroads - competing for space with carriages hauling passengers, couriers rushing important communiques from one district to another, and the soldiers of the Emperor's Blades who regularly patrol the area.

On the northwest corner of the intersection, next to the road that twists north toward Lightholder Bridge and the palace, sits a large tavern and inn where weary travelers can refresh themselves.

It is a very cold afternoon. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze.

Chaori Balsam comes out of the stables, presumably just having seen to her horse. She is trailed by a guard in black and violet. Roran Zahir is seated, his back against the wall of the tavern; the cool breeze bring relief to his bruning blisters. He looks terrible still.

Chaori Balsam looks around for dark pox victims in what is fast becoming a habit. She sees Roran and walks over. "Good afternoon. Have you already been seen by a healer today?"

Roran Zahir shakes his head, looking up to her lazily. His eyes are dark and narrow now and he looks to her with a sort of disinterest.

Chaori Balsam motions to her guard to come closer. "I can help you, if you'll let me. Do you think you can stand?"

Roran Zahir grunts pushing himself off the ground and gaining his balance from the wall. "Well, it is about time someone came to the Inn."

Chaori Balsam blinks. "I've come every day."

Roran Zahir nods a couple times, his hand coming up to scratch the shadow along his jawline. "Get on with your business."

Chaori Balsam says in a soothing tone, "Come with me, please. We'll need some water and you need to get in out of the cold."

Roran Zahir nods and follows.

The guard brings up the rear.

You head into Lightholder Tavern. Lightholder Tavern  --- (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Solas Creek) It is said - primarily by the proprietor, a jovial merchant-classer named Solas Creek - that all roads in Fastheld lead to the Lightholder Tavern. On any given night, it's not hard to see why he might justify such a claim.

The pub, which started centuries ago as a small refreshment wagon for laborers building Fastheld Keep atop Caryas Hill, sees boisterous crowds filling its rafters with laughter and pipe smoke at all hours of the day and night as travelers make their way through the realm.

About three dozen tables are arranged among the polished wooden columns on which hang the wrought-iron lanterns that help give the tavern its name. Solas or one of his assistants can usually be found working behind a wide C-shaped counter, serving mugs of keg-tapped ale to thirsty patrons who stand at the bar.

The floor is strewn with amber rushes, except in a circle of about twenty feet in diameter, where the stone fireplace and chimney rise toward the ceiling. -

Roran Zahir arrives from Lightholder Crossroads - Interdistrict Carriage Hub Roran Zahir has arrived.

Chaori Balsam gently says, "Sit and rest, while I get some water from the kitchen." She goes to do just that and returns in a few moments with a pitcher and some cups on a tray.

Roran Zahir slides onto one of the benches surrounding a table near the bar, he lazily rests his head on his propped up hand, watching her idly.

Chaori Balsam begins mixing up some herbs. Once she thinks they've been ground and mixed enough, she portions out the herbs into enough cups to give every sick person here some, then adds water. Roran gets the first cup. "You're going to think I assassinated your taste buds," she warns. "Get this down in one gulp if you can."

Roran Zahir looks down to the cup and back up to her, he tosses it back, his eyes never leaving her and as soon as he gulps he quickly stands, a terrible look on his face, "The shadow take!" He spits to his side.

Chaori Balsam rolls her eyes as Roran spits. Chaori Balsam finishes ministering to every other sick person in here, then departs.

Roran Zahir watches her leave with mild interest before leaning back and lying on the bench, his hands folded over his chest.

CHAPTER 13
It is the Fourth hour by the Shadow on Fealty, the 34th day of Whistlewind in the year 626.

Imperial Barracks  (Indoors) (Cover: Fair)

This cavernous chamber carved out of the rock beneath Fastheld Keep is buttressed by support beams and filled with row after row of cots and storage chests for the soldiers of the Emperor's Blades who call this barracks home.

Designed for utility rather than comfort, it doesn't have much in the way of amenities, but it does have a wash trough and a collection of chamber pots for personal relief. --

Chaori Balsam comes in, carrying a pitcher. She is followed by a frightened orderly with a tray of mugs. The orderly sets the mugs down and almost flees.

Wilesly is lying awake on one of the nearby bladesman bunks. His things have been neatly tucked underneath the bunk, including a rather elegantly jeweled-rapier. Right now the ceiling appears to have his interest, sweat and thankfully no pox marks yet covering his face. He keeps quiet as he apparently 'waits his turn'.

Chaori Balsam begins coaxing Blades into drinking an herbal mixture. From the complaints and swearing, it must taste truly foul. She approaches Wilesly with a mug. "How do you feel today?"

"Well I should compare it to having one's head smashed between a mortar and pestle, and then after that short bit of pleasentness having whatever is left of that head lit on fire.", Wilesly remarks, his gray eyes which are still quite full of life despite the circumstances, coming up to regard the healer appraisingly. "I would ask you how your day was going but I believe I already know the answer to that."

Chaori Balsam nods. She's got circles under her eyes. "Too busy. Believe it or not, you're a lucky man. Trust me, this goes better in one big gulp." She hands you a mug filled with one big swallow's worth of a nasty-looking liquid. "Think you've got the strength to hold the mug?"

Sweat, darkened brow, and rather pale complexion, doesn't equal a defeated man. Bottoms up and down the hatch the herbal concoction goes without much fanfare or even complaining on his end. He hands the mug back to the healer, his mouth opening and closing slightly as he tries his best to get the taste out of his mouth. "I've had worse.", he replies simply with as much a roguish grin that he can manage in his state.

Chaori Balsam blinks at that. "You poor, unfortunate soul," she sympathizes. "If you drank something that tastes worse, I marvel that you lived. By the way, are you Master Sprigg?"

"I always was lucky.", Wilesly murmurs with a slight nod as he looks up towards the ceiling. He lets out a sigh as he continues, "Yes, I am Wilesly Sprigg. Sly, Sprigg, sir, m'love, or that damned rogue, to whoever should be addressing me. Would you care to trade names?". He can only chuckle slightly as he reaches up to wipe at his slick forehead.

Chaori Balsam goes over to grab a towel and uses it to mop Wilesly's aching brow. "Keep this towel. Eventually, it should be burned. I am Chaori Balsam, Master Sprigg. I think we met once, weeks ago. I have a message for you from Duchess Sahna Nillu."

Wilesly leans up slightly in his bunk at the word of a message from the Duchess, towel temporarily forgotten. "M'lady is well? It has not plagued m'lady as bad as the others? To hear that His Majest had...", Wilesly frantically replies as he moves to sit up, but promptly fades as his heart grows to close to a certain subject. "What is the nature of the message?", Wilesly replies in a near whisper, as a few more beads of sweat spring to his brow.

Chaori Balsam replies, "She has the dark pox, but is only fevered. She is weaker than you are. If you can bear the walk and the climb, she would very much like to see you."

"Oh what an awful louch I must appear to be. Taken to bunk when it is only my soul that fails me.", Wilesly chastises his help. He starts to sit up a bit more so he can swing his legs out from the bunk. "In truth...I did not know the extent of my condition and I did not want to be a hinderance...I am still ill but perhaps I may be of some help."

Chaori Balsam nods. "Believe me, it is much easier to recover from the dark pox while resting. She will not blame you, I am certain. Take a few moments to sit up and move slowly, while I treat everyone else." This, Chaori does with some dispatch. Fortunately, Blades are trained to obey orders.

Wilesly is a bit more of a free spirit, already moving with as much haste as he can mange to retrieve his sword from beneath the bunk and fixing his doublet over his person. The angled cap is plucked up off the ground, and cloak affixed while he waits on the bunk paitently for Chaori to return. His sweating is still profuse but he wipes away at it every so often with his sleeve.

Chaori Balsam finally disappears with the tray of mugs and returns moments later. "Ready?"

Wilesly stands, his face looking a bit woozy from a lack of equilibrium. However after a few moments he offers a stiff nod, "Lead on."

Chaori Balsam says, "We'll take this slowly. Lean on me if you need to."

You head into Bunkroom Level.

One walk later...

Southeast Tower Top  (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Talus Kahar)

A conical ceiling with wooden rafters rises overhead in this upper turret of the southeast tower. The cylindrical chamber is largely cloaked in shadows, with doors leading out onto the eastern and southern parapets along the castle walls.

A heavy wooden door leads into a residential chamber.

Rough stone steps spiral down toward the base of the tower.

Chaori Balsam knocks on the door. A masculine voice calls out, "Come in."

You head into Sahna Nillu's Chamber.

Sahna Nillu's Chamber  (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Sahna Nillu) Honored guests of the Emperor and Empress are afforded lodging in this spacious tower-top chamber, with a huge canopy bed, a writing desk with inkwell and quill, a padded chair, a clawed-foot brass and ceramic bathing tub, green marble wash basin, rich brownwood wardrobe and a waste bucket for personal relief.

The heavy wooden door can be locked and latched against unwanted visitors. Two blue-curtained archways lead out onto balconies.

Chaori Balsam enters, carrying a pitcher. She still has big circles under her eyes. Wilesly isn't far behind Chaori, wearing his usual getup but not wearing any of his usual confidence. The usually familliar stairwell has put him into a light pant and he looks a wreck from having spent the past day or two in a bunkbed among the sick. Sweat beads down his forehead and every so often he raises a sleeve to wipe it. Ganeos is sitting in the bed, the sleeping form of Sahna curled up underneath the covers. He's currently attempting to read a letter, bleary eyes, stuffy head, and shaking hands turning the simple thing into a challenge worthy of a bard's epic. He looks up as the door swings open, blinking to focus, looking at the two arrivals. "If you're here for the Duchess, I'm afraid now simply isn't the time. Though I can handle any messages you wish to pass on." His eyes linger on Chaori's pail, nose wrinkling, mouth twisting slightly into a frown. Looks like he's tried some of her brew. Chaori Balsam says to Ganeos, "Good evening, Your Lordship. Be of good cheer; at least you're not worse." Yes, the foul cure is lurking in that pitcher. In fact, she pours it into two goblets, then brings one to Ganeos. "You know the drill," she says with a smile. "I was told, m'lord.", Wilesly replies, glacing to Chaori as she goes about her work. "That, m'lady, had requested my presence otherwise I should not have made the trip up the stairs." He frowns slight but inclines his head. "Apparently it is not urgent as I thought it may have been."

"Your judgement isn't quite as sound as you would think." Ganeos replies, staring at the goblet for a second, before reaching out to take it with trembling fingers. "She is just weakened by the pox. You may feel free to take up room here, to spare you the horror of ascending, descending, and acesending the tower. I believe Sahna would be pleased." He looks down at the murky brew, takes a deep breath, and moves to swallow it down. Chaori Balsam points out, "It would be best to avoid crowding. I will get one of the servants to bring up bedding; it should be put in the office."

"I thank you for the hospitality, m'lord.", Wilesly replies with a weary nod. Then he shakes his head to Chaori, "No really it's quite alright. I can bear a chair...I'm going to get over this after all." He lets a small weak smile flit towards Chaori before it deepens into a frown at the sight of Sahna. He takes a few steps forward to appraise the Assessor's condition for himself. "I'm sorry.", Wilesly murmurs near silently to himself before he looks up to Ganeos. Ganeos furrows his brows at Wilesly, before glancing at Chaori, goblet still clenched in his hands. "Is there anything else, Healer?"

Chaori Balsam shakes her head. "I'll leave the other goblet for Her Grace. Get her to drink it when she wakes." Chaori scoops up the pitcher and prepares to leave. Wilesly nods his head slightly. "I will go plaster myself to a chair if it meets with m'lord's approval," Wilesly ventures, looking somewhat more tired. He reaches up to remove his hat and tucks it into his cloak. "Do what you will." Ganeos responds, turning his gaze toward the letter in his hand. "I wouldn't dare presume to demand that you stand on legs weak from illness. Now, Sahna was curious on strangling as much information from you as possible, as her wont. Just to forewarn you."

Chaori Balsam slips out the door.

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