The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(85)

Lady Shilton smoothed the back of her hand against Maia’s forehead.

The cramping in her bowels became more violent and severe.

“I do not feel well,” Maia said, moaning. Her stomach started to heave.

“You look paler,” the apothecary said, his expression wrinkling with concern. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Just some bread,” Maia said, holding her arms against her stomach. She was going to be sick.

“The basin!” the apothecary shouted, sweeping up the half-full bowl that Maia had used to wash herself. He got it to her just as her stomach emptied. She clutched the bowl and vomited noisily into it, her stomach wrenching with knife-sharp spasms.

Maia saw spots dancing in front of her eyes. Her temples throbbed and a strange chalk taste coated the back of her throat. She gagged again, hunched over, and retched a second time. The pain in her stomach twisted and wrenched, as if two sailors were playing tug-of-war with it.

“Mikael? What is wrong with her?” Lady Shilton demanded.

“I know not,” he said, flummoxed. “This has never happened before.”

“What did you give her?”

“A remedy I have used countless times. It usually takes a little while to start providing relief, but I have never seen this result before.”

Maia’s ears were ringing and their voices became muffled. The bread had entirely left her stomach, but she was not hungry for anything. The queasiness was worse than if she were being tossed about on a ship during a storm. Maia moaned with the pain, clutching the bowl even though it was nearly full of her own bile.

“Celena! Celena!” Lady Shilton screamed down the steps, summoning a cavalcade up the stairs. Maia felt the room spin around her. Her mouth itched. It was hard to breathe.

“What did you give her, Mikael? What did you give her?”

“Everything I gave her is to tame. To quell a stomach, not to upset one!”

“My lady, I am here,” a woman’s voice said. “What is wrong? Ugh, is Maia sick?”

“Fetch another basin. Quickly! A large one! Go, Celena. Mikael, what is happening?”

“I know not! I have never seen this! I have no cure for what I do not know!”

The commotion in the room grew hysterical. There was stomping and yelling. Noises coming in and out of focus as Maia’s mind turned to mush. She was sick several more times, expelling noisily but producing little more than bile and spittle. The muscles in her stomach were tender from the ravaging spasms. The ringing in her ears blended with the shouts and jostling.

Maia lay on the bed, gasping through the ordeal. In time, the jabs of pain subsided and the quivering stilled. When she next became aware, she was drenched in sweat and covered in several blankets. She opened her eyes and they felt stiff and pasty.

Slowly, she became aware of the murmuring voices around her. There was a new voice, one she did not recognize.

“Thank you, Healer. That will be all. Bootwain and valerianum. Yes, thank you. You may go now. I will report to Chancellor Crabwell.”

“Doctor Willem, I swear what I told you is true,” said Mikael Healer in a nasally whine. “I gave her nothing that I would not dose my own daughters with.”

“Thank you, Healer. That is all. You may go.”

“Do you think it was poison?” murmured Mikael as he backed away. “I did not poison her! I swear it on my own soul! Lady Shilton, you know I would not do such a thing!”

“Of course not, Master Mikael,” Lady Shilton said. “I will defend you. You have served my family for years. Do you think it was poison, Doctor Willem?”

“I shall make my report to the chancellor,” the doctor replied gravely. “You may go. Both of you.”

“She is stirring. Maia? Are you awake?” It was Lady Shilton’s voice.

She murmured in assent and rubbed her eyes to open them.

“You will tell the doctor, Maia. Tell him that I—”

“Enough, madame!” the doctor bellowed. “Out!”

The apothecary and Lady Shilton retreated down the attic steps, muttering bleakly as they left.

The doctor was a big, barrel-chested man with a fringe of white hair around the sides of his head and a waxy bald top that glistened with sweat. He sat on a small stool next to her bed, which had been brought up since she did not have a stool. His meaty hands folded and his voice was deep and grave when he spoke.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she answered. “I started my flux last night.”

“Lady Shilton told me. I saw the bloodstain on the gown . . . if you can call it a gown . . . over there.” He chuffed. “Living up in the attic of a drafty house. No heat. No brazier. No wonder you are sick and pale. My name is Willem Bend. I am going to recommend to your lord father that you be allowed to exercise. I think rowing on the river would increase your stamina and strength more than doing chores. Archery as well, for your muscles. You are young and need to spend more time out of doors. You are too pale. That should help a great deal.”

“That would be wonderful,” Maia said gratefully.

He smoothed a lock of hair from her face. “I also plan to tell the chancellor and your father that you were poisoned.”

Maia swallowed, remembering the chalky taste in her mouth—the sudden and unstoppable nausea. Her thoughts starting to spin wildly.