"Give him the wormwood," she said tersely as she dropped the first batch of leaves into the steaming water. A sharp, aromatic fragrance rose from the bowl. Artorius made a choking, gagging sound as Ancelotis fed him the emetic, then forcible retching filled the room. Keelin hasily slid a bucket under his face and held his head gently while he vomited. Ancelotis poured more wormwood down him while the leaves bled their lifesaving medicine into the hot water, turning it dark. More vomiting ensued. Morgana checked Artorius' pulse again and carefully refrained from biting her lips.
Not good, Brenna muttered silently. Not good at all...
But better than it was before he swallowed the charcoal and wormwood, Morgana retorted. Aloud, she added, "That's good, that should be enough, I think." She checked the contents of the bucket and nodded sharply. "Calm his stomach with a few sips of water, now. He must, at all cost, hold down this medicine. Should he throw it up, again, all is lost."
It was Keelin who got the water down him, murmuring soothingly when Artorius choked and swallowed convulsively. It was Keelin who gripped his hand and wiped sweat and sour vomit from his face. Medraut hauled away the noxious bucket, while Ancelotis crouched to one side, waiting with pain etched into his face. The moment Morgana deemed it safe to try, she poured the medicine into the silver goblet and held it to Artorius' lips, herself.
"Slowly," she murmured, dribbling the liquid into his mouth.
He grimaced and tightened his grip around poor Keelin's fingers until her hand turned purple, but he kept the bitter stuff down.
"More, now," Morgana soothed. "You need the whole bowlful, brother, and time is critical." She got all of it down him, praised him for holding it in his belly, then added more water to the leaves at the bottom of the bowl, determined to wring as much from each precious batch as possible. While they steeped, longer this time, she gave him an infusion of foxglove to strengthen his heart and calm his pulse, which was thready beneath her seeking fingertips. She watched him so closely that sight and sound of everything else faded away. His color, a ghastly shade of grey, gradually lightened to an ash-white pallor. Violent shudders began to rock through him as she poured the second bowl of Devil's Bane down him. He gulped, shuddered, groaned and got more of it down.
"What—?" Artorius began, voice shockingly weak.
Morgana placed gentle fingertips across his lips. "Hush, brother, you must save all your strength to fight the poison, to give the medicine its best chance to work." She dredged up a smile from somewhere down near her feet, she had to reach down so deeply to find it, and tried—with Brenna McEgan's help—to answer his unvoiced question, to explain what was happening inside his body. "The poison paralyzes, attacking the body's way of communicating with itself. The muscles don't know how to respond to commands from the brain, commands which come down tiny, threadlike fibres all through the body. The brain uses these threads to give commands to the rest of the body. It's these threads the poison attacks, making it impossible to move."
As Brenna spoke, Morgana began to realize this was a subject of far greater complexity than even she, a master healer, understood. Yet Brenna McEgan made it comprehensible, not only to her, but to Artorius. Morgana's step-brother understood exactly what paralysis of an army's communications network meant on the field of battle. Well done, Morgana thanked her unseen guest with tears in her eyes. You've given him something he can focus on, something he can understand, to fight against.
He fought to whisper out one question, anyway. "Is it an antidote?"
She bit one lip, hating the look that came into his eyes, seeing her hesitate. "It's the best I can offer. The best anyone can offer. 'Tis a miracle she had the herb, at all, and I know of nothing else that could help, considering what she's given you. What I don't know is how much she's used, how strong it was, how long it's had to work in your system. Here, get another cupful down, stepbrother, and all the water you can drink, to flush the toxins."
Keelin, kneeling beside him to wipe sweat from his face every few moments, whispered, "What can I do to help?"
"You already have helped, child, more than you know." Not just in her care of Artorius, or her quickness to fetch back the charcoal, or even her tenderness with his illness, but she had helped the alliance, as well. She had shown Briton royalty, crowded around the doorway to wait for news, that the alliance really did have a chance. No one watching the girl's concerned care of the Dux Bellorum could continue harboring suspicion against her. There simply wasn't an ounce of guile anywhere in her. The quiet look of pride in Medraut's eyes as he watched his bride brought more tears to Morgana's eyes.
Morgana gave the girl a brief smile. "You can join me in vigil, as well. We must sit with him through the night. Ancelotis, lift him into bed. Help him, Medraut. And someone needs to remove that carrion from my stepbrother's room." She gestured toward Covianna Nim's body, refusing even to look at the remains of a woman who had taken in Marguase's hatred, her craving for power, and used it to destroy, just as Marguase had done so long ago.
She also never slackened her grip on Artorius' pulse, which beat weakly, but with more strength than before, as they shifted him. Despite his efforts to help, the paralysis was horrifyingly apparent, causing Morgana's breath to catch in her throat. Oh, stepbrother, she moaned silently, her heart breaking within her breast, years, it will take, trying to restore your strength, if God wills that you remain with us in this world. As they lifted and carried him to bed, Keelin snatched aside the blankets on his sleeping cot and Medraut tugged off Artorius' boots, easing his feet beneath the covers. They settled him carefully, slipping off his vomit-stained tunic and trousers, then Morgana pulled blankets and furs up, seating herself beside him and holding his wrist lightly, one finger on the pulse point at all times.
Men arrived to lift Covianna's body, yanking loose Artorius' sword first, wiping it on the dead woman's skirts before carrying her out. Ganhumara arrived as Covianna was dragged outside, staring wide-eyed at the bloodied remains of a woman she had called friend. She then stood slim and proud in the doorway, her hair a copper waterfall around her shoulders, her eyes narrowed as she swept her gaze across her husband.
"Will he live?" she asked coolly.
Morgana flicked a glance upward into her eyes. "How is it that Medraut and Keelin arrived well before you? Artorius is your husband. At least have the decency to act the part of his wife when he lies ill and helpless."
Fire stung the younger woman's cheeks. "How dare you speak to me that way?"
Morgana strode across the room and cracked a hand across her face, hard. "How dare you behave that way?"
Ganhumara clutched her cheek, eyes wide in shock and pain.
Morgana clenched her fists to stop herself from tearing the other woman's hair out by the roots. "My stepbrother would have done better had he married a common whore! Get out. Your presence is neither needed nor desired."
Ganhumara stared into Morgana's eyes, disbelief warring with utter astonishment; then she sent a pleading look toward Medraut, holding out one slender hand.
His mouth twisted in contempt. "I was a fool ever to think you desirable. Take your wiles and your scheming ways out of my sight. And pray to God your husband lives, for if he does not, the victory won today will be erased as though it had never taken place. Think hard on how well it would please you to lie in a Saxon's bed. Or bear a Saxon's bastard in your sweet little belly."