Elise watched me carefully before adding, “It does nothing to assuage my guilt in the tragedy of your early life, but I knew who you were long ago, even before you and Dorian became friends. When your father came to the castle, the news moved quickly, Royce Eldridge had gained a son. He never shared the story of how he found you, but Genevieve told me of her letter from your dying mother, and I knew it had to be you. I did my best to see to it that the timing and circumstances of your arrival at the Eldridge household never reached Tonnsdale, or the ears of the church.”
“You’re right,” I said hoarsely, “It does nothing to assuage your guilt, but…” My bitterness was evident in my voice, and despite the alcohol my anger gave clarity to my words. “… what’s done is done and I cannot blame you for the doings of that evil man. Tonnsdale was damned for his own actions.” I paused for a moment, swallowing to clear the knot that had formed in my throat. “There is one thing that you are entirely wrong about,” I told her.
Elise Thornbear’s eyes were red and swollen with tears now, “What?”
I was tired now and my voice began to slur again. “I don’t care if you ever share the story of Tonnsdale and the poishon. That ish a matter that lies purely between us now, and I forgive you of it, but your son deserves to hear the tale of how hish father and mother met. You do him an injustice to keep such a shecret from him,” I informed her bluntly.
“You know how my son is; he walks a straight and narrow path, with no room for bending. How can I shame him with the knowledge that his mother was a whore? I think it better to leave him with a past he can be proud of than to tell him the truth,” she argued.
I shook my head, sending the room into another dizzy spin. “You are wrong there. You shon is very much like hish father. Gram Thornbear saw the truth of your heart, deshpite your self deception. He knew your worth, even before you did. You shon will not be deluded by the circumshtances of your past, and he will love you even more for knowing the truth.”
Laying back into the pillows, I determined to let sleep have its way with me. I had had enough shocks for one day. The world swam gently behind my eyelids, and as I drifted into a drunken slumber I could hear Lady Thornbear’s quiet sobs.
Chapter 31
The next few days really weren’t worth remembering, and thankfully the alcohol helped to keep my memories from being too clear. I suffered through a haze of nausea and vomiting, interrupted periodically by Elise Thornbear, as she forced me to drink more of what had already made me sick. I had never been a heavy drinker, but by the second day I felt certain I would never desire even the slightest taste of anything alcoholic ever again. It was all made worse by the fact that I had to witness my young daughter suffering the same treatment I was receiving.
“No more,” I told Elise weakly as she entered the room once more. She carried a platter with a large pitcher in the center of it. “I don’t care if I die. Just let me die in peace!”
“And what of your daughter?” she asked with an odd expression.
I mulled that thought for a moment. Was it alright to make her suffer for the sake of survival? What if she hated me for it later? “Save the child, but don’t tell her it was my decision till after I’m dead,” I replied at last.
Elise chuckled and handed me a heavy clay mug, “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”
“No! I told you, no more! I won’t do it,” I insisted.
“You will like this cup, it’s different,” she told me.
I glowered at her, “If I still worshipped the gods I’d call for an exorcism, since you are obviously possessed by an evil spirit.”
“It’s mint tea,” she explained, “It will help settle your stomach and get some fluid back into you. You are dangerously dehydrated.”
I kept my eyes on her as I suspiciously sniffed at the cup. It smelled fresh and minty, suggesting she might be telling the truth this time. She had already fooled me a time or two the previous day, when I had begun trying to reject her offerings. Still, my nose detected no hint of alcohol, and I was terribly thirsty. A small sip and I found myself swallowing rapidly. The tea was cool and delicious. I took the pitcher before she could offer, and refilled my cup.
“How do you feel?” she asked, as I gulped it down.
My eyes narrowed, “Like something that has died, been brought back, then slain again, dried out and stretched full length on a bed, with an audience to occasionally visit and comment upon its suffering.”
“That sounds positively awful,” she remarked. “I am beginning to think you don’t like my treatment very much.”
“I don’t like you very much at all,” I agreed. “In fact, yesterday, if I had had my power back, I might well have done something permanent and possibly fatal to you for sneaking that cup of honeyed liquor into me.”
She laughed before responding, “After listening to your whining the past few days, I have to say that I think you would complain even if you were hung with a new rope.”
The observation sounded so much like something my father would have said that it gave me pause. Musing about it for a moment or two, I lost my train of thought and asked her instead, “How is Moira doing?”
“Very well, better than you in fact, but then children usually do recover quickly,” said Elise. “Not to change the subject, but you remarked about your power a moment ago, have you had any sign of its return yet?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “though I feel weak as a kitten when I try to exercise it. My magesight was back when I awoke today.”
“Then I think I shall declare my treatment a success,” she announced.
I took another sip of the tea she had brought, finding that it did indeed seem to help ease my nausea, though my headache was another matter entirely. “I’m not used to calling a treatment a ‘success’ when it leaves the patient feeling worse afterward than they felt in the beginning,” I noted dryly.
“It’s a matter of perspective,” she replied, as she rose and moved to the door. “I’ll step out. Dorian has been waiting to talk to you.”
“It isn’t as if I’m going anywhere soon,” I said.
She shrugged, “You spent most of yesterday trying to turn your stomach inside out. He didn’t think you were in a mood for conversation then.”
“Point taken.”
She disappeared and my large friend poked his head in the door. “Still alive?” he asked with a half-smile.
“Barely, but thanks to your mother I mostly wish I had died,” I responded. “Any news?” It had been three days since Lady Thornbear had begun liberally dosing me with alcohol, so I was understandably nervous about what might have occurred in the meantime.
Dorian grew somber, “Only seven of the Knights of Stone survived: me, Cyhan, Harold, Thomas, William, Egan, and Edward,” he said bluntly.
“We lost so many?”
“Most of the servants, townsfolk, and soldiers survived, except those who didn’t get transported in time. We lost over fifty guardsmen and twenty of the townsfolk, including nine children. Most of those casualties occurred in the town, though a few were hiding in the castle before they were discovered by the god-ridden berserkers of Doron’s,” he said, elaborating.
“Any changes among the Knights that survived?” I asked, knowing that they must have drawn greatly upon their bond during the fighting.
“No, thankfully, since I doubt you are up to releasing anyone at this point.”
I stared at Dorian’s face, wondering if I had imagined the granite teeth in his mouth a few days ago. He had clearly begun transforming, and while that was to be expected of someone who used a lot of the earth’s power, what wasn’t expected was for him to spontaneously revert to his normal state. I couldn’t even decide whether to ask him directly about it. “Did your mother ever talk to you?” I asked, changing the subject.