She could well imagine the enemy taking advantage of Sacoridia in its sudden weakness and turmoil. It wasn’t as if they could keep Zachary’s wounding a secret, for the Winding Way was the busiest street in all of Sacoridia, and the story of great harm befalling the king would travel the length and breadth of the lands in no time at all.
Who had loosed those arrows in the first place? How had this assassination attempt proved so successful?
Laren pushed back the rising tide of tears. All the dire consequences for the realm she could think of did not diminish the loss of one who was so dear to her.
SCHEMES
They were met by a phalanx of Weapons that roiled down the street in a wrathful tide of black, carrying along Master Destarion and an assistant with them. When Destarion reached the wagon, he ordered Donal out so he and his assistant could have room to work. Ben still lay unconscious in the bed of the wagon and Destarion shook his head.
He put his ear to Zachary’s chest and peeled back his eyelids. He barked orders at his assistant who tore into his kit.
“Move!” he bellowed at Fastion, and they were off again.
A little hope surged in Laren. If Destarion was so urgent, could it mean there was still some life left in Zachary?
By the time they reached the castle, Robin was exhausted, but Laren’s Riders were there to take him from her and care for him.
“The king?” Connly asked.
“I don’t know.”
Menders bearing stretchers rushed out of the castle. Zachary was carried away, and then Ben. A blanket was laid over Lord Coutre in the wagon. Lady Coutre and Estora’s sisters ran out the castle door wailing. Laren paused on the top landing, gazing back toward the gates of the castle wall. The rest of the king’s party should be coming up behind them—she hadn’t even given a thought to their safety. Was Lady Estora all right?
She would know in time, but for now her thoughts centered on Zachary.
He was taken to his apartments and she and several others waited in the main parlor as menders traveled back and forth to his bedchamber. Colin and General Harborough stood off by themselves, heads bowed in intense discussion. Weapons turned the walls black with their presence.
While they waited, word arrived that Lady Estora and the rest of the party had returned unharmed. That was some good news, at least. Soon other reports came in that it had been a single assassin, apparently with his own warped agenda, who, after loosing his arrows into Zachary and Lord Coutre, took his own life with a draught of poison.
“Coward,” General Harborough said when he heard. “Coward of the worst sort.” The parlor had become crowded with persons who thought themselves important enough to hear the verdict on Zachary firsthand. Weapons kept them away from the private sections of the apartments. Aides came and went.
Connly reported to her that Ben was still unconscious and ensconced in the mending wing.
“It is the opinion of the other menders he’d spent too much of himself fixing Sperren’s hip,” Connly said. “Trying to mend the king put him over the edge.”
Laren nodded. “Just what I thought.”
“They will keep watch on him,” he assured her.
Speculation and rumor about an heir drifted through the crowd, the repercussions of the king dying, all the things Laren had thought but could not voice herself. It hurt to hear them speak of Zachary as if he were already gone, a piece of history discarded. Perhaps he was, and she feared they would never have so fine a king again.
The hours passed and servants brought wine and food to those who had congregated. A death watch it was, though some conversed and laughed in the corners as though attending a party. Others, like Laren, paced with worry clenching their guts.
The door to Zachary’s private quarters cracked open. One of Destarion’s assistants poked his head out and spoke to Fastion. Fastion nodded curtly, then made his way through the crowd to where Laren stood.
“Captain, would you come with me?”
Laren trembled. Were they taking her to see Zachary? Would it be as witness to his life, or his death? Colin was pulled in as well and they were led down a long corridor to Zachary’s dressing room. Destarion emerged from the bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind him, his expression grim and exhausted.
“I have ordered the death surgeons to ready the preparation room,” Colin said. “Have you a verdict for us?”
“A verdict, no,” Destarion said. “The next couple of days will be critical. He’s held on this long because of his own strength and Ben Simeon’s application of his true healing ability. It’s a messy wound—the arrowhead was barbed. It did damage internally, but Ben’s work repaired a pierced lung and began healing the tissue around it.”
“Then there’s a chance he’ll make it?” Laren asked, hope surging.
Destarion remained grave. “The wound is still very serious. It appears the arrowhead was tainted with poison, no doubt the same the assassin used to kill himself. Whether or not my menders can fashion an antidote remains to be seen.”
“I’ve sent some Weapons to question the herbalist who sold it,” Colin said. “If there is an antidote, it will be found.”
“I have concocted a draught that may help counteract the poison,” Destarion said, “but it’s already in his blood. It’s up to him to fight it.”
Exhausted by it all, Laren sagged into the nearest chair. He still lived, he still had a chance, and that was something.