opened, and before her appeared the startled face of the healer.
Illepra. She had been healer to the royal family her entire life, and had been a presence in Gwen’s life ever since she could walk. Yet still, Illepra managed to look young—in fact, she barely looked older than Gwen. Her skin positively glowed, radiant, framing her kind, green eyes and making her seem to be hardly more than 18 years. Gwen knew she was a good deal older than that, knew that her appearance was deceiving, and she also knew that Illepra was one of the smartest and most talented people she had ever met.
Illepra’s eyes shifted to Godfrey as she took in the scene at once. She did away with pleasantries as her eyes opened wide with concern, realizing the urgency. She brushed past Gwen and hurried to Godfrey’s side, laying a palm of his forehead. She frowned.
“Bring him in,” she ordered the two men, hastily, “and be quick about it.”
Illepra went back inside, opening the door further, and they followed on her heels as they rushed into the cottage. Gwen followed them in, ducking at the low entrance, and closed the door behind them.
It was dim in here, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust; when they did, she saw the cottage exactly as she had remembered it as a young girl: small, light, clean, and overflowing with plants, herbs and potions of every variety.
“Set him down there,” Illepra ordered the men, as serious as Gwen had ever heard her. “On that bed, in the corner. Remove his shirt and shoes. Then leave us.”
Akorth and Fulton did as they were told. As they were hurrying out the door, Gwen grabbed Akorth’s arm.
“Stand guard outside the door,” she ordered. “Whoever came after Godfrey might want a chance at him still. Or at me.”
Akorth nodded and he and Fulton exited, closing the door behind them.
“How long has he been like this?” Illepra asked urgently, not looking at Gwen as she knelt at Godfrey’s side and began to feel his wrist, his stomach, his throat.
“Since last night,” Gwen answered.
“Last night!” Illepra echoed, shaking her head in concern. She examined him for a long time in silence, her expression darkening.
“It’s not good,” she said finally.
She placed a palm on his forehead again and this time closed her eyes, breathing for a very long time. A thick silence pervaded the room, and Gwen was beginning to lose her sense of time.
“Poison,” Illepra finally whispered, her eyes still closed, as if reading his condition through osmosis.
Gwen always marveled at her skill; she had never been wrong once, not in her lifetime. And she had saved more lives than the army had taken. She wondered if it was a learned skill or if it was inherited; she knew that Illepra’s mother had been a healer, and her mother before her. Yet at the same time, Illepra had spent every waking minute of her life studying potions and the healing arts.
“A very powerful poison,” Illepra added, more confident. “One I encounter rarely. A very expensive one. Whoever was trying to kill him knew what he was doing. It is incredible he did not die. This one must be stronger than we think.”
“He gets it from my father,” Gwen said. “He had the constitution of a bull. All the MacGil kings did.”
Illepra crossed the room and mixed several herbs on a wooden block, chopping and grinding them and adding a liquid as she did. The finished product was a thick, green salve, and she filled her palm, hurried back to Godfrey’s side, and applied it up and down his throat, under his arms, on his forehead. When she finished, she crossed the room again, took a glass and poured several liquids, one red, one brown and one purple. As they blended, the potion hissed and bubbled. She stirred it with a long, wooden spoon, then hurried back to Godfrey and applied it to his lips.
Godfrey did not budge; Illepra reached behind his head and lifted it with her palm, and forced the liquid into his mouth. Most of it spilled down the side of his cheeks, but some of it went down his throat.
Illepra dabbed the liquid from his mouth and jaw, then finally leaned back and sighed.
“Will he live?” Gwen asked, frantic.
“He might,” she said, somber. “I have given him everything I have, but it won’t be enough. His life is in the hand of the fates. Only the gods can say now.”