City of Lies - Lian Tanner [60]
With a wild battle cry, she launched herself into the king’s chamber.
A cloud of foul yellow smoke filled the Royal Bedchamber. Frisia stumbled through it, sword in hand, searching for the assassins. The wolf-sark raged like a furnace inside her. The red mist demanded blood. She no longer knew where she was—
The small, clear voice in her head was like an island of sanity. (The king! Hurry!)
Frisia’s hand brushed against something. With a monstrous effort, she dragged her mind clear of the red mist—and recognized the silk hangings that enclosed the king’s bed. She pushed them aside, and there was Father, sprawled under the bedcovers. His eyes were closed and his face was the color of gristle.
(Get him out of here!)
The king was a huge man, and it took Kord, Smutz and Ser Wilm to carry him out of the poisoned bedchamber to the clean air of the library. There they laid him on a daybed under a pile of furs. Frisia knelt beside him, her whole body shaking as the wolf-sark drained out of her.
By now, everyone in the castle was awake. The alarm bell tolled and servants ran hither and thither. Off-duty members of the royal guard stumbled into the library, their boots half buckled, their faces white with shock. The hunt for the assassins was already under way.
Physician Hoff arrived in her nightgown. “More furs!” she bellowed, rolling her sleeves up her plump arms. “Light some torches so I can see what I’m doing. And get those stoves going. We must sweat the poison air out of him.”
“Will he live?” said Frisia.
The physician held a potion to the king’s lips. “Who knows?” she muttered. “It is in the hands of the gods.”
(Flick your fingers. Quickly.)
Frisia did not understand where the strange voice in the back of her mind had come from, or why it was talking to her like this. But it had helped save her father, and so she was willing to trust it. She flicked her fingers. Ser Wilm looked at her curiously.
Physician Hoff had managed to get the king to swallow a very small amount of the potion. The king spluttered and began to cough. His eyes flickered open. “What is—” Cough cough. He shook his head, and some of the color came back into his face.
The physician begged him to drink more, but the king pushed the bowl away. His voice was like the crackling of old parchment. “What is this—you are feeding me—Hoff? Are you trying to—kill me?”
Physician Hoff’s plump face was unreadable. “I am simply trying to mend you, Your Majesty,” she said.
“Consider me”—cough cough—“mended.” The king tried to raise himself on one elbow, but he was too weak. “Was it von Nagel’s—assassins? Of course it was. The treacherous creatures—they nearly got me this time.” His fierce gaze swiveled to the princess. “And Frisia”—cough—“saved me? Good. Good. You are your father’s daughter.”
He turned back to the physician. “What was it they used? The smell—”
A woman’s voice came from the doorway. “Burning stinkroses. They drugged the guards and slipped a fire-pan into your chamber.”
The speaker was tall, elegant and extremely thin. Her eyes were dark, and her gray velvet gown was trimmed with rat-skins, lying nose to tail around the neck and wrists.
Frisia had no idea who she was.
“Common stink-roses,” said the woman. “Who would have thought they could do such harm?” She strolled up to the daybed and kissed the king’s pallid cheek. “I am glad that you are still with us, Ferdrek.”
Physician Hoff cleared her throat. “The stink-rose, Lady Katerin, lets off poisonous vapors when it is dried and burned.”
Aunt Katerin. Of course. Frisia shook her head. How could she have forgotten? What was wrong with her this morning?
The king tried to say something, but he was overtaken by a coughing fit that sounded as if it might tear his lungs out. When he was quiet again, Physician Hoff leaned over the daybed and murmured, “I recommend just a little more of the potion, Your