The upstairs floor was packed with numerous bits of bedding, currently housing two bleary, stirring children. The other side of the cramped space – which instantly drew Meilyr’s attention – was made of another bed of straw and sheets, atop which lay a man who could only be Deryn’s father.
Deryn herself was on her feet, coming to grasp his hands. Her eyes were very red. ‘Highness, you came.’
‘Of course. Haydn, did you get my missive?’
‘And everything you asked for. Here.’ Haydn gestured to Deryn’s father’s side.
Meilyr knelt and scanned the bundles of plants and herbs, the small items he had asked Haydn, via Deryn, to procure. The things he needed from the gardens – would have needed from the apothecary.
He could not risk letting Heulwen or Celyn know he was here. Could not risk them if this was discovered.
Finally, he allowed himself to look properly at Deryn’s father. He was acutely feverish, bone pale with a sickly sheen. His chest barely rose and fell beneath the blankets. Deryn refreshed the cloth on his forehead, and he did not respond.
‘May I?’
‘Anything,’ Deryn said.
Meilyr lifted the cloth to touch her father’s head. The shock almost buckled him sideways to the worn floorboards.
‘Haydn, could you—’
‘Tisane with golden henbane, and fox’s tears root. Here.’ He crouched beside Meilyr and laid out the things he would need.
‘Deryn,’ Meilyr said, flexing his fingers, sensing her helplessness. ‘Could you crush these for me? As finely as you can, thank you.’
She obliged at once, thankful to be useful in a way that eased some of his senses.
‘Also, Deryn, do you have a—’
Haydn unfurled a kerchief from his waistband and handed it to him.
Meilyr bound up his hair and tied the kerchief to keep back the strands from his face. ‘Thank you. Could someone please boil more water, and add more ginger to this?’
Osian moved, but Haydn sprang up on his heels. ‘Of course.’
It was not good. Even if Meilyr had come days ago, earlier, it would still not have been good. He popped a shock of ginger into his own mouth out of habit and asked for a knife on the pretence of crushing more fox’s tears root. With it, he subtly nicked his hand, and did the same for Deryn’s father, biting down a wince as he wove them together, and the wave of the sickness took the air from his lungs.
‘Meilyr?’
‘I’m fine. A little water, maybe?’
‘Of course, don’t overdo it.’ Haydn squeezed his shoulder, almost grounding him.
Woven, it was easier. A thousand times worse. Deryn’s father’s illness seeped into Meilyr’s senses, and he bit his tongue bloody to push back against it. To exert control. To nudge that control through every substance in the tinctures and tisanes they prepared, urging them to cleanse and heal. Cleanse and heal. Urging Deryn’s father’s body to cleanse and fight.Fight.Because it was worth living.
Meilyr’s quickened blood reared memories of Idwal from slumber. Memories of Celyn’s fury, his blame. Meilyr’s guilt.
All the images burst before his eyes like touch-me-not seed pods. Bile in his mouth. Water in his eyes. Tight discomfort in his chest.
Idwal had been worse than this. Meilyrcouldhelp Deryn’s father. He could. He could, hecould…
It was a long time before he exhaled, shaking out his tingling fingers. ‘That is all I can do for now,’ he said. Deryn’s father breathed easier, some colour in his sunken cheeks. ‘He needs rest, and…’
Haydn put his arm around him. ‘So do you. Air?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I’m taking our apothecary outside.’ Haydn helped him up. Osian moved, then faltered, and Meilyr did need Haydn’s steadiness down the rickety stairs. He leaned on him as they moved through the tiny house, through the low back door. The air made him shiver as he caught the scents of jasmine and bindweed.