Law of the Broken Earth(39)
She also knew that none of the risks they’d taken would have been necessary if she’d only kept Tan safer to begin with, or moved faster to get him back—she’d known where he was from the moment he’d been taken, and they’d still had to go into Linularinum to get him? If she’d only been faster, not only would they have avoided any potential trouble with Linularinum, but Tan wouldn’t have gotten hurt.
“Well,” Niethe said, now sounding a little doubtful, “if you stopped those sly Linularinan agents from doing their malicious work on this side of the river, that’s well done, at least.” She smiled suddenly. “I won’t scold you, Mienthe. Maybe you’re right. I imagine your cousin will have one or two things to say when he returns, however!”
Mienthe imagined so, too, more vividly than Niethe could. She tried to smile.
Behind the queen, the mage Iriene came out onto the porch, took in the crowd with one comprehensive, unimpressed glance, and said sharply, “Why are you all dithering about in the damp? Get this injured man somewhere clean and warm, and everyone else get out of the way, if you please! Do we have a litter? Well, what are we all standing about for, then? You”—she stabbed a finger at some of the queen’s attendants—“get a litter and get that man inside. Jump!”
In all the Delta, Iriene daughter of Iriene was not only the mage most skilled with healing magic but also the one least impressed by rank, wealth, or authority. Only learning impressed her, so Bertaud had told Mienthe, and only if it had to do with healing. She paid so little attention to anything else that Mienthe suspected she might not even know who Niethe was. If she knew, it wasn’t stopping her commanding the queen’s own guardsmen, who, after only the quickest glance at Niethe, were indeed jumping to obey the mage.
“Gently, there!” exclaimed Iriene, hovering over Tan as he was transferred from cart to litter. She scowled ferociously down at him, waving a sharp hand through the air as though trying to brush away a cloud of gnats. “Well, that’s strange—” she began, but then her breath puffed out in exasperation as someone staggered and jolted the litter. Instead of finishing her thought, she reached out with one hand and laid her fingers on Tan’s leg above the knee. Tan gasped and then sagged all over as the pain abruptly eased.
“So that’s in hand,” Niethe said as the mage and her party passed indoors. She turned her head, frowning. “Very well. Captain… Geroen, isn’t it?”
Geroen ducked his head. “Your Majesty.”
“I trust you’ll be able to keep hold of him this time? I’m quite certain that Iaor would not approve of a repetition of this night’s exercise.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. No, indeed. I’ll go see to that, then.” The guard captain hesitated fractionally, glancing at Mienthe. “If I’ve your leave to do so.”
“Yes,” Mienthe said, surprised. “Of course. Go on.”
Geroen gave her a curt bow and followed Iriene and her retinue of litter-bearers.
“Mienthe… you’re well, truly?” Niethe gave her a searching look. “I see you are. This”—the queen visibly edited any number of phrases such as harebrained and madly foolish out of her speech—“night’s, um, work, was truly your idea? Just what did you all do? And how?”
“Captain Geroen would probably explain everything better,” Mienthe said humbly. Everything seemed to blur together in her mind. Especially all that horrible ride back toward the river.
The queen smiled. “Well, you can tell me all about it after you’ve cleaned up and warmed up and had a chance to rest, Mienthe, lest you catch the ague and require Iriene’s skills on your own account! Perhaps you’ll join me for breakfast in the brown room, in, say, an hour? Two hours?”
Appalled at the idea that the queen might wait for her, Mienthe assured Niethe that an hour would be wonderful, ample, more than generous. Then she fled hastily to her room. She wanted a long, hot bath with lots of fragrant soap, and she wanted to wash her hair at least twice—she was sure there was swamp mud in it as well as on her clothing, she could smell the reek wafting around her every time she shook her head—and she wanted to wrap herself in warm towels in front of a roaring fire and let her maids comb out her clean hair. Then she wanted her warmest, softest robe and a cup of hot tea and a sweet roll with jam, and then she wanted to fall into her bed and sleep for about three days.
She thought she might at least manage a very quick bath and her hair.
“Your clothes! Your hair!” Karin, the youngest of her maids, exclaimed. The girl stared at Mienthe, laughing through her horror. “Let me call Emnis—do you want me to call her?” Emnis was Mienthe’s senior maid. Mienthe started to answer, but Karin went on without waiting, “No, of course you don’t; if she sees you like that, she’ll never help find boy’s things for you again ever. Did you know the queen was looking for you?”