Page 201 of A King's Oath

“Up and about already?” Papa’s happy boom broke his chain of thoughts. Samarth glanced at the door and Papa was striding in, his white kurta and pyjama glowing in the sunshine from the window. “You ate?”

“Over-ate,” Samarth chuckled. “Evidently, I ate Rajmata’s food too.”

Papa smiled, his hand landing on the top of his head and giving it a shake.

“Change of duty,” he informed Rajmata. “Go take a shower and eat.”

She smiled, sitting back — “Where is Sharan?”

“Flying high as a kite in the palace. He is in recovery, you are focused on Samarth, and there are 2-litre bottles of soft drinks passed around.”

Rajmata laughed, the voice satisfied and tired. She made no move to leave.

“It’s alright, Rajmata, go. My fever is down.”

“I know. It spikes at night. But since you are eating today, I think it won’t be spiking that bad. Take a break and then again start with the liquids. I am sending a 2-litre bottle of Limca. Start on that.” Samarth kept mum and bobbed his head until she was satisfied and got to her feet.

“Take his BP in half an hour. Dr. Haren will be here by 4,” she directed to Papa. “He wants his readings every 2 hours.”

“Yes, Rajmata.”

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“Are you going to drink that?” Papa asked, lying beside him on his bed.

“Papa, you can go to the office. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“Let Tara come.”

“What are you scared of?”

“Her rant.”

Samarth snorted, leaning over and pouring a glass full of Limca and passing it to him.

“You drink first.”

“My stomach is bursting. I’ll have it in some time.”

Papa accepted the glass and sipped.

“Did you roll out the quinine?”

“Hmm,” he swallowed a sip. “The peak of the endemic curve has come and gone. Dr. Vora and his team predict a rapid decline in cases. We just need to manage the symptoms of the current infections and prevent more breeding.”

Samarth nodded. He often forgot that his father was a renowned environmental scientist with two doctorates and had ruled the kingdom of Nawanagar singlehandedly for nearly three decades.

Silence fell between them. Papa sipped the Limca quietly while he let his thoughts run wild — Random thoughts. The hallucinations of his fever last night. The things he had raved about. He recollected those moments. He had not uttered any names out loud. At least, he hoped he had not. Memories of earlier illnesses flooded back. Illnesses in school or when he was travelling for polo — minor flus or stomach bugs or viral fevers. The only big illness was a typhoid episode when he was nine. Papa had gone into a mad tailspin.

“Papa?”

“Hmm?”

“You weren’t panicking last night.”

When Papa remained silent, Samarth turned his head to him.

“What do you mean panicking?”

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