Page 62 of Heart of Winter
“It was only a hallucination,” Oliver said. “It didn’t mean anything.” Aside from that whole wanting-to-shag-the-king bit.
“Yes, well, I am a man of medicine, but one can’t be too dismissive of certain…visions.”
“Visions?”
Olaf waved a dismissive hand and retreated to one of his shelves. He returned with a small, blue glass vial stoppered with a bit of cork. “Here, take this.”
Oliver did so, carefully. “What is it?”
“An experiment of mine. I’ve ground ice rose, tempered it with a few herbs, and created a suspension. Should you feel the fever begin to return – you’ll know the early signs, I’d imagine, even if you sometimes ignore them,” he said with a pointed tilt of his chin.
Oliver’s face heated. “Yes.”
“Take three drops of that, under the tongue, just before bed. I’m working on a theory.”
Oliver glanced at the bottle dubiously – but he wasn’t averse to actually using its contents, should he feel himself relapsing. Lying on his back for five days, useless and stupid, was no way to live. “All right. Thanks.”
“Oh, and…” Olaf went to fetch another bottle, this one clear, full of a viscous, pink-yellow oil.
“What’s this one?”
“Rose oil.” When Oliver glanced at him in question, Olafwinked. Andsmirked. “Never know when that might come in handy.”
Face burning, Oliver thanked him again and hurried out.
~*~
The mews was attached to the stable via a covered walkway, and Tessa was immediately charmed by it. The flags of the floor were covered in straw, all save a clean area in front where coals simmered in braziers, heating the whole of the small space. It was styled after one of the timber houses she’d seen in Aeres proper, by the harbor, its peaked roof laid with sod, and overgrown with cold-weather mosses; toasty warm inside, it boasted perches down both sides where hunting hawks and messenger falcons were tethered. Each had its own dish of water, and room to stretch his or her wings. Windows on the far wall let in light, illuminating dust motes as the birds ruffled their feathers and groomed themselves.
“It’s lovely,” she said, pushing back her hood and surveying it.
“You think so?” Leif sounded surprised.
“There’s something very peaceful about an animal’s house,” she said, and turned to find him regarding her with a muted sort of delight. His smile was a small thing, but the emotion shone through in his eyes.
“Yes, I think so, too.”
His favorite bird was a large female with a creamy, brown-flecked breast and a barred tail. She was one of the few left unhooded, and she cocked her head to fix Tessa with one large, round, amber eye. Tessa had the sense she was being weighed and judged.
“This is Él.” Leif stroked the top of her head and her chest with one finger. She nipped at him delicately, and then shut her eyes and leaned into the touch. He smiled. “She can be a bit particular, but she never misses.” He glanced toward Tessa. “You want to touch her?”
“No.” She folded her gloved hands together in front of her. “That’s no way to make friends with someone particular.”
That earned her another approving look.
She stepped back and let Leif ready Él. He hooded her, and donned a thick leather glove; he tucked another in his belt, and she had the sense that she would be offered a turn, if she wanted; Tessa didn’t feel she’d earned the honor yet, at least not with the hawk.
With a pouch full of raw meat scraps from the kitchen, and Él perched securely on Leif’s gloved forearm, they set out across the stable yard and through a postern gate to the flat, snow-covered field beyond.
It was the same gate they’d set out from on horseback seven days ago; the tracks they’d left had been filled with fresh snow, and new tracks marked its surface now: messengers coming and going, the smooth sleigh tread of deliveries; the hoofprints of hunters’ horses, or those of some noble off for a good canter to clear his head. The sun rode high, nearly midday, the sky a clear, crystalline blue. Their breath steamed in the chill air, but the sun was bright enough to warm her skin, and there was no wind. A gorgeous morning, sugar-frosted and glittering.
They walked for a way, headed toward the tree line, and stopped when Leif noticed a much smaller sort of track in the snow. “Rabbit,” he explained, pointing out the little snowshoe prints to her. “Él’s favorite.”
Tessa studied the bird, still hooded, sitting upright and alert on Leif’s arm, but easy for all that. She had a sense of readiness about her, but not nerves. “She’s much larger than the birds in Drakewell – my brother used to go hawking,” she explained. “Does she ever bring you back anything besides rabbits?”
“Martins, occasionally. She killed a fox, once.”
“Really?”
