Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

picked up
    the latest bottle and gave it a good shake. Viktor growled something under his breath.
    'What was that, darling?' said Heather brightly.
    'Nothing. Just an idea as to where that muck probably comes from. Are you sure I'm not supposed to rub it on instead of drinking it?'
    'You really are a baby when it comes to taking your medicine, Viktor.'
    'Ah shut up, or I'll hit you with my rattle.'
    Heather picked up a teaspoon, uncorked the bottle and poured out a generous dose. 'Sooner or later we're bound to find one that helps, my dear, if only by the law of averages. Now are we going to do this the easy way, or am I going to have to hold your nose again?'
    Viktor glared at her, but didn't have the energy for any more objections. Heather made herself keep smiling. It tore her heart to see him so down and defenceless. She brought the spoon carefully over to Viktor's mouth, and he gulped the thick chalky stuff down. He swallowed hard, and pulled a face.
    'That tastes so vile it must be doing me good. Well, where's my sweetie? A good nurse always has a nice sweetie for afterwards, to take the nasty taste away.'
    Heather leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. Viktor smiled at her ruefully.
    'Sorry, love. The spirit is willing, but it's not in charge any more. I'm tired. I'm always tired, these days.'
    Heather smiled comfortingly, and nodded. She didn't dare say anything for fear her voice would betray her. She carefully recorked the bottle and put it and the spoon back on the table. Then she leaned forward, took firm hold of his legs, and lifted ; them up on to the bed. He leant backwards, and she helped lower him the rest of the way. She pulled the heavy covers up over him, and his head sank exhaustedly on to the pillow. Heather let her hand rest on his forehead for a moment. His skin was hot and dry to the touch.
    'I never thought I'd die this way,' said Viktor quietly. 'A battle that went wrong, or a dagger in the back .
    . . that was something I'd grown used to. I could cope with that. But dying in bed, by inches . . . I'm scared, Heather.'
    'Don't be, my love. I'm here.'
    Viktor sighed, and closed his eyes. 'I'm tired, Heather. Very tired. I think I'll sleep for a while. Are the guards and wards in place?'
    'Yes, darling. Don't you worry about anything; you're perfectly safe here. Rest easy.'
    She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and he murmured something indistinct. She straightened up, and saw that his eyes were already closed, and his face was slack. She stood by the bed for a while, watching his shallow breathing, and then she turned and tiptoed out of the bedchamber. She shut the door quietly behind her, and sighed wearily. Her shoulders slumped. Being constantly cheerful and encouraging was hard work. She leant back against the closed door with her eyes shut, gathering her strength. The Lady Emma Hellstrom looked up from her sewing, and smiled at her.
    'Heather, my dear, you look tired enough to drop. Come over here and sit with me before you fall down.'
    Heather opened her eyes and smiled at Emma, and pushed herself away from the door. 'He's settled now. I think he'll sleep for a while. I hope so, anyway.'
    'Still no improvement?'
    'Worse, if anything. I've tried him on every medicine the surgeons have come up with, and none of them has made a blind bit of difference. He's so weak now he can't even walk unaided. Oh Emma, it breaks my heart to see him this way.'
    The Lady Emma patted Heather comfortingly on the arm as she sat down beside her. 'You must be strong, my dear. You have to be strong enough for both of you.'
    'I know, Emma. You think he's going to die, don't you?'
    'Yes, I'm afraid so.'
    'He's not going to die. I won't let him. I swear, if I ever get my hands on the bastards who've done this to him . . .'
    'You still think it's poison?'
    'It has to be!'
    'I don't see how it can be, Heather. I mean, Argent tastes everything before Viktor even touches it.'
    'I know, I know.' Heather's tiny hands curled into fists, and frustration and anger made her face ugly.
    'Whoever it is, he's been very clever. When I find out who's responsible, I'll see to it that he dies by inches.'
    'I'll help hold him down,' promised Emma. Heather smiled fondly at her.
    When they'd first met, Heather had wondered what Sir Gawaine had ever seen in his wife. The Lady Emma was a plump, mousy woman in her early forties. Whatever beauty she might once have had in her
    youth had faded away into plain,