Queensmen

Chapter 59

~Advice From The Gods~

The moment the physician arrived, Hermes didn't hesitate to pull off his blood-soaked robe and toss it to the floor. If he had been a less man, he would have frowned in disgust.

Across from him, on the other side of the bed, Meéarine shook her head at his antics. Of course, she would know how much distaste he felt towards the ruined cloth.

The swirls of ink decorating the left half of her face glittered when they caught the moonlight pouring into the room from its single window, almost silver on her dark skin.

"This was not a fight you should have had," she said softly but her voice retained its characteristic deepness, giving the feel that she was nothing but a vessel for its words-which she often was.

She tilted her head to the side, fixing her milky irises in Hermes' direction. "You should have been aware."

He looked at her and held her gaze. She possessed the eyes of the blind yet he knew she could see better than any man on Mother Earth. He didn't bother hiding his amusement. "Is that advice from the gods?"

The physician knelt behind him dabbed at his wounds with a wet cotton cloth, and Hermes had to look away from the pan on the floor as its contents turned red.

He felt his stomach churn at the thought of the crimson fluid dripping down his ebony skin. The smell of iron pervaded his senses now more than ever; he could almost taste it on his tongue.

When his vision blurred, he clenched his fists and persevered, ramrod straight as his wounds were reopened to be cleaned. Though the physician was a trusted one, Hermes could not have anyone knowing what ailed him. He had enough to worry about in court for there to be accusations of his being of failing health.

If Meéarine noticed his change in demeanor, she didn't comment on it.

"It is the advice of the common people." The Deádim used a pair of scissors to cut the shaft of the bolt sticking out of the nun then covered the area with red powder shaken out of a bottle she had gotten out of her satchel. "You were in no condition to fight. And now, you are in an even worse condition to brave the storms, Hekknï."

"I will be fine," he said, hissing when the physician finally got to the worst of his wounds, the large gash cutting into his shoulder.

"You will need to be knitted back together," she said and lit a candle with a graceful flick of her wrist. "I will have to brew you herbs for the pain."

"I do not need them."

"You will, tomorrow night when it begins to rain and rage." She pulled out two small knives and set them on the table that the candle stood. "Do not argue, Hekknï."

The physician walked in front of Hermes, hunched forward in a servile position. He showed the emperor the needle and suture in his hand before settling in front of his shoulder wound when he was given a nod of approval.

"I do not understand," Hermes admitted, forcibly relaxing his muscles as the needle pierced into his skin and the thread was tugged through. "My mother was attacked tonight but you did not visit her, yet you provide your services to a woman who is unaware."

"The Queen Mother is healthy, but in shock," Meéarine stated. "The gods brought me here, rightfully so."

She reached into her satchel and extracted a vial. She pulled out its cork with a loud pop and gently parted the nun's lips to dribble half of its contents into her mouth.

"The only physician with knowledge on how to save her took his life two nights ago. If I do not heal her, she will die," the Deádim explained then began to whisper incantations under her breath.