(The Dark Servant)Midnight Matters, A. Ellas [primary phonics books .txt] 📗

mayhem reassured Jisten that whatever happened, it hadn’t been serious. It appeared like the pages had staged a battle in here, using ornaments as artillery and tables as barricades.

“I don’t know,” said Jethain, scowling at the mess. “I must have slept through the party. Which is very unfair, you know. If there’s going to be a party in my room, I at least want to be awake for it!”

Frowning, Jisten sat on the bed next to the prince and took his pulse. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” said Jethain. “Weak. But doesn’t lying in bed make one weaker? Let me up!”

“I would think that you would feel better by now. How does your gut feel?” Jisten put his hand on the prince’s forehead. The prince’s skin was cool and clammy. He looked around the room. “It looks a like a fight took place in here. Were you hurt? Do you remember anything at all?”

“Like I said, nothing happened that I remember, and I’m not injured any more than I already was, but I feel queasy,” admitted Jethain. “And I’m hungry, too, which is real misery, let me tell you! I’m starving and I dare not eat!”

“Dare not eat?” Jisten said. “You’re allowed soup. Has no one brought hot chicken soup? Or have you only been brought that awful cold stuff?”

“I’m nauseated, Jisten! I want one of Araken’s mint tonics,” whined the prince. “And tell him to let me out of bed!”

“I think that you should have a mint tonic, too. I’ll send a message to the archpriest and then fetch S’Rak. I pray he has some idea of what happened in here.” Jisten scribbled a note on the ever present parchment by Jethain’s bedside.

“Thank you,” said Jethain, partially mollified.

“I’ll ask my mother to send her soup,” Jisten said and scribbled another note. He rang for the page and handed him the messages. Gill glanced at the names jotted on the outside of the notes, nodded once, and shot off at a good pace. “I’ll return with S’Rak.” Jisten continued. “Is there anything else that I can do for you?”

Jethain shook his head. He gripped Jisten’s arm in a too-weak grasp. “Thank you, Jisten. I knew I could count on you.”

Jisten patted his hand, allowing his concern to show on his face. “Prince, prince, stay the course. All will be made right. We have an ally now. A powerful one.” He sincerely hoped that he hadn’t ruined it.

Jethain smiled. “Yes. My brother. Please hurry?”

Jisten saluted, then strode out, his long legs eating the distance.

* * * *

Jisten knocked on the door to Rak’s suite. Tebber opened the door.

“Tebber, sorry to bother you, but I have urgent need of S’Rak.”

“You’re always welcome here, sir, but S’Rak isn’t here. He came in for the midnight rite, told me he had something to take care of, and ran out. Haven’t seen him since. But it’s early yet.”

“Thank you, Tebber. I’ll check the stable, if he’s not here.” Jisten turned on his booted heel and strode just as quickly away.

“Good idea, sir. S’Rak loves the stable,” Tebber told Jisten’s back.

Jisten fretted as his boots echoed down the marble hallways. Suite, stable, tavern. If Rak wasn’t in any of those places, he was out of ideas.

Bharis met him at the entrance to the barn where S’Rak’s avtappi were kept. “He’s sleepin’ in Vyld’s stall. Beast won’t let us near him.”

“Do you have any meat scraps?” Jisten asked.

“Aye that. He wouldn’t take any from us, but maybe you’ll have better luck.” Bharis whistled, and in short order, Jisten had the bucket of scraps.

Zala nickered a greeting as Jisten walked down to the far end of the row. She let herself out of her stall and pranced up to the captain, neck arched and tail flagged. Vyld snorted from the confines of his own stall, making no effort to join the mare.

“Hello again, milady,” Jisten greeted Zala and offered her a handful of scraps, watching Vyld out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t see Rak, but he couldn’t see the entire stall from where he stood.

Zala daintily accepted the treats and then pushed Jisten in the small of his back, directing him closer to Vyld’s stall door. Jisten was glad for her push. He opened the door and offered a handful of meat to Vyld. “Here now, Vyld. I’ve come to say hello to you and S’Rak.”

Vyld snorted imperiously. Exiting the stall, he plucked the meat out of Jisten’s hand and shoved the Valer into the stall. Rak was curled up in the straw under the manger, completely covered by cats. Morth was being used as a pillow and was half covered with cats himself. There were even cats on Rak’s wings.

“S’Rak? Are you okay?” Jisten knelt down and touched Rak lightly.

Cats meowed in sleepy protest, but Rak stirred at his touch. “Mmm, Jisten… it is too early. Go back to bed.”

“But, don’t you want to be in bed? The stable floor might have straw, but it’s cold and hard.” Jisten massaged Rak’s shoulder.

“Stable? What?” Rak shifted, sitting up, dislodging a dozen protesting cats. They turned and wound about him, and he shushed them absently, stroking arching backs. He blinked several times in the manner of one not awake.

“You left me,” Jisten winced. He hated sounding like a farm girl. “And now you’re sleeping on the stable floor. There is evidence of a rucus in Jethain’s bedroom, but he’s unharmed and there’s no blood. Do you know anything about that?”

“I do not remember.” Rak yawned. “I left for the midnight rite, but I was planning to return to you. I do not know what happened between then and now. Are you okay? I did not mean to leave you.”

“It’s odd that you fell asleep and don’t remember anything. Jethain said the same thing, actually,” Jisten said dubiously. “You must be hurt. Let me check you.”

“Of course,” said Rak. “That is a good idea. I should not have fallen