Chapter 5: Grey in the Basin

Edric's letter was waiting on the cottage step when I got home from the moot.

It was one page, in his neat steward's hand.

Sorrel had recovered overnight, he wrote.

The palace physicians called it a miracle.

She was already fitted for her Convocation gown, and the Lord Councilor himself had sent her flowers.

The king had not spoken to her once, but the court said he spoke to nobody.

At the bottom Edric had added, Don't make trouble, Neve. I have promised the Council you won't.

I read it twice by the fire and put it in the stove.

That night I coughed.

It started as a tickle behind my breastbone and grew until I was bent over the wash basin with both hands on the rim.

When it stopped, there was a small grey smear on the white enamel.

I knelt on the cold floor and looked at it for a long time.

At dawn I walked three miles to the moor with my braid undone and my coat buttoned wrong.

Hester was feeding her hens when I came over the rise.

She took one look at me and put the bucket down.

"Inside," she said.

I sat on the stool, and she pulled my chin up with two dry fingers and peered into my mouth.

"Your tongue's gone grey at the root," she said. "Cough for me."

I coughed into the handkerchief she held out.

She held it to the window and turned it in the light.

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