Although confinement drove her nearly mad with frustration-here she was once again, immobile, so much to be done, time running out-Charis was able to muster a grudging appreciation for the fact that she was, after all, alive and that her infirmity granted her a change in status where Lile was concerned. Lile regarded Charis as another invalid to be cared for personally, which gave Charis a chance to study the mysterious woman much more closely than she could have otherwise.

In fact, Charis had no sooner returned from the encounter at the watchtower to take up residence in her old chambers than Lile swept into her bedroom with a servant bearing a tray of pots and jars of various shapes and sizes. Annubi had just left her bedside after examining the injury and prescribing enforced rest which, though it pained her to admit, was the only cure.

Charis glimpsed Lile and the servant with the tray bearing down on her and she groaned aloud, more from exasperation than from the loathing she felt when she laid eyes on Lile once more. She turned her face away as Lile settled lightly on the edge of the bed.

The first words the meddling woman uttered disarmed Charis somewhat, although she still remained wary. “I know you spare no love for me, Princess Charis. But I regard you as the head of this house now that you are here, and I am duty-bound to serve you with the best that is in me.”

Charis turned back but said nothing.

“Of course,” Lile continued, “were Kian here, I would defer to him. But he is not here and you are the king’s daughter.”

“You are the king’s wife,” replied Charis with a bit more venom than she actually felt.

“I am,” said Lile matter-of-factly, “but I am not noble born. I can never be more than his consort, and as you are his blood…” She lifted a hand palm upward. “…I serve you as well.” She motioned to the servant, who placed the tray beside her and departed.

Was this a trick of some kind? That Lile was devious Charis did not doubt, but was she also so subtle as to try to conquer an enemy with a show of humility?

“I need nothing,” Charis said. “Only rest, and you are keeping me from that.”

“I know what Annubi has told you, but there is something more that can be done.”

Charis uttered a caustic laugh. “I have been under the care of the High Queen’s personal physicians, and they could do nothing but advise me to allow time to take its own slow course.”

“No doubt the learned Magi are very wise,” allowed Lile. “But there are ways to help speed time towards its end where healing is concerned.”

“What ways?”

Lile smiled mysteriously and whispered a word: “Mithras!”

“What?”

“An ancient healing art practiced by followers of a god of the east-Mithras is his name, or Isis in her female aspect.”

“How do you come by knowledge of this god and its healing arts?” asked Charis.

Lile cocked her head to one side. “My father once sailed to the east, a long time ago. I do not know exactly how it was-I have since heard many different tales-but he brought back a slave which he had purchased at a market there. The slave was a scholar, and my father hoped he would teach me and my sisters to read and write in the old style”

“So that you might become refined enough for one of the royal houses, no doubt,” Charis said archly. “If that were possible.”

“No doubt.” Lile’s eyes narrowed. She looked away and continued. “This slave-a Phrygian named Tothmos- schooled us in our letters and when we were old enough taught us the old religion too.”

“Which you have been using to treat my father.”

“Yes.”

“To dubious effect, it seems to me.”

Lile looked at her curiously. “Who else could have done as much?”

“You flatter yourself. Why, anyone else could have done as much. The king’s wound was not so bad. It was merely”

Lile interrupted her. “The king’s wound was fatal.”

“What are you saying?”

Lile answered simply, “When I came to him the king’s body was cold and ready for the grave. True, the wound he received was not grievous, but those around him had not attended him properly. His life seeped away between the bandages of his ill-dressed wound while he slept. The fools summoned me when they could not rouse him, hoping, I think, to put his death on me.”

Charis had nothing to say. That her father had been more seriously hurt than anyone knew had not occurred to her. That he might have died she would never have guessed.

“Of course, when I revived him,” Lile continued, “they all insisted his wound was nothing after all. Nothing!” Lile gave a short bark of a laugh. “Then why send for me? You have never seen more worried, shame-faced, desperate men, I tell you.”

It was too much to take in all at once. So, putting it aside for the moment, Charis said, “Given the chance, what would you do for me?”

“Your injury is deep inside”

“Which everyone knows.”

“A rib has broken just here,” explained Lile, touching the place on her own back where the injury was.

“A broken rib?”

“Very painful. What is more, a piece of the bone is pressing on the life cord which runs through the spine to the brain. More painful still, and no amount of rest will ever heal it.”

“I rested before and recovered.”

“And here you are, hurt again.”

“What do you propose with your jars and ointments?” asked Charis.

“The ointment is for your swollen cheek. As for the other, I propose to take out the sliver of bone so that you will heal properly.”

“Chirurgia? I will not allow it. I am not that badly hurt.”

“Not now perhaps, though there is the pain. But if you leave it, there is always the chance that the bone sliver will shift and penetrate an organ-the damage will be much worse.”

“The Magi”

“The Magi refuse to accept ideas they themselves do not originate. Besides, I have stone tools as fine as anything made of metal. Stone can be consecrated; its energy for healing is strong and long-lasting.”

Charis gazed at the extraordinary woman. Lile gave the impression of being small and dark, though she was nearly as tall as Charis; her dusky aspect derived from huge dark eyes which dominated her features and from the long dark hair which glistened with a satiny sheen. Although her skin was light as alabaster, there was nevertheless a hint of something darker beneath the delicate surface-as if a richer, swarthier blood flowed in her veins. She was slender and graceful in her movements, but the grace had a studied feel, as if her every movement were consciously contrived.

“Why do you care?” asked Charis. “About me, I mean.”

“I have told you,” Lile answered simply.

“Out of devotion to Mithras?”

“That, yes, and because you are my husband’s daughter and the head of this house while he is indisposed.”

“I see.”

Lile looked at her frankly with her large dark eyes. “We are sisters, Charis. There is no need for us to be enemies. I mean you no harm and whether you Believe it or not, I respect your father very much. I use my art to make him comfortable and” She hesitated and then said, “To help him regain his health.”

Charis was certain she had been about to say something else. She replied, “As you have spoken plainly, I will as well. I do not trust you, Lile. I do not know what you want. Whatever it is, you have achieved it by getting my father to marry you. Until I know more about you and your ambitions I will remain wary of you.”

“You express yourself well, Princess Charis. I understand.” The woman rose slowly and retrieved the medicine tray. She paused at the doorway and said, “Do what you will about the chirurgia. If you change your mind, I stand ready to serve you.”

The next day Annubi came to see her, and Charis told him about her conversation with Lile. The king’s advisor listened and the frown on his face deepened as Charis went on, until he raised his hands in horror and cried, “Enough! I will not hear more!”