The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) by Matt Gilbert Read Free Book Online Page B

straight
and regarded him imperiously nonetheless. He would not be fooled,
but he would at least know she had her dignity, and that she
intended to preserve it as best she could.
    Rithard
tried to strike a pose of his own, that of the concerned doctor who
only wanted to ease the pain of others, but it was not his best
skill. He was clearly brilliant, Aiul's equal in intellect, perhaps
even his superior. She had worked that out very shortly after
meeting him. That had prompted her to ask some questions, and the
answers had all painted a picture that matched her personal
assessment almost perfectly.
    He
was ruthlessly efficient, as the financial statements showed since
he had taken charge of the hospital. He did not ordinarily see
patients. He worked with the dead, determining causes, and liaised
with the city guard for investigating homicides. Rumor had it that
he was solely responsible for solving several grisly murders.
    So
he was to be respected, both for his skills and his willingness to
serve the House outside of his comfort zone. But there was a reason
he chose to work with the dead. Try as he might, he was detached,
analytic, and cool. His smile of sympathy didn't quite reach his icy
eyes. So like my own. How did I not know he was of Amrath when I
met him?
    Aiul
would have had the right words, would have made physical contact, a
hand on the shoulder, some sort of human touch, and not merely for
decorum, but sincerely. Rithard did his best, but for him, this was
process, and one still not fully perfected at that. He hesitated,
uncertain of his place, or if he would cause harm. Perhaps it had as
much to do with her station as his own lack of expertise in such
matters.
    “You
may speak,” she told him as she daubed her eyes.
    “To
be frank, I was considering what to say,” he admitted, though
he was not at all shy about it. “I know it is not my place,
but it's obvious these visits take their toll.”
    “And
what would you have me do?” she shot back. “He is my
son.”
    Rithard
frowned as he nodded, clearly less than pleased at her response.
“And he is my charge. That makes you my responsibility as
well, to the degree you will permit it.”
    “You
would dispense advice? Then be quick about it.” She
immediately felt guilty at her shortness, and smiled inwardly. We
are quite alike, I think. She offered him a sad smile. “It's
not you. I am simply overwhelmed, as you just pointed out.”
    “Matriarch,
far be it from me to tell you how to live your life, but I can tell
you the facts, if you will hear.” He paused, and Narelki gave
him a curt nod to proceed. “There has been no change in his
condition. I have not given up hope that he may recover, but I
believe it is time for us to at least consider the fact that this
may be permanent. Surely, whatever happens, it will happen in its
own due time.” Rithard fell silent a moment, as if gauging her
reaction to what he intended to say. “It is my professional
opinion that you are causing yourself unnecessary harm by neglecting
your own well being of late. It is my duty to see to his care, and I
assure you, I do all that I can. But any change that may occur will
be gradual. There will be plenty of time for me to alert you. You
need not be here every day.”
    Narelki
regarded him in stony silence. His words were hard, and bordering on
insubordinate, but she had invited them, and more to the point, they
were true . She held his gaze a moment longer, searching for
some crack in his facade, some hint that he was shirking rather than
offering honest counsel, but she saw nothing of the sort.
    With
a sigh, she lowered her gaze and shook her head in consternation.
“And what is your prescription, doctor?”
    Rithard
nodded, more comfortable with her submission. “Why not weekly,
or even bi-weekly visits? I give you my word, Matriarch, I will
inform you personally if he changes.”
    Narelki
stared at the marble floor for long moments in silence, grinding her
teeth.