Her chest did not feel so tight after writing that.
The rest of the night she alternated between singing softly to herself while walking around the room to keep herself awake and writing prayers and her favorite scriptures.
Finally, when it was time to take the potion, she woke up Ysabeau, who helped her dress in her most elaborate gown, which she was to wear for the wedding. This way no one would have to dress her for burial.
Then Elyce took the vial and drank it.
The grainy liquid tasted bitter and earthy. She swallowed it all and hid the vial at the bottom of a trunk.
Ysabeau turned away as a tear dripped from her eye. She was trying to discreetly wipe her eyes with her hands as Elyce lay down on her bed. Poor Ysa. God, please comfort her and don’t let her worry so much.
Elyce stared at the wispy canopy overhead and prayed for God’s protection, provision, and grace.
I know I don’t deserve Your favor, God, but please save me for the sake of my people.
Her heart beat extra hard and extra slow at the same time, causing an ache in her chest. Her fingers and toes tingled as her eyelids became so heavy she couldn’t keep them open. Her body started drifting . . . drifting . . . then suddenly convulsed, shaking her awake. She drifted again, then jerked awake again. She felt so strange and uncomfortable. As she drifted for the third time, she prayed silently, O God, let me fall asleep.
Darkness dragged her down . . . down . . . and sleep overtook her.
Three
Gerard still could hardly believe he was in Montciel. It had happened so fast.
He’d prayed like he’d promised Delia he would. And while he was praying, he began to speak praises to God that he had memorized from the Psalms. As he stared at the cross above the chancel in Dericott Chapel, he suddenly saw a vision of a young woman lying down.
The woman was beautiful, her brown hair spilled out on the pillow around her head, and her eyes were closed. People were standing all around her, crying and wailing. When he walked into the room, they all stopped crying and looked at him. They held out their hands, their eyes pleading. “Help us,” they said. And then the vision vanished.
Gerard had squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force the vision to come back, but all he could do was remember it—the sleeping woman and the people crying and pleading with him.
God, what does it mean? he asked.
Go to Montciel. Help Princess Elyce.
It was not an audible voice, but the words had to have been from God. Gerard had never seen a vision like that before. And if it was from God, Gerard could not possibly ignore it.
He spent a long time praying, asking God exactly what He wanted him to do, why He had chosen him, but there were no other words, no more instructions, no more visions.
A word from God. A vision. There were so many stories of knights who prayed and were granted a vision about a quest God was sending them on, but Gerard never imagined it would happen to him. The whole thing excited and invigorated him. He was going to Montciel on a quest from God!
But now that he was here, in Montciel, he felt unsure where to go and what to do. Who was he, after all? Only the brother of an English earl, a foreign knight in this country, with nothing to recommend him except a letter from his sister, who at least was a duchess.
He was a good swordsman. He was capable as a knight, and he had proven that he was brave in battle. But unless there was a war between Montciel and Valkenfeld, he would need diplomacy, not battle skills. And diplomacy was not something he’d studied as a knight in training. That was more his oldest brother, Edwin’s, domain.
Thankfully, he had been able to convince one of his friends, Sir Oswalt, to come with him. Though they had become knights at the same time, Sir Oswalt was a couple of years older than Gerard. He was quick-witted and was an advocate of minding one’s own business, so Gerard was surprised he of all the others had agreed to come.
“Why did you say yes to this mission?” Gerard had asked him.
“Because you are too kindhearted for your own good, and I figured you might need help getting back home.”
Sir Oswalt’s answer stung, and it made Gerard determined to prove that he was capable and that God had called him to do this. And yet he wasn’t too proud to be grateful for his help and company.
They had taken a ship across the sea to the Continent and landed at the closest point to the inland Montciel. They bought horses and rode toward the ever-higher mountains and their white peaks. By the time they reached the border of Montciel, Gerard was hard-pressed to wear enough layers of clothing to keep warm, even though it was only October. The locals informed them with a smile that it was unusually warm. Winter, they explained, was late in coming this year.
That did not bode well.
Perhaps he could save the princess and her people from King Claude quickly and return home before it got much colder or snowed. He still had no idea how he would help her, but God had sent him here, so He must have a plan.
They rode hard for three days, hardly stopping and seldom talking to anyone. And now, as they finally reached the village outside the castle residence of the King of Montciel, Gerard noticed how the people’s shoulders slumped, the way they walked slowly, their eyes downcast.
“What ails these people?” Gerard said.
Sir Oswalt shook his head.
They stopped at a stall at the side of the narrow street where a man was selling bread. Gerard and Sir Oswalt dismounted. Gerard had heard that the people spoke German. Gerard knew a bit of German, and he could understand it better than he could speak it. Sir Oswalt, however, did not.
“Guter Herr,” Gerard said in his rudimentary German, “we are foreigners here. Will you tell us the news?”
The man’s eyes were watery as he looked directly at Gerard. “Our beautiful princess has fallen ill and is not responding to the king’s physician’s treatment. They have lost hope for her.” He aggressively cleared his throat, as if trying to fight back tears.
“Princess? Do you mean Princess Elyce?”
The man nodded.
Gerard’s heart skipped a beat. Had God sent him on a fool’s errand? Was he to attend the funeral of the woman he was meant to save?
He and Sir Oswalt bought some bread and cheese from the man, as their supplies were depleted, but Gerard’s mind was in a haze. Surely Delia’s friend would not die, not when he’d come so far to help her.
As they walked away, Sir Oswalt asked, “What now?”
“I don’t know. But I have this letter, and I want to at least try to get into the castle. Perhaps I can talk to someone, even the king.”
Oswalt was frowning, but he was loyal. Gerard had once rescued him from being wrongly punished when they were in training, and Oswalt had proven himself a great friend many times since.
They turned their horses toward the castle mount and rode slowly up the steeply inclined road.
On all sides, mountains surrounded them, their peaks high and jagged and white with snow. The valleys were covered in trees and grassy meadows. Here and there were little plaster-walled houses, made cheerful with colorful designs painted on the sides, their quaint thatch roofs pointed and sloped.
The castle ahead of them was one of the most impressive Gerard had seen, with high towers, squared-off facades, and steep round roofs ringed with crenellations. Not the least imposing feature was the sharpness of the cliffs and drop-offs beside the castle itself. Anyone who tried to besiege this castle would have a tough time of it. And the last two hundred feet leading up to the gate and guardhouse was a narrow drawbridge.