Chapter 386: The Physician’s Uneasy Discovery

Chapter 385: The Physician’s Uneasy Discovery

Kathryn’s brows furrowed as she examined the woman Her Highness had called her mother.

She had no knowledge that such a woman existed within the palace walls.

Kathryn had served as a physician in the palace for years, though her position had always carried its limitations. She rarely attended the royal family directly, and the senior physicians afforded her very little of their time or consideration. But she knew enough about the palace and those residing within it.

Yet never once had she heard mention of a woman being kept in this forgotten corner of the Queen’s wing.

The secrecy surrounding the matter was peculiar.

But it was not her concern.

Her attention returned to the woman before her.

The pulse was faint.

Far too faint.

Worse still, it was irregular.

Her expression hardened.

She counted the beats once more, unwilling to trust her first impression.

The result was the same.

Kathryn withdrew her fingers and leaned closer to the bed. With the utmost care, she lifted one of the woman’s eyelids and examined the eye beneath.

The iris was difficult to discern.

The eye itself had become milky white.

Kathryn’s brows drew together.

That was strange.

Very strange indeed.

She examined the other eye.

The same.

Kathryn placed the back of her hand against the woman’s forehead.

The skin was cool.

She withdrew her hand and regarded the woman for another moment before turning toward Princess Lyria.

"What, precisely, ails your mother, Your Highness?"

Lyria hesitated.

"I h-have tried to f-find the n-name of the i-illness," she admitted, "but I d-do not know it."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak.

"The p-physicians do n-not either. Or p-perhaps they d-do not w-wish to tell me."

Kathryn remained silent for a moment.

There was something in the girl’s answer that troubled her.

Not merely the uncertainty.

The implication.

Physicians did not ordinarily withhold the name of an illness from the family of a patient, particularly not within a royal household. Of course, palace physicians were not always free to speak as they pleased. Kathryn knew that better than most. Still, there were ways to conceal a diagnosis, and there were ways to conceal a patient entirely.

"From w-what I do k-know," Lyria continued, "the i-illness is one that o-only affects our k-kind."

Kathryn gave a slight nod.

"It makes it d-difficult for the b-body to regulate h-heat as it n-normally should. It also m-makes it difficult for the b-body to h-heal."

She swallowed.

"And it w-weakens the b-bones."

Kathryn frowned.

On its own, that did not sound particularly alarming. Unpleasant, certainly. Debilitating over time, without question. But it did not account for the woman lying before her.

Whatever afflicted Her Highness’s mother had progressed considerably beyond the symptoms she had been given.

"Were there other symptoms present before her condition became so severe?"

Lyria fell silent.

Her brows knitted together as she searched her memory.

"It w-wasn’t much at first," she said eventually. "My mother o-only complained of p-pain sometimes. But it was n-not enough to s-stop her from her w-work."

Kathryn listened carefully.

"She t-tended to become w-weak, though."

Lyria paused.

Everything she spoke of now were things she had noticed before her mother became like this. From the time they spent together before she had planned to take them both to a differentterritory. She was not certain whether they counted as symptoms in the proper sense, as her mother had deteriorated considerably after they were found by the King. But she hoped it might help.

"I c-cannot say f-for certain if these are s-symptoms as you r-request. But t-they were p-patterns I noticed that w-were quite strange b-before she became this w-way."

"I understand," Kathryn said with a nod. "And it matters not, Your Highness. Anything unusual may prove important. Even something you considered insignificant at the time."

Lyria frowned.

She remained silent for several seconds.

Kathryn did not press her.

A physician learned patience quickly. Memory rarely yielded to demands, particularly when the memories concerned someone one loved.

Then Lyria’s expression changed.

"I o-overheard my m-mother complaining that she c-could no longer t-taste things."

Kathryn looked at her.

"She could not taste?"

Lyria shook her head.

"No. It b-became more o-obvious after a while because she started p-putting far too much s-salt into m-meals s-she prepared."

Meals Lyria had still eaten with a smile on her face, telling her mother they were the most delicious she had ever had.

"She b-became clumsy s-sometimes too. She w-would bump into t-things, which w-was quite o-odd because s-she is n-not a c-clumsy person by n-nature. She also b-became hard of h-hearing at t-times."

Kathryn’s heart gave a sudden, uneasy beat.

"How often?"

"Not often." Lyria shook her head. "It was r-rare."

Kathryn’s gaze returned to the patient.

"What of her sense of smell?"

Lyria blinked.

"I d-do not know."

Kathryn said nothing.

Her thoughts, however, were already moving quickly.

Taste.

Hearing.

Sight.

Balance.

Weakness.

An inability to regulate body heat.

Difficulty healing.

Bone weakness.

The symptoms were beginning to arrange themselves into a pattern.

A rather unpleasant one.

Kathryn examined the woman’s hands next. The fingers were thin, and the skin had lost much of its healthy colour. She carefully pressed one of the patient’s joints before examining her nails with quiet attention.

Nothing immediately conclusive.

But there were enough signs.

Far too many.

Her mind moved through the medical texts she had studied over the years — the common volumes, the specialist ones, the older manuscripts she had encountered during her training that most physicians dismissed as relics.

There was an illness.

She had read of it once.

Not in any common physician’s manual, but in an old medical volume kept in a restricted section of the royal library. A volume she had only been permitted to consult on a single occasion, under supervision, and had never forgotten.

A rare affliction.

So rare that most physicians would never encounter a genuine case in the whole of their careers. So rare that some disputed whether it existed at all outside the pages of antiquated texts.

Her stomach tightened.

Could it truly be that?

No.

She would not draw such a conclusion without evidence.

A physician’s duty was not to offer frightened people whatever answer happened to present itself first. It was to observe, investigate, and establish the truth with as much certainty as the circumstances allowed.

Kathryn opened her satchel.

Lyria watched her with evident curiosity, saying nothing.

Kathryn withdrew a small glass vial and a narrow case containing several instruments. She opened the case with practised efficiency, her movements precise and unhurried.

"I require a small sample of your mother’s blood," she said.

Lyria’s expression became immediately serious.

"Will it h-hurt her?"

"No more than a small prick," Kathryn said. "And if my suspicion proves correct, it may tell us considerably more than the palace physicians have seen fit to share."

Lyria nodded once.

Kathryn prepared the small needle, her movements careful and exact.

She had only just taken the sample when they heard a tap at the door.