grief.
CHAPTER THREE
"Really, Garion, I'm perfectly fine," Ce'Nedra objected again.
"I'm glad to hear that."
"Then you'll let me get out of bed?"
"No."
"That's not fair," she pouted.
"Would you like a little more tea?" he asked, going to the fireplace, taking up a poker, and swinging out the iron arm from which a kettle was suspended.
"No, I don't," she replied in a sulky little voice. "It smells, and it tastes awful."
"Aunt Pol says that it's very good for you. Maybe if you drink some more of it, she'll let you get out of bed and sit in a chair for a while." He spooned some of the dried, aromatic leaves from an earthenware pot into a cup, tipped the kettle carefully with the poker, and filled the cup with steaming water.
Ce'Nedra's eyes had momentarily come alight, but narrowed again almost immediately. "Oh, very clever, Garion," she said in a voice heavy with sarcasm. "Don't patronize me."
"Of course not," he agreed blandly, setting the cup on the stand beside the bed. "You probably ought to let that steep for a while," he suggested.
"It can steep all year if it wants to. I'm not going to drink it."
He sighed with resignation. "I'm sorry, Ce'Nedra," he said with genuine regret, "but you're wrong. Aunt Pol says that you're supposed to drink a cup of this every other hour. Until she tells me otherwise, that's exactly what you're going to do."
"What if I refuse?" Her tone was belligerent.
"I'm bigger than you are," he reminded her.
Her eyes went wide with shock. "You wouldn't actually force me to drink it, would you?"
His expression grew mournful. "I'd really hate to do something like that," he told her.
"But you'd do it, wouldn't you?" she accused.
He thought about it a moment, then nodded. "Probably," he admitted, "if Aunt Pol told me to."
She glared at him. " All right," she said finally. "Give me the stinking tea."
"It doesn't smell all that bad, Ce'Nedra."
"Why don't you drink it, then?"
"I'm not the one who's been sick."
She proceeded then to tell him -at some length- exactly what she thought of the tea and him and her bed and the room and of the whole world in general. Many of the terms she used were very colorful -even lurid- and some of them were in languages that he didn't recognize.
"What on earth is all the shouting about?" Polgara asked, coming into the room.
"I absolutely hate this stuff!" Ce'Nedra declared at the top of her lungs, waving the cup about and spilling most of the contents.
"I wouldn't drink it then." Aunt Pol advised calmly.
"Garion says that if I don't drink it, he'll pour it down my throat."
"Oh. Those were yesterday' s instructions." Polgara looked at Garion. "Didn't I tell you that they change today?"
"No," he replied. "As a matter of fact, you didn't." He said it in a very level tone. He was fairly proud of that.
"I'm sorry, dear. I must have forgotten."
"When can I get out of bed?" Ce'Nedra demanded.
Polgara gave her a surprised look. "Any time you want, dear " she said. "As a matter of fact, I just came by to ask if you planned to join us for breakfast."
Ce'Nedra sat up in bed, her eyes like hard little stones.
She slowly turned an icy gaze upon Garion and then quite deliberately stuck her tongue out at him.
Garion turned to Polgara. "Thanks awfully," he said to her.
"Don't be snide, dear," she murmured. She looked at the fuming little Queen. "Ce'Nedra, weren't you told as a child that sticking out one's tongue is the worst possible form of bad manners?"
Ce'Nedra smiled sweetly. "Why, yes, Lady Polgara, as a matter of fact I was. That's why I only do it on special occasions."
"I think I'll take a walk," Garion said to no one in particular. He went to the door, opened it, and left.
Some days later he lounged in one of the sitting rooms that had been built in the former women's quarters where he and the others were lodged. The room was peculiarly feminine. The furniture was softly cushioned in mauve, and the broad windows had filmy curtains of pale
CHAPTER THREE
"Really, Garion, I'm perfectly fine," Ce'Nedra objected again.
"I'm glad to hear that."
"Then you'll let me get out of bed?"
"No."
"That's not fair," she pouted.
"Would you like a little more tea?" he asked, going to the fireplace, taking up a poker, and swinging out the iron arm from which a kettle was suspended.
"No, I don't," she replied in a sulky little voice. "It smells, and it tastes awful."
"Aunt Pol says that it's very good for you. Maybe if you drink some more of it, she'll let you get out of bed and sit in a chair for a while." He spooned some of the dried, aromatic leaves from an earthenware pot into a cup, tipped the kettle carefully with the poker, and filled the cup with steaming water.
Ce'Nedra's eyes had momentarily come alight, but narrowed again almost immediately. "Oh, very clever, Garion," she said in a voice heavy with sarcasm. "Don't patronize me."
"Of course not," he agreed blandly, setting the cup on the stand beside the bed. "You probably ought to let that steep for a while," he suggested.
"It can steep all year if it wants to. I'm not going to drink it."
He sighed with resignation. "I'm sorry, Ce'Nedra," he said with genuine regret, "but you're wrong. Aunt Pol says that you're supposed to drink a cup of this every other hour. Until she tells me otherwise, that's exactly what you're going to do."
"What if I refuse?" Her tone was belligerent.
"I'm bigger than you are," he reminded her.
Her eyes went wide with shock. "You wouldn't actually force me to drink it, would you?"
His expression grew mournful. "I'd really hate to do something like that," he told her.
"But you'd do it, wouldn't you?" she accused.
He thought about it a moment, then nodded. "Probably," he admitted, "if Aunt Pol told me to."
She glared at him. " All right," she said finally. "Give me the stinking tea."
"It doesn't smell all that bad, Ce'Nedra."
"Why don't you drink it, then?"
"I'm not the one who's been sick."
She proceeded then to tell him -at some length- exactly what she thought of the tea and him and her bed and the room and of the whole world in general. Many of the terms she used were very colorful -even lurid- and some of them were in languages that he didn't recognize.
"What on earth is all the shouting about?" Polgara asked, coming into the room.
"I absolutely hate this stuff!" Ce'Nedra declared at the top of her lungs, waving the cup about and spilling most of the contents.
"I wouldn't drink it then." Aunt Pol advised calmly.
"Garion says that if I don't drink it, he'll pour it down my throat."
"Oh. Those were yesterday' s instructions." Polgara looked at Garion. "Didn't I tell you that they change today?"
"No," he replied. "As a matter of fact, you didn't." He said it in a very level tone. He was fairly proud of that.
"I'm sorry, dear. I must have forgotten."
"When can I get out of bed?" Ce'Nedra demanded.
Polgara gave her a surprised look. "Any time you want, dear " she said. "As a matter of fact, I just came by to ask if you planned to join us for breakfast."
Ce'Nedra sat up in bed, her eyes like hard little stones.
She slowly turned an icy gaze upon Garion and then quite deliberately stuck her tongue out at him.
Garion turned to Polgara. "Thanks awfully," he said to her.
"Don't be snide, dear," she murmured. She looked at the fuming little Queen. "Ce'Nedra, weren't you told as a child that sticking out one's tongue is the worst possible form of bad manners?"
Ce'Nedra smiled sweetly. "Why, yes, Lady Polgara, as a matter of fact I was. That's why I only do it on special occasions."
"I think I'll take a walk," Garion said to no one in particular. He went to the door, opened it, and left.
Some days later he lounged in one of the sitting rooms that had been built in the former women's quarters where he and the others were lodged. The room was peculiarly feminine. The furniture was softly cushioned in mauve, and the broad windows had filmy curtains of pale
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