A New World

by Lina J. Potter

  "May I ask why you are going? What's the matter?"

  "You may ask, but I can't answer. It's royal business."

  Rufus fell silent.

  The king was not to be trifled with.

  "Is it...dangerous?"

  Anthony laughed, merry and carefree.

  "Don't worry, I'm not planning on dying. But even if anything happens, I think you can handle Lofrayne. Just find yourself a spirited woman who can bear you children capable of having fun. Aren't you bored with sitting there like a bump on a log?"

  If Anthony paid attention to other people's feelings, he would have noticed his brother's eye light up in anger. Rufus really hated him at that moment with all his cheerfulness and levity. Ten, even twenty years later, he would keep blaming himself for that cruel thought. I wish you were dead, wretch!

  Ativerna, Laveri.

  "You're my snuggly-wuggly sunshine..."

  Lily was cooing above her son.

  She would have spoiled the baby rotten, but thankfully, she didn't have anywhere enough time. At least she could nurse him herself, even if it caused a shock among her circle.

  A noblewoman nursing her child? How scandalous! Her breasts will be ruined; it's unseemly, and then...

  Lily didn't give a damn, especially since, unlike the real Middle Ages, nobody was forcing her to abstain from sex during nursing.

  Lily had nursed the baby for a year and didn't regret a thing. Afterward, the milk dried up, and the child started teething. His bites were painful and sudden, and Lily wasn't planning on feeding blood to the young cannibal. She'd rather use gruel and goat milk—the latter, thankfully, was in good supply in the county.

  The Virmans would serve as his mentors and trainers; Lily liked how they brought up children. She would arrange for the baby's rooms to be clean, and the rest would be history.

  From the cradle, her son would learn to fight, a sword and a shield as his toys together with tiny ships and ponies. After all, this was the world he would have to live in. Let him grow sharp teeth: the planet was full of predators.

  "How is our sunshine doing?"

  Jess came in quietly and watched Lilian for a few minutes. It was beautiful, his woman playing with his son. He adored Miranda, but a son was something else. He didn't love any of them more than another, but it felt different, having an heir, the continuation of his line. Jyce Alexis Earton; his personal miracle brought in from Wellster. His father's spitting image, by the way. Lily even grumbled sometimes that he had nothing of his mother's. She wasn't serious, of course.

  "Oh, our sunshine's really bright today. He's just tried to kick me in the eye, actually," Lily said with a chuckle.

  Jess took up the baby and threw him up, then caught him and threw him up again. Not far, of course.

  You're my little miracle...

  "Do you think Mirrie might like another sibling?"

  "I'll think about that," Lily agreed. "But I have to mention that the honorable count is due to visit the palace soon..."

  "So, we don't have the time?"

  "I'm afraid so," Lilian replied with a sly smile. "Let's wait until the evening."

  Jess kissed his wife's neck and smiled. His son reacted immediately.

  "Wah-wah!"

  Why was his Papa kissing his Mama if he had him, the unparalleled and beloved Jyce Earton? It was he who was supposed to be kissed!

  Jerisson burst into laughter and then left for the palace, while Lily returned to fussing over the baby, abandoning the bad thoughts until later that night.

  ***

  "I don’t like it, those murders."

  After making love, men wanted food, and women wanted to talk. Not necessarily about murders, of course, but that was Lilian Earton for you.

  Jerisson snacked on a piece of ham and mumbled something. Knowing her husband, Lilian had made sure that the bedroom had plenty of food and drink. Sated in more ways than one, Count Earton was eager to talk.

  “What?"

  "I don't...yum...like them either."

  "Riana was a sweet girl, but who knows what she said of Miranda?"

  "Do you think that our girl might be in danger?'

  “I am scared for her. Serial killers might be fixated on specific looks, but what if..."

  "Hans will find that bastard."

  "I hope so."

  Lily couldn't tell him about her own world's experience, or she would have said that even there, serial killers sometimes weren't found despite the advances of criminology, the experts, computers, and other useful things. What could Ativerna hope for? Here, they had only recently learned to take fingerprints, and the method was far from precise.

  Lily couldn't quite believe in the impending triumph of justice.

  "We'll have to place Mirrie under guard, absolutely."

  "Of course, Lily. As you wish."

  Lily sighed.

  Whatever he said, she was still worried. That heartache... Was it age? A hunch? Damned if she knew; she couldn't put that feeling into words. She was just concerned for Mirrie, Jess, Jyce, and everyone dear to her.

  Love was a wonderful feeling, but it always made one miserable.

  Avester.

  "Lady Seinel."

  “Your Majesty!"

  The aforementioned lady made a low curtsey, demonstrating the tantalizingly deep cut of her dress. A sapphire pendant sparkled in the cleft, beckoning all men around to pull it out.

  Twenty years old, she was temptation personified. She was of medium height and had wheat-colored hair, huge blue eyes, perky breasts, and a thin waist. Her only flaw was her crooked legs, which she hid under her skirt. Otherwise, she was enchanting—the incarnation of innocence.

  Entor had no doubt: Irida would get hers. Her charms were irresistible. The sixth daughter of a landless leir, she had arrived at court with only one dress on her shoulders and got married almost immediately. Her husband might have been fifty years her senior and weighed four times as much as she, but what did it matter? He was rich!

  Lady Irida was thrilled to put on the sapphire wedding bracelet, undeterred even by being the same age as her husband's grandchildren. He died of a stroke three years later, and the young widow became a fixture of the court. Everyone knew of her situation. All she got were a dower and a house; her husband's children inherited the rest of his fortune.

  What would a woman do if she had no money but wanted everything at once? Irida chose the path of a court damsel and never regretted it. She was admired, bedded, given jewels as a gift, but alas, nobody wanted to marry her. Who would take home a rug that every dog had already rolled on?

  So far, that didn't upset the lady much. She cavorted around at court, generously bestowing her affection to all willing men, and didn't seem tired of it in the slightest. Entor had never availed himself of her services, by the way. It didn't befit a king to become the latest in a long line of suitors with no guarantee that he would become the last. And then there was the issue of safety: who knew what he might catch from her?

  Still, she was gorgeous. Top class, really.

  "Lady Irida, I have a mission for you."

  "I'm all ears, Your Majesty."

  As if accidentally, she ran her finger up her neck. Entor disregarded that and moved on.

  "Lady, do you want to become independent? There is a nice estate right next to your house. It belongs to the crown. I'm talking about Aklayne."

  The lady pulled in and gave the king a careful look.

  "Your Majesty, what am I to do?"

  She wasn't stupid, that one. Seeing that the king didn't care about her charms, she realized that she hadn't been called for relieving his base urges and decided to talk business.

  "You will go to Ativerna."

  "Ativerna, Your—"

  "Quiet. Listen to me," Entor cut her off.

  The lady bowed, indicating that she would comply.

  "You will go as a part of an ambassador party. Baron Lofrayne will go with you. His target is Countess Earton, and you will
take care of Count Earton."

  "What should I do, Your Majesty?"

  "At the very least, get him into bed. Better yet, make him forget about everything, abandon his family for you at least for a while, start spending his time and money..."

  The lady bowed a second time. That didn't seem hard.

  "Ideally, become his mistress for the next few years. You'll learn the rest later."

  "The Eartons...they own the Mariella Trading House, don't they, Your Majesty?"

  "Yes."

  The lady's eyes lit up. Offers like that didn't just come out of the sky. Lace, glass, jewelry...GIFTS! The count would definitely shower his mistress with presents, wouldn't he?

  The countess was incidental. She was supposed to be older than twenty-five, meaning old, and also fat and ugly. How could she compare to Irida? What a silly idea!

  "Upon your return, you will be rewarded with the estate."

  "Your Majesty, you're so generous..."

  "If you don't understand something, talk to Baron Lofrayne. He's up to date on everything," Entor said, finishing the briefing. "Obey his every word."

  "As you command, Your Majesty."

  The king released her and fell into thought. That seemed to be all, yes. If one wished to build a new bridge, he had to do it from both sides—a trap for Her Grace and a trap for His. Let's see which of them is better at resisting temptation.

  Entor really wanted to spite Ativerna, and where there's a will, there's a way.

  Ativerna.

  Angelina touched her belly with her hand and was immediately rewarded with a kick—their son, their child. Bran followed suit.

  The Virman man had no idea he was supposed to sleep away from his pregnant wife; that wasn't how it was done in Virma. Angelina didn't care either way and hadn't insisted. It was all right with her.

  She had someone to embrace her and caress her stomach; whether a boy or a girl, their father's hands and voice calmed them down almost immediately. It mattered.

  Children...children brought happiness, of course, but being kicked in the liver at three in the morning was something that even a mother's love couldn't always outweigh. That's what had happened a second before.

  Angelina curled up next to her husband, like always.

  "How do you feel?" Bran asked, worried. His wife was about to give birth any day...to his child.

  Bran had already heard many times that his physical issues probably weren't hereditary; he had simply gotten unlucky during delivery, which tended to happen to unskilled midwives, but that wasn't much consolation.

  Even if the baby turned out all right, were the doctoruses experienced enough?

  He was guaranteed the personal presence of both Tahir Djiaman din Dashar and Countess Earton, even more than presence—they would perform the delivery itself. They would never allow anything bad to happen.

  Still, he was afraid. Even while standing before the face of Kholosh, Bran hadn't feared anything, even while fighting alone against two dozen warriors; even when he was caught in a storm on a boat small enough to be turned upside down by a breeze.

  He didn't fear because he didn't value his life. It would be over in an instant, after all. The thread would snap, and he would go to Kholosh. His loved ones were a different story. His wife, his children... While they were safe, his heart kept beating. If he lost someone, a piece of his heart would die. How could a man live on if his heart was dead?

  He could not. That was worse and scarier than any torture devised by man, worse than any nightmare. And that is why Bran was afraid, both for Angelina, whom he loved to no end, and for the child.

  Personally, he had decided long ago that if faced with a choice between them, he would choose his wife. After all, he wouldn't know the child at that point, but without Angelina, he had no reason to live. She had a somewhat different opinion but tried to calm down Bran's fear as much as she could. Angelina knew Lilian Earton and trusted her more than herself, especially when it came to the healing arts. She had seen Lilian drag her father and Jerisson back from the death's door, watched her save Maria from postpartum fever almost a year before.

  The countess was swearing like a sailor the whole time, but she did it, staying up nights, sitting by her side, and spoon-feeding the princess so much that she barely stayed alive herself. However, she succeeded.

  Lily would never let anything bad happen to Angelina, either. But how would she convince her husband about that?

  And so, she simply pulled Bran's hand to her and put it on her belly.

  "It's all right. The baby's actually quieter today."

  "Isn't it...bad?"

  "No. Lily says the babies always go quiet right before the labor, gathering their strength to crawl out."

  Bran nodded, stroking her full stomach.

  "Do you want some water?"

  "No," the princess said moodily. "Actually, my back's aching, and I have a cramp in my leg..."

  "Let me massage it."

  "Yes, just a minute..."

  Angelina needed some solitude. Pregnant women needed it thrice as often, after all. She stood up, took a step, then another...

  "Oh..."

  Something popped inside, like a thin film tearing apart. Angelina felt drops of water run down her legs, one after another, turning into a rivulet.

  "What's wrong?" Bran shot up from the bed.

  "My water just broke," Angelina said, realizing the truth. "Darling, send the servants to the Eartons, please."

  ***

  To Bran's credit, he even put on his pants and his shirt before rushing out of the bedroom barefoot. Angelina giggled as she watched him leave.

  Still, even without shoes, he hadn't forgotten his dagger. Her husband had almost fused together with his weapon. Even an attempt to take away his pillow could result in a nasty cut, as underneath it, he always had a few knives. He even used a special silken cord instead of a ribbon—in a pinch, it could serve as a great garrote. A priest of Kholosh, that sums it up. They didn't part with their weapons even in their graves—what if someone tried to rob it? What a nice excuse to offer their god a living sacrifice!

  Ouch! A light spasm told Angelina that no matter how amusing it was, her labor was imminent.

  For starters, she would do well to leave the pool of water on the floor, change into a new robe, clean and ironed, specifically prepared for the occasion, and order the servants to change the bed as well. Time to get moving.

  And that's what Her Highness did. At least it would be a nice distraction from panicking—with this being her first childbirth; her nerves were taut as a string.

  ***

  Lilian Earton came in an hour later.

  Bran had already worn a hole in the carpet while pacing back and forth and met Lilian's arrival if not with joy, then at least with relief. A midwife who had been staying at the castle until labor was already running circles around Angelina, helped by several maids, but Lilian made him feel safer.

  Jerisson watched that scene and went to pour Bran a drink, deciding that Angelina wouldn't want her husband to be beside himself with worry the entire time. Lily would deliver the baby, and he would try to save its father and keep him sane, safe, and sound. Otherwise, the poor bastard might get a screw loose.

  Jess preferred not to think about his own behavior when Lilian had been giving birth. He was sure, however, that he was calmer and more confident...probably. As his friend, Richard had gotten him drunk so much that Jerisson simply didn't remember that day at all.

  When the aforementioned prince appeared at the doorstep, the men had already emptied two bottles of fortified wine and looked a little better. Angelina's screams didn't seem as loud in the library, too, although Bran still turned pale and twitched every time.

  Richard looked at the sight in front of him: Bran wearing only a shirt and pants, bare-footed, with worried eyes, and Jess, dressed up in a haphazard manner, disheveled and unshaven, together with Eric, Leif, and two dogs. The only thing missing was Tremain, really
.

  He waved his hand.

  "Do you have more wine, or have you drunk all of it?"

  ***

  By morning, the number of empty bottles increased to fifteen, and five of them had been poured into Bran. It helped, although not quite. The Virman man was unable to pass out, but he didn't seem to be aware if he was still alive. They had overdone it.

  When the library door swung open, a golden-haired vision stepping out of it, half of those present took Countess Earton for an alcohol-induced hallucination. They recognized her only later.

  "Ugh..." the "vision" drawled out and headed to Bran, casually kicking aside the empty cups and bottles. "Congratulations, Pop. You have another son."

  The wine was counterfeit.

  That was Jerisson's only idea when he saw how quickly Gardren sobered up.

  “Angelina?”

  "She's fine. I've already said, it's a strong, healthy boy fit for the army, really. Your wife's doing great, too."

  "And—"

  "You can see them, but only now and while she's nursing the baby."

  Bran was gone at the drop of a hat, not even reeling as he ran. That kind of dexterity was beyond Jess's reach. Lily looked at him and shook her head.

  "Oh well. You really should have eaten something."

  "A-as y-you sa-ay, da-arling..."

  Lily would have said something else, of course, but she decided to let them live. It was an appropriate occasion, after all.

  A new person had been born!

  ***

  "He's so icky!"

  Joliette was looking at the baby with a barely concealed disgust. Lily chuckled.

  Children weren't born pretty, of course. If anyone expected to see a plump cupid with golden curls five minutes after labor, they should think better. Children were born ugly, ruddy, shriveled, and screaming their lungs out. Really, it made sense, considering where they had just crawled out of. Anyone would scream in their place.

  Still, Lilian opted to disregard the young woman's remark, smiling instead.