“You just want to see what he can do for you when it’s your turn, greedy guts!”
Simon cleared his throat. “Do you want us to call your friends?”
“No.” But her gaze flicked toward Miriam.
“I’ll stay,” Miriam said. “If she pees herself, I want to be the first to know so I can tell everyone.”
Victoria snorted. “Then you should have been here the last time I waddled for the chamber pot and didn’t make it.” She turned and Miriam helped her up.
Simon looked around the room. It was as good a place as any. “The bed will probably be the most comfortable place. Caroline gave birth in a special room…”
Victoria waved that away. “Here’s fine. What do you need me to do?”
He gestured to her clothing. “Well, taking off everything from the waist down is essential. Everything else is up to you.”
She barked a laugh. “That’s not the way the Storm Lord tempted me to bed, but it’s compelling all the same.”
Simon fought another blush. He turned away as Miriam helped Victoria undress and lie on the bed. Miriam got a few more blankets out of a closet and pulled them under her, no doubt hoping to save the mattress. Victoria arranged herself on the pillows.
“Going to stay for the whole show, Miriam?” Victoria’s voice shook slightly as if she feared Miriam would say no. “Want to see how it’s done?”
“Or what not to do. Though it’s hard to ignore your odious personality.”
Simon fought the urge to roll his eyes and tell them to get a room. He didn’t even need to read their feelings to see their obvious admiration for each other. Samira would have laughed at their need to cover their feelings. He guided Victoria to the end of the bed, making it easier for himself as he knelt. He let his power play over her, calming her nerves before he started the contractions.
She took a deep breath. “I feel it, but…”
“It doesn’t hurt?” Miriam asked, an anxious quality in her voice.
“No!”
Simon lifted the end of her long shirt, and she parted her legs. He began to dilate her slowly and spread the towels around her as he guided the amniotic fluid forth.
“Ready?” he asked.
“I…”
“She’s ready,” Miriam said.
“Push.” He helped, and just as with Evan, the baby eased out under his power. He tried not to think of the woman who’d died, tried to keep his focus on the here and now. He remembered every moment of Evan’s birth but tried not to think of Caroline and how she’d died, either, how he’d killed her.
Victoria grunted, and Simon cursed himself for the pain that came through. He focused all his attention on the baby girl sliding into his arms and thanked every deity that had ever been that this one wouldn’t be his responsibility also.
He cleared the baby’s nose and mouth, and she wailed. Victoria was staring as if she couldn’t believe it. Simon wrapped the baby in towels and placed it on her chest before taking care of the afterbirth. Miriam helped Victoria sit farther back on the bed, and Simon wrapped up the soiled sheets and towels, pushing them to the side before he washed his hands in a nearby basin.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not available to babysit,” he said.
Victoria laughed, and it had a little hysteria in it. He sent another calming wave her way.
“What’s her name?” Miriam asked, a rare smile on her face.
“Evelyn,” Victoria said. “I thought it might go with Evan.”
Simon sighed. So she cared about Dillon enough to make sure his children’s names matched. Or maybe that was just Simon being petty. “Keep a close eye on her.”
“I already told her about the attack,” Miriam said.
Victoria nodded, but she appeared unconcerned. Maybe she had a lot of faith in her power. “I might stay with some friends.”
Miriam snorted.
Victoria gave her a look. “I have friends!” When Miriam didn’t respond, Victoria caught Simon’s arm, her expression intense. “Thank you for a taste of that pain, of seeing what I would’ve gone through if you hadn’t been here.”
“Sorry, I—”
She squeezed his arm. “If you need me, call.”
He nodded and fought a rush of emotion. Maybe being the patron saint of pregnant women wouldn’t be so bad.
Chapter Fifteen
Patricia sat on her bed with her head in her hands, trying to think. She’d sent Jonah away. She couldn’t stand Dillon’s muttering when his body was walking around without him. After Dillon urged her again to find a host for him, Patricia stood and paced.
“If I kill someone else’s consciousness and let you have their body, I’ll just be fucking someone over with my power again. Isn’t that what you told me not to do?”
He was silent for a moment, and she knew he was trying to think of a way to weasel out of his former words. At last, he sighed. “So put me back in my old body. It wasn’t perfect, but it was home.”
Patricia sagged against the wall. “I can’t do that! Jonah is his own person now. And he’s the only one who…” She couldn’t say it.
“Cares about you?” Dillon asked with a sneer. “Don’t make me laugh, sweets.”
She curled a hand into a fist but didn’t bother to argue. He didn’t understand. She’d made Jonah, true, but he’d become real since then. She’d created his memories and reinforced them so many times, it was hard not to believe them herself. She resisted the urge to cry and took a deep breath. “I’d have to wipe Jonah’s brain, your body’s brain, in order to put you back. I left some of your memories with him, about defenses and whatnot, but I don’t know if I’d be able to tell between the memories that are yours and those that I made up.” She sighed. “And I don’t know what that much tinkering could do to a mind.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You can fix whatever you break.”
“That’s true only to a point. Something mended is never as good as something brand new. I might…break you, fix you, but then you might keep breaking after that. I’m guessing you’re not going to want to stick around here so I can keep your brain running, right?”
He grumbled again, something about not wanting to be a vegetable.
“There has to be another way.” She’d spoken the truth about fixing him, but she didn’t want to lose Jonah, not if she could help it. “Maybe we can find someone who’s lost their mind because of natural causes.”
“However long that takes,” Dillon said.
She grimaced. Waiting for an accident that caused brain death or irreparable psychological damage felt…repugnant.
Jonah banged through the door, and Patricia nearly lashed out with her power. She kept it in check, barely; she needed to find her calm again.
“Mistress.” Jonah frowned, his expression taut and angry. “Some plains dwellers have arrived, demanding to speak with you. The miners are holding them outside the wall, but we can get rid of them if you wish.”
Patricia brushed the hair out of her face and smiled, grateful for a distraction. “I’ll take care of them.”
He led her to the wall where a group of plains dwellers were making noise. Ten men and women, they stood surrounded by trading goods such as heaps of skins and leather. A geaver stood in the distance, held by another plains dweller. Raquel’s hill dwellers gathered behind the rowdy ten, watching with stoic faces, but the miners were frowning at some of the taunts leveled their way.
“Where is this mighty mistress?” one of the new plains dwellers called. “Is she afraid to face us?”
The crowd opened for Patricia, and she smiled at the group of yahoos bellowing at her gate. This was going to be fun. “I hear you’ve come to speak with me.”
The plains dwellers peered at her then laughed. A fellow with dark hair braided in two plaits stepped to the front. “I’m Chafa Neale,” he said, eyeing her up and down with a smirk. “Are your parents about, little one?”
The rest laughed, slapping one another on the should
er as if the question was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
Patricia smiled wider. “They’re dead. They left me in charge.”
Chafa Neale’s eyes widened, but he shook his head and stroked his thick beard. After another look at his fellows, he put a foot on top of a bundle of skins and leaned toward her. “Well, little chafa,” he said slowly, “my clan has come to trade. Do you know what that is?”
Dillon barked a laugh in Patricia’s mind. “He’s showing you his crotch a bit early in the game, if you ask me. And the condescension is a classic asshole move. If you get angry or embarrassed, he automatically gets the upper hand.”
“Lucky for us,” Patricia thought. “I’m not as young as I look.” She readied her power, eager to turn this grinning idiot’s swagger into worship.
“Just a second,” Dillon said. “Don’t bull your way through this with telepathy. He’s just some asshole trying to push your buttons. Find his and push back.”
Patricia considered for half a second before putting on a smirk and looking pointedly at where Neale’s trousers stretched tight across the front. “I don’t deal with small timers.”
“Nice,” Dillon said.
Neale frowned, but some of his clan members sniggered. He put his foot down and crossed his arms. “Small-time trade is all a girl like you will get.”
“He’s defensive. Good,” Dillon said. “Now you’ve got to prove you have the biggest dick out here.”
“Yes,” she thought. “He’s sitting in my head.”
Dillon laughed, and Patricia smiled wider. She gestured to her followers and the mountain behind her. “Everyone will want to trade with us soon enough.” She nodded at one of the miners. “Show the man what we’ve got.”
The crowd shuffled, and the miner brought forth a hunk of iron ore.
Chafa Neale stared. His tongue poked out but darted back quickly, as if he was going to lick his lips but thought better of it. Anticipation roiled off him like cheap cologne.
“Perfect,” Dillon said.
Neale shrugged, pretending he wasn’t impressed.
“Fine.” Patricia waved again, and the miner took the ore back into the crowd.
Neale smiled awkwardly. “Now, now, young lady. Let’s not put the goods away just yet.”
“You will call her Mistress,” Jonah said, his voice low and dangerous.
“Mistress.” Neale’s smile grew brittle. “What are you asking for the ore?”
“See, sweets,” Dillon said. “He’s baited and hooked, and you didn’t have to use any power.”
She reveled in a jolt of pride. “Didn’t you hear Jonah?” she thought. “I’m called mistress. Or Patricia.”
Dillon chuckled, low and deep, and she felt a shiver of lust, but it wasn’t forced, just a natural reaction.
They negotiated for close to an hour. When Neale and his group left, they seemed happy enough, and word would spread. Maybe Neale would even tell people she wouldn’t be fucked with when they came to buy her ore.
When another group showed up later that afternoon, Patricia nearly ran to the gate. She hadn’t expected another visit so soon, but she was happy to have something to do, happy to be able to flex her negotiating muscles.
Jonah met her halfway. “It’s a contingent from Gale, Mistress.”
Patricia skidded to a halt. She knew someone from Gale would come sooner or later. This was their mine, after all. Her mind raced as she tried to think of what to do. She supposed a show of force was necessary.
“No,” Dillon said. “Not yet. Leave them guessing. Tell them they can’t come in. See what they do.”
She frowned. “Are you trying to make them angry enough that they’ll eventually defeat me for you?”
“You die, I die. Remember?”
As long as he remembered that, they’d have no trouble. While she and Jonah stayed hidden, her followers told the group from Gale that they couldn’t come in, that the mine was under new management. She laughed a little at that. When the Galeans demanded to see the person in charge, the guards told them no. If they wanted metal, they’d have to trade like anyone else. After a bit of discussion, the group went away. They clearly hadn’t expected to find resistance, but next time, she bet they’d be prepared.
“See?” Dillon said. “You didn’t have to use your power, and they’re still in the dark.”
“I’ll have to use it eventually.”
“Like I said, you only have to convince them you have the biggest dick. You don’t have to actually swing it around.”
“Lovely image,” Patricia muttered. She turned to the man who’d spoken to the Galeans. He’d repeated her words just as instructed and proved to be a good speaker. He seemed to know where to put the right inflections, the right tones of boredom or menace.
He smiled back at her. A handsome man, he was somewhere in his forties, though his grin made him seem younger.
“Well done,” she said.
“Thank you, Mistress. I’m used to dealing with difficult, bullnecked people.”
“Are you a foreman?” Though if he was, she should have already met him.
“No, not here! Everyone here is a picnic compared to my ex in Gale.” He put a hand to his chest. “Wyn Gallway.”
Patricia was about to introduce herself but stopped. He already knew who she was. She began walking back to camp, and Wyn fell in step beside her. Jonah gave him a frown, but Patricia laughed that off. Maybe it was time she had more normal conversations, more practice talking to people without using her power. “Did you come to the mine to get away from this ex?”
“I’d love to say no, but…” He shrugged. “We weren’t getting along. And she’d become captain of the paladins when I left, so she could have made life really hard for me.”
“Captain Brown or Carmichael?” Dillon asked in Patricia’s mind, not sounding pleased by either idea.
“How long have you been here?” she asked aloud, thinking that a less suspicious way to get the answer.
“Oh, about twenty years now, I expect.”
“Carmichael, then,” Dillon said. “Good.”
“Why do you care?” Patricia asked in her mind. “Didn’t you kill both?”
“Yeah, but I was happy to kill Carmichael. Brown was…an accident.”
She wondered why that mattered. Wyn clearly didn’t care about his ex. Why should Dillon care how he felt? But she couldn’t go poking around in Dillon’s memories anymore, not without him knowing, at least, and that might lead to another battle of wills.
Wyn was still talking. “Shame I had to leave my baby boy,” he said. “I hoped he’d come up to the mine someday, but I guess I wouldn’t recognize him if he did.” He smiled sadly. “Little Liam. I hope he turned out happy.”
“Liam Carmichael!” Dillon said. “That bastard shot me in Gale and on the plains!”
Patricia winced at the volume. “Excuse me, Wyn. I have a headache.”
He mumbled pleasantries as she hurried away. Jonah stayed with her and cast a glance at Wyn over his shoulder. “Would you like me to shut him up for good, Mistress?”
“No, Jonah,” Patricia said, thinking about Dillon’s “swinging dicks” comment. “Everything’s fine.” But Dillon was still grumbling about Liam Carmichael, and she knew nothing would stay fine forever.
* * *
Shiv liked the big house much better than the group of three rooms. Here she could stretch, and there were many pieces of furniture to look through, many clothes and baubles to examine. Evan was safe in his little bed, and Lyshus and Little Paul were entertaining each other. As a bonus, several humans had stopped by and spoken with her, offering their aid. Many spoke of Reach with fondness. Even with the pungent odor of soap, the scent of her still lingered here and there, a comfort.
When Shiv asked the visiting humans for tales of the area, they were happy to oblige, and Shiv found many of them entertaining. Of particular interest were stories of who had taken whom for a lover and why. The humans never
seemed to tire of speculating. To Shiv, it seemed they lived on a very busy street, and she wondered how anyone had time for anything but being a lover. If she had to settle with the humans, perhaps she should stay on a street like this. They seemed to find all lovers temporary, seemed content to share, perhaps. They might understand that a queen could never belong to any one person.
She tried to put such thoughts out of her mind. As Simon had said, she could not worry about her fate or that of Lyshus until Shi’a’na returned with the tribe. Perhaps Simon was right, and Shi’a’na could fix Lyshus, make him a regular drushka even if that meant she would be alone. But she would never be truly alone, as Simon said. She would have him and Cordelia, would have Liam if he agreed. She would become like Reach, ahya, and learn all about the humans so she could take that knowledge to the drushka. The idea did not make her entirely happy or sad, but such conflicted feelings seemed the heart of being a queen.
She sat on the staircase in the quiet house, wishing one of the neighboring humans would come speak with her again. As the day had worn on to evening, they had stopped, though some had brought food for the evening meal. Perhaps the humans were all settling down together. Shiv had hoped some would come to eat with her, but alas.
She remembered what some had said, that the spirits of the dead still roamed this house. It seemed a silly thing to her. The dead were…dead. They were not like Sa Cordelia, who could leave her body then return. They were at an end. But the idea seemed to frighten some of the neighbors and intrigued others. One, a man named Minh, had asked her for a “tour” of the house, and when she understood he simply wanted to wander around, she agreed. He had already passed under the scowl of Private Hought. When she let him in, Minh seemed frightened to wander alone. She had gone with him as he recounted how the former occupant, Reach’s lover, had met a bloody end and still roamed the halls at night.
It had been difficult not to laugh, but she had managed. Sa would have praised her diplomacy. In the end, Minh had amused her so much that she had told him to call for her if anything else frightened him. He had said his downstairs neighbor was a “bully” who scared him from time to time. Shiv had promised to fight by his side if needed.
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