The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  He seemed to be... blazes, those sorts of thoughts were not appropriate now! What if Onsa noticed his excitement? She felt her

  cheeks colouring and looked quickly toward the plain wall beyond. She needn’t have worried, for Onsa only had eyes for her curiously distended belly. The midwife proceeded to prod and palpate and listen to it as if there were some sort of feast day present inside. “Hmm,” she said finally.

  Artemi sat up and drew the nearest blanket around her rapidly cooling skin. “What is your decision?”

  “That is a seven-day-old child, approaching the size of a nine-day-old.” She threw a scowl towards Morghiad. “Oversized, bloody men!” she muttered under her breath as she turned back. “It is not the death knell for you, however. Dieting will only weaken you at this stage, but you should be careful not to over indulge. Then again, given the size of the rest of you, I don’t think that is your problem. What you can do is be ready in advance of your first movements. He must take you in his arms before you feel them. Not after.”

  Artemi didn’t even know what movements were supposed to feel like, though plenty of women had tried to describe them to her.

  “So you must time that perfectly. The less time that child remains inside of you, the easier it will be. Lie with each other every night and time yourselves. And you...” she turned to the king. “...You must do some reading.” Onsa reached for her bag and pulled out a crisplooking book. “You will need to know the contents of this so that you can help her. I will run you through how to cut the child from her if it becomes necessary.”

  “I can show him that part myself, thank you.”

  Onsa regarded her closely, but nodded after a moment. “Very well. I shall be back tomorrow at the same time to check on you.”

  Artemi and her husband regarded each other in silence after the sturdy midwife exited the room, exploring their respective emotions. Presently, Morghiad removed his coat, kicked off his boots and joined her on the bed. “I won’t allow you to die, do you understand?”

  She nodded at his ridiculous statement, and stayed silent.

  “Show me where I would need to cut.”

  The queen sighed and lay on her back. “If he is lying like this...” She drew her finger downward from the old scar. “...You must cut along here. And if he is lying across, you must

  cut here.” She ran her finger down one side of her stomach. “You may need a pinh blade to do it. But that is the paradox – if a mother’s body still has the energy to heal quickly, the child cannot be born. And usually by the time that energy is depleted, the child would have grown too large inside her, anyway. You will have to draw blood to assess how exhausted I am.” She did not want him to have to resort to that. Few women survived it.

  “You are the toughest blazed woman I’ve ever met. And I will make sure you will survive it,” he said, as if he could read the words in her thoughts. He placed his hand at the top of her abdomen, sending streaks of fire all around her stomach and through her body. She never tired of the sensation, and it caused their son to shift his position once more. He

  moved his fingers upwards and over her breasts. “You seem surprised that I find you attractive, but I cannot understand what you find unattractive about yourself.” He propped his head on his hand. “You are the most beautiful woman that has ever lived upon this earth. Even the sun’s rays shy away from you out of embarrassment, and your own light is greater than theirs.” He ran his fingers across her cheek. “And to see this woman with my child inside her – well, that is the most exquisitely perfect sightI could conceive of. Although, apparently it would have been better if Pavon was the father.”

  Artemi giggled at his words. Pavon was short of stature, but surely one of the last men she’d have invited to her bed. “Can you imagine the abuse she would have given

  Koviere if he had gotten a woman with child?”

  “She probably patrols the streets at night, shouting down couples she considers too mismatched.” Morghiad allowed himselfa small grin.

  “I can believe that.” She nuzzled into his chest and breathed in his familiar smell. It was harder to believe he thought those things about her, as much as his heart seemed convinced of it. He kissed her hair as he held her, and she could feel his appreciation for her pressing into the side of her bottom. It was hopeless situation when either one of them became even slightly aroused. The feeling was incredibly infectious through their link, and only the presence of another person was enough to prevent them from tearing one other’s clothing off. Blazes, how long did they take when they

  made love? It hadn’t been something she’d ever really considered. Artemi glanced out of the window to assess the position of the sun, and then pounced onto her amorous husband.

  The summer sun was blisteringly hot outside, but the white walls of the palace remained icy cold to the touch. It was a curious anomaly as, in winter, they would emanate comfortable warmth. Morghiad paced across the glazed and carpeted floor for the hundredth time that morning, his booted feet making only the softest of sounds against the air. A soft breeze circulated the rooms, ruffling clothing, wall hangings and bed sheets. His wife lay asleep in their bed still, having become increasingly weary with each day that passed. Her stomach had swelled as much as it would now, and he could feel how mother and son competed for their limited space. Unexpectedly though, when Artemi walked about she still moved as if she could outmanoeuvre the swiftest blades master, and she looked strong enough to outrun the best of sprinters. She had not lost an ounce of grace through her pregnancy, and it only seemed to add to the growing pile of impossibilities that surrounded her.

  He monitored her flame of emotions

  closely as she stirred, rolled onto her other side and promptly fell asleep again. She seemed only dimly aware of the kick to the ribs their son had so generously bestowed upon her. Throughout the last fortnight she had remained steadfastly fearless in words and in action, but he could sense her buried doubts. He did not want her to worry about anything, or feel the growing concerns he had of losing her. And so he had experimented. He had mixed one emotion with another or pushed his mind to think only of certain places, words or sword moves. Each time they had slept together he had made every effort to explore how their minds were linked. In doing this, he had found ways of hiding his very worst feelings from her. He’d pushed that dark river of hate and fear and guilt, to a small degree, out of her sight. Of course, that only added to his guilt, but it was a small sacrifice to provide her with the stronger, better husband she required.

  He folded his arms and leaned against the wall to watch her closely. Light ofAchellon, but she was exquisite! He’d seen the other admiring glances of the men in the castle often enough, but those had changed to something altogether hungrier at sight of her full body. Even Silar had lately declared that he found pregnant women heated, and his eyes often seemed to wander down to her breasts when he addressed her. Morghiad increasingly felt as if he was guarding his queen from his own men. He touched the hilt of his sword for comfort and resumed his pacing once more. It was then that the doors in the antechamber flung open to admit Mistress Onsa, unannounced. The wild

  haired woman glared at him momentarily, and proceeded to empty her bag of mysterious tools onto the bed beside Artemi. The queen slept soundly through the noise.

  “She’s well and truly under, isn’t she?” Onsa declared.

  Morghiad nodded, holding back his concerns yet again. “She’s been sleeping for the greater part of the last three days.”

  “That is normal for a woman carrying a kanaala child.”

  Morghiad clamped down on yet another stab of fear and worry, suffusing his mind with calm images of the neighbouring woodlands instead. Artemi had been awake enough to walk the flower-filled gardens, reevaluate the taxation of Gorena province and lie with him several times in those days. She was

  not so utterly exhausted; she was just reserving the necessary strength.

  The midwife harrumphed at his appa
rent lack of reaction, and sat next to the slumbering Artemi to begin her examinations. The baby wriggled and kicked furiously with each of Onsa’s proddings, and Morghiad struggled to suppress his own reactions to the sensation. This time, the queen slept through the entire ordeal, and the midwife was packing up her things almost as soon as she had arrived. “He is still large, but not yet obstructively so. He is a very active child, is he not?”

  “He seems to have her restless temperament.”

  The midwife narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt a sharp pain in one of his fingers. He moved his hand as a reflex, but immediately

  realised it was Artemi’s pain he felt. She sat up in bed, wide-eyed and red hair cascading over her shoulders.

  ”I knew it!” Onsa announced, releasing the Artemi’s thin fingers. The burly woman strolled over to the king and raised her chin to stare deeply into his eyes. “So the rumours are true. How singular for a man to endure a pregnancy alongside his wife. And how interesting that he will know what it is to give birth. Well, I shall be asking for your thoughts on that tomorrow. Now tell me, have you read that book?” The midwife proceeded to test him on the endless series of instructions and eventualities it described. “Hmm,” she said at last, “You look far more stupid than you are.”

  Morghiad let the comment flow over him, and moved his eyes to his wife. Their talk

  had roused her doubts again, to such an extent that they marked her handsome face. He turned back to Onsa. “Thank you, but we are wellprepared now. I would be grateful if you would allow us some time alone before we leave.”

  The midwife blinked at his tone, but quickly smiled, offered her best wishes and departed.

  Morghiad went to sit by his Artemi. “She says you will be able to bear him.” He ran his fingers through her hair, relishing the fire that rose from its golden strands.

  Artemi’s relief was tangible, so much so that Morghiad felt some of his own fears dissipate.

  “We should go to the Blaze chamber now,” she whispered. It was as good a time as any. He lifted her from the bed and set her

  gently on her feet, before helping her dress in green silks that appeared to make her hair burn even more fiercely in the sunlight. They took a few things with them: blankets and clothing. And the pinh blade. He’d desperately wanted to leave that behind; it made his stomach twist to look at it, but he’d promised Artemi. He shoved it to the bottom of the bag and threw the strap over a shoulder. “Time to go,” he said, and he strode with her into a narrow, white walkway that stretched through the clouds. It was route that would keep them away from the castle’s million eyes, and would take them rapidly to their destination. Swifts flitted over their heads, emitting their curious call and diving after hapless mayflies for food. Morghiad felt as if he were walking through his own dreamscape, and that very little of this was real. Bloody Achellon, he had no idea how to be a father! Acher had hardly been an example worth following, and his memories of his real father were only dim or halfremembered. What was he meant to do? How was he supposed to act? Was Toryn an example of a good father, or had Beodrin’s approach been better? Blazes, how he wished the former captain was here now for his advice. Artemi gave him a funny look, clearly sensing his conflicting thoughts. She smiled with mirth and looked away. “You will make a fine father to my children. I would not have chosen you otherwise.”

  He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Feign confidence or admit utter ignorance? Artemi would adapt to motherhood in seconds, and she would be good at it. But he could so

  easily make a false step, and so easily be left with a son who disliked him. ...will only stop fighting you when it’s eighteen years old...

  “Morghiad!” she warned.

  He was letting his concerns run free again. He stamped on them, compressed them into an obscure corner of his mind and held her tighter.

  They’d followed the winding walkway down to the level of the houses, watching as a barge ploughed over the city’s airborne river. Its long, hastily patched and tarred hull was visible from beneath as it protruded through the underside of the water. And then they were underground, following the long tunnel to the chamber. But something moved in the darkness, something that was not keen to announce its presence. Morghiad immediately

  withdrew his sword and stepped in front of Artemi, his senses becoming more highly attuned in the silence.

  The dark shape moved the air around them as it padded forward stealthily, slowly. It smelled of animal. It wasn’t an eisiel, and Morghiad was sure it was not one of the panthers, but it was some sort of predator.

  “Morghiad, lower your sword,” Artemi whispered harshly. “He thinks you are threatening him.”

  “What?”

  “Do it.”

  But something heavy and furred leapt out of the black shadows at him before he could comply, knocking him to the floor.

  “Danner! No!” he heard his wife shout. “Off him, now!”

  The wolf snarled and snapped at him with its feet place firmly on his chest. It was a brutishly large thing, with wiry grey hair that was streaked with white. Morghiad threw his weight forward quickly, dislodging the wild animal and springing to face it with his own teeth bared. What would win in a fight between a wolfand a panther? He realised he was growling.

  “Danner!” Artemi stepped in between him and the wolf, and he felt her rub her hand through the animal’s rough fur. Morghiad rose to step around her side, and pulled his wife to him.

  The wolfwas sniffing at her with apparent fascination.

  “He knows I am with child.” She teased the animal’s ears as he nuzzled her.

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because he would have jumped all over me by now. He is rather clever for a wolf.”

  Morghiad only grunted. Was he going to have to compete with this animal for a space in his wife’s bed? “We should go now.”

  Artemi nodded. “Wait here,” she instructed the oversized dog, and followed Morghiad towards the chamber door. He set his weapons and various other items down once they had stepped into the brightly lit cavern, taking a minute to check the room was clear. He could feel her eyes burning into him, and that her hands were very firmly placed on her hips. “Just what is going to come out of me? Will it be covered in black fur, with little paws and whiskers?”

  Morghiad actually found that quite amusing - more so because of her genuine annoyance at the prospect. And that she had clearly waited to say that to him out of Danner’s earshot.

  Her flame turned to curiosity. “Just how much of the panther is there in you? Will he be the same?” She touched the rounded swell of her dress.

  “I am definitely not a panther.” He smiled at his own words, though saying them felt like a lie, somehow, and Artemi recognised it immediately.

  “You move like they do. When you hunted with one... your mind... changed.”

  That had been a very strange day indeed. Only two years past, he’d ventured in the forest to have some time to himself, to hunt

  with a bow and stalk prey as he’d done as a teenager. But, while sharpening his arrows, a panther had found him; it had circled him and then sat to watch what he was doing. When he’d stood, the animal had stood also, and he had followed it into the dense trees. The smells had been sharp and pungent, the sounds identifiable and sonorous. He had sprinted along beside it, easily keeping pace over obstacles and across narrow tree branches, and it had led him to a deer. Only, instead of shooting it with an arrow, he’d leapt at his prey’s throat and slit it with a dagger. All concerns of the outside world had drained from him in that moment. It had felt very... satisfying. “I’m your husband, and whatever strange blood I’ve inherited, that is whatI shall remain.”

  Artemi seemed content enough with that response, and stepped toward him to place her hands on his chest. “It had better not come out mewling,” she muttered.

  He pulled her closer so that her stomach was pressed against him, and began to unlace her dress. When they were b
oth as bare as the day they were born, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the light. It caressed their skin and lit the fires in them both; it kindled his desire and roused his hunger in ways that would have been frightening to him a decade earlier. Morghiad lay behind his wife in the shallow pool of hot, glittering water and rested her hips against his own. Making love to her full body drove him wild each time: to give her pleasure, to feel her pleasure, to know that she and their child drew their strength from him – it

  was beyond euphoric. And the more engorged he became inside her, the more her body yielded to it. He felt the so-called movements when finally she climaxed: long, slow tightenings that spiralled around her abdomen.

  She felt no pain through the pure, fireridden bliss and, if anything, those movements only served to heighten it. He withdrew from her when he had finished, and immediately took to caring for his birthing wife. She was writhing in his arms from the torrent of pleasure that came every time her son moved closer to being born, and the sensation was so strong it almost incapacitated him through their link. Violent flashes of Blaze shuddered through her body as she moaned against each advance of her baby. He held her tightly to anchor her, to reassure her, listening to her rhythms for minutes or