Eye of the Labyrinth

by Jennifer Fallon

  So Misha might die soon, she thought. Damn!

  That did not suit Marqel at all. In fact, little had happened lately that did. She thought she had things under control when Alenor invited her to Kalarada, and she was installed as Kirsh’s mistress. The future looked even rosier when he invited her to Omaxin and left his frigid little wife behind. But then Dirk Provin turned up, and now Alenor was here in Avacas, and pregnant, and being fussed over like a prized brood mare.

  If Misha were to die now, before Marqel could conceive a child by Kirsh, then no child of hers would ever be considered a potential heir. In all likelihood, she would be made to get rid of it. Everything hinged on being the firstborn, she knew. Boy or girl, legitimate or not, the child born first to any future king was always important.

  And that stupid bitch’s child would be born before the next Landfall Feast.

  That Marqel had not conceived a child was not for lack of trying on her part. She had taken all the herbs she knew of that were supposed to increase a woman’s fertility. She had even fed Kirsh a concoction once, telling him it would ease a headache, just in case the problem was his. Obviously it was not. If Alenor had conceived so quickly then Kirsh’s seed must be sound.

  Perhaps the problem was hers? Perhaps the herbs Kalleen made her drink each night to stop her conceiving had a lasting effect. Perhaps after that time on Derex, when the herbs had not worked and she had fallen pregnant at the tender age of thirteen, and Kalleen had taken her to that sleazy old herb man in the shop behind the tannery and made her drink that foul stuff to get rid of it . . . Perhaps that had done something to her? She remembered thinking at the time, as she lay on the narrow bunk in the wagon she shared with Lanatyne, screaming in agony, that the stuff they had given her seemed designed not just to get rid of the baby, but to disembowel her in the process.

  For the first time, Marqel was forced to confront the possibility that perhaps she couldn’t have a baby. All the men she had been with since then, from the nameless old men who wanted her to call them “Daddy,” to the countless sailors from the Calliope in Elcast, even Dirk Provin and then Kirshov . . . None of them had gotten her with child, which was something of a miracle in itself.

  Marqel cursed savagely. She did not mind the thought that she could not have children in general, but it annoyed her intensely that she might not be able to cement her position by giving birth to a royal bastard.

  And that pious, waspish little princess gets bedded twice and suddenly she’s with child. It’s just not fair!

  Well, Marqel decided, if I can’t give Kirsh his firstborn, then neither will Alenor.

  For Marqel, things like that were quite easily taken care of.

  She knocked on the door of Alenor’s suite later that evening, once she was sure the queen had retired. Lady Dorra, the suspicious, dark-eyed, lady-in-waiting that Antonov had chosen several years ago to watch over Alenor, admitted her with a frown. Marqel was certain she knew about her and Kirsh, but Dorra’s job was to watch over the little queen, not worry about what the Queen’s consort did when he was not with his wife. She might not approve, but neither did she really care.

  “I thought the queen might like some peppermint tea,” Marqel explained, raising the tray she carried a little. “She looked a bit pale at dinner.”

  Dorra stood back to let her enter. “She’s just getting ready to retire. I’ll ask her.”

  “Is the Lady Jacinta not here?”

  “She stayed in Kalarada,” Dorra told her. “Just put it there.”

  Marqel carried the tray into the room and placed it on the table in front of the settee. “I thought it might help her sleep. A good night’s sleep is very important in her condition.”

  The lady-in-waiting picked up the cup, sniffing the sweet-smelling steam rising off the drink appreciatively. Peppermint was such a wonderful condiment. It masked the taste of so many things.

  “Make sure she drinks it all,” Marqel advised.

  She watched Dorra take the cup into the other room with a concerned smile. When Dorra emerged a little while later, she volunteered to take the empty cup down to the kitchens, to save Dorra the trouble of summoning a servant. As she left the suite, Marqel wished the lady-in-waiting a good night’s sleep.

  And then humming to herself, she took the tray back to the kitchens to wash the cup and remove any trace of the poison.

  Chapter 72

  The pain woke Alenor in the middle of the night. The red sun was high overhead when she suddenly sat up in bed as a violent pain ripped through her abdomen. Gasping with the shock of it, she doubled over, wondering what had caused such a thing. She had not eaten anything odd at dinner, and could not think what would cause her such discomfort. She was still wondering about it when another pain ripped through her like a butcher’s knife.

  She cried out in terror as much as pain, but it was followed almost immediately by another contraction, even worse than the previous one.

  This time she screamed.

  Her screams brought Dorra running into the room. Alenor toppled sideways on the bed, her knees drawn up under her chin as wave after wave of agony tore through her.

  “Your majesty?” Dorra inquired with some concern.

  “Help me . . .” It was all she could manage. The pain cleaved through her again, and she had only the breath left to cry out. Dorra hurried to her side and pulled back the tangled sheets.

  “Goddess!” she exclaimed in shock.

  Alenor glanced down. The bed was stained bright red as the blood gushed from between her legs. “Dorra!” she cried in panic. “What’s happening?”

  “Stay right there, your majesty,” the lady-in-waiting ordered, as if Alenor had any choice in the matter.

  She cried out again as the pain seemed to grow worse with each pounding thump of her heart. Dorra ran from the room, leaving Alenor alone, sobbing and frightened. Somewhere, amid the torment, she realized she was losing her baby. Perhaps there really was a Goddess. Perhaps I’m being punished . . .

  “Your majesty! Alenor!”

  Choking back her sobs, Alenor wiped her eyes. The physician Yuri Daranski hurried into her room and stood over her for a moment with a concerned frown. Then he pulled back the sheets, took one look at the bright blood spilling from her womb and turned to Dorra decisively.

  “We have to stop the bleeding,” he said. “Get her on her back.”

  They tried to move her, but Alenor screamed, too afraid to unclench her knees. The pain slashed through her in waves, as if someone was standing over her with an invisible sword, slicing the unborn child from her womb. She was trembling and cold, as if her fingers and toes had been dipped in ice.

  “Alenor!” Yuri said sharply. “You must let us help you!”

  “But it hurts . . .” she sobbed uncomprehendingly. “Oh, Goddess! It hurts so much . . .”

  “Then let us help you, your majesty,” he urged. When his pleas received no response he looked up at Dorra. “Find the Shadowdancers. I think both Ella Geon and Olena Borne are in the palace tonight. I will need their assistance.”

  Dorra fled the room at a run and Yuri turned his attention back to Alenor.

  “Tell me where it hurts exactly,” he said.

  She tried to answer him, but the only thing she could manage was a sobbing moan. Oh dear Goddess! Make it go away!

  “I need you to lie on your back, Alenor,” Yuri explained soothingly, trying once again to get her to move. “I know it’s painful, but if we’re to save your baby, we must stop the bleeding.”

  “I can’t . . .” she moaned. “Just make it stop . . . please . . .”

  “I can only make the pain go away if you help me to help you.”

  Alenor wanted to help him. She wanted to make it stop, but she just could not bring herself to unclench muscles that had tightened in terror. Somewhere through the pain she heard more voices. She was dimly aware of Ella and Olena arriving.

  “Get me towels, sheets, anything!” Yuri ordered urgently. �
��She’s hemorrhaging badly. We must try to stem the flow. And we must get her onto her back. It will put pressure on the abdominal vena cava and help slow the bleeding.”

  She protested weakly as Ella and Yuri forced her onto her back, no longer having the strength to fight both the pain and the physicians trying to help her.

  “Do you have any lavender oil?” Yuri asked Ella.

  “Of course,” the Shadowdancer told him. “But it will do little to ease such intense pain. Poppy-dust would be more effective . . .”

  “No!” Yuri told her emphatically. “I’ll not risk her child by giving her anything so strong.”

  “It’s patently clear that she’s lost the child, Yuri,” Ella pointed out with callous disregard for Alenor’s feelings. “Our concern now should simply be for the queen’s comfort.”

  Alenor whimpered, and tried to roll onto her side.

  “Stay where you are, Alenor,” Yuri insisted, placing a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder. “It will all be over soon.”

  Olena hurried back into the room carrying a pile of fresh towels. Yuri grabbed one from her, rolled it into a tight cylinder, and then Ella held her legs apart while he held it in place. The indignity of her position seemed minor compared to her pain.

  “She needs ergot,” Ella suggested. “A few grains will help stop the bleeding . . .”

  “No!” Yuri said. “Not until I’m certain what has brought this on.”

  “I’ve some clary sage mixed with jasmine and geranium we can use to massage her abdomen,” Olena offered. “It might help the womb to contract and slow the bleeding.”

  “Get it,” Yuri ordered, turning to Olena. “And get a servant in here to darken this room. I want as little light as possible. And then get the kitchens to prepare several pitchers of sugared water. We need to keep her fluids up.”

  Olena rushed off again to do as Yuri ordered. Alenor glanced down through her tears to find Dorra standing at the foot of the bed.

  “Will she live?” her lady-in-waiting asked.

  “If we can stop the bleeding,” Yuri replied. “Where is Kirshov? Her husband should be here.”

  “I’ll find him. Should I wake Prince Antonov?”

  Yuri hesitated for a moment, and then he nodded. “Perhaps you should.”

  With a terrified sob, Alenor clutched at his arm. “Am I dying, Master Daranski?”

  “Of course not, your majesty,” he told her comfortingly. “You’re just having a little problem keeping the baby, that’s all. Just hang on a little longer, my dear. Olena has gone to fetch something for the pain, and then we’ll massage your belly with some special oils, which will ease it even more.”

  Olena returned a few moments later with the oils Yuri needed. He took them from her and then returned to Alenor’s bedside. “I want you to open your mouth, Alenor. This won’t hurt. I just want to put a few drops of lavender oil under your tongue. It will help the pain.”

  She did as he asked, the lavender tasting sharp and strange as he dropped it carefully into her mouth. He handed the small vial back to Olena, and then took the clary sage oil from her. “Massage this into her abdomen. It will be painful at first, and she may fight you, but don’t stop.”

  Olena nodded and moved to the bed. She tipped some of the oil onto her hand and then lifted Alenor’s nightdress and began to rub her belly. Far from relaxing her spasms, the oil seemed to encourage them to contract. She screamed, but the Shadowdancer ignored her protests.

  “I’ve not seen a spontaneous abortion this violent before,” Yuri remarked to Ella with a frown.

  “Are you suggesting this wasn’t spontaneous?” Ella asked in surprise.

  “She displays all the symptoms of ergot poisoning.”

  “Which is why you don’t want to give her any more,” Ella concluded with a nod of understanding. “It might not slow the bleeding, it might kill her.”

  The physician shrugged. “If she was the daughter of a minor baron and this was six weeks after Landfall, I’d not hesitate to diagnose an abortifacient. But this is the Queen of Dhevyn.”

  Alenor fought through the agony to listen to the conversation. She gasped in horror. “I . . . I didn’t . . . I swear! I didn’t take anything . . .”

  Ella looked down at her. “Nobody is suggesting you did, your majesty. Are you feeling any better?”

  She nodded weakly as she realized that the lavender had taken a slight edge off the pain. Or perhaps the worst was over. She found she didn’t care. Alenor just wanted to curl up into a ball and die. She was frightened and in pain. She wanted her mother. She wanted to be held and cuddled and told that everything would be all right.

  But instead she was here in Avacas Palace, with nobody she trusted and nobody she loved, except . . .

  Alenor forced herself not to name him, even in her thoughts. She wanted so badly for him to come to her, to hold her and make everything better, but even in her agony, Alenor had the wit not to call out his name. If she was going to call for anybody, she must call for her husband. To name another man might prove fatal for both of them.

  “What in the name of the Goddess is going on?” Antonov’s voice boomed from the next room. The doors flew open and he strode into her bedroom, barefoot and bare-chested, dressed only in the trousers he had hurriedly thrown on in answer to Dorra’s summons.

  “The queen is hemorrhaging, your highness, however, we should have it under control soon.”

  “Has she lost the baby?”

  Yuri glanced down at Alenor for a moment and then nodded sadly. “Most likely.”

  I’m being punished, Alenor sobbed silently. This is what I get for thinking I could be happy . . .

  “Alenor?”

  She felt Antonov’s weight on the mattress as he sat down beside her, felt his hand gently brush the hair from her forehead.

  “You mustn’t cry, my dear,” he told her gently. “You’re young and strong. There’ll be plenty of other babies for you and Kirsh.”

  “I’m so sorry . . .” she sobbed in a voice barely more than an agonized whisper. He didn’t understand what she was apologizing for, but that didn’t matter. Maybe, if she was truly sorry, the pain might stop . . .

  “Now, now, you mustn’t blame yourself, Alenor. These things happen.” Antonov turned to Yuri. “She is to get whatever she needs to make her well.”

  “Of course, your highness.”

  He turned back to Alenor with a warm smile. “See? Master Daranski will make everything better.”

  “I’m sorry to cause such a fuss . . .”

  “Nonsense. You’re a queen, Alenor. Queens are allowed to cause a fuss.” He patted her hand in a fatherly manner, but his sympathetic smile faded as he rose to his feet, and turned to look at the others in the room.

  “And now,” he said, in an icy tone, “would someone like to tell me where the hell my son is?”

  Chapter 73

  You’re drunk,” Antonov accused Kirsh when he was escorted into his father’s study by the guard sent into the city to look for him. They had found him in a tavern near the wharves where the Regent of Dhevyn was making himself very popular by footing the bill for everyone in the taproom. Kirsh hated to drink alone.

  He smiled. “Tired and a little confused, maybe . . .”

  “You should have been here. With your wife.”

  “Alenor seems to get along very nicely without me,” he remarked. It was the closest he dared come to admitting the truth about his relationship with her. He was not so drunk or foolish that he would let the truth slip. Angry, certainly, but not so foolish as that.

  “While you were out making every tavern owner in Avacas between here and the docks a wealthy man, your wife was having a miscarriage.”

  The news sobered Kirsh considerably. “Is she all right?”

  “She lost the baby, Kirshov. And you should have been there. Not whoring around town.”

  “I wasn’t . . .” he began, and then he thought better of trying to defend himself. “I’m
sorry.”

  “She almost died.”

  “But she’ll be all right, won’t she?” He was a little surprised to find himself genuinely concerned for her. The news that the child she carried, the child that belonged to some nameless man he would dearly like to kill, was now lost, had not really sunk in.

  “Eventually. She was calling for you.”

  Kirsh found that hard to believe, but he could hardly admit it to his father. “I’ll go to her.”

  “Not in that state you won’t,” Antonov decreed, looking him up and down with disdain. “You’re filthy and you stink like a cheap whore. Get cleaned up first, and then you may visit with her. And you’ll damn well stay with her until she’s well again. I didn’t waste the last few years trying to convince the Dhevynians that you and Alenor were truly in love, just so you could ruin everything because you’re too damn thoughtless to be with your wife when she needs you.”

  Kirsh opened his mouth to defend himself, but realized that anything he said would just make things worse. “Yes, sir.”

  He turned to leave, but Antonov called him back.

  “Kirsh?”

  “Sir?”

  “Send the Shadowdancer away.”

  “Marqel’s got nothing to do with this . . . quite the opposite. Alenor likes her. She was the one who invited Marqel to Kalarada.”

  “Which means at least you’re being discreet,” Antonov conceded. “But your wife needs you at the moment more than your mistress does. It won’t hurt you to put her aside until Alenor’s recovered. And you’re lucky I didn’t find you with Marqel tonight while Alenor was bleeding to death, or I’d have taken care of her myself.”

  “I can handle it, Father.”

  Antonov studied him thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. “See that you do handle it, Kirsh. Alenor must recover and bear another heir as soon as possible.”