by Shae Ford
*******
Kyleigh was right: it wasn’t possible.
Kael told himself this over and over again. He remembered what Gwen had said about them being two completely different creatures — about how they were far too opposite to fit. Even Kyleigh had warned him that they would never have children of their own.
It made perfect sense. They were far too different. It simply wasn’t possible. And he’d always accepted this — welcomed it, even. Kael had always been entirely certain that he never wanted children … or at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.
But as the weeks went on, a tiny hope crowded its way into his heart. He held it down tightly and refused to let it grow. He was careful to keep it away from the center, where he knew it would quickly take root. Instead, he pressed it into a corner and tried not to think about it. There was no point in thinking about something that simply wasn’t possible.
Still, as another month stretched on, he found himself watching Kyleigh more and more often … looking for a sign.
She always ignored the tonic Mandy served her at breakfast. Geist would bring her another dose in the evenings — which she’d promptly toss out the nearest window. Any man who looked at her strangely could expect to have his head bit off, and Kael was no exception.
He’d been playing chess with Shamus in the library one evening when he made the mistake of glancing over at her.
Kyleigh was sprawled between the arms of a cushioned chair, running a cloth down the edge of Harbinger’s deadly, curved blade. Her eyes never left her work as she growled: “Keep staring at my middle, whisperer, and I swear I’ll rip your eyes out and stomp them flat.”
She went to bed in a foul mood — and woke up in an even fouler one.
Kael tried to lie very still as Kyleigh dragged herself from the covers. Her heels slapped the floor hard and she cursed under her breath. He cringed when he heard the window’s shutters slam open against the wall, half-expecting her to tear them from their hinges.
Instead, she was violently ill.
“Kyleigh?”
“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “It was probably just that deer I had for dinner. I knew he had a strange look in his eye …”
She was ill again — out the window and straight into the courtyard below. After the third time, a few of the guards jogged over to watch. “Somebody go get Mandy,” Kael bellowed at them.
One guard peeled away. The rest stayed behind to bet on how many stones Kyleigh would hit on her next attempt.
The man who guessed six won it.
Mandy rushed in a few minutes later. She grabbed Kyleigh by the hand and led her back to bed, ordering her to lie still. No sooner had she gotten her settled than Geist turned up at the door.
He carried a large tray between his hands. There was a cup of water and a plate of bread settled atop it — along with a second cup that smelled suspiciously of tonic.
“For the last bloody time, I’m not pregnant. It’s not possible,” Kyleigh said hoarsely.
“All right, then.” Mandy passed the tonic behind her back and held it out with the other hand. “I’ve worked my magic on it. Now it’s not a tonic for pregnancy — just a little something to settle your stomach.”
Kyleigh glared at her teasing. But in the end, she was just pale enough to take a drink. “It tastes like you’ve scraped it out of a goat’s belly.”
“Perhaps I have. But you’re still going to finish it,” Mandy said tersely. “You’ll have another dose this evening — and when you get to feeling ill at breakfast tomorrow, you’ll drink it again.”
“No, I’ll be better by tomorrow. It was only a bad deer.”
Mandy laughed as she walked out the door. Geist watched her go before he followed with a slight bow. “I’ll see you this evening, Lady Kyleigh.”
“No, you blasted won’t,” she muttered into her cup.
Kael sat beside her while she drank and tried not to say anything upsetting. But deep inside his chest, that tiny hope had begun to grow. It stretched tentatively for the middle of his heart. He finally managed to push it back … but not before it’d gained considerable ground.
The tonic seemed to make Kyleigh feel better. She was back to her usual self by the early afternoon. When Geist brought her another dose of tonic that evening, she threw it into the hearth — insisting that she’d been cured.
Kael hardly slept a wink that night. He kept thinking about what it would be like if Kyleigh were pregnant. He kept imagining how their lives would change, tried to convince himself that it would be frightening beyond belief.
But the only word that came to him was wonderful — and it tinged all of his dreams in sunlight.
When Kyleigh woke, he thought she might’ve looked slightly pale. She leaned heavily against the wall as they made their way downstairs and bit down hard upon her lip.
But though he strongly suspected that she wasn’t feeling well, she managed to keep herself together — until Mandy set a full plate of rather wobbly eggs before her.
Then she got sick into the mouth of the nearest cauldron.
Kyleigh put up a brave fight. But after nearly a week of disasters, she finally gave in: the tonic went down begrudgingly in the evenings, gratefully in the mornings — and if anyone so much as thought the word pregnancy, they’d get a sharp slap. So they all agreed not to mention it.
Kael was slightly proud of how well he was able to keep quiet. When Kyleigh went without her armor one day because it felt too tight, he said nothing. As that single day stretched into a couple of weeks, he still managed to keep his mouth shut. But the day she decided to try to put it back on again proved to be his greatest test.
“It won’t clasp,” she grunted, trying to stretch the buckles of her jerkin together. “It’s never not clasped before.”
“That’s odd,” Kael said calmly — though just beneath the skin, his heart screamed and danced a maddened jig.
A small bump had begun to take shape at the base of her stomach. Its gentle slope flattened the hard lines across her middle and poked out just over the top of her breeches.
“The cook’s been feeding me far too well. That’s probably what it … Kael?”
He glanced up — and found himself snared in the fires of her glare. “What?”
“You know very well what. Stop it.”
“But —”
“You’ll be dead before you strike the ground,” she said sharply.
He shut his mouth, but only because he swore he’d seen something in her eyes as she snapped at him: a tiny, hairline crack in her resolve …
The faintest admission that it might possibly be something more.
*******
One week later, she finally gave in.
It happened as they were sitting at dinner. Shamus set off on an ale-fueled account of how he’d once seen a goblin trotting along a beach outside the castle, and the guards egged him on.
“Oh? How many legs did it have?” Gerald called around a mouthful of his dinner.
“Five,” Shamus said firmly. Then he squinted at the wall. “No … seven. It was seven, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, as long as it was an odd number. I’m not sure I could believe a story about a balanced goblin,” Kyleigh said with a grin.
While the rest of them had potatoes to go along with their lamb, Kyleigh had nothing but an entire rack of red meat. She fought her way through it at a steady pace — glancing up every once in a while to heckle Shamus.
“What color was the goblin’s skin?” Kael said.
Shamus snorted loudly. “Goblins don’t have skin. They’ve got scales. And they were yellow — a bright, weedy sort of yellow.”
“Weedy isn’t a sort of yellow,” Kyleigh said, laughing.
Kael was about to add on when he saw Kyleigh reaching for his plate out of the corner of his eye. She stole something and popped it into her mouth … and he was almost entirely certain it wasn’t a piece of lamb.
The others went on
with their story, but Kael wasn’t listening. He tried to keep eating as if nothing had happened. When he saw Kyleigh move again, he caught her around the wrist.
“Are you nicking my potatoes?”
She froze, staring at the roasted bite stuck to the end of her fork as if she’d only just discovered it. “I … thought it looked good.”
Nothing Kyleigh had to say about vegetables had ever involved the word good — and it might as well have been a filthy swear.
The whole table fell silent. Eyes went wide and forks paused upon their plates. For a long moment, no one so much as chewed. They watched Kyleigh stare at the potato as if they were about to witness the start of a battle.
Instead, she burst into tears.
The table cleared immediately: the guards snatched up their plates and scattered, running as fast as they could without sloshing the ale from their cups.
“It isn’t … possible,” Kyleigh sobbed. She threw the fork down upon the table and buried her head in her hands.
It took everything Kael had not to laugh as he gathered her up. “I thought you wanted a child?”
“I do …”
“Then what are you so weepy about?”
“We can’t … we can’t.”
“Well, it looks as if we have.”
“Aye, you certainly have. Did she not know it?” Shamus blustered from across the table. “How could you not have known it, lass? We all blasted well knew it.”
“I didn’t want to think it. I didn’t want to hope. But I suppose it’s true.” When she finally lifted her head from his chest, a smile glowed through her tears. “I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”
“Very much so,” Kael said with a grin.
Shamus raised his tankard high. “Cheers to you both — and cheers especially to you, Sir Wright,” he added with a wink.
CHAPTER 60
A Little Reminder
“She’s beautiful,” Aerilyn whispered.
She was, indeed.
Kael had gotten to hold her every day for all of her three months of life. He’d talked to her, read to her, and told her all manner of stories. He’d stared at her far more than she probably would’ve liked. But he still hadn’t quite gotten used to how stunning she was.
Aerilyn held her gently, smiling down. “What have you named her?”
“Ryane. It was Kael’s idea, and I thought it was perfect,” Kyleigh said.
As protective as Kael was, Kyleigh was far worse: she hovered at Aerilyn’s elbow and kept one hand beneath Ryane’s head, as if she was preparing to catch her at any moment. A whole cluster of people waited to hold her — and as Ryane went around the room, Kyleigh followed closely.
“She has got her mother’s eyes,” Nadine said when it was her turn.
Declan leaned over her, one thick hand resting gently atop her shoulder. “Yeh, and her mother’s looks.”
“A mightily grand thing! Can you imagine how mad she’d be if she came out looking like a mountain ra —? Ah, mouse?” Brend amended quickly, when he saw Declan’s glare.
They stood inside what had once been the King’s throne room. Now the chamber looked more like a gathering place: thick rugs adorned the floor, and a few small tables sat between the cushioned chairs. The hearth warmed their skin while the night poured coolly through the window.
Fortunately, Declan and Nadine’s horde of redheaded children were well out of range of Brend’s voice. They sat before the hearth, listening patiently to Baird.
With Griffith’s help, the beggar-bard had finally finished his book. Now the whole massive tome sat open across his lap. He dragged his knobby fingers along the quill’s marks and read the words aloud:
“By this point, my satchel was practically bursting with letters. Every corner of the realm seemed to be in some sort of peril — and I was determined to deliver them from harm. But a full satchel is both a courier’s joy and bane. You’re bound to find out the truth eventually, dear reader, so I might as well warn you now: there isn’t much that can be done for a parchment cut …”
Baird told his stories with whispers and shouts. Sometimes, he even to forget to read it: he’d take his hands from the pages and wave them in frantic arcs, going on about whatever parchment cut he’d gotten next.
The moment he took his hands away, Griffith would lean around him and quickly flip a few pages ahead — getting them back to the exciting bits.
“Where was I?” Baird frowned as he dragged his hands across the page. “The Battle of the Tide Winds? That can’t be … ah, well. I suppose I must’ve forgotten where I ended up …”
Things were getting a bit tight where Kael stood. Kyleigh hovered so watchfully over Ryane that he knew nothing short of the Kingdom’s end could tear them apart. So he slipped away from the crowd and went in search of a quiet place to sit.
One corner looked promising. But as he neared it, Thelred stomped by — followed closely by Uncle Martin.
“So, where’s this Lydia I’ve been hearing so much about?” Uncle Martin said.
“I don’t know. You certainly didn’t hear it from me,” Thelred grumped.
“Well, I never hear a blasted thing from you! I’ve got to get it all from Lysander —”
“Who greatly embellishes everything to the point that there’s not a shred of truth left in it. Lydia is nothing more than a friend. We play music together.”
“It doesn’t matter what you call it. I think I’ve got a right to meet the woman my son keeps traveling into the Valley to play music with. She must be one fantastic musician,” Uncle Martin added, wagging his brows.
Thelred spun around. “Oh, she is.”
As far as Kael could remember, that was the first time he’d ever seen Thelred grin — and it was every bit as terrifying a look as he’d expected it to be.
Uncle Martin stood frozen nearly a full minute after Thelred stomped off, his mouth agape beneath his mustache. “Well, now I’ve got to meet her!” he finally said, hobbling away.
Kael managed to take one more step towards the corner before Lysander ran into him.
“No, no, Dante! Leave that alone.”
When Kael looked down, he was surprised to see that little Dante had snuck in beside him. The child stared up with big blue eyes, a wide smile upon his face — and with his little hand clenched firmly around the hilt of Kael’s hunting knife.
He’d managed to lift it halfway out of its sheath before Lysander pried his fingers away. “No, young man. You aren’t old enough to be handling sharp things. Your mother would absolutely kill me if she found out. She’s already mad enough about the jam.”
That’s when Kael noticed the many purple handprints that dirtied the captain’s white tunic — and matted the waves of his hair.
“Infants are trying enough. But just wait until they start to walk,” Lysander warned as he watched Dante toddle away. “That’s when the real trials begin. I keep telling people not to try to hold him, warning that he’ll only rob them blind. But no one believes me. Here …”
There was an odd assortment of rings on Lysander’s fingers and a tangle of necklaces upon his arm. He dug through them until he found one with a blood red jewel hanging from its middle.
“I don’t know who half of these belong to — he nicks them before I have a chance to see, most times. But I know for certain that this one belongs to Gwen. Make sure she gets it back, will you?”
Lysander rushed off before he could reply, already yelling at Dante for rubbing jam into the curtains.
Kael turned to search the room — and nearly skewered himself on the tip of Elena’s black dagger. “I thought you were never coming back to Midlan?” he said.
“Well obviously, I’ve changed my mind.” She slid the dagger upwards to press it against his chin. “Congratulations on becoming a father.”
“Thanks,” Kael said warily. “I hear you run an inn?”
“The Mage and Blade,” Jake said as he came up beside her. There was a rather potent scent wafting in b
ehind him: the stink of the skunk oil he used to cover his magic.
Elena didn’t seem at all to mind it. She smiled as she nudged him with an elbow. “I’d rather missed having an inn.”
“Yes, and we felt it only right to help rebuild Crow’s Cross, after the … incident with the lantern. It turns out that the Valley is a very peaceful place to settle.”
“Jake does his own brewing,” Elena said, sliding the dagger back into its sheath. “It’s made things rather … exciting.”
Though Jake tried to wave her off, it was too late: Kael was already interested.
“I don’t know what it is. The spells I use should work,” Jake groaned when he asked. “But for whatever reason, my patrons keep turning purple. One in eleven of them, to be exact.”
“They come in groups, and the man who turns has to pay for everybody else’s drinks. Word’s started to spread. We’ve got travelers from all over the Kingdom coming to give it a try. I doubt we’ll be able to make it out the door, before too much longer,” Elena said.
Jake nodded in agreement. “Yes, the inn’s doing well. We’re rather enjoying the quiet life.”
They fell silent for a moment. Elena fidgeted with her bandolier while Jake stared into the hearth. Something hung between them — a thick, uncertain air. Both seemed to be just at the edge of speaking.
But it was Jake who spoke first: “Although …”
“Yes?” Elena stepped closer to him, her dark eyes searching.
“It’s nothing, really. I’ve certainly enjoyed every peaceful moment we’ve spent in the Valley. But I was thinking about the minceworms the other day. Now that their queen is, ah … deceased,” he smiled at Elena’s grin, “I’ve realized that there might not be much time left to study them.”
“You ought to go back to the desert, then.”
He shoved his spectacles up his nose thoughtfully. “Yes, I’ve considered it. Though there are outlaws in the desert. So I’d probably need some sort of protection.”
A glint crossed Elena’s eyes. “I think I can help with that. I’m sure the girls can run things on their own for a bit.”
