by Lorelei Bell
“Zofia? Are you alright?” Stephen asked evenly from across the way.
Just peachy. She shook her head. She felt as though she could be sick again, or possibly just go into a swoon for an encore. That would just top off the evening superbly.
“Would you like to be excused?” he asked.
She nodded, looking at no one, wishing they would just go away. Wishing mostly that she could just Evanish, and get the hell out of there now.
“Then, why don't we allow you to go and gather yourself,” Stephen suggested.
Zofia was a blur of movement as she dashed for the door. She floundered unsteadily for the exit—it was so dark, and she was turned around. Where's the damned door!
Someone gripped her by the arm. She could tell it was a man.
“I've got you,” the voice said. “This way.” Uncle Onslow ushered her along. He aimed her toward the doors, which were opened at once for them to exit.
“Holy Grimoires!” Tillie's voice came from behind. “I don't think anyone ever disrupted an Induction Feast quite like that.”
“Think you're right, Tillie,” Uncle Onslow said, as he led Zofia down the hall. They stopped and he was peering worriedly at her. “Are you sick, Zofia? Or was it just nerves?”
Zofia couldn't answer right away. She had to mull this over, since she really wasn't sure what had come over her just then. One thing was for sure, she really wasn't in any shape to return to the feast. Bad enough she had vomited during the announcement, but the fact that she had been the chosen one had her head spinning the most. She knew for certain she really couldn't face any of the people inside that room again. Not in this lifetime, or any other. It was just one of those moments where she really wanted to hide away for an eternity and a half.
“I think I just want to go to my room, Uncle Onslow,” she said in a weak voice, still leaning on him.
“Let's take her up, then,” Tillie said. For the second time today, Zofia found her aunt's face looking strangely gaunt and worried.
“I'll do this,” Uncle Onslow said, and with a swish of his hand, Zofia was levitated off the floor, and not of her will, but of another.
“Oh, thank you, Uncle Onslow,” Zofia said wearily. “I don't think I could manage by myself.”
“C'mon, then. Up you go,” her uncle said, and all three floated toward the huge winding stone stairs, Uncle Onslow on one side, and Tillie on the other. Once they made the landing, they Transvected down the hall.
“You made it, though,” Tillie brayed, pumping a fist. “You made Knight!” Her voice squeaked with her excitement. Her actions mirrored what she had seen Elton do when he had achieved something great. It made Zofia's lips bend into a lopsided smile.
“Yeah, our little Zofia one-upped them, didn't she though?” Uncle Onslow said warmly as they led her up the long hallway.
“Dorian should be here, though,” Tillie said, and threw a glance over her shoulder.
“He's still mad at me,” Zofia murmured, and felt the small of her back ache, and she had a raging thirst. She'd been drinking water all day long, but never felt satisfied. She was tired, too. Not just sleepy tired, but she felt as though she had just climbed a mountain on foot, did some house cleaning and laundered every piece of clothing by hand and hung it up and then made all the beds in a castle. What was this all about?
And then it hit her all at once when they neared her room. I'm pregnant. Yep. She had all the symptoms.
Uncle Onslow had not released her from his Powers when they arrived at her door.
“I think I can make it from here, Uncle Onslow,” Zofia said, mustering all the remaining strength she had left to stand on her own.
“You sure?” he asked, eying her sharply, ready to grab her if she leaned one way or another.
“Yeah. Tillie will see to me,” she assured him. “You go on back down. I wouldn't want you to miss out on dinner because of me.”
“What do I tell 'em, then?” he asked.
“Tell them I'm sick.” Pregnant-sick. Yeah, another first for a Knight, she figured.
Uncle Onslow reluctantly turned away, bidding her a good night, and with hopes she would be better on the morning. He then Evanished.
Zofia and Tillie entered her room. Her clothes were all put away, the room straightened, bed made. Either Biddle had straightened things, or a maid had.
“What's the matter, dearie?” Tillie asked. “You eat something that didn't agree with you at the tea?”
If she couldn't tell Tillie, who could she tell? “Not exactly. I think I'm pregnant.” There. It was out in the open.
Tillie's reaction was pretty much what she expected; great intake of air, causing her to choke on the words “You're what?” She coughed into her fist and garbled the words out once more.
“You heard me.” Feeling a sudden chill, Zofia strode across a thick rug angling toward the fireplace. A nice, cozy fire was burning. Low flames licked across the logs. The smell of wood smoke imbued the room. She stared into the fire for a moment. She had a lot of thoughts and urges right then. One was to go back to First World, maybe. Suddenly that world seemed less complicated to her. Her pregnancy had a lot of bad connotations here.
“I did, at that. Dorian's? Right?” Tillie's hopeful voice invaded her thoughts. Zofia had been thinking on this all day. She really wasn't absolutely positive, but she had to go with the train of thought that led her down that one-way road to the answer.
“Remember when Lolly invoked the cross on me?” She turned to her.
“Yes. The bitch,” she added the last under her breath.
“It was after—” she couldn't say it.
“After?” Tillie's eyebrows rose, trying to coax the words out of her.
Zofia gazed into her light-blue stare. Worry was harboring there. “After I had made love to Dorian—when he was still a vampire—but before the demon thing.”
“Any sex you had after the cross was invoked is all that counts,” she said flatly.
Zofia sighed, her legs felt suddenly weak as she withered onto the nearby couch. She eyed the ceramic vessel on a small, round table next to her. Water. She poured some into the glass and drank it down.
Tillie was still eying her warily. “You'd better not be pregnant from that demon, dearie.” Her bony knuckles went to her thin waist. “You know what they'll do to you.”
“I was exonerated by The Four,” Zofia informed wearily as she poured another glass of water and drank it down too.
“That don't hardly matter,” Tillie said.
That was true. There wouldn't be a square inch of Province Zofia would be allowed to live if she gave birth to a demon-child. She'd be banished to some other area. Possibly all the way into the Oblast. That was usually where people went who had done something bad, but not bad enough to be sent to Hamparzum's. She had been lucky to not be thrown into Hamparzum's just for doing the deed with a demon. But she'd been exonerated by The Four. Shouldn't that count for something? Right. Just hang a sign around my neck: Absolved.
Tillie settled on the sofa with her, took her hand gently and said, “Don't worry about it too much. Things have a way of working out.”
They sat for a few moments in silence.
“You want me to go fetch you some dinner if anything is left?”
“No,” she said, rising. The last thing she wanted was to see food. “I should just go to bed.” She crossed the room, magically lighting a few more candles as she went.
“Back so soon?” Biddle's voice came out of the void. He yawned loudly. He must have been asleep.
“Zofia's sick,” Tillie said, moving to help Zofia to the bed.
Zofia sat and stared at the huge windows across from the bed. The drapes were pulled back, and it was night, but you wouldn't know it, because all three moons were glowing brightly in the night sky. Elohim was nearest and largest. The craters created what people referred to as the Immortal's beard. Adonay had what looked like a wolf's head, if you squinted at it. And Chenor had a smil
ey face on it. Zofia remembered finding that First World's moon was similar. Presently, Chenor's smiley face was tipped slightly, as it had been upside-down during the winter phases. Now, in spring, it seemed to be doing a somersault.
Sounds of music from outside, and just below her windows, filtered in. The all-night carnival had just begun.
“Is there anything madam requires?” Biddle asked.
Zofia frowned. Biddle hardly ever volunteered. What was up with that?
“Not at the moment,” Zofia said, toeing off her shoes, hearing them thump to the floor.
“You should get your clothes off,” Tillie suggested. “Get that robe off, at least.”
Zofia grasped the material between a thumb and two fingers and let it go. “Yeah. I'd like to rip it off.” She moved, and then winced from the twinge in her back, and now her pelvic area protested. Great.
Tillie helped slip the white Knight's robe off, over her head. She caught the look of pain in Zofia's face.
“What's the matter?”
“I don't know,” Zofia said, still grimacing slightly. “I shouldn't be feeling all this junk right now. Not this soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“Back muscles are sore, and here—“ she ran her hands across her lower abdomen. She felt oddly bloated there. Yesterday she was flat, now she could feel a roundness beginning just around her navel. Suddenly, she really wanted out of the tight clothes she was wearing under the robe. “What's going on with me? I can understand that the time change may be confusing me into thinking it's morning—”
“Morning sickness at dinner?” Tillie guessed.
“Yeah. But all this other stuff… I can't be that far along.” She looked up at Tillie. “It's only been a few days.”
Tillie was tapping her lip with a crooked finger in thought. “Maybe returning messed with your body clock. Or, maybe we went through a time warp—we did cross a few other galaxies to get here, after all.”
Zofia flopped back onto the bed. “I don't like this, Tillie. How do I manage get into these things?” She stared up at the top of the canopy. Gold angels painted on the material floated overhead.
Tillie made a sound of non-committal. Dumb question, in other words.
“Would the madam wish to put on her night rail?” Biddle interrupted as a sheer orchid bit of material floated into her field of vision suddenly.
“Yeow!” Zofia said, gazing up at the flimsy material.
“Yeow-za!” Tillie added.
“Where on Euphoria did that come from? That's not mine!” Zofia said.
“From the drawer, over there,” Biddle said as the nighty fluttered above her head while he held it there. “Someone came in and placed a number of delicates into your drawers.”
“Really?” Zofia said, gaze catching Tillie's, who must have had the same quizzical, confused look on her face as Zofia had. “Who?”
“I don't know who,” he informed impatiently. “I merely observed them.”
“A man or a woman?” Tillie asked.
“A woman. She wore the mantle of a maid in this castle. She straightened things,” he made a horrified gasp. “As if the place were a mess!” The nighty fluttered to rest next to Zofia.
“That's their job,” Zofia said. “I mean to straighten things. But why would she place under things in my drawers?”
Tillie made a harrumphing sound. “By the order of the lord and master of the castle, no doubt.”
“She left also this,” Biddle added. A silver tray lifted from another nearby table, next to her bed. On it was a bottle of wine.
Zofia gaped at the bottle, and as Biddle brought it up to her she found there was a note next to it. Pausing, she looked over at Tillie.
“Well, read it,” she said. “It might be from Dorian. Maybe.”
She highly doubted it, but Zofia picked up the note. It had her name on the outside. Inside, in neat scrawl it read,
With complements & best wishes,
Stephen
“Well?” Tillie asked.
“Not from Dorian.”
“Stephen?”
“Yep.”
“Hum. A nighty is placed in your drawer, a bottle of wine and a note from Stephen. Still say he's not hot for you?”
“He was given permission to mate with me.”
“Oh?” Tillie's voice squeaked, eyes round with surprise. “Who gave permission?”
“One of The Four—I think it was Diana.”
“Oh,” she said, her tone watered down considerably. “Oh… my.”
“Not that Stephen needs that kind of encouragement.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“If that is all you require, madam?” Biddle said into the pause.
Zofia and Tillie exchanged glances.
“Yes, I guess that'll be all, Biddle.” She did want to get out of her clothes, and he would very obligingly leave her in private by going up the chimney.
“Very well, madam,” Biddle said and then there was a whooshing sound, fluttering her and Tillie's hair. The flames in the fireplace jumped and wavered with Biddle's motions. Biddle had left the room. It was one thing about Biddle—a male Ghogal—that allowed her to keep him on, he wasn't a peeping Ghogal. He knew when he should leave the room, and usually did so without anyone telling him to go.
“Well,” Zofia grunted as she tried to get up, but sank back into the soft bed. Tillie held out her hand and helped pull her to her feet.
“You going to change into that?” Tillie asked, pointing at the flimsy robe.
“Might as well. I can't get into any more trouble than I am already,” Zofia muttered as she yanked the string on the black corset over her top and felt immense relief at once.
“Well, that's true.”
She let go a great sigh. “I mean, I've already done it with a demon, my husband is totally enraged at me, for a number of reasons—and not all of them are legitimate, and I don't see how I could get into more hot water by doing it with Stephen.” She flicked a glance back at Tillie and read her glower. “What?”
“Are you daft!”
Zofia threw her a half-smile. “Just kidding.” She pulled her chemise off and with a few more yanks and pulls, she was nude save for her drawers (happily she was in her own underthings, and not Ugwump-made—the bra being her least favorite, which she called a device of torture was now a thing of the past).
She pulled the orchid nighty over her head, tugged it down and found that it came below her knees, but revealed a yard of cleavage—not that she had a yard to reveal, that is.
“You rest, now,” Tillie said to her, gently caressing her face with one pallid, cool hand. “I'll go and make sure your uncle doesn't go inventing on how sick you are.” She moved a few steps away, paused and turned. “One thing else. Have you told Dorian about this?”
Zofia blew a sigh. “No. When would I have told him? Between him flying off the moment he decided that I was doing it with Stephen and my being inducted? He found out I was with the demon, that's good enough for now.”
“I'll have to agree.” She turned and left the room. Silence invaded, as did all the thoughts Zofia had been trying to muffle with everything else. She was a Knight. A pregnant Knight, but a Knight nonetheless. She hadn't told Dorian she was pregnant, but maybe she should tell her boss. Yeah, that might be a good idea, before he gave her a really crazy assignment, like hurtling trolls, or juggling giants. Not that he would, but you never knew what sort of assignment Knights got.
Music from the courtyard had become louder. More energetic. Exhilarating. It gave her a little thrill, thinking about having missed all the festivals on her world. People were laughing. Singers went into a bouncy song, “Don't knock on my front do-o-or… come to the back if you want that…” She giggled reminded how funny and somewhat naughty their own songs were.
Zofia moved to the window to gaze down on the merry makers. Two stages were set up on opposite ends of the courtyard, allowing two bands to play simultaneously, or o
ne at a time. Between them, there may have been a hundred or more people gathered, enjoying the festivities.
She eyed the band nearest her. They had the usual pieces, flute, violin, guitars, drums and a bagpipe—something made out of very white goat skin with wooden pipes sticking out of it. She remembered it was called a gaida by the locals. The band members wore wildly colored clothes of the Gypsies. A woman in a long skirt that was hiked up on one side, was singing some song in her own language, now.
The knock at her door caught her off guard. Three people came to mind at once: Dorian, Tillie, and Stephen—and not in that order. She mentally checked off the first two. She really hoped it would not be Stephen standing there. She quickly donned the robe she'd brought with her, and strode to the door when the knock came again. The familiar voice spoke her name. Damn.
“A moment, please,” she said, pausing to tie the robe a little tighter. Certain she was presentable, she opened the door to find Stephen standing there—not in his commander's gold robe, but a pearl-white, loose-fitting silk shirt that sort of crossed his body, no buttons, and it was open halfway down his chest. And the pants were a gray material that looked soft (and she definitely didn't want to gaze down at how tight they fit him), stuffed into black, knee-high boots. Okay, lift the eyes and keep them on his face. His wand stationed casually at his right side on a gold and leather sheath (his wand stored inside), tethered to one thigh. His hair was still unfettered. He was taking her all in unabashedly. She could tell her choice of attire totally pleased him.
Double damn.
“Hello,” he said in a quiet, sultry tone only he had the audacity to acquire while looking at her in her night things.
“Hi,” she managed. “I-I mean, blessed be, my lord.” She threw in a nice curtsy. It was neither an invitation, nor a rebuke. It was the best she could do for now. Just acknowledging that he was the lord of his realm. It sort of put things into perspective, she thought.
“I came up to see if everything was alright. You became so sick. I was worried.” He paused to give her a worried-concerned look, which was convincing enough. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all?”
