Bloodchild

by Anna Stephens

  She spent her evenings with Corvus in his chambers, listening to reports and orders while drinking exquisite wine and nibbling on oatcakes dipped in honey, the babe stretching and twisting in delight at the comfort and the food, all the food. Learning more about the state of the country and her brother’s plans than she’d ever expected to know. As if he wanted her involved. As if he trusted her.

  She was royalty. She was a slave. She was a child of Light. She took part in Mireces rituals. She had the run of the palace. She was a captive.

  If they were trying to keep her off balance, they were succeeding; she didn’t know what they wanted of her from one day to the next other than the babe and her conversion to the Red Joy. Both things she swore they’d never have.

  And then there was Tara. Of all people, of all the places to discover such unexpected, such sudden flaring hope, there was Major Tara Carter, soldier, officer and killer of men. Now one of Valan’s slaves, so changed as to be almost unrecognisable, all her fire banked down to embers hidden beneath cold grey ash.

  Tara Vaunt, not Carter, wife to Major Tomaz Vaunt. Both of who are strangers to me, Rillirin reminded herself for the fifth time that day. Betraying Tara’s cover story was unthinkable, and she’d nearly done it the first moment they met out of sheer surprise.

  Tara stood opposite, hands clasped in front of her, face impassive as Valan and Lanta sat at the table among papers and candles and cups of wine. Rillirin herself sat in a hard chair against the wall farthest from the fireplace; even so, sweat misted her face and the babe stirred, restless at the inactivity.

  Rillirin tried not to look at Tara, but couldn’t help herself. Every time she did, the woman was watching the pair at the table, alert for the smallest gesture that would indicate a need. Rillirin marvelled at her efficiency, how she anticipated her orders so easily. Tara was a far better slave than she had ever been, though she reminded herself not to congratulate the woman on it if they got out of here. When. When we get out of here.

  ‘Rill,’ Lanta snapped, so abruptly she squeaked in shock, ‘serve Second Valan his meal.’

  Tara took a step forward but Rillirin shook her head. ‘Your will, Blessed One,’ she said softly. It was part of Lanta’s insatiable quest for power; she was proving she had more authority than the king’s sister or the mother of the so-called Bloodchild. While Rillirin was brave enough these days to challenge the priestess, she made sure only to do it when Corvus was present; her brother seemed to enjoy them pecking away at each other and he wouldn’t let Lanta punish her.

  Tonight, though, he and Tett were poring over the giant map of Rilpor painted on the wall in the war room and, as Rillirin was never allowed to be alone, she’d trailed the Blessed One to the second’s quarters and there been confronted with this intimate, secretive conversation between Lanta and Valan. A conversation she couldn’t hear and to which she wasn’t allowed to contribute.

  Still, word of her food cravings had spread through the palace and Tara had given her a plate of honeyed oatcakes shortly after her arrival and a smile that promised her she wasn’t alone, even if it felt like it. A smile that had nearly made her burst into tears.

  ‘Rill!’ Lanta snapped again and she started, realising she’d been sitting lost in thought. She flushed, heaved herself out of her chair and paused to press a hand to the small of her aching back, just for a second. She took three steps towards the table and a pain surged through her, from her back into her belly, heavy and brooding. She grunted and bent forward, then let out a long, drawn-out groan as the pain only increased. Her belly was as hard as a stone. Her legs wobbled and, to her surprise, it was Valan’s hands that appeared to support her.

  ‘Easy, sweetheart, easy,’ he murmured, holding her elbows and hooking her chair with his foot, pulling it towards them. ‘Just breathe. There you go, breathe. Good. Chair’s behind you if you want to sit.’

  Tara was on her other side now and Rillirin squeezed her hand hard, taking and giving comfort. The touch of a friend.

  She groaned again as the pain crested. Gods, she needed to piss.

  ‘When are you due, milady?’ Tara asked and Rillirin would’ve laughed at the title if she’d had the breath. Valan’s hand was on her belly and the slight smile on his face was so private she had to look away. ‘It’s likely just a practice pain unless you’re near your time.’

  ‘Eleven weeks at least,’ she gasped as it began to ease. It had happened before, though not with such intensity. ‘It’s passing. I’m fine. Get your hands off me.’

  Valan let go with something like reluctance, his eyes suspiciously wet. He cleared his throat and backed to the table, leaning his hip against it.

  ‘Shall I fetch water, honoured?’ Tara asked. ‘She shouldn’t have wine, really.’

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ Rillirin begged and Tara flicked a glance at Valan. ‘Please, honoured. Please let her stay.’

  ‘I’ll get the water,’ Valan said, surprising her again. He left.

  Lanta was muttering foul prayers, her fingers curling and writhing over Rillirin’s stomach and the babe kicked hard, and then kicked again.

  ‘No,’ she cried. ‘No, stop. You’re hurting it!’ Lanta slapped her across the cheek and Rillirin felt yet another pain as she did, that of Tara’s grip tightening so hard on her hand that she gasped. She squeezed in response, a desperate voiceless plea not to do anything stupid, because Tara was looking at the knife next to the bread on the table.

  Valan returned with the water a moment later, ending whatever murderous plan Tara might have had. Rillirin drank, the cup trembling so some of it spilt down her chin and then her muscles hardened to stone again and she gasped, thrust the cup at Tara so she could clutch at the tightness. Valan rubbed the small of her back.

  ‘Better?’ he asked when it passed. Rillirin nodded, but his hand didn’t stop rubbing, teasing away the dull ache with patient fingers, and though she should tell him to stop, the relief was exquisite.

  This must’ve been how he was with his consort, what was her name? Neela? It seems even the adder has a heart.

  ‘You, slave.’ Lanta interrupted her thoughts, addressing Tara. ‘Do you have children?’ Tara shook her head, mute. ‘You said this was a practice pain. How do you know?’

  ‘I have assisted at births, Blessed One, here in the city. Many births.’ Tara was lying and they both knew it. But why?

  ‘Then you may assist Gull and me when Rill does go into labour.’

  What? ‘Blessed One, forgive me,’ Rillirin protested, ‘but surely I need a proper midwife? What if there are complications? What if something goes wrong?’

  Lanta put her head on one side and pursed her lips. ‘Then we will cut you open and pull forth your daughter. We don’t need you, Rill. Have you still not worked that out?’

  Rillirin’s heart gave one tremendous, liquid thud and then began pounding wildly so that within seconds her head was spinning. ‘Who … who will feed the babe? It’ll need milk. You need me. My child needs me!’

  ‘There’s a woman who works in the night kitchen who has a newborn,’ Tara said and Rillirin sucked in a breath of utter betrayal. How could Tara mention a wet nurse in her very presence? Tara was supposed to save her! ‘She could assist at the birth, or tell us who helped her, at least.’

  Not betrayal after all, though ambiguous enough to seem that way, perhaps. To slide a little further into the circle of trust. Rillirin let her chin wobble and deliberately shoved Tara’s supporting arm away.

  ‘Stop staring at me, all of you,’ she snapped. ‘I feel fine and there’s weeks yet. And you don’t know it’s a girl. How’s your dead goddess going to feel if you try and stuff her into a boy, eh?’

  Lanta flushed with anger but Valan stayed her. ‘She’s frightened, Blessed One. Let her have her little victories. Once the child is born, she can live the rest of her life under your punishments.’ A threat like that would’ve carried more weight if he hadn’t been soothing her back pain when he said it, but it set
tled Lanta’s ruffled feathers.

  ‘She shouldn’t be here,’ the Blessed One grumbled. ‘She should be staying in the temple so that everything can be prepared in good time.’

  ‘Corvus won’t allow it. As long as he controls her, he controls you,’ Valan said, finally stepping away. He gulped wine before passing the cup to Lanta. Rillirin felt a little bloom of surprise – the Blessed One sharing a cup as lovers did? And talking of the king as if he was working against the two of them? What was going on and, more importantly, how could Rillirin use it to her advantage? ‘Or thinks he does, anyway.’

  ‘Slave, find that woman and secure her help. Where and how she birthed, who assisted her, how much milk she has in case there is a need for a wet nurse,’ Lanta ordered. Rillirin gritted her teeth, but Tara curtseyed and left the room.

  ‘You’ll be fine, Rill, when it comes. Just keep breathing through it and you’ll be fine.’ Valan’s voice and expression were rich with wistfulness, but then it vanished as he rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his chair so he faced away. She watched them, heads close together as they murmured, Rillirin forgotten again. Forgotten until they needed the babe.

  She stroked her stomach. I think you and me and Auntie Tara have some plans of our own to make, little warrior. They’re not the only ones who can keep secrets.

  THE BLESSED ONE

  Ninth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Red Gods’ temple, temple district, First Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  ‘You have heard the latest in his list of failures, I presume?’ Lanta demanded as soon as Valan walked in. ‘You have heard how he jeopardises our country and all our plans with his incompetence?’

  Valan twitched at that, but then he nodded. ‘Yes, Blessed One. That he missed his opportunity at the South Forts—’

  ‘Missed his opportunity?’ she demanded, incredulous, and then bit off the words to gesture him to a seat at her side. ‘The South Forts were found abandoned and emptied of all provision. No clear sign of where they went or how many they numbered, even. Apparently they just vanished. There is an enemy on the loose in Rilpor, Valan, and we have no idea of his strength or where he will strike next. And it is Corvus’s doing.’

  ‘I advised him to attack the South Forts, Blessed One,’ he said. ‘Said the time was right, that we needed to end the threat. He refused.’

  ‘And he told me he had many demands on his time. That I shouldn’t bother him.’ Her upper lip drew back from her teeth. ‘What those demands were, who can say. They certainly didn’t include securing the country against our enemies.’

  ‘Enemies that are now at large, unwatched, able to strike at us where and when they please,’ Valan agreed. The tension in the room wound a little tighter.

  Lanta clicked her tongue. ‘Perhaps the time has come,’ she said. She let her calf rest against his; his lashes flicked shadows on his cheeks as he glanced at her and away. He didn’t move his leg.

  Valan ran his hands through his hair and then down over his face; he was worried, uncertain. ‘Now that we are here, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t uncomfortable at the thought of your – our – plan. Corvus is my friend.’

  Lanta licked dry lips. ‘And that, of course, is why you are a faithful son of the gods,’ she said smoothly and took his hand. Her thumb traced small circles on the back of his wrist and she noted the faint flush in his cheeks. ‘That you can make this sacrifice for Them, that you can regret the loss of a friend for the greater good, shows your strength of character. He is your friend, but he is not fit to be king. War chief, yes, that he excelled at, but not this. Not governing. He must be replaced.’

  ‘And that replacement will need to be Mireces,’ Valan said.

  Lanta blinked. ‘Valan, you are King’s Second. We both know what that means. Besides, I would not discuss such things with you if I had not intended for you to replace Corvus.’

  ‘Whereas, I had thought to suggest you take the throne, Blessed One,’ he murmured and Lanta froze. The seed of her queenship that she’d planted among her priesthood had died with them, or so she had thought. Now it seemed it had found fertile soil after all.

  He seized her hands. ‘As queen you would rule us more wisely than Corvus ever has. As Blessed One you already guide us through the world and safely to the shore of the Afterworld. To do both would be a heavy burden, but I would support you, Blessed One. I would be your strong right arm, your executioner. None would rise against you and live, I swear.’

  ‘Valan, dear Valan,’ she murmured. ‘We need a king. You are King’s Second. This is all so unexpected, a possibility that I had never considered. But, perhaps, if it is your wish, I could stand at your side and help you rule.’

  He blinked, swallowed hard, swallowed again. ‘It would be my honour,’ he managed, his voice hoarse.

  Her hand rose to the side of his face. ‘It is you who honour me and, as always, the gods,’ she breathed, and leant in to kiss his forehead. ‘And worry not. I know you mourn Neela; I will not ask of you … There will be no need if you do not want …’

  Pain and anger flashed in quick succession across his features, both emotions part of the reason he had chosen her over Corvus, Corvus who had made the decision to leave the women and children behind and unprotected. And dead. His eyes flicked to her mouth and then away.

  ‘You were a good match, good parents to the girls …’ She searched her memory. ‘Kit and Eve?’

  ‘Ede.’ His hand twitched in hers.

  ‘Ede, yes. Forgive me.’

  He bit his lip; the golden flags of firelight danced across the planes of his cheeks. So young. ‘I know they are happy in the Afterworld, Blessed One. I know they are content and they are waiting for me, that if they knew of my actions here they would be so proud. But …’

  ‘But you miss them.’ His head jerked in a graceless affirmative. ‘As you should. We are put on Gilgoras for twin purposes – to serve the gods, and find happiness. You did that. And while we will rule together to the gods’ glory, I do not expect you to, ah, to love me. You gave Neela your heart; I would not ask for the same.’

  It wasn’t all an act; Lanta felt uncommonly anxious. Despite the rumours both she and Liris had allowed to spread, she had never shared the old king’s bed. Though she blushed to acknowledge it, Lanta had never shared anyone’s bed. Her body and mind were tools of the gods, sacrosanct. The only love she’d ever known was Holy Gosfath’s, brutal and uncaring of her needs. Perhaps it would be better if Valan didn’t want her, though as she studied his face a warmth grew in her belly that had nothing to do with wine.

  Valan snapped out of his reverie. His hand shifted beneath hers, turning so that their fingers slotted together. He raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist and her stomach fluttered. ‘Believe me, Blessed One …’ he began and paused. ‘Lanta. Believe me, Lanta, it will be the easiest thing in the world to love you, once the pain of Neela’s loss has faded.’ And then, as if he’d read her mind: ‘Though I do not know how I can ever compare to the love of a god.’

  She found a gentle smile for him, one so lacking in artifice or arrogance or power that it sat strange and light upon her lips. ‘Do not worry about such things,’ she managed, nervous anticipation thrilling through her. ‘We will learn each other. All else will come from that.’

  ‘You … do not mind about Neela?’ he asked.

  ‘You would not be the man all Gilgoras needs as its supreme ruler if your heart was dead,’ she promised in her turn. ‘Grieve as long as you must. I will be here when you are done, and so will the world.’

  She sat back, breaking physical contact with intense regret and ending the moment, beginning another. ‘Now, Second, I am afraid we must to business. The … transfer of power needs to be accomplished and Corvus removed. What are your suggestions?’

  He adapted to the change in topic with something like relief, though whether thoughts of Neela or thoughts of kingship worried him, she couldn’t te
ll.

  ‘There’s the Krikite, Pesh. He mopes around the temple and the palace like a ghost, expecting some reward, some acknowledgment of his actions in bringing Rillirin here. His sister was supposed to have joined him and has not; he grows increasingly worried. It would be easy enough to manoeuvre him into making the attempt. And he is expendable.’

  ‘Hmm, perhaps. Though he is an unknown quantity. We do not know him, his loyalties, whether he will betray us rather than aid us. I cannot trust him. As you said, he is expendable – deal with it.’

  ‘Your will. I would not recommend we bring another Mireces into our confidence. I can do it myself, of course, whether in a formal challenge or something more circumspect. Poison, perhaps.’

  Lanta dismissed both ideas. ‘We must be clean of this, and poison is beneath us and not guaranteed.’

  ‘Then a more unusual option, Blessed One, but one I think will work. My slave, Tara. She can kill Corvus.’

  ‘Explain,’ Lanta snapped, and all intimacy fled. She reared back on the seat and folded her arms, donning the Blessed One’s guise like the armour it was. ‘I said someone we can trust.’

  Valan nodded. ‘I do trust her, despite that she is Rilporian. The day I returned from Pine Lock after killing the Evendoom brothers, I went to Fost to retrieve her. He told me she was in the kitchens. I was hungry anyway, so I followed her. I could hear a fight so I approached with caution, stood in the shadows and watched. There were three of them trying to rape her. She killed two.’

  Lanta’s mouth fell open; she snapped it shut, gestured for him to continue.

  ‘She’s more than just a fighter, Blessed One. We’ve all seen women fight off drunken advances – gods, Neela was no stranger to it. This wasn’t that. The way she moved, the way she weighed up her attackers, how she flowed between them not giving them time to regroup or rush her or come at her from behind. Even when they had her on the floor they couldn’t best her. She’s highly skilled – and she’s never used that against me or anyone, not until she absolutely had to. As a slave, she can get close to him and it will look – it will be – a simple revenge killing that he didn’t see coming.’