“I’ll do that.” Tenorran clasped hands with each of them. He turned quickly and strode toward his mother’s tent so he wouldn’t have to see them walking home together.
Their ploy wouldn’t work. He remained loyal to Ramunna, with all its flaws. He would not be seduced away from his loyalty, no matter how powerful the temptation. Even though it meant he must live his whole life alone.
Bleak peace settled over his heart. It lasted while he walked between the rows of white soldier’s tents to the huge green-and-gold striped edifice in their midst.
The guards at the entrance stiffened when they spotted him. One drew the tent flap open while the other beckoned urgently. “Lord Tenorran, your mother requires your presence immediately.”
He still wasn’t used to the title she’d bestowed on him. “What’s wrong?”
The two guards exchanged wary glances. One said, “As far as we know, nothing. But her message was very urgent.”
The other added, “It seems the event she’s been awaiting is upon us.”
Oh. Tenorran’s heart raced. “I understand. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll report to her right away.”
He ducked inside and made his way through the lantern-lit interior of the tent. Every guard and servant he passed had an air of nervous expectancy. Tenorran’s stomach churned. He had no idea what to expect. He fervently wished he could stay far away until all this female business was decently concluded, but his mother had informed him that he would be present for the birth in tones that left no room for argument. If only he’d accepted one of those invitations to stay at the tavern. But she’d probably have humiliated him by sending someone to fetch him, so maybe it was just as well he hadn’t.
The guards at the entrance to his mother’s private suite let him enter without comment. She sat enthroned, dressed in a loose robe instead of her usual finery, but still very much in charge. “I want some of that tea the midwife left. If she’s not here in five minutes, send another messenger. Any word yet from Master Thia?”
One of her attendants bowed. “She’s ready to respond if the midwife considers her services necessary.”
Verinna scowled. “Smash their stupid guild rules. What good does it do to have the Mother’s power available if the wizards refuse to use it without a signed invitation?”
Renarre, who hovered at her side, said, “My inquiries indicate that their midwives are quite skilled. I’m sure—”
Verinna cut him off with a sharp gesture. Everyone fell into breathless silence as she bowed her head and closed her eyes. For several minutes no one moved. The only sound was Verinna’s long, slow breaths.
Abruptly she raised her head and continued speaking as if there had been no interruption. “Tenorran! Quit lurking by the door and come give me a hug.”
He obediently approached the throne. His mother’s belly seemed twice as big as before, alien and frightening. He tried to avoid touching it as he bent to embrace her. But she seized his hand and laid it across the swollen curve. “Feel that? That’s your little sister moving. Getting ready to kick her way out, I have no doubt.”
Her belly heaved under his hand. He recoiled, but to his surprise the sensation provoked fascination as well as revulsion. Was it really possible a baby was in there, about to emerge into the world?
His mother held his hand in place until the movement stopped. “There. Now, go stay out of the way, but don’t leave this room. I want you to hold her as soon as she’s born.”
He thankfully retreated, snagging a folding chair and dragging it to the farthest corner of the room. He sat down just as another contraction hit Verinna and everyone froze until it passed.
Verinna continued to give orders between pains, and her attendants jumped to obey every word. The tea she’d requested arrived, but she dismissed it as too weak and demanded a stronger brew in its place. She had Renarre kneel and massage her feet, then shift to her shoulders. She complained of the heat and assigned several servants to ply large fans to provide a cooling breeze.
A middle-aged woman in Tevenaran garb strode in while Verinna was in the middle of a contraction. She waited until it was over, although her silence was relaxed and comfortable, unlike the fearful tension everyone else displayed. When Verinna looked up, the woman said, “You seem to be handling things well.”
Verinna eyed her haughtily, although Tenorran thought he detected a note of relief beneath his mother’s arrogance. “I’ve had plenty of experience. Remember, this is my fourth full-term birth, and several of the miscarriages were just as hard.”
“Then you’ll probably need little from me, but I’m here for anything you might require.” The midwife bowed and walked over to stand beside Tenorran. “I’m Master Janil Traderkin Midwife. Are you the son Verinna’s been telling me about?”
“Yes. Lieutenant Tenorran Fovarre.” He wasn’t sure if he was entitled to the rank anymore, but no one had formally discharged him from the Armada, so he would keep using it until someone made him stop.
“I’m enjoying working with your mother. She’s suffered a great deal, but it’s made her determined, not bitter. It’s going to be very rewarding to see her welcome another healthy child after so many losses.” Janil studied Verinna with keen eyes. “You’d never know she’s terrified, would you?”
Tenorran blinked. “What?”
“See how she keeps touching her belly, compulsively but reluctantly, as if she dreads what she’ll feel but has to know the worst as soon as possible. And the way she’s ordering people to fulfill her every whim. She needs to feel in control. It’s working for now. It may continue to, depending on how difficult the labor gets. But if at some point she needs more help, I’d like you to be ready to give it. I’ll speak to her husband as well, although he seems to know how to support her.”
“Of course.” Tenorran cleared his throat. “Whatever she needs.”
“Thank you.” Janil nodded to Tenorran and moved away. She circulated around the room, speaking softly to each of its occupants in turn.
Time wore on. Verinna’s pauses became longer, the spaces between them shorter. Her orders became fewer but more demanding. When she insisted refreshments be brought for all her attendants, Tenorran sipped the cool water gratefully. He set the bread and cheese aside for later. It was going to be a long night.
Verinna began to shift around on the throne during contractions. Her face screwed tight and her mouth pressed shut. At the height of one a low moan escaped her lips.
Janil slipped to her side. “Very good, Verinna. Many women find relief in making sounds during labor. There’s no need to hold them in.”
Verinna glared at her. “I will not scream and carry on like a scullery maid.”
“Still, consider it. And you may wish to change positions occasionally.”
“I want my heir to be born on her throne.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Meanwhile, why don’t you give this a try and see how it feels?”
Verinna suffered Janil to help her up from the throne. They maneuvered until Verinna was kneeling before it with her arms braced on the seat. Janil applied pressure to her back during the next pain. When Verinna indicated her approval, the midwife showed Renarre where to press. Verinna relaxed under his strong hands, emitting grunts and deep sighs from time to time.
More hours passed. When Verinna grew restless in one position, Janil helped her find another. For a while they paced around the perimeter of the room. At one point Verinna curled on her side on the bed, but soon abandoned it to crouch on all fours and sway. Janil provided tireless calm encouragement.
Verinna staggered back to the throne and collapsed onto it. She shuddered through a long contraction, her voice rising in a desperate cry. At the end she slumped against Janil. “I can’t do this any more. Send for a wizard. Quick, while there’s still a chance to save her.”
Janil put her arms around Verinna’s shoulders. “You’re doing beautifully. Your baby is strong and well. This is what your body and hers ar
e made for. I wouldn’t hesitate to summon a wizard if the Mother’s power were necessary, but it’s not. Your baby will be here very soon, with no one’s effort but your own.”
Verinna clutched Janil’s arm. “You don’t understand. They all die. I kill them. My body is broken. It can’t bring forth a living child.” She dropped her forehead to rest on Janil’s shoulder. To Tenorran’s astonishment he saw tears leaking from his mother’s eyes. “Please, I’m begging you.”
Janil shot Tenorran a meaningful look. He rose shakily. What did she expect him to do?
Renarre rounded on Janil. “Listen to her! She needs the Mother’s power! What are you waiting for? I swear, if you don’t help her, I’ll—” He broke off on a breath that was nearly a sob.
“Your wife and child are fine,” Janil told him. “This is something the Mother’s power can’t help. Verinna has to get through it herself.”
She beckoned Tenorran close. “Verinna, look. Here’s your son. You can birth a living child. You’ve done it before. Remember.” She took Verinna’s hand and Tenorran’s and pressed them together. He knelt before the throne and looked into his mother’s haggard face, squeezing her hand hard.
His mother’s eyes cracked open and sought his. She blinked, focusing, and gave him a long, searching look. Tenorran felt as if she was seeing him as she never really had before. “Tenorran?” she whispered.
His voice caught. “I’m here, Mother.”
Her grip tightened. “Your face was so red,” she whispered. Louder, she said, “You had a pointed head, with a big lump over your left eye. Everyone whispered behind my back that you were ugly, but they were wrong. You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I held you for hours.”
To his horror, her face crumpled and more tears flowed. “I’m so sorry. I had to do my duty. Ramunna needed an heir. I let them take you away. I told them I didn’t want to see you, but that was a lie. I couldn’t bear to have you with me and then send you away again. I told myself you were better off with your nurse. Everyone told me I’d soon have a daughter, and I vowed that I would keep her with me always. I wouldn’t abandon her the way I abandoned you.” She clutched his hand painfully tight. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course I forgive you, Mother.” Empathy for the girl she’d been flooded him. Younger than he was now, bound by the legacy of her dead mother, determined to do whatever Ramunna needed, no matter what she had to sacrifice, no matter how much it hurt. Surely in her place he would have done the same. “Of course I do.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply for several minutes. Her body stiffened and her grip on his hand tightened, but she made no sound. The contraction seemed to last forever.
Finally she relaxed and opened her eyes. She smiled ruefully at him, squeezed his hand, and released it. Turning to Janil, she said, “I’m ready to push.”
“Very good.” Janil nodded to Tenorran. He stepped back, and she moved to take his place in front of Verinna. “Scoot up to the edge of the seat. Gently, now, as your body guides you.”
Tenorran retreated across the room and sank into his chair. No one seemed to notice or care. Verinna clung to Renarre’s hand and panted. Janil crouched at the foot of the throne and murmured encouraging reports. People crowded as close as they dared, eager to witness the next Matriarch’s birth.
Tenorran rubbed his eyes. He felt as exhausted as if he’d just crewed a ship through a hurricane. He longed to fall into his bed and sleep for a day or two. But his mother would be furious if he left. Besides, he couldn’t miss the climax of this drama, even if he’d already played his part.
Not much later the voices at the throne escalated. He heard Janil say, “I see the head.” Shortly thereafter, his mother’s voice rose in a series of fierce, straining cries. Then Renarre’s deep tones. “Only one more, Verinna. One more.”
Quiet, then a final rising cry. Breathless silence was broken by glad exclamations. Janil rose and pressed something into Verinna’s arms. Renarre embraced her. People surged forward, blocking Tenorran’s view.
He rose stiffly. He didn’t belong here. He should slip away and leave his mother and her husband to their joy. He sidled toward the door as excited voices confirmed that it was, indeed, a girl, Ramunna’s heir. Cheers, laughter, and delighted chatter filled the chamber.
Before he could escape, his mother’s voice rose in stern command. “Tenorran! Come here.”
He froze, then walked reluctantly toward the throne. People parted to let him through. Janil finished tucking a towel under Verinna and faded to the side with an encouraging smile. Renarre nodded in formal welcome. Verinna beamed down at the bundle in her arms. Her robe was streaked with blood, her hair was damp with sweat, and she was panting as if she’d just finished a race, but she sat her throne as proudly as if she presided over thousands on a grand feast day in the palace in Ramunna.
Tenorran saw triumph in her face as she gazed at her daughter, and adoration, and pride. But also, beneath those things, aching sadness. When she looked up at Tenorran the sadness grew more pronounced.
“This is your sister,” she said softly. “Adrenna Fovarre. I want you to hold her.” She extended the blanket-wrapped bundle to Tenorran.
He had no choice but to accept it. His sister was warm and solid, heavier than he’d expected something so small to be. Weren’t newborns supposed to cry? She wasn’t crying. She looked up at him with big, dark eyes framed by thick black lashes, seeming to devour every detail with boundless curiosity. Her hand waved in front of her face, tiny fingers reaching and stretching, then curling into a fist. His arms tightened around her, and she melted into his chest as if she’d never belonged anywhere else.
He couldn’t look away. Around him people exclaimed in delight over her thick, dark hair, her pert, upturned nose, her delicate ears. Others murmured indulgently about her wrinkled purple face, the streaks of red and waxy white on her skin, the crease across her forehead. None of that mattered to him. He stared transfixed into a gaze that was somehow both new and ancient, innocent and wise. Something inside him shifted and settled into a new place as if it had always been there.
He would never father a child of his own, but this must be what it felt like to look at your child for the first time, instantly and completely loving a person you hadn’t known the moment before. He would lay down his life for this tiny creature without a moment’s thought. He would do whatever it took to make sure she was safe and cared for and loved, no matter what it cost him.
Dazed, he looked up at his mother. She was regarding the two of them with knowing eyes, both deeply satisfied and bleak. This was what she’d wanted. This was what she’d meant when she’d said he’d be bound to his sister by blood. Not the dry, burdensome ties of duty, but the deep and uplifting bonds of love.
Renarre cleared his throat. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he said roughly.
Tenorran understood. Renarre, too, felt this sudden and absolute devotion. Whatever jealousy or competition they might feel for each other must be put aside. Adrenna came first. “She is.”
Verinna put one hand in Renarre’s. She cupped the other around Tenorran’s where it supported Adrenna’s head. “The three of us must work together to protect her. You two are the only ones I can trust.”
Tenorran nodded, as did Renarre.
Verinna sighed and slumped against Renarre. “Hold her while Janil tends me, Tenorran. Renarre, stay with me. There’s still the afterbirth to deliver. And I’ll want a bath.”
“She’ll need to nurse soon,” Janil said. “The sooner after birth the better.”
His mother nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ll nurse her. As long as I can.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “But let Tenorran hold her a little longer first. She’s going to need him more than me.”
Fifty
Josiah lifted his head, letting the cool breeze ruffle his curls. The heat had finally broken. The Restday servic
e this morning had been almost bearable. Afterwards all the doors and windows of the Hall had been thrown open to allow the cool air to circulate. Up here on the roof it was downright pleasant.
“Excellent, Vethon,” Elkan said. “Thank you. Josiah, move Master Dalan into the undecided category.”
Josiah grinned as he crossed off the name from the dwindling column on the left hand page and added it to the center one. Dalan was one of Hanion’s staunchest supporters. He’d been Hanion’s apprentice many years ago and would never hear a negative word about his former master. If he was wavering, Elkan’s victory was all but assured.
Elkan turned to the next person in the circle. “Todira, have you made any more progress with the Jevtarans?”
Josiah let his attention wander. He took a moment to appreciate how big their daily meetings had grown. He’d hauled up three more folding chairs from the basement to join the twenty already there. All these masters were actively working to sway the others to Elkan’s side. The lists spread out on the desk in front of him showed the fruits of their efforts.
Usually they met in the evening, but on Restdays they met after the midday meal and kept the discussion as brief as possible so the wizards could observe at least some of the rest the Law required. Most weeks Josiah would have been impatient for the meeting to end so he could head to the country with Sar to enjoy the beautiful weather. But just his luck, today was his and Elkan’s turn on emergency duty. Elkan had re-instituted the regular rotation as soon as they’d gotten the Hall running again, and Hanion had kept it in place. Josiah was required to stick around the Hall, ready to respond if wizards were needed for something that couldn’t wait. Maybe next week would be nice again, and he could take Sar out to their favorite pasture for the first time since they’d come back to Elathir.
He sighed. Every week he’d hoped to be going out to that pasture the next Restday, and every week he’d been disappointed. Now the chill in the air meant that even if Kevessa someday consented to go there with him, it would be too cold to swim. He was never going to get to splash in the pool beneath the little waterfall with her, or lie beside her on the soft grass, or anything else he’d imagined.
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