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A fire burned in the great fireplace across the chamber, but no lamps were lit. Arkoniel turned slowly, trying to make out the familiar shapes of furniture and hangings. This house had always been alive with music and gaiety. Tonight it seemed like a tomb.
‘Is that you, Iya?’ a deep voice called. Rhius strode down the stairs to meet them. He was nearly forty now, a handsome, broadly built warrior, with arms and hands knotted from a life spent clutching a sword or the reins. Tonight, however, his skin was sallow beneath his black beard and his short tunic was sweated through as if he’d been running or fighting. Warrior that he was, he stank of fear.
He stared at Lhel, then seemed to sag. ‘You found one.’
Iya handed her cloak to the steward. ‘Of course, my lord.’
A ragged scream rang out overhead. Rhius clutched a fist to his heart. ‘There was no need for the herbs to start the birthing pangs. Her waters broke at mid-morning. She’s been like this since sunset. She keeps begging for her own women –’
Lhel muttered something to Iya, who interpreted the question for the Duke.
‘She asks if your lady has any issue of blood?’
‘No. Your woman keeps claiming all is well, but …’
Upstairs, Ariani screamed again and Arkoniel’s stomach lurched. The poor woman had no idea who was in her house this night. Iya had given the couple her solemn pledge to protect any daughter born to the royal house; she had not revealed to the child’s mother the means the Lightbearer had given her to do so. Only Rhius knew. Ambition had guaranteed his consent.
‘Come, it’s time.’ Iya started for the stairs but Rhius caught her by the arm.
‘Are you certain this is the only way? Couldn’t you just take one of them away?’
Iya regarded him coldly. She stood two steps above him and in this light she looked for an instant like a stone effigy. ‘The Lightbearer wants a queen. You want your child to rule. This is the price. The favour of Illior is with us in this.’
Rhius released her and sighed heavily. ‘Come then, and let’s be done with it.’ Rhius followed the two women up and Arkoniel followed him, close enough to hear the Duke murmur, ‘There will be other babes.’
Princess Ariani’s bedchamber was stifling. The others went to the bed, but Arkoniel halted just inside the doorway, overwhelmed by the heavy odour of the birthing chamber.
He’d never seen this part of the house before. Under different circumstances he’d have thought it a pretty room. The walls and carved bed were covered with bright hangings embroidered with fanciful underwater scenes, and the marble mantle was carved with dolphins. A familiar workbasket lay on a chair by the shuttered window; a cloth head and arm protruded from beneath the half-open lid – one of the Princess’s lady dolls, half finished. Ariani was famous for her clever handiwork and all the great ladies of Ero and some of the lords had one.
Tonight the sight of this one knotted Arkoniel’s guts.
Through the half-open bed hangings he could see the bulging curve of Ariani’s belly and one clenched hand gleaming with costly rings. A plump, sweet-faced serving woman stood over Ariani, murmuring to her as she bathed the labouring woman’s face. This was Nari, a widowed kinswoman of Iya’s, chosen to be the child’s wet nurse. Iya had intended for Nari to bring her own babe to be the companion of Ariani’s, but the gods had other plans. A few weeks earlier Nari’s child had succumbed to pneumonia. Even in her grief, Nari had faithfully squeezed the milk from her breasts to keep it flowing. The front of her loose gown was stained with it.
Lhel set to work, issuing quiet orders while she laid out the things she needed at the end of the bed: bunches of herbs, a thin silver knife, needles of bone, a skein of silk thread, impossibly fine.
Ariani lurched up with another wail and Arkoniel caught a glimpse of her face, glassy-eyed and drugged now, behind a tangle of lustrous black hair.
The Princess was not much older than he was, and though he seldom allowed himself to think on it, he had harboured a secret admiration for her ever since her marriage to Rhius had brought Arkoniel into her sphere. Ariani was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and she’d always treated him graciously. Hot shame washed over him; this was how her kindness was repaid.
Too soon Iya turned and motioned for him to join her by the bed. ‘Come, Arkoniel, we need you now.’
He and Nari held Ariani’s feet as the witch felt between her thighs. Ariani moaned and tried weakly to pull away. Blushing furiously, Arkoniel kept his face turned away until Lhel had finished her examination, then hastily retreated.
Lhel washed her hands in a basin, then bent to pat Ariani’s cheek. ‘Is good, keesa.’
‘There are – there are two, aren’t there, Midwife?’ Ariani gasped faintly.
Arkoniel shot Iya a concerned look, but she only shrugged. ‘A woman needs no midwife to tell her how many babes she has in her belly.’
Nari brewed a dish of tea from some of the witch’s herbs and helped Ariani to sip it. After a few moments, the woman’s breathing slowed and she grew quiet. Climbing onto the bed, Lhel massaged Ariani’s belly, all the while murmuring to her in a soothing, singsong voice.
‘The first child must be turned into position to enter the world so that the other may follow,’ Iya translated for Rhius, who stood now in agonized silence by the head of the bed.
Lhel moved so that she was kneeling between Ariani’s knees, still rubbing her belly. After a few moments the witch let out a soft cry of triumph. Watching from the corner of his eye, Arkoniel saw her lift a wet little head into view with one hand. With the other, she held the child’s nostrils and mouth shut until the rest of it was birthed.
‘A girl keesa!’ she announced, taking her hand from the child’s face.
Arkoniel let out a gasp of relief as the girl child sucked in her first lungful of air. This was the shaimari, the ‘soul’s breath’ that the witch was so concerned with.
Lhel cut the birth cord with her silver knife and held the child up for all to see. The baby was well formed under the birth muck, and had a thick head of wet black hair.
‘Thank the Lightbringer!’ Rhius exclaimed, leaning down to kiss his sleeping wife’s brow. ‘A first born girl, just as the Oracle promised!’
‘And look,’ said Nari, leaning forward to touch a tiny wine-coloured birthmark on the child’s left forearm. ‘She has a favour mark, too, just like a rosebud.’
Iya gave Arkoniel a tight, triumphant smile. ‘Here’s our future queen, my boy.’
Tears of joy blurred Arkoniel’s vision and tightened his throat, but the moment was tainted by the knowledge that their work was not yet finished.
While Nari bathed the girl child, Lhel began coaxing forth the twin. Ariani’s head lolled limp against the pillow. Rhius retreated to the fireplace, mouth set in a grim line.
Tears of a different sort stung Arkoniel’s eyes. Forgive us, my sweet lady, he prayed, unable to look away.
Despite Lhel’s efforts, the second child came wrong way around, a footling breach. Muttering steadily in her own tongue, Lhel worked the other leg free and the little body slid out.
‘Boy keesa,’ Lhel said softly, hand poised to cover the child’s face as it emerged, to prevent that all-important first breath so that the soul might not be fixed in the flesh.
Suddenly, however, there was a loud clatter of horsemen in the street outside, and a shout of, ‘Open in the name of the King!’
Lhel was as startled as the rest of them. In that instant of distraction the child’s head slipped free of his mother’s body and he sucked a breath, strong and clear.
‘By the Light!’ Iya hissed, whirling on the witch. Lhel shook her head and bent over the squirming babe. Arkoniel backed quickly away, unable to watch what must follow. He shut his eyes so tightly he saw flashes of light behind the lids, but he could not escape the sound of the child’s loud, healthy cry, or the way it suddenly choked off. The silence left in its wake left him dizzy and sick.
What followed seemed to take a very long time, although in truth they had only minutes. Lhel took the living child from Nari and placed her on the bed next to her dead twin. Chanting over them, she drew patterns in the air and the living child went still as death. When Lhel took up her knife and needle, Arkoniel had to turn away again. Behind him, he could hear Rhius weeping softly.
Then Iya was at his side, pushing him out into the cold corridor. ‘Go downstairs and hold off the King. Keep him as long as you can! I’ll send Nari down when it’s safe.’
‘Hold him off? How?’
The door swung shut in his face and he heard the key turn.
‘Very well, then.’ Arkoniel dried his face on his sleeve and ran his hands back through his hair. At the top of the staircase he paused and turned his face up to the unseen moon, sending a silent prayer to Illior. Aid my faltering tongue, Lightbearer, or cloud the King’s eyes. Or both, if it’s not asking too much.
He wished now that Captain Tharin was here. The tall, quiet knight had a manner that put everyone at their ease. With a lifetime of hunting, fighting and court intrigue behind him, he was far better suited than a green young wizard to entertain a man like Erius.
Mynir had lit the bronze lamps that hung between the painted stone pillars in the hall and stoked the fire with cedar logs and sweet resins to make a fragrant blaze. Erius stood beside the hearth, a tall and daunting figure in the firelight and Arkoniel bowed deeply to him. Like Rhius, the King had been shaped by a lifetime of war, but his face was still handsome and filled with a youthful good humour that even a childhood spent in his mother’s court had not extinguished. Only in recent years, as the royal tomb filled with the bodies of his female kin, had some come to regard that kindly visage as a mask for a darker heart, one that perhaps had learned his mother’s lessons after all.
As Arkoniel had suspected, the King had not come alone. His court wizard, Lord Niryn, was there, as close to the King as the man’s own shadow. He was a plain fellow somewhere in his second age, but whatever gifts he possessed had lifted him high and quickly. For years Erius had had no more use for wizards than his mother, but since the death of the King’s wife and children, Niryn’s star had risen steadily at court. Lately he’d taken to wearing his thick red beard forked and had affected costly white robes embroidered with silver.
He acknowledged Arkoniel with a slight nod, and the younger wizard bowed respectfully.
Erius had brought along a priest of Sakor, as well, together with a dozen of his own Guard in their pick spurs and gold badges. Arkoniel’s stomach did an uneasy roll as he caught the glint of mail beneath their red tunics and saw the long knives they carried at their belts. It seemed an odd sort of company to bring into his sister’s house on such an occasion.
He forced a respectful smile, wondering bitterly who had alerted Erius. One of the household women, perhaps? Clearly Erius had been prepared for this visit, despite the hour. The King’s greying beard and curly black hair were neatly combed. His velvet robes looked as fresh as if he’d been on his way to the audience hall. The Sword of Ghërilain, symbol of Skalan rule, hung at his hip.
‘My king,’ Arkoniel bowed again. ‘Your honoured sister is still in the midst of her pains. Duke Rhius sends his respects and asks me to sit with you until he is able to attend you himself.’
Erius raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Arkoniel? What are you doing here? Last I knew, neither you nor that mistress of yours practices midwifery.’
‘No, my king. I was guesting here tonight and have been making myself useful.’ Arkoniel was suddenly aware of the other wizard’s steady gaze. Niryn’s bright brown eyes protruded a bit, giving him a perpetually surprised air that the younger wizard found unsettling. He carefully veiled his mind, praying he was strong enough to keep Niryn from his thoughts without the other man suspecting.
‘Your honoured sister’s labour is a difficult one, I fear, but she will be delivered soon,’ he continued, then wished he hadn’t. The King had attended the births of all his own children. If Erius decided to go upstairs, there was nothing he could do, short of magic, to prevent it. With Niryn here, even that risky avenue was closed to him.
Perhaps Illior had heeded his prayer after all, for Erius shrugged agreeably and sat down at a gaming table by the hearth. ‘How’s your skill with the stones?’ he asked, waving Arkoniel to the other chair. ‘These birthings generally take longer than you’d expect, especially the first. We may as well pass the time pleasantly.’
Hoping his relief was not too obvious, Arkoniel sent Mynir off for wine and sweets, then settled down to losing as best he could.
Niryn sat beside them, pretending to observe the play, but Arkoniel still felt the pressure of his regard. Sweat prickled under his arms and down his back. What did the man want? Did he know something?
He nearly dropped the gaming stones when Niryn suddenly asked, ‘Do you dream, young man?’
‘No, my lord,’ Arkoniel replied. ‘Or if I do, I don’t recall them when I wake up.’
This was true enough; he seldom dreamed in the normal sense, and foreknowing dreams had so far proven to be outside his ken. He waited for Niryn to pursue the question, but he only sat back and stroked the tips of his forked beard, looking bored.
Arkoniel was in the midst of his third game of Geese and Squares when Nari came downstairs.
‘Duke Rhius sends his regards, your majesty,’ she said, curtsying low. ‘He asks if you would like your new nephew brought down to view?’
‘Nonsense!’ Erius exclaimed, setting the stones aside and rising. ‘Tell your master his brother is happy to come to him.’
Again, Arkoniel had an uneasy sense that the King meant more than he said.
That sense grew stronger when Niryn and the priest accompanied them upstairs. Nari caught Arkoniel’s eye as they followed and gave him a quick nod; Iya and Lhel must already be safely away. Entering Ariani’s room, Arkoniel could sense no trace of magic, Orëska or otherwise.
Duke Rhius stood on the far side of the bed, holding his wife’s hand. The Princess was still blessedly asleep, no doubt well drugged. With her black hair combed back smoothly and a hectic spot of colour high on each cheek, she looked like one of her own dolls.
Rhius lifted the swaddled child from the bed and brought it to the King. He’d recovered enough to act his part with dignity.
‘Your nephew, my liege,’ he said, placing the infant in Erius’ arms. ‘With your leave, he shall be named Tobin Erius Akandor, in honour of your father’s line.’
‘A son, Rhius!’ Erius undid the swaddling with a gentle, practiced hand.
Arkoniel held his breath and blanked his mind as Niryn and the priest extended their hands over the sleeping child. Neither appeared to notice anything amiss; Lhel’s magic had covered all trace of the abomination she’d wrought on the little body. And who would think to look for hill witch magic in the chamber of the King’s own sister?
‘A fine boy, Rhius, to bear such a name!’ Erius exclaimed. The birthmark caught his eye. ‘And look at the favour mark he bears. On his left arm, too. Niryn, you know how to read such things. What does this one mean?’
‘Wisdom, your majesty,’ the wizard told him. ‘A most favourable trait in your son’s future companion.’
‘Indeed it is,’ the King said. ‘Yes, you have my leave, Brother, and my blessing. And I’ve brought a priest to make an offering for our little warrior.’
‘You have my thanks, Brother,’ said Rhius.
The priest went to the hearth and began his droning prayers, casting resins and little wax offerings into the flames.
‘By the Flame, he’ll make a great playfellow for my Korin in a few years’ time,’ the King went on. ‘Just think of the two of them, hunting and learning the sword together when your Tobin comes to join the Companions. Just like you and I were, eh? But there was a twin, too, I believe?’
Yes, thought Arkoniel, the King’s spies had been thorough, after all.
Nari bent down and lifted another tiny bundle from behind the bed. Keeping her back to the Princess, she brought it around to the King. ‘A poor little girl child, my king. Never drew breath.’
Erius and the others examined the dead child just as closely, moving its flaccid limbs about, verifying the gender and feeling its chest and neck for signs of life. Watching from the corner of his eye, Arkoniel saw the King cast quick, questioning look at his wizard.
‘They know something. They’re seeking something,’ Arkoniel thought dizzily. Niryn’s question about dreams suddenly took on a dire resonance. Had the man had a vision of his own, a vision of this child? If so, then Lhel’s magic did its work again, for the older wizard replied with a quick shake of his head. Whatever they were looking for, they hadn’t found it here. Arkoniel glanced away before any expression of relief could betray him.
The King handed the body back to Nari and clasped Rhius by the shoulders. ‘It’s a hard thing, losing a child. Sakor knows I still grieve for my lost ones and their dear mother. It’s cold comfort for you, I know, but it’s best this way, before you’d both become attached.’
‘As you say,’ Rhius replied softly.
Giving Rhius a last brotherly thump on the shoulder, Erius went to the bed and kissed his sister gently on the forehead.
The sight made the blood pound in Arkoniel’s head as he thought of the swordsmen in the hall below. This usurper, this killer of girls and women, might love his little sister enough to spare her life, but as the Lightbearer had shown, that forbearance did not extend to her children. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor as the King and his councillors swept out, imagining how differently this little drama would have played out if Erius had found a living girl child here.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Arkoniel’s knees turned to water and he sank into a chair.
But the ordeal was not yet over. Ariani opened her eyes and saw the dead child Nari held. Pulling herself up against the bolsters, she held out her arms for it. ‘Thank the Light! I knew I heard a second cry, but I had the most awful dream …’
The nurse exchanged a look with Rhius and Ariani’s smile faltered. ‘What is it? Give me my child.’
‘It was stillborn, my love,’ Rhius said. ‘Let it be. Look, here’s our fine son.’
‘No, I heard it cry!’ Ariani insisted.
Rhius brought little Tobin to her, but she ignored him, staring instead at the child the nurse held. ‘Give him to me, woman! I command it!’
There was no dissuading her. Ignoring the soft cry of the living child, she took the dead one in her arms and her face went whiter still.
Arkoniel knew in that instant that Lhel’s magic could not deceive the child’s mother the way that it had the others. Twisting his mind to sight through her eyes, he caught a glimpse of the strips of skin Lhel had cut from each child’s breast and sewn with spider-fine stitches into the wound left on its twin, just over the heart. With this exchange of flesh, the transformation had been sealed. The girl child would retain the semblance of male form for as long as Iya deemed necessary, just as her dead brother had taken her form to deceive the King.
‘What have you done?’ Ariani gasped, staring up at Rhius.
‘Later, my love, when you’re rested. Give that one back to Nari and take your son. See how strong he is? And he has your blue eyes …’
‘Son? That is no son!’ Ariani cut him off with a venomous glare. No amount of reasoning prevailed. When Rhius tried to take the dead child from her, she lurched from the bed and fled to the far corner of the room, clutching the tiny corpse against her stained nightdress.
‘This is too much!’ Arkoniel whispered. Going to the frantic woman, he knelt before her.
She looked up at him in surprise. ‘Arkoniel? Look, I have a son. Isn’t he pretty?’
