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