traveling sack over her horse’s neck and turned back for the stinking city.
Chapter 4
I n the uneasy days following the birth, only Nari and the duke attended Ariani. Rhius sent word to Tharin, sending the captain on to the estate at Cirna to keep him away a while longer.
A silence fell over the household; black banners flew on the roof peaks, proclaiming mourning for the supposed stillbirth. On the household altar, Rhius set a fresh basin of water and burned the herbs sacred to Astellus, who smoothed the water road to birth and death and protected new mothers from childbed fever.
Sitting at Ariani’s bedside each day, however, Nari knew it was not fever that ailed the woman, but a deep sickness of heart. Nari was old enough to remember Queen Agnalain’s last days and prayed that her daughter was not afflicted with the same curse of madness.
Day after day, night after night, Ariani tossed against her pillows, waking to cry out, “The child, Nari! Don’t you hear him? He’s so cold.”
“The child is well, Your Highness,” Nari told her each time. “See, Tobin is in the cradle here beside you. Look how plump he is.”
But Ariani would not look at the living child. “No, I hear him,” she would insist, staring around wildly. “Why have you shut him outside? Fetch him in at once!”
“There’s no child outside, Your Highness. You were only dreaming again.”
Nari spoke the truth, for she’d heard nothing, but some of the other servants claimed to have heard an infant’s cry in the darkness outside. Soon a rumor spreadthrough the house that the second child had been stillborn with its eyes open; everyone knew that demons came into the world through such births. Several serving maids had been sent back to Atyion already with orders to keep their gossip to themselves. Only Nari and Mynir knew the truth behind the second child’s death.
Loyalty to the duke guaranteed Mynir’s silence. Nari owed allegiance to Iya. The wizard had been a benefactress to her family for three generations and there were times during those first few chaotic days when only that bond kept the nurse from running back to her own village. Iya had said nothing of demons when Nari agreed to serve.
In the end, however, she stayed for the child’s sake. Her milk flowed freely as soon as she put the dark-haired little mite to her breast, and with it all the tenderness she’d thought she’d lost when her husband and son had died. Maker knew neither the princess nor her husband had any to spare for the poor child.
They must all call Tobin “he” and “him” now. And thanks to the outlandish magic the witch had worked with her knives and needles, Tobin was to all appearances a fine healthy boy child. He slept well, nursed vigorously, and seemed happy with whatever attention was paid him, which was little enough by his own folk.
“They’ll come ’round, little pet my love,” Nari would croon to him as he dozed contentedly in her arms. “How could they not and you so sweet?”
A s Tobin thrived, however, his mother sank ever faster into a darkness of spirit. The bout of fever passed, but Ariani kept to her bed. She still would not touch her living child, and she would not even look at her husband, or her brother either, when he came to call.
Duke Rhius was near despair. He sat with her for hours, enduring her silence, and brought in the mostskilled drysians from the temple of Dalna. But the healers found no illness of the body to cure.
On the twelfth day after the birth, however, the princess began to show signs of rallying. That afternoon, Nari found her curled in an armchair next to the fire, sewing a doll. The floor around her was littered with scraps of muslin, clumps of stuffing wool, snippets of embroidery silks and thread.
The new doll was finished by nightfall—a boy with no mouth. Another just like it followed the next day, and another. She did not bother to dress the things, but cast each aside as soon as the last
Chapter 4
I n the uneasy days following the birth, only Nari and the duke attended Ariani. Rhius sent word to Tharin, sending the captain on to the estate at Cirna to keep him away a while longer.
A silence fell over the household; black banners flew on the roof peaks, proclaiming mourning for the supposed stillbirth. On the household altar, Rhius set a fresh basin of water and burned the herbs sacred to Astellus, who smoothed the water road to birth and death and protected new mothers from childbed fever.
Sitting at Ariani’s bedside each day, however, Nari knew it was not fever that ailed the woman, but a deep sickness of heart. Nari was old enough to remember Queen Agnalain’s last days and prayed that her daughter was not afflicted with the same curse of madness.
Day after day, night after night, Ariani tossed against her pillows, waking to cry out, “The child, Nari! Don’t you hear him? He’s so cold.”
“The child is well, Your Highness,” Nari told her each time. “See, Tobin is in the cradle here beside you. Look how plump he is.”
But Ariani would not look at the living child. “No, I hear him,” she would insist, staring around wildly. “Why have you shut him outside? Fetch him in at once!”
“There’s no child outside, Your Highness. You were only dreaming again.”
Nari spoke the truth, for she’d heard nothing, but some of the other servants claimed to have heard an infant’s cry in the darkness outside. Soon a rumor spreadthrough the house that the second child had been stillborn with its eyes open; everyone knew that demons came into the world through such births. Several serving maids had been sent back to Atyion already with orders to keep their gossip to themselves. Only Nari and Mynir knew the truth behind the second child’s death.
Loyalty to the duke guaranteed Mynir’s silence. Nari owed allegiance to Iya. The wizard had been a benefactress to her family for three generations and there were times during those first few chaotic days when only that bond kept the nurse from running back to her own village. Iya had said nothing of demons when Nari agreed to serve.
In the end, however, she stayed for the child’s sake. Her milk flowed freely as soon as she put the dark-haired little mite to her breast, and with it all the tenderness she’d thought she’d lost when her husband and son had died. Maker knew neither the princess nor her husband had any to spare for the poor child.
They must all call Tobin “he” and “him” now. And thanks to the outlandish magic the witch had worked with her knives and needles, Tobin was to all appearances a fine healthy boy child. He slept well, nursed vigorously, and seemed happy with whatever attention was paid him, which was little enough by his own folk.
“They’ll come ’round, little pet my love,” Nari would croon to him as he dozed contentedly in her arms. “How could they not and you so sweet?”
A s Tobin thrived, however, his mother sank ever faster into a darkness of spirit. The bout of fever passed, but Ariani kept to her bed. She still would not touch her living child, and she would not even look at her husband, or her brother either, when he came to call.
Duke Rhius was near despair. He sat with her for hours, enduring her silence, and brought in the mostskilled drysians from the temple of Dalna. But the healers found no illness of the body to cure.
On the twelfth day after the birth, however, the princess began to show signs of rallying. That afternoon, Nari found her curled in an armchair next to the fire, sewing a doll. The floor around her was littered with scraps of muslin, clumps of stuffing wool, snippets of embroidery silks and thread.
The new doll was finished by nightfall—a boy with no mouth. Another just like it followed the next day, and another. She did not bother to dress the things, but cast each aside as soon as the last
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