stitch was tied off and immediately began on another. By week’s end half a dozen of the things were lined up on the mantelpiece.
“They’re very pretty, my love, but why not finish the faces?” Duke Rhius asked, sitting faithfully by her bedside each night.
“So they won’t cry,” Ariani hissed, needle flying as she stitched an arm to a wool-packed body. “The crying is sending me mad!”
Nari looked away so as not to embarrass the duke by seeing his tears. It was the first time since the birth that Ariani had spoken to him.
This seemed to encourage the duke. He sent for Captain Tharin that very night and began to talk of the child’s presentation feast.
A riani told no one of the dreams that plagued her. Who could she tell? Her own trusted nurse, Lachi, had been sent away weeks ago, replaced by this stranger who would not leave her side. Nari was some relation of Iya’s, Rhius had told her, and that only made Ariani hate her all the more. Her husband, her brother, the wizards, this woman-they’d all betrayed her. When she thought of that terrible night, all she remembered was a circle of faces looking down on her without pity. She despised them.
Exhaustion and grief had weighed down on her like a stack of wool quilts at first, and her mind had drifted in a grey fog. Daylight and darkness seemed to play sport with her; she never knew what to expect when she opened her eyes, or whether she dreamed or woke.
At first she thought that the horrid midwife Iya had brought had returned. But soon she realized it must be a dream or waking vision that brought the dark little woman to her bedside each night. She always appeared surrounded by a circle of shifting light, mouthing silent words at Ariani and gesturing with stained fingers for her to eat and drink. It went on for days, this silent pantomime, until Ariani grew used to her. At last she began to make out something of what the woman whispered and the words pulled fire and ice through her veins.
It was then that Ariani began to sew again, and forced herself to eat the bread and thin soups Nari brought. The task the witch had set for her would take strength.
T he child’s presentation took place a fortnight after the birth. Ariani refused to come downstairs and Nari thought this just as well. The princess’ strength was returning, but she was still too strange for company. She would not dress and seldom spoke. Her shining black hair was dull and tangled for want of care and her blue eyes stared strangely, as if she was seeing something the rest could not. She slept, she ate, and she sewed doll after mouthless doll. Duke Rhius saw to it that word of a difficult lying-in was spread around the Palatine, as well as rumors of his wife’s deep and continuing grief over the loss of the dead girl child.
Her absence did not mar the celebration too badly. All the principal nobles of Ero crowded into the great hall that night until the whole room seemed to shimmer with jewels and silks under the flickering lamps. Standing with the servants by the wine table, Nari saw some whispering behindtheir hands and overheard a few speaking of Agnalain’s madness, wondering how the daughter could have gone the way of the mother so quickly and with no warning at all.
It was unseasonably warm that night, and the soft patter of autumn rain swept in through the open windows. The men of the duke’s personal guard stood at attention flanking the stairs, resplendent in new green and blue. Sir Tharin stood to the left of the stairs in his fine tunic and jewels, looking as pleased as if the child were his own. Nari had taken to the lanky, fair-haired man the day she met him, and liked him all the better for the way his face lit up the first time he saw Tobin in his father’s arms.
The king stood in the place of honor at the right of the staircase, holding his own son on one broad shoulder. Prince Korin was a bright, plump child of three, with his father’s dark curls and bright brown
“They’re very pretty, my love, but why not finish the faces?” Duke Rhius asked, sitting faithfully by her bedside each night.
“So they won’t cry,” Ariani hissed, needle flying as she stitched an arm to a wool-packed body. “The crying is sending me mad!”
Nari looked away so as not to embarrass the duke by seeing his tears. It was the first time since the birth that Ariani had spoken to him.
This seemed to encourage the duke. He sent for Captain Tharin that very night and began to talk of the child’s presentation feast.
A riani told no one of the dreams that plagued her. Who could she tell? Her own trusted nurse, Lachi, had been sent away weeks ago, replaced by this stranger who would not leave her side. Nari was some relation of Iya’s, Rhius had told her, and that only made Ariani hate her all the more. Her husband, her brother, the wizards, this woman-they’d all betrayed her. When she thought of that terrible night, all she remembered was a circle of faces looking down on her without pity. She despised them.
Exhaustion and grief had weighed down on her like a stack of wool quilts at first, and her mind had drifted in a grey fog. Daylight and darkness seemed to play sport with her; she never knew what to expect when she opened her eyes, or whether she dreamed or woke.
At first she thought that the horrid midwife Iya had brought had returned. But soon she realized it must be a dream or waking vision that brought the dark little woman to her bedside each night. She always appeared surrounded by a circle of shifting light, mouthing silent words at Ariani and gesturing with stained fingers for her to eat and drink. It went on for days, this silent pantomime, until Ariani grew used to her. At last she began to make out something of what the woman whispered and the words pulled fire and ice through her veins.
It was then that Ariani began to sew again, and forced herself to eat the bread and thin soups Nari brought. The task the witch had set for her would take strength.
T he child’s presentation took place a fortnight after the birth. Ariani refused to come downstairs and Nari thought this just as well. The princess’ strength was returning, but she was still too strange for company. She would not dress and seldom spoke. Her shining black hair was dull and tangled for want of care and her blue eyes stared strangely, as if she was seeing something the rest could not. She slept, she ate, and she sewed doll after mouthless doll. Duke Rhius saw to it that word of a difficult lying-in was spread around the Palatine, as well as rumors of his wife’s deep and continuing grief over the loss of the dead girl child.
Her absence did not mar the celebration too badly. All the principal nobles of Ero crowded into the great hall that night until the whole room seemed to shimmer with jewels and silks under the flickering lamps. Standing with the servants by the wine table, Nari saw some whispering behindtheir hands and overheard a few speaking of Agnalain’s madness, wondering how the daughter could have gone the way of the mother so quickly and with no warning at all.
It was unseasonably warm that night, and the soft patter of autumn rain swept in through the open windows. The men of the duke’s personal guard stood at attention flanking the stairs, resplendent in new green and blue. Sir Tharin stood to the left of the stairs in his fine tunic and jewels, looking as pleased as if the child were his own. Nari had taken to the lanky, fair-haired man the day she met him, and liked him all the better for the way his face lit up the first time he saw Tobin in his father’s arms.
The king stood in the place of honor at the right of the staircase, holding his own son on one broad shoulder. Prince Korin was a bright, plump child of three, with his father’s dark curls and bright brown
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