On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [43]
“It’s as if they are going off to a game,” Kevla said softly.
“No game,” Sahlik sighed, “but you would not know it. Here come our people.”
Tahmu, proudly astride Swift-Over-Sand, led the procession. Beside him on a sa’abah rode Jashemi. Neither whooped or danced, although some of the other clansmen did. Tahmu smiled reassuringly at the assembled crowd of wives, children, and servants, and Jashemi emulated his father. He did not meet Kevla’s gaze.
Yeshi stood at the gate. Kevla had helped her with her cosmetics that morning, but it was obvious the khashima had been crying in the intervening time. The kohl that had encircled her dark eyes had run down her face and been wiped away, smearing both the rivulet of black and the red rouge of the great lady’s cheeks so that Yeshi almost appeared to have been assaulted. Her full, red lips trembled and her eyes were bright with tears. She wore no veil; as the highest ranking female present, the only one who outranked her was her husband.
Tahmu dismounted and embraced his wife. She hugged him, but it was for her son that Yeshi reserved her fiercest affections. She dropped to her knees and clung to him, the tears again flooding her face with black streams of grief. Jashemi wiped the tears away, as he had done with Kevla last night, and his expression as he regarded his mother was one of deep compassion. Kevla was too far away to hear what Yeshi said, but as the minutes passed and Yeshi did not rise nor release her son, she could feel the tension in the crowd.
Sahlik moved quickly toward her mistress, stepping behind Yeshi and placing her hands on her shoulders. Jashemi gently disengaged himself. Tahmu whispered something to his wife, who brightened and put a beringed hand on her gently swelling belly. She straightened and stepped away from husband and son.
They rode out, and as the gates closed behind them, Kevla felt a dreadful hollowness in her chest.
Yeshi stepped forward. “In the absence of the khashim, his Second, and the heir,” she said, her voice thick with grief but surprisingly strong, “all orders will come from me. The first order I will issue as present leader of the Clan of Four Waters is that every day we will petition the Great Dragon with offerings, so that he will be moved to bring our men safely home.”
A murmur of approval went up. Yeshi nodded, pleased. “We will begin today.”
The days dragged by. Yeshi did not seem to have a great deal of time for her women during the day, though at night she was more exhausted than Kevla had ever seen her. At that time, she wanted all three of them to massage her swollen feet, rub oil on her growing belly, and speak softly and kindly to her.
Each day, Kevla went to the aerie, to see if there were any messages from the war party. Sometimes there were, but the hawk master would hardly reveal their precious contents to so lowly a servant, although as Kevla’s appearance became a regular occurrence, he grew fond of her. Sometimes Yeshi would share the news, sometimes not.
Kevla’s lessons with Asha continued. He was particularly anxious for her to learn about childbirth, in case Yeshi’s baby came before Maluuk and the others returned. While happy to be trusted with such information, Kevla found the hours spent in the healer’s hut only served to emphasize Jashemi’s absence.
Days stretched into weeks, and then months. Celebration days came and went, and Yeshi presided over the revelry. Although the unctuous Bahrim flirted heavily with the khashima—and he was not alone among the uhlals casting glances at the beautiful great lady—Yeshi’s growing belly seemed to discourage further improper advances. With each moon she tired more easily, and spent more time sleeping. Asha and Kevla examined her every day, and at one point Asha announced with certainty, “The child could come very soon.”
Yeshi shook her head. “The child will not come until his father returns home.”
Asha bit his lip, hesitant to disagree,