The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [65]
PART TWO
AUTUMN 849
Deverry
The year 849. Autumn came. Evil portents troubled our High Priest Retyc. We wondered if Prince Maryn were truly meant to be king. But then a woman on temple lands gave birth to twins, and one died. Retyc declared this a good omen.
—The Holy Chronicles of Lughcarn
In summer, the fog from the Southern Sea crept in daily at sunset and covered Dun Cerrmor with grey mist, swirling so thick along the ground that one could see it move. On the evening before she gave birth to her second son, Princess Bellyra stood at a window in the women’s hall, high up in the royal broch, and watched the fog advance. The setting sun off to the west turned the first ranks to gold, promising splendor, but once the mist enveloped the town, the gold faded to a cold, relentless light.
“Your Highness?” Elyssa came up beside her. “What’s wrong? You look so distressed.”
“I was watching the fog. Did you see it turn from gold to grey?”
“It always does that, Your Highness, this time of year.”
“I know, but I was just thinking that my life’s rather been like that, all gold when I married, and now …”
Elyssa stared, her dark blue eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Although the serving woman was the older by a few years, they had been friends since childhood, but now, Bellyra supposed, Elyssa hardly knew what to make of her. She hardly knew what to make of herself at times.
“It’s just the baby,” Elyssa said at last. “It should come soon.”
“Very soon.” Bellyra laid both hands on her swollen belly. “He feels ready to move down.”
“You’re so sure it’s a lad.” Elyssa smiled at her. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”
“I won’t be. No lass would kick her mother’s guts as hard as this little beast has.”
“Let’s hope, anyway.” Elyssa considered her, the smile gone. “Are you frightened?”
“Very, but not of the labor or suchlike. It’s what came after.”
Elyssa reached out and caught the princess’s hand twixt both of hers.
“You’ll do splendidly this time. I swear it. I’ve made ever so many prayers to the Goddess.”
“But did the Goddess give you an answer back? Oh, I’m sorry, Lyss, please, don’t look so distressed. We’ll deal with what comes if it comes.”
In the middle of the night Bellyra woke sopping wet and in pain. Her water had broken. She got out of bed, stood for a moment considering her contractions—not too bad, but strong—then flung open her bedroom door and yelled to her serving women.
“It’s begun. Send for the midwife!”
She sat down on a wooden chest and let herself sprawl, legs akimbo. In a few moments Elyssa and Degwa came hurrying in, carrying candle lanterns. Degwa’s dark hair hung in two tidy braids, while Elyssa’s fair hair tumbled down her back, all tousled.
“Let me just put a dress over this nightgown,” Degwa said, “and then I’ll go down and wake the pages.”
“Send young Donno,” Elyssa said. “He knows the town well. And get a couple of serving lasses up here to light a fire and suchlike.”
Panting from the pain, Bellyra leaned back against the wall and let their concern cover her like a warm quilt. Servant girls came soon, and after them the midwife. By the time the dawn broke, her labor filled her world. She clung to the birthing rope and thought of naught else but the child fighting within her to get out. The pain, oddly enough, helped keep the fear at bay. When the sun was well over the horizon, the baby came with one huge squall of rage at being shoved into the light.
“A lad!” the midwife crowed. “Ah, the Goddess has favored you again, Your Highness.”
“I told you,” Bellyra whispered. “Give me some water.”
The afterbirth came clean and whole. Only then did she truly feel safe. Once again, she’d had an easy birth, or so the midwife told her. Laughing and chattering, her women washed her and brought her dry nightclothes,