The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [67]
“One of the kitchen lasses has a year-old son and lots of milk. Degwa’s making her have a bath, and then she’ll come up and take little Marro over.”
“It’s very odd, these tears,” Bellyra said. “They fall of their own accord.”
“Ah, my lady! It aches my heart to see you like this again! What—I wish I could—if we only understood—”
“I want to go to sleep. Please leave me alone.”
“It’s not good for you to—”
“Get out of here!” Bellyra propped herself up on her elbows. “Get out of here and leave me alone!”
Elyssa fled. Bellyra could hear her whispering with the other women just beyond the door, but she could understand nothing of what they said. She flopped back down onto the pillows and stared at the hangings until at last she fell asleep.
• • •
Dun Deverry lay so far to the north of seacoast Cerrmor that the son was nearly a fortnight old before his father learned he’d been born. The messenger rode in with the news late on a sticky-hot afternoon when low clouds threatened rain. Servants rushed every which way until they at last found Prince Maryn on an outer wall of the royal dun.
With the man everyone called “lord” Nevyn, his most trusted councillor, the prince was leaning over the wall, looking down at the ruins of what had once been a flourishing city, now reduced to rubble by the long years of sieges and the fires they always seemed to bring. What was left of the houses and shops stretched across a valley to another low hill, crowned with the walls and the tree-tops of the sacred grove surrounding the temple of Bel.
“I hope to all the gods that the folk come back to rebuild,” Maryn was saying.
“So do I,” Nevyn said with a wry grin. “But remember, there are inducements you can offer.”
They heard voices calling and turned to see a pair of pages racing down the hill, their tabards flapping around them.
“Your Highness, Your Highness! Messages from Cerrmor! Your lady’s given you another son!”
“Splendid!” Maryn called to them. “Where’s the messenger?”
“Up in the great hall, Your Highness.”
Nevyn followed Maryn down the rickety ladder. Ahead of them the grassy hill, ringed by three more walls, climbed to the fortress at the crest. With the pages leading the way they trudged up the spiralling road toward the inner fortress. Black against grey, three ravens flew overhead, cawing. With their passing the day fell hushed in homage to the coming storm. Nevyn wiped enough sweat from his face onto his sleeve to leave a wet spot.
“You look grim,” Maryn said abruptly.
“Do I, my liege? I do hope the princess is truly well.”
“And not as she was the last time? Ye gods, I’ve never seen a woman so sad, and all for no reason. I thought she’d gone daft.”
“She hadn’t. There were medical reasons.” Nevyn put steel in his voice. “Childbirth takes some women that way.”
“Well, so you said at the time. My apologies.”
“Watery humors collect in a woman’s womb to feed the child. These are expelled at birth. In a few cases, there are dregs left behind, and these corrupt to vapors, producing the illness.”
“These women’s matters!” Maryn shuddered. “I thank the gods for making me a man, frankly, when I think on such things. But here, Nevyn, if this illness falls upon her again, she’ll be more comfortable in Cerrmor, and safer as well. The journey upriver might be hard on her.”
“Don’t you want her here?”
“What? That’s not it. Of course I do! It’s just that—well, I fear for her, that’s all. My lady has given me another son. She’s done great service to the kingdom and to my line, and I’d not risk her health in any way.”
It was all true enough, yet Maryn couldn’t look him in the eye. Oho! Nevyn thought. What’s all this?
“I see,” Nevyn said aloud. “Well, we can wait to send for her. I’ll send a message to her women and see how she fares.”
“That’s a splendid idea. And it will be good to have her here. She’s got more common sense than ten men, when she’s herself at least. I truly respect her opinions, you know. It’s a pity that